"The Widow" Bertha

late at night.

A gentleman has come from Whitechapel.

The adults in the firm are not there, the accountant Ned has gone home, Sykes has been in charge of working on the case of the Irishman recently, and has been absent, and Thomas Thames, who really lives in the firm, has temporarily gone out because of today's "traitor" .

Hearing the knock on the door, it was 14-year-old Lyanna Byrne who came down.

—In Whitechapel, no one knocks on the door of Thames & Co.

Those who come to visit are either friends, then the door of the firm will always be open for them; or enemies, then they will not choose to knock on the door.

So confused, Lyanna pulled down the gate and slipped open a crack.

Standing outside the door is neither friend nor foe.

But a well-dressed, decent gentleman.

When he saw Lyanna, he even took off his hat very politely, and said politely: "Good evening, Miss Bourne."

—In Whitechapel, no one would wear such a well-tailored gentleman's clothes and carry a cane that only a gentleman should have.

"Good evening, sir," Lyanna replied cautiously.

"Is Mrs. Thames there?" asked the gentleman.

Lyanna stared at the gentleman for a moment.

She reacted quickly and widened her eyes: "You are that Mr. Holmes."

The strange Mr. Holmes laughed out loud.

He was as tall and gentle as Lyanna imagined, but his eyebrows and outline were very similar to Sherlock Holmes, which made the man's gentleness slightly sharp.

This Mr. Holmes hid it very well, all the sharpness and coldness were covered by a polite smile, but Lyanna could see it.

"So I am so famous," laughed Mr. Holmes. "Then can you tell me where Mrs. Thames is?"

"The lady is in the backyard," Lyanna replied. "She said she wanted to be alone."

"May I go and see her?"

"it is good."

Lyanna opened the door.

In fact, she really wanted to ask—why did Mr. Holmes know that his surname was Bourne?

But before the question came out, Lyanna thought of a new question.

"Sir," she began, "are you here to apologize?"

"Ok?"

Mr. Holmes looked down at Lyanna.

"Madam was angry for six months," Lyanna said.

"Thanks to your concern, Miss Bourne, I have apologized to Madam."

"The kind that says I'm sorry seriously?"

"..."

The young girl did not know who and what place Mycroft Holmes really was, nor how precious was the unexpected look on a gentleman's face at that moment.Holmes paused for a moment, then said: "You think it is important."

"of course."

Lyanna said naturally: "If you do something wrong, you have to apologize. Madam trusts you, but you will let Madam down, won't you? If you don't express your apology word by word, how can Madam continue to trust you in the future?"

Holmes thought about it.

But Lyanna didn't take the other party's thoughtful expression to heart, she was quite happy - I heard that this gentleman finally saw himself after so long!

"I'll take you there," the little girl said lightly, "Madam must be very happy to see you."

can you?

Mycroft Holmes was not sure either.

After all, it can be easily inferred from Lyanna Bourne's words that Bertha is still not in a good mood tonight.

He followed Miss Bourne to the backyard, and against the bright moonlight, Mycroft saw Bertha at a glance.

This isn't the first time Mycroft Holmes has seen Bertha at night, but even in the icy moonlight Bertha is warm.Her careless expression, and those slightly raised dark golden eyes, can even ignite the light without temperature, making the deep and cold night and the full moon burn.

But Bertha was different tonight.

She was wearing a simple black nightgown, leaning against the wall like this, the thin black fabric enveloped all the flames like a thick curtain.

The skinny Jamaican girl actually showed a bit of loneliness.

In Bertha's hand was a simple package of cigarettes - in the office, nothing else, these cigarettes that were forgotten by the owner after opening were everywhere.She poured a cigarette out of it and brought it to her lips.

When she was about to touch the pocket of her nightgown, there was a "click" from Bertha's side, and then the temperature of the flame came over.

She looked up in surprise, and through the shining light of the match, she saw the impeccable face of Mycroft Holmes.

The man brought the match to Bertha's lips, lit a cigarette for her with his own hands, and then flicked it skillfully, the warm flame disappeared in an instant.

"I remember you don't smoke, ma'am," he said.

In fact, Bertha had this habit.

That was before this era, and the work intensity of crime reporters was far greater than ordinary people imagined. Bertha didn't smoke often, and the only purpose of smoking was to relieve stress.

But she did smoke for the first time in the nineteenth century, and there was no good smoke in the slums, and the simple rolled tobacco was very choking, but it made Bertha wake up in an instant.

She looked down at the match in Mycroft's hand for a moment: "I also thought you didn't smoke."

And he carried matches with him.

"It's Shelly's fault," said Mycroft seriously, "but I don't touch it very often."

Blame Shelly?

Bertha paused, and then realized—one of Sherlock Holmes' signature objects was his pipe, and he was an old smoker.

It turned out to be a bad disease transmitted from the younger brother to the elder brother.

Realizing this, Bertha laughed softly.

She smiled, and Mycroft said calmly, "Still worried about the Italians?"

Bertha sighed.

This cigarette really doesn't suit her taste, it seems that God ordered her to quit smoking.Bertha took a puff and didn't move again, letting the cigarette burn by itself in the night.

"I have told Sikes," she said, "that from tomorrow he will accompany Shelly to the sewers, and the Irishman will assist them."

"It would be nice to think of Shelley."

"I sent three boys to be double agents with the Italians."

Bertha squeezed the cigarette butt, her hoarse voice lingered faintly in the night sky along with the cigarette.

"Nancy also asked Nancy to send a few more girls to live near the Italian family to pick up Katie. These boys and girls may not survive the day they come back."

As she spoke, she twitched the corner of her mouth mockingly: "It's really interesting. I knew they would die, but I still sent them there. And they were willing to die."

"It's not surprising."

Obviously, Mycroft didn't think there was any problem with this: "If you don't provoke the Italians, Marco Esposito will also trouble you, and there will only be more casualties."

Bertha made no reply.

Nor did Mycroft persist in admonishing Bertha, who would not have gone for a late-night walk in the backyard if a casual chat would have put her at ease.

The man thought for a while, and then said seriously: "I'm sorry, Bertha."

Bertha: "..."

She turned her head in amazement, returning to reality from her emotions: "What did you say?"

"Miss Byrne thought it necessary for me to apologize to you," he said, "for my concealment of your affairs six months ago."

"You apologized a few days ago."

"Apologize seriously and word for word."

Bertha raised an eyebrow.

She put down her right hand holding the cigarette, and tilted her head with interest: "The little girl asked you to apologize, so you just apologize?"

"Words are only useful and useless," replied Mycroft, "and have nothing to do with the age of the Admonisher. And..."

"and?"

"Since you care so much, no matter how many apologies are necessary."

The implication was that if Bertha hadn't cared that Mycroft had failed her trust, she wouldn't have been so angry.Being so angry proved that she did care about Mycroft.

It's beautiful to think about.

Bertha glanced at Mycroft: "What are you doing here? Don't tell me you're here to apologize."

"of course not."

The man smiled, and then said calmly, "I'm here to give a gift."

"Gift?"

"From the beginning to the present, you have been worried. It is nothing more than worrying that once you step into the quagmire, no matter how you struggle, you will only move more and more dirty, and you will never get to the shore again."

Mycroft paused, and then said, "Bertha, I'll give you a crutch that can support you."

"what?"

"You'll have the answer after dawn."

After saying this, Mycroft did not stay from Whitechapel area for long.

He came suddenly and left quickly, leaving only Bertha full of doubts and curiosity.

I used to have insomnia, but now I can't sleep anymore.

Bertha kept her eyes open until dawn, she finally felt drowsy, and was awakened by the noisy voices from the office downstairs not long after.

She got up in a huff, determined to blame Mycroft, who had come and gone.

But some of Bertha's complaints soon died away.

The maid, Grace, helped her tidy her hair. Bertha walked downstairs very unhappily. Before she had time to step on the first floor, she heard a burst of laughter from the office that had been tense recently.

Thomas rarely smiled and stepped forward: "Ma'am! Look who is back."

Bertha looked up, holding her skirt.

In the middle of a group of boys wearing red scarves and red gloves, stood a young girl in an ivory dress and a traveling hat. She also turned around when she heard the footsteps, and her eyes met. A few bursts of genuine surprise and happiness appeared on the pale and delicate face.

"Bertha, long time no see." She greeted.

It is Miss Jane Eyre.

In an instant, Bertha understood at once what Mycroft's words had meant late last night.

—He said to give Bertha a crutch that would help her get out of the quagmire.

Bertha's anchor, the link to ordinary life.Instead of walking on the other side of Thornfield Manor in the daytime, the girl who she had watched transform from a silent tutor behind the curtain to such a dazzling girl returned after six months of absence.

At that moment, Bertha only felt that the faintly hanging heart suddenly sank back to its proper place.

What a gift, Mycroft.