And In Walked Portia Adams

A knock at the door

London, Spring 1930

The day was dreary and cool as it often was this time of year, but I felt oddly excited nonetheless. I glanced over at my parents, both asleep in their favourite chairs, the browns and yellows of the settee matching up with the scene outside the window where the snow had disappeared to reveal the sad dead gardens of the year before. Soon bulbs would fight free of their winter fears and burst forth with color and hope, but for now, all was quiet without and within our townhouse.

A knock at the door refuted that thought, and I took another bite of apple before heading straight to answer it before the sound could disturb the rest of the family. I opened the door to our downstairs apartment, pulling it closed behind me carefully even as I squinted at the front door.

I could see two feminine shadows through the small pane of frosted glass, enough to tell me it wasn't a visit from the postman or one of my mates from the academy. I was a mere two weeks away from graduating and already had formed some strong bonds with the men who would become my fellow police constables when we were done.

Opening the door I immediately found myself locked in a gaze with a pair of deep blue eyes. Not a common blue like the sky but a blue I had never seen before. They widened and forced me to remember myself and glance at the older woman who had actually knocked at the door, standing directly in front of the blue-eyed one.

"Afternoon, ladies, what can I do for you?" I said, lowering the apple to my side. The younger of the two adjusted her hat to reveal dark brown curls and I had to force my eyes away to refocus on the woman who spoke now.

"This is Miss Portia Adams,"offered the lady, "and I am Mrs. Irene Jones."

This was the granddaughter to Dr. John Watson? I thought to myself, my eyes switching to the younger again, comparing her face to the one I had seen in photos for many years and finding very little resemblance. She must have taken after her grandmother whoever that was. And her grandmother must have been a dish if her granddaughter was any indication.

"Ah yes, Mrs. Jones, your letter arrived two weeks ago," I said with a smile as I stood aside to invite them in, hoping my close analysis had gone unnoticed, "my parents have been expecting you." The younger of the pair closed the door behind us as I took Mrs. Jones' heavy fur coat. I reached for Portia's next and gave her an encouraging smile, trying to get her to do the same. She had the look of someone deep in thought so I chalked it up to weariness from the trip and led the two of them into our sitting room on the main floor.

"Excuse me, they are quite hard of hearing," I said apologetically, and then took a deep breath and said in a much louder voice, "Mother, Father, our new landlady has arrived."

My mother jerked awake with a start, turning sleepy eyes on us, but dad slept right on through, as did the dogs. That didn't surprise me in the least, so I leaned in close to my mother, "Miss Portia Adams, daughter to Marie Jameson is here, remember? She has taken ownership of the house."

I knew that's all it would take to remind her of the letter - we had talked about it every night at supper since its' arrival, speculating as to the new owners of the townhouse we had rented since I was a small boy. Looking back at these two women as my mother greeted them and asked them to sit down I recognized that my imagination had been quite limited.

I stepped away and into the kitchen to set the kettle to boil, and my mother joined me soon after, glancing at me before whispering that we should wake my father. I agreed, and left her to set out the tray with tea, stepping back into the living room. I carefully woke up my father, and explained the situation as quickly as I could. He as usual seemed unperturbed by the latest additions to our tea time and settled in to listen to Mrs. Jones' description of their trip from New York to London. Portia's eyes were everywhere and I found myself wondering what she thought of her inheritance, hopefully she would like what I had done upstairs at least.