The Flower Seller ( WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 30

One of the largest men Nicole had ever seen emerged from a group in the far corner of the prison yard. Close to seven feet tall, Nicole calculated, his attention fixed firmly on her. Grabbing both lapels of her jacket with one enormous hand he yanked her to a standing position, his breath a mix of stale beer and raw onions. "What 'av we 'ere?" he said, to a gathering audience.

"A new plaything," Sherlock replied, casually. "Be mindful not to break him."

"Needs fattening up before I breaks 'im."

Nicole felt her feet leave the ground as the giant of a man lifted her into the air. "Help!" she managed to choke out, as his grip tightened.

"I suggest you put Archie down," Sherlock continued, without a hint of concern.

"Or, what?"

"Or, I take you down as I did before. How's the jaw?"

"Lucky punch. A rematch. A shilling says you can't."

"Ten pounds."

"Ain't got ten bleedin' pounds."

"Then you are hardly worth my effort. Now, be a good chap and put my assistant down."

The man released his grip sending Nicole tumbling to the floor, much to the amusement of the crowd who clapped and cheered. Picking herself up she looked around at the faces of men eager to be entertained. "Tell us one of yer stories," a man shouted from the back.

"Only if you be quiet, and sit nicely," Sherlock replied, sucking on his pipe.

To her utter amazement a hush fell over the group, grown men taking up position on the cobbles, waiting for him to begin. Even the giant managed to find a space large enough to take all of his sizeable frame, pushing aside several smaller men to accommodate his lengthy legs. She took up residence once more on the edge of an upturned tea crate Sherlock was using as a seat. "Get on with it," someone shouted. "Me arse is bleedin' freezin' down 'ere."

Laughter erupted, Sherlock merely placing one finger over his lips to bring about silence. It was as if he were a respected schoolmaster, loved by his pupils who would obey his commands simply because of who he was. She was unable to fathom how this man, renowned for capturing criminals, could have these rogues sitting on cold stones waiting to hear a story. Clearly, many knew him, she guessed, straightening the lapels on her jacket, some might even have come under his watchful eye. Yet, here they all were about to enjoy a tale, or two, from a man who seemed perfectly comfortable in their company. "Have you heard the one about the speckled band of Sidmouth Hall?"

Shouts of "no" came from the men. "Gotta 'ave deaths," someone piped up. Another ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

"I can assure you, it includes death. And, so to begin."

And, so he did. She listened as he explained how a man used an ingenious method to kill off those who would inherit his late wife's wealth. "Watson and I met the young woman who feared her stepfather was threatening her life. He had practised medicine in Calcutta, India, marrying the young woman's mother while there."

"What's that got to do with a band?" someone called out.

"All in good time. The young woman's sister had died two years earlier, shortly before she was to be married. Her dying words, the speckled band! Now engaged herself, the young woman begins to hear strange noises and observe strange activities around the Hall, where she resides with her stepfather. Watson and I arranged to spend a night there to ascertain the reason for these disturbances, much to the stepfather's displeasure."