It is always a little awkward when Mr. Rochester invites over a pair of guests and I only really care for one of them.  I don’t have anything against Mr. Holmes, per se, but he can be a bit odd at times.  I prefer the good doctor who is so polite and well mannered.  I wish Mr. Holmes would let him speak for the both of them all the time.  Mr. Holmes is certainly bright; my goodness, he seems to have knowledge in everything (although between you and me, he seems contrary to professors.)   He is intelligent enough to hold a civil conversation; he just doesn’t seem to have the desire to do so.

Dr. Watson is lovely and I spend the majority of my time trying to hold a conversation with him.  He’s a widower and I know a bevy of eligible young ladies who would like to be on the arm of an accomplished doctor but the manic pace Mr. Holmes keeps doesn’t allow for Dr. Watson to have much of a social life, poor man.  And it’s not fair either, Dr. Watson left to mourn his dear wife alone while Mr. Holmes pines for some lady in a photograph; those two gentlemen should be mindful before they let another one slip away.

We had Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson over for dinner the other day.  Dr. Watson asked us if we were available; it seems Mr. Holmes is a bit of a handful when he is not working on one of his cases.  Well, of course, I am always happy to oblige as a hostess so we had Cook make her lavender biscuits since the gentlemen bring us a month’s supply of honey when they come by.  I had Grace open all the windows in the drawing room as Mr. Holmes refuses to put down that pipe of his; that thing is in his mouth so much his profile is an ampersand.  We had to sequester poor Pilot to the kennel as we have found a dog’s bark can put the both of them quite on edge. Mr. Rochester asked Grace to pull out every deck of cards, chess piece and checkerboard since Mr. Holmes is ever so fond of games.  If you ask me, he never gets very far with them before he’s on to the next thing.

The one trait I could do without is the way Mr. Holmes scrutinizes every single thing in Thornfield.  We can be sitting there having a perfectly delightful conversation with Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes will sniff the lining of Mr. Rochester’s jacket only to tell us the man who made the jacket was Irish because of the whiskey he drank when it was made.  Well for heavens sake, everyone knows Mr. O’Connor likes to keep in his cups while working; he once sewed my bustle in the wrong place and I was receiving congratulatory “Bundle of Joy” salutations for weeks after.  And Mr. Holmes has this fascination with shoes.  You can’t walk near him without him grabbing your ankle to tell you when the last time you shucked the mud off your sole was.  Is this necessary?  I think he’s judging me.

But, as I have said, Dr. Watson makes it all worthwhile.  He is a master of directing Mr. Holmes back into the topic at hand.  And he has the most marvelous tales, why I can hardly believe them!  There is one thing that always astonishes me whenever they come; there is an odd four-year gap between stories.  It’s as if they just took a hiatus and re-entered life as if back from the dead.  Bachelors, who knows with them?


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