"In that case,"
Mary set down her teacup, those azure-blue eyes appearing especially bright in the afternoon sun.
"Then I suppose I can look forward to seeing how you perform in the papers."
"Just buy a copy to show your support," Russell joked. "And don't forget to cut us in on the profits."
"All right," Mary laughed along with him.
"If the article is interesting enough, I wouldn't mind buying a few extra copies—one for each of the servants at home."
Pleasant topics always make the time fly.
After they finished discussing the matter of the interview, the two of them went on to chat about all sorts of things, from north to south.
From the stuffy, dull professors at Imperial College, to that ginger cat on Baker Street that was always sneaking bites of Mrs. Hudson's biscuits.
They talked about a great deal, and yet it seemed as though they'd talked about nothing at all.
Most of the time, it was Russell doing the talking and Mary doing the listening.
No irksome cases, no lingering conspiracies, none of those masked, insincere probings.
Just simply sitting here, with someone he liked, chatting about trivial, even somewhat childish little things.
The desserts on the table had already been reduced to crumbs, and the black tea in the pot had been refilled for the third time.
It wasn't until Mary glanced out the window at the street illuminated by lamplight that she belatedly realized how late it had gotten.
"Time really flies," Mary sighed.
"It always feels like hardly any time has passed, and yet the sky has already gone dark."
"It does," Russell replied noncommittally.
"It seems... I should be heading back." she said softly, a faint, barely perceptible trace of wistfulness in her voice.
"It's all right, there will be other chances," Russell said gently.
He rose to his feet, walked over to the coat rack, took down his own trench coat, and then picked up Mary's cream-colored cashmere coat.
"I'll see you off."
Carrying that coat, he came to a stop before Mary.
The girl looked at Russell, and in those clear, azure-blue eyes was reflected his face, wearing a soft, gentle smile.
"Yes, there will be other chances."
She laughed softly, then slowly stood and turned around, leaving Russell to face the slender back beneath that cascade of silver hair.
Russell smiled knowingly, stepped forward, and gently draped that soft, warm coat over her shoulders.
His movements were light, very tender, as though afraid of disturbing her carefully arranged hair, smooth as moonlight.
A familiar, faint scent of white tea, with his approach, drifted almost imperceptibly beneath his nose.
The light of the setting sun fell unevenly across the girl's long hair, and for a moment, Russell felt as though his eyes had deceived him.
In that brief instant, when the last ray of the setting sun slanted through the window and fell upon the ends of the girl's hair, that moon-bright silver-white seemed to be gilded with a warm, faint primrose yellow.
It was an exceedingly beautiful color.
Like a daisy blooming in early summer, like a drop of honey accidentally fallen into melting cream.
Warm and soft, as though one could smell the fragrance of wheat fields baked by the sun.
Russell's movements paused slightly. He blinked, uncertain, thinking his eyes must have played a trick on him.
After all, the setting sun was just such a magician, most skilled at gilding all the things of the world in colors unlike those of daytime.
It could dye a drab, dusty street golden, and brush a pale cloud with crimson.
So then, what was so strange about it adding a touch of faint primrose to silver-white hair?
It must be the light.
He told himself this in his heart, yet his fingers involuntarily lingered, the pads of them almost brushing against that lock of hair.
When he tried to look more closely, that fleeting primrose yellow had already vanished, like a stone cast into a lake, disappearing into that rippling, silvery shimmer.
"What is it?"
Feeling the movement behind her, Mary turned her head to the side, a hint of puzzlement in those azure-blue eyes.
"It's nothing," Russell withdrew his gaze and straightened the collar of her coat, his expression still that same relaxed, casual look.
"I just suddenly thought that today's sunset is very beautiful."
"Is it?" Mary followed his gaze toward the window.
"What a pity, it's almost over."
"But it will rise again tomorrow, won't it?"
Russell said with a smile, giving it no further thought, treating it merely as a beautiful illusion.
He arranged the cashmere coat neatly, letting it properly cover the girl's slender shoulder line, then withdrew his hands and took half a step back.
"There." Russell said softly, having straightened her collar.
"Thank you." Mary's voice was very soft.
She did not turn around.
The girl's gaze fell upon the window glass, which reflected the blurry interior, and also reflected Russell's indistinct figure.
Mary tilted her head slightly, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the coat upon her shoulders—the one he had draped over her with his own hands, his fingertips having brushed so closely past the ends of her hair.
"Let's go."
she said.
The two of them walked out of the tea room, one after the other.
The evening air carried a damp chill, and the streetlamps had already come on, shrouding the Kensington District in a hazy, warm halo of light.
The carriage was parked not far away, the driver leaning quietly against its door, waiting.
"Well then," Mary stopped when they reached the carriage. She turned around, tilting her head up slightly to look at Russell.
"This is far enough."
"Mm." Russell nodded. "Take care on the way."
"You too." she replied softly, then, gathering the hem of her skirt, turned and stepped into the carriage.
The carriage door shut with a "bang," sealing away the girl's voice, soft as snow.
Russell stood where he was, watching the black carriage slowly pull away, then merge into that flow of traffic woven from lamplight and the colors of night, until at last it vanished from sight.
Only then did he turn around and blend into the London streetscape, lit as bright as day by the gas lamps.
·
Russell returned to Baker Street, still carrying a sandwich bought from a roadside vendor along with some roasted potatoes, and a bag of hot chestnuts.
Pushing open the door of 221B Baker Street, he found Mrs. Hudson washing dishes at that moment.
Russell greeted her, then headed straight upstairs.
He pushed open the door to Charlotte's room, and before he could say a word, Charlotte's voice came first.
"So the Phedon Tea Room's dinner now serves roasted potatoes and hot chestnuts too?"
The girl sitting in the armchair looked up at Russell and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't tell me you settled the bill and didn't even have money left over for a meal?"
"I just couldn't be bothered to eat at a restaurant, and wanted to hurry back."
Russell rolled his eyes, then walked over and sat down beside Charlotte, offering the bag of hot chestnuts in her direction.
"Want one?"
Charlotte glanced at the still-steaming bag of chestnuts, then looked at Russell, and in the end still reached out and picked one from it.
She toyed with that round, plump chestnut between her fingertips for a moment, feeling the warmth radiating from its thin outer shell, before unhurriedly beginning to peel it.
"Any progress?" Russell asked as he peeled a chestnut.
"I suppose so." Charlotte tossed the peeled chestnut into her mouth, speaking indistinctly.
"My preliminary suspicion is that Pilsen may still be in the Southwark District."
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