Charlotte stood on the staircase, looking down at the two dripping figures in the doorway.
Her gaze landed on Mary first, sweeping up and down to take in her current state.
Mary could only be described as bedraggled. She was soaked through, her hair plastered to her skin, her dress clinging to her body with the lace trim drooping and still dripping water, her boots spattered with mud.
And yet, even like this, she stood perfectly straight, a proper smile on her lips, as though she'd just stepped out of some elegant salon.
Charlotte's gaze then moved to Russell, who looked even worse off than Mary. He wore only a white shirt and waistcoat, both now soaked through.
"While I'm curious why the two of you didn't just stay indoors during a downpour, and instead trekked all the way from the Kensington District to Baker Street,"
Charlotte said slowly, then turned and walked toward her room.
"Before that, though, I'd suggest you both dry yourselves off first." She said this, then went back into her room.
At the same time, Mrs. Hudson, having heard the commotion, came out from the sitting room.
"Do we have guests, Charlotte?" she said, walking toward the door — and then jumped in surprise.
"Good heavens, Russell, and this—" Mrs. Hudson trailed off, clearly not recognizing Mary.
"I'm Mary Morstan," Mary said, bowing slightly. "Sorry to intrude, Mrs. Hudson."
"So you're the Miss Mary," Mrs. Hudson said, a look of realization crossing her face as she hurried forward.
"Come in, come in, however did you get so drenched? And you too, Russell — couldn't you have found somewhere to wait out the rain?"
"That's my fault," Mary said softly, cutting her off, her smile still perfectly composed. "I was the one who dragged Russell out here. I'm sorry to have worried you."
"Alright, alright, never mind that now," Mrs. Hudson said, waving a hand.
"The two of you are soaked through. Go on upstairs and change into something dry.
Russell, go take a hot bath first, don't catch a cold. Miss Morstan—"
"Mary is fine," Mary said with a smile. "You're my elder, just call me Mary."
"Alright, Mary," Mrs. Hudson said, nodding. "Your clothes—"
"I've got it," Charlotte said, appearing again at the top of the stairs, a neatly folded set of clothes in her hands.
She came down the stairs at an unhurried pace, the dark grey nightgown swaying gently with her steps, and stopped in front of Mary.
Mary looked up and met her gaze.
One of them soaked to the bone, yet still standing ramrod straight, a proper smile on her lips.
The other in a nightgown, hair in disarray, yet radiating an effortless presence all her own.
Mary's eyes fell on the clothes in Charlotte's hands — a nightgown, the same style as the one Charlotte herself wore, along with a shirt meant to be worn underneath.
"A nightgown?"
"Is there a problem?" Charlotte asked. "It's warm enough, and comfortable."
She said this, then pressed the nightgown into Mary's hands and pointed upstairs.
"The hot water's already drawn. Hurry up, before you catch a chill. You too, Russell."
Charlotte looked at Russell. "What are you still standing there for?"
Russell stood frozen for a moment, then nodded quickly and turned to head upstairs to his own room.
Only Charlotte, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson remained in the sitting room.
Mrs. Hudson's eyes moved between the two of them, and a flicker of knowing amusement crossed the old woman's well-worn gaze.
"I'll go make you both some ginger tea," she said. "Getting caught in the rain like that, you'll want to drive off the chill."
With that, she turned toward the kitchen, but not before shooting Charlotte a look on her way out — a look that said, quite clearly, get along nicely.
Charlotte pretended not to notice.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Outside, the rain pattered on, and now and then a gust of wind drove the drops against the glass with a fine, rustling sound.
"Come with me," Charlotte said first, her tone even. "The bathroom's upstairs."
She turned and headed for the staircase.
Mary followed behind her, her pace unhurried.
The two of them climbed the stairs one after the other, their footsteps making a soft sound against the wooden steps.
The hallway was quiet, with only the warmth from the hearth downstairs drifting up, carrying a faint touch of heat.
Charlotte stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.
"The bathroom," she said. "The hot water's ready. Take your time."
Mary stood in the doorway and glanced inside. The bathroom wasn't large, but it was kept spotless, and the tub was already filled with steaming hot water, white vapor curling upward.
"Thank you," Mary said, turning to look at Charlotte.
Their eyes met in the space between them.
"You're welcome," Charlotte said.
Mary smiled — a proper, elegant smile, the kind she'd practiced countless times in countless salons.
"Then I won't be shy about it."
With that, she stepped into the bathroom and gently closed the door.
Inside, steam hung thick in the air.
Mary hung the nightgown and shirt on the hook behind the door, then began peeling off her rain-soaked clothes.
The black shirtdress had been all but ruined by the rain, every inch of fabric soaked through and hanging heavy against her, making a faint hissing sound as she pulled it off, like skin and cloth reluctant to part.
Then the boots — the white uppers spattered with mud, the black laces hanging limp and wet. She bent down to pull them off and set them aside.
Her stockings were soaked too, clinging tight to her legs. Bracing herself against the wall, she peeled them off little by little, revealing pale skin beneath — her legs glowing softly in the dim bathroom light, as if they'd just been lifted from a bath of milk.
And beyond that, the more intimate garments too... one by one, they came off and were set aside.
Once she'd finished, she stood in the center of the room. The mirror was fogged with steam, too blurred to make out any detail, only reflecting a hazy silhouette — a slender waist, soft curves, long legs.
Like a watercolor painting, no detail visible, yet enough to let the imagination fill in the beauty hidden beneath the haze.
She raised her hands and gathered her soaked silver hair back, revealing her delicate face. Droplets slid down her neck, over her collarbone, tracing the line of her body downward, disappearing at last at the small of her back.
Mary turned and stepped into the tub. The hot water enveloped her instantly, warmth surging in from every direction, as if seeping into every pore.
She let out a satisfied sigh and sank her whole body into the water, only her head above the surface, her long silver hair spreading out across the water like scattered moonlight.
The hot water gradually warmed her body, her tense muscles slowly loosening as she leaned back against the edge of the tub and let her thoughts drift.
Just then, Mrs. Hudson's voice came from outside the door.
"Mary, would you mind if I came in? I'll take your clothes to dry them."
Hearing this, Mary came back to herself from her daze and answered quickly.
"Of course, thank you."
The bathroom door opened a crack, and Mrs. Hudson slipped in sideways, a clean towel in hand.
"This one's fresh out of the wrapping," the old woman said, her eyes landing on the pile of soaked clothes draped over the chair.
"Goodness, all of this is soaked through. It'll need a proper drying."
She walked over and picked up the clothes one by one — the shirtdress, the stockings, the more intimate items too.
Her hands were steady, her movements natural, as if she'd done this countless times before, without a trace of awkwardness.
Mary curled up in the tub, the hot water lapping at her collarbone, only her shoulders and head above the surface.
Her cheeks were flushed from the steam, her silver hair wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders, a few strands floating on the surface, swaying gently with the ripples.
"Thank you," she said again, her voice softer than before, carrying the languor of someone who'd been soaking in hot water.
"No trouble at all," Mrs. Hudson said, waving a hand, gathering the clothes into her arms before turning to leave the bathroom.
After a while, Mary finished her bath and rose from the tub, droplets clinging to her skin, some trickling down.
She picked up the towel and dried the water from her body, then reached for the shirt.
It was a loose white shirt, unwrinkled and new, its length reaching just to mid-thigh — a little too large for her, so that it hung a bit loose and shapeless on her frame.
Next, Mary picked up the nightgown. The fabric was soft, though not quite as fine as what she wore at home, but she wasn't one to be picky about such things.
The nightgown, too, hung a bit large on her, revealing only a small stretch of pale ankle, which made her seem all the more slender, and left a small patch of pale skin bare above her collarbone.
Her hair was still damp, roughly dried with the towel — no longer dripping, but still moist, her long silver hair falling loose over her shoulders, the ends a shade darker than usual, pressed against the fabric of the nightgown and leaving faint damp marks.
She wound the sash of the nightgown a couple of extra turns, both to avoid any accidental exposure and to keep herself warmer, then stepped out of the bathroom.
In the sitting room, Charlotte sat in an armchair, a cup in her hands, giving off a faint smell of coffee.
Seeing Mary come out, she glanced up on instinct, and their eyes met in the space between them.
"All done?" she asked.
"Mm," Mary said, nodding.
"Your clothes are drying. It might be a while," Charlotte said. "Sit for a bit."
She set a cup of hot ginger tea down on the table as she spoke.
"Thank you," Mary said, nodding, and settled obediently onto one of the sofa chairs.
The sitting room was quiet.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm light across the room, and across the two young women seated there.
Outside, the rain pattered on, and now and then a gust of wind drove the drops against the glass with a fine, rustling sound.
Mary cupped the ginger tea in both hands, drawing in the warmth.
"Would you mind if I moved a bit?" Mary broke the silence. "I want to dry my hair."
"Go ahead," Charlotte said noncommittally, and so Mary shifted her seat, dragging the sofa chair closer to the hearth so the heat could better wrap around her.
"So," now that Mary had broken the silence, Charlotte seized the moment, "what were you and Russell up to?"
She got straight to the point, no pleasantries, no roundabout approach — even Mary couldn't help but pause a moment.
She knew Charlotte's temperament well enough, but hadn't expected her to be quite this direct.
This woman really doesn't understand subtlety at all.
Mary took a sip of ginger tea and, in answer to Charlotte's question, only smiled faintly.
"Aren't you supposed to be excellent at deduction? Why not try deducing it?"
Charlotte's hand paused slightly around her coffee cup.
She raised her eyes to look at Mary, her grey-blue irises like two shards of ice in the firelight.
"Are you sure?"
"Why not?" Mary said, cradling her ginger tea, tilting her head, her wet silver hair sliding off her shoulder, glinting softly in the firelight.
"I hear Miss Holmes is best at exactly this sort of thing."
Charlotte was silent for a few seconds, then set down her coffee cup, her gaze settling on Mary once more.
"First, we can be certain of one thing — you two didn't go to the Phedon Tea Room. Correct?"
"Russell told you we went to the Phedon Tea Room?"
"He only told me something along those lines. And 'along those lines' means it wasn't quite that," Charlotte answered. "So, since you didn't go to the Phedon Tea Room, that means he went to your home instead."
Mary didn't deny it, only took another small sip of her ginger tea.
"You'd planned things out quite well originally — or rather, you had."
Charlotte went on, her gaze growing distant, as if reconstructing the day's events in her mind.
"Afternoon tea, a tour of the house, perhaps some other arrangements too. You had your hair done specially, chose a particular outfit — that's not something one does merely to receive a guest at home, and certainly not with those leather boots. Everything was preparation for going out.
So, I imagine you'd thought that after afternoon tea, you'd find some pretext or excuse to invite Russell out, away from that stifling house, and follow it with a meal at some restaurant outside. But judging by the outcome, that plan didn't quite come to pass."
A flicker crossed Mary's eyes.
"Why not?" Charlotte posed the question on Mary's behalf, then supplied the answer herself.
"Because something unexpected forced you to leave the estate with him ahead of schedule.
If everything had gone smoothly, your outing would have had a carriage following along, and you wouldn't have ended up caught in the rain — which tells me no one knew you were leaving.
And your activities were likely still confined to the Kensington District. Once it started raining, the sensible choice would have been to go home. Coming all the way to Baker Street makes no sense at all — and yet you came anyway. So I think it's you who didn't want to go back.
And why wouldn't you want to go back? Because that's precisely the reason you fled with him in the first place.
The outfit you're wearing isn't formal enough, doesn't suit the standing of a Morstan young lady. By rights, your father wouldn't have allowed you to receive a guest dressed like that — and yet you did. Which can only mean your father wasn't home.
So the whole picture becomes clear, Miss Mary."
Charlotte looked at her, the corner of her mouth curling slightly upward, then lifted her coffee cup and took a sip.
"You dragged Russell out of the house to escape your father — or rather, so your father wouldn't see him.
Am I right?"
____
Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 10 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter
________________________________________
If you want more chapters, please consider supporting my page on (P). with 50 advanced chapters available on (P)
👻 Join the crew by searching Leanzin on (P). You know the spot! 😉