The Magpie & The Raven

o n e

Chrysanthemums had always been Eudoria Holmes' favourite, Caliope was always planting them for her. On the whole, the woman liked her garden rather rugged, wild, but her chrysanthemums? They had to be cared for, watered twice daily and wrapped up in winter.

A chrysanthemum could never die.

Caliope liked that about her employer, how passionate she could get about things that may seem silly to others, almost as much as she liked the rest of the garden being left to her own green-fingered touch.

The day Eudoria Homes went 'missing' Caliope surrounded the doorway with chrysanthemums, half upon her daughter Enola's request and half upon her own, so the lady of the house would feel the place could become her home again. The day after the pair of them planted chrysanthemums all the way along the drive and halfway down the lane so she would know her way home. Neither seemed to work.

Every failed effort pulled Caliope further from hope, almost as much as it did Enola.

Now, on the seventh day, Caliope hauled her watering can around, giving each patch of chrysanthemums their first watering of the day as she waved Enola off down the lane. Enola had taken her mother's old bicycle and set off to collect her brothers from the station in that fashion upon the revelation that Ferndale Hall did not in fact have a carriage. Caliope tried not to worry too much as the young girl wobbled and cursed her way down the lane.

Instead, she finished her morning watering and headed out to the woodland around the back of the hall to fetch mushrooms for lunch and wildflowers for any and all surfaces that could hold them. Caliope relished in the feeling of low-hanging branches snagging and pulling at the loose linen of the overshirt Eudoria had given her some months ago and she now wore over one of her more worn-down day dresses. They would catch and hold at her sleeves, pull, snap or release and it was as though she were a part of the woodland itself.

This would be what Caliope missed the most when she inevitably had to move back to the city and her uncles awaiting lodgings. She knew she could no longer stay at Ferndale Hall, not when her employer was no longer in a position to employ her. Caliope was proud of Eudoria (and a little bit in awe of her) and everything she was doing but she was sad to leave her position here, and she was still struggling with the fact she couldn't tell Enola about any of it. Some small part of her was a little angry about it in fact.

By the time she returned, basket full of mushrooms, wildflowers and the odd intriguing stone or two, Caliope was cutting it close for lunchtime and there was a carriage trotting back down the driveway. The same carriage had near enough ran her down when she'd rounded the side of the hall and stumbled out onto the driveway, still trying to untangle a stray twig from her hair. The boy had shouted at her. Caliope had apologised profusely, flushing red with adrenaline and embarrassment. She assumed Enola's brothers had called for the carriage and was mildly thankful for the implication that Enola had not had to cycle home (given that the route back was uphill).

Caliope entered in her usual quiet fashion, pausing briefly to mourn her trampled chrysanthemums around the front door, and hurried through to the kitchen.

"You haven't started lunch have you?" She asked the Holmes' sweet housekeeper Mrs. Lane as she set about separating the mushrooms out onto the counter.

"Yes, but only just don't fret." The woman responds with a kindly smile over her shoulder. Then, noticing the mushrooms, "Oh! You didn't? They're perfect, thank you so much, Miss Watson!"

"Always!" Caliope grins back, glowing with the praise.

Then she sets off again, distributing the flowers into preexisting vases around the hallways, the games room, the library, the sitting room, the parlour, Enola's room, hers and Mrs. Lane's rooms alike (Eudoria truly was a generous employer and never had them stay out in the servants quarters), and, finally, she placed her last vase of flowers at the threshold to Eudoria's room.

It's here that her separate, flower-filed, daydreamed world is pulled from her as a harsh, "what the devil are you doing, girl?" crashes through the room.

Caliope rocks backwards, head snapping up to face the intrusion. Her sudden movement causes so much disturbance that water sloshes out of the vase and across her hand, soaking the cuffed sleeve of her overshirt. It's cold.

Not as cold as the shock that comes with finding two men standing in Eudoria Holme's room.

With a little, startled noise in the back of her throat Caliope steadies the vase and rights herself.

"Well?" Demands the same voice. she can see now that it belongs to the man to her right who, despite his height, cane, booming voice and moustache looks thoroughly uncomfortable.

The other just looks mildly amused, by her or the situation Caliope can't tell.

"I-" she points helplessly at the flowers, struggling to find her words in such a surreal situation, "I'm sorry sir, I was just bringing Ms. Holmes her flowers... she doesn't like people in her space..."

Caliope trails off, unable to make her last comment any less pointed at the way they're standing in Eudoria's space without a care in the world.

Both sets of eyebrows in the room rise.

"I did try to tell them." Chimes in another voice from Caliope's right and she squeaks, tripping to her left in surprise.

"Christ Enola-!"

"Watch your mouth young lady!" That same imposing, male voice demands and Caliope slaps a hand over her mouth, stepping back and ducking down into herself somewhat on instinct. She forgot how it was to speak when around men.

"Mycroft." Another voice adds in, this one calm and smooth but with a notable warning tone.

The other man looks significantly less amused now and his gaze is flicking between the first man, Mycroft, and Caliope almost as though he's trying to figure something out.

"No, Sherlock," These must be Enola's brothers then, "she is not a Holmes and she comes in here and speaks with such petty, foul language at my ward no less!"

Nothing but heavy breath sits in the air after Mycroft's outburst.

Feeling Enola's tension from beside her Caliope nods softly, bowing her head and picking up the old vase of wilted flowers that she last left at Eudoria's door, all the while trying to ignore the eyes on her. Then she leaves the group, softly squeezing Enola's shoulder on her way past.

It isn't until she's back in the kitchen that she can finally breathe again, setting her basket and the old flowers down as she gulps down great steadying mouthfuls of air. So desperately it hurts.

"Miss Watson?" A gentle voice tries, rubbing a comforting hand up and down Caliope's arm.

Without opening her eyes Caliope recognises the familiar comfort and wraps her own hand around Mrs. Lane's, where it rests still on her arm, dropping her head to her chest and sighing deeply. She leans against the older woman, savouring her comfort for a moment before she has to move on with her day.

Caliope takes her lunch of fresh bread and hearty soup in the kitchen, deciding her status as a lowly gardener allows her the right to such privacy. The young woman had never met Enola's brothers before as she herself was a good couple of years younger than Sherlock so the pair were long gone by the time her employment at the Hall began and, quite frankly, she was glad of it. If their interactions so far where anything to go by Caliope thought the brothers cruel and hubristic at worst, and no less entitled and self-important than every other man she'd encountered at best.

She spent the rest of the day buried in her garden, weeding and watering and planting until the sudden fear of returning to the city, to society that her encounter with Mycroft Holmes had brought on faded into the back of her mind. She could ignore the train ticket she had booked for two days time. For just a little longer.