Caught in the act

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Absolutely not.

That’s reassuring.

I insert the key into the lock.

Rose will be angry with me.

Certainly.

But only a little.

I’m far less convinced of that.

The door opens.

We step into the apartment. A long hallway stretches out before us.

Oh!

I stop in my tracks.

I was expecting something more extraordinary.

Were you perhaps hoping to find a time machine in the middle of the sitting room?

I admit the thought crossed my mind.

Near the entrance, a coat rack holds a dark coat and a hat. A copper umbrella stand waits neatly on the floor.

That looks like her.

How so?

Everything is in its place.

That’s exactly what struck me as well.

We move forward slowly.

The walls are covered with photographs: England, India, Jamaica, Belgium…

Do you think she visited all those places?

Watson remained silent for a few seconds.

Catherine…

Yes?

We’re talking about Rose.

Ah, right. Silly question.

We continue our exploration.

An elegant side table stands in the middle of the hallway.

This door?

The study, I suppose.

I open it.

My God…

An enormous bookcase covers an entire wall. The books reach almost to the ceiling. Facing the windows, a large desk disappears beneath folders, notebooks, and maps.

I take back what I said.

About what?

Rose is incapable of keeping a desk tidy.

That’s not clutter.

Oh really?

It’s a complex organizational system that only geniuses understand.

And the geniuses themselves?

Not always.

In one corner, an easel displays a family tree covered with notes.

So this is where her investigations are born.

More importantly, this is why they never end.

I quietly close the door.

The next room is the bedroom.

A large bed occupies the center of the room. Two bedside tables flank the headboard. A wardrobe, a dressing table, an elegant folding screen, and a washroom complete the ensemble.

I look around.

It’s surprisingly normal.

What were you expecting?

I don’t know.

An Egyptian mummy hidden in a wardrobe?

Perhaps.

You read too many adventure novels.

With Rose, you never know.

That’s true enough.

We then make our way to the sitting room.

Oh…

This time, I come to an abrupt halt. The fireplace dominates the main wall. Two comfortable armchairs surround a small round table. In the bow window, light filters through the glass while the treetops in the park sway gently. A gramophone rests on its stand.

That’s her armchair.

How can you be so sure?

The one on the left.

Why?

I don’t know. I just know.

Watson observed for a moment.

Indeed.

You see!

That’s unsettling.

It’s feminine intuition.

That’s even more unsettling.

I burst out laughing.

I really like this place.

So do I.

Watson let his gaze wander around the room.

I understand why she always comes back here.

Yes.

The world is fascinating, but it’s comforting to know where you belong.

That sounds like something Rose would say.

It probably is something Rose would say.

We remain silent for a few seconds.

Then I whisper:

You know, Watson…

Yes?

Before today, Rose was a character.

And now?

I look at the armchair to the left of the fireplace.

Now she’s a person.

Finally, we enter the kitchen.

The room is immaculate. The copperware gleams. The dishes are perfectly arranged. Not the slightest sign of disorder.

I refuse to believe it.

Believe what?

No one can keep a kitchen this clean.

Rose can.

That’s unsettling.

That’s Rose.

Watson was about to reply when a sound echoed through the hallway. We froze. A key turned in the lock. Then the front door opened.

Oh…

Catherine…

Yes?

I believe we’ve just been caught red-handed.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Then Rose’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a coat still damp from the rain and holding a closed umbrella in one hand.

Her gaze moves from me to Watson. Then from Watson to me. Her eyebrows draw together.

May I ask what you’re doing in my home?

Silence.

We’re visiting.

I see.

It was very interesting.

Rose folds her arms.

Without an invitation.

Technically

Without an invitation.

Yes.

The silence lasts for a few seconds. Then Rose’s lips begin to tremble. Finally, she bursts out laughing.

I should have known.

I let out a sigh of relief.

You’re not angry?

Perhaps I should be.

Perhaps.

But I know you two far too well.

She leans her umbrella against the wall.

So?

So what?

Since you’ve inspected my apartment from top to bottom, I imagine you’ve formed an opinion.

It’s just like you.

Rose tilts her head slightly.

Meaning?

Warm, organized, welcoming, and full of mysteries.

I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.

She removes her coat.

However, now that you’ve finished your real-estate investigation…

Yes?

I’m going to make tea.

Watson freezes.

Tea?

Yes.

Hot tea?

Usually, yes.

Catherine…

Yes?

If she comes anywhere near me with a cup, let me remind you that I’ve experienced this before.

I stifle a laugh.

Only once.

Once is enough when one happens to be a fountain pen.

Rose, who had heard perfectly well, called over her shoulder:

Don’t worry, Watson. I have no intention of steeping you.

That’s excellent news.

However…

Rose?

If you keep snooping around in my study, I make no promises.

Watson remains silent.

Catherine?

Yes?

I think she’s joking.

I watch Rose take out the teapot.

I think so too.

Are you sure?

Not entirely.

A few minutes later, the three friends are settled comfortably in the sitting room. Rose naturally occupies the armchair on the left. The teapot steams gently on the small round table. Outside, the trees in the park sway in the wind. Inside, the clock marks the passing seconds.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Rose hands me a cup.

Then she looks at Watson.

And for you?

Nothing liquid, thank you.

Not even a cartridge of black ink?

Now that changes everything.

Rose smiles.

Good.

And for a few moments, they simply remain there, listening to the clock keeping time.

Watson!

Yes, Rose?

When I’m following a lead, my apartment isn’t quite so tidy.

I knew it!

Come on, Watson, let’s go home and let Rose rest.

Goodbye, Rose.

Goodbye, Rose.

Goodbye, my friends. Have a safe journey home.

And never forget: for Miss Rose, an anachronism is merely a detail. After all, when one travels through the centuries, one inevitably brings back a few souvenirs from one’s temporal adventures.