Charlotte's gaze lingered briefly on the row marked [Family Members].
"He has no family, no wife, no children—though his romantic history is rather colorful."
"That's how it goes for a man who's all body and no heart. With that face of his, plus his standing, I suppose he did quite well for himself." Russell shrugged.
"Don't tell me Lestrade compiled a whole list of her lovers for you?"
"Mm-hm." Charlotte didn't argue. "You can hardly expect him to do the filtering for you.
If he actually knew what to weed out and what to keep, I wouldn't have to handle every single thing myself."
"Splendid. Well, keep at it, then, great detective."
Russell set down his cup, stood up, and walked toward the stairs.
"I'm getting ready to head out."
"You needn't go out of your way to remind me of that sort of thing," Charlotte said without lifting her head.
Russell shrugged, returned to his room to change into a fresh set of clothes, and then left Baker Street.
The Phedon Tea Room.
When Russell pushed open that heavy glass door, a lilting piano melody came rushing at him along with the warm air.
He gave his reservation details, and soon a waiter in a tailcoat led him to that familiar private booth on the second floor.
Mary had already arrived.
The girl had changed into a cream-white dress today, its hem trimmed with delicate, understated lace, making her look even gentler and more serene than usual.
Her long silver hair had been carefully styled, gathered into a side ponytail at the back, with a few mischievous strands falling loose beside her cheeks, swaying lightly with her subtlest movements.
She was resting her cheek in one hand, her gaze settled on the grey, overcast sky outside the window where a few scattered snowflakes drifted—lost in thoughts unknown.
"Sorry, am I late?" Russell sat down across from her, breaking the quiet.
"No," Mary said, coming back to herself, a gentle smile instantly rippling through those azure-blue eyes. "I only just got here myself."
The waiter soon brought over an exquisite three-tiered pastry stand and a pot of black tea giving off a mellow fragrance.
Several plates of desserts, much like last time's, were arranged in an artful, staggered pattern on the white porcelain dishes, like works of art.
Russell gave them a cursory glance and noticed something seemed to be missing.
"I remember you don't much like things that are too sweet."
Mary picked up the teapot and poured Russell a cup of warm black tea.
"So this time I made a point of telling the kitchen to lower the sweetness a little—and to take the macarons off, while they were at it."
"How thoughtful. Anyone who didn't know better might think you were treating me again this time."
Russell lifted his teacup and took a light sip. The richness of the black tea and the silkiness of the milk intertwined on his tongue, struck just right.
"Let me say it up front—I didn't bring any money this time." The girl blinked. "If you can't cover it, we might just have to stay behind and work as waiters."
"That'd suit me fine. A free Afternoon tea, and a job at the Phedon Tea Room thrown in for nothing."
Russell's clowning around successfully made Mary laugh.
The girl covered her mouth, letting out a soft, silver-bell laugh, those azure-blue eyes curving into crescent moons as though brimming with an entire spring's worth of sunlight.
"Then you'd better put on a good show," she said, barely holding back her laughter, yet with a note of earnest teasing in her tone.
"This tea room doesn't hire waiters who are all talk."
"My professional skills are quite strong, actually."
Russell picked up a scone and unhurriedly spread jam over it.
"Serving tea and water, wiping tables, sweeping floors—I'm well versed in all of it."
"I can tell," Mary said noncommittally. "After all, you are Charlotte's assistant."
She deliberately put extra weight on the word "assistant."
Russell didn't catch anything amiss in it and merely shrugged.
"A man who can wait on Charlotte properly will succeed at anything."
As he spoke, he popped the scone into his mouth.
"Mm, tastes good," he nodded with satisfaction.
"Compared to the ones you make yourself?"
"I don't usually make desserts. That's Mrs. Hudson's hobby."
Russell said.
"I've already stolen away her right to make breakfast. If I took even this little joy of hers as well, she'd blow up at me."
"It sounds like life on Baker Street is really quite entertaining for you all."
Mary lifted her own teacup, using its rim to hide the corners of her mouth curving upward.
"Ever since Charlotte moved in, it certainly has been," Russell said noncommittally.
"You never know—when you push open the door to 221B, whether you'll be greeted by a piping-hot Afternoon tea, or a chemistry experiment that could blow the whole street sky-high."
"Charlotte's still working on that?" A flicker of curiosity crossed Mary's eyes.
"She is," Russell spread his hands helplessly. "Though lately she's quieted down quite a bit—probably found a new toy."
With that, he steered the conversation toward Hannigan's case.
Mary listened quietly, nodding along now and then, those azure-blue eyes always carrying a faint smile.
"So, is Charlotte still studying those lists?" She picked up a small, dainty strawberry tart and nibbled at it.
"Mm," Russell nodded. "We're thinking Pilsen might have his own connections."
He explained.
"After all, The Professor was only active for a short time. In London's underworld, Pilsen's name carries far more weight than that mysterious puppet-master behind the scenes.
So it's possible Billson is holed up right now in some safehouse provided by an old associate."
At that, Mary raised an eyebrow and nodded thoughtfully.
"That does sound reasonable. So, any progress?"
She asked, "Have you, say, roughly pinned down Pilsen's range of movement, or anything like that?"
"Not yet. Lestrade only sent over Pilsen's social network of connections this morning—Charlotte's still filtering through it."
Russell picked up a cookie and added, "But knowing her temperament, she'll probably have a result before long."
"It seems this Afternoon tea is destined to be spent discussing the case."
Mary set down the strawberry tart in her hand and let out a sigh of feigned helplessness, but those smiling eyes betrayed her true feelings.
"Sorry, force of habit." Russell realized he'd steered the conversation off track again.
"If you don't mind, we can talk about something else."
"Such as?"
"I don't know—you tell me?" Russell lobbed the question back to Mary.
At that, Mary was slightly taken aback.
"I…" The girl held her teacup in both hands, her fingertips brushing against the cup's wall.
"I don't really have anything to talk about."
"How could that be? What do you usually do?"
"Go to class, and then chat with you in the classroom," Mary said.
"I mean when you're not in class," Russell asked. "When you're at home, for instance?"
"Waiting for class to…"
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