The Eyes of Max Carrados

Independent, Selective, RP Blog for Ernest Bramah's Max Carrados

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✨ Happy birthday David John Tennant (18th April 1971) 💫

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timewantstohappen:

Rip focused on tracking first Parkinson’s and then Carrados’ movements through the room, trying to put actions to the sounds he was hearing. At one point he could sense his host step closer and heard him put the cup down on the table next to him and just a moment later he could smell the hot water. “Thank you.” Reaching out slowly and very carefully he felt for the cup and picked it up, somehow managing to not spill a single drop. He thought about how to reply, about what to tell someone who had been in the same situation but had managed to come out on top of it. He had no illusions that the man’s past must have been very challenging on an individual level and it was good to know that he had found a way to deal with it - but it could hardly be compared to what had been done to him. Or how losing his sight was going to have an influence on his own future and that of the time lines he had sworn to protect… Finding out how his other senses were going to make up for his loss wasn’t something that would make a difference for him. But, of course, it would be rude to talk about any of this. And so he listened to not appear ungrateful, hoping that there was at least a tiny bit of advice that would help him. “I haven’t felt anything but useless lately,” Rip confessed softly. “I can’t move through my own home without getting lost or tripping over… furniture. I understand that I need time, that getting used to this is a slow process. I have people who are very supportive and patient, they want to help.” 

A soft sigh. “I apologise, I realise what this must sound like to you.”

Max didn’t feel sorry for Mr Hunter, but he did at least sympathise. From Parkinson’s description of his guest at their previous meeting, he knew that the man was roughly the same age as himself and probably expected that his life would go in a somewhat different direction. That combined with the unexpected, probably traumatic, loss of his sight would affect anyone badly.

“Do not apologise. Out of everyone that you may discuss this with, I would hope that I can understand your frustrations. An entire fifth of your perception of the world has been taken from you. There is, if you like, a period of mourning that must be gone through, and it cannot be hurried or dismissed. It is quite possible that your sighted friends may not understand this, although it sounds as if you have been lucky in that regard. I found that it was rather a difficult test for some of my acquaintances, many of whom decided that they did not wish to retain their association with a blind man, and there were others who pitied me so unbearably that I simply could not be in their company.”

Max dismissed that thought. Most of those people had hardly been worth his time anyway. However he did remember that the rejection had been rather hard to take at the time, when he had needed his friends the most. He had since made new and better friends. He sipped his tea again.

“Still, we must move forwards, and I’m certain that your intellect has not been diminished by your loss of sight. The temptation is to allow oneself to focus only on what has been lost and forget that your inner being is intact. I leave the chasing of criminal suspects to Inspector Beadle, but I am of no less use to him because of that. And I realise that I can blithely proclaim that from a position of having had several years to come to terms with my situation, but I hope you will agree that I am a productive member of society, more productive than many, even. Which therefore also implies at least the possibility of you being the same.”

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{ Reblog if your RP character is Victorian era (1837-1901) and independent }

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Technically Max’s stories are set towards the end of this, but I’d love to RP with some more characters around this time period.

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Robert Stephens is Max Carrados in episode 1.2 of The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, 1971. Rather misleading title as no Sherlock Holmes features but “based on the best-selling anthologies of Victorian and Edwardian detective fiction, The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes features the world famous consulting detective’s fictional rivals in the fog-shrouded crime capital of London.”

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The audio book read by Arthur Darvill will always be my favourite version of Max, but the Max that appears in this episode of The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes is still quite fun.

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timewantstohappen:

It was more than he expected - and probably more than he deserved, but the fact that Carrados was still willing to listen to him had him relax slightly and he almost let out a relieved sigh. It would have been very awkward to have to tell the Legends that he had managed to annoy the very person who had agreed to help him.

“I appreciate that,” he said and then fell silent, listening to the manservant move about the room. He had not been aware of him approaching and he was confused as to how Carrados had apparently sensed him when he couldn’t.

“Earl Grey,” he said after a moment, only barely remembering that he had been asked to choose. Now that he was aware that someone was with them in the room it was easier to make out where they were. 

As for the questions…

“To be really, perfectly honest with you… I am here because my team believes I need help. With my situation. I appreciate them trying to help and I would… ask you… if I knew what to ask for. I believe they are hoping for you to have some answers that will provide me with some kind of insight to make this easier, but I am afraid there is nothing that you… or anyone for that matter, can say that would change how I feel about this.”

Parkinson entered the room with the tray of tea, and placed it down on the usual table.

“Thank you, Parkinson, I will pour the tea,” said Max, once again feeling that he would show off just a little, or at least prove to Mr Hunter that blindness did not make one incapable.

“If you’re sure, sir,” replied his butler.

“Yes, I can manage,” said Max. He rose from his seat and moved across the room to the table where the tea was, hearing Parkinson leave them alone again, the door closing behind him.

Max skirted his fingers across the tray, finding the cups and tea pot. He used the heat of the tea, his fingers feeling its warmth through the fine china, to ensure that as he filled two cups, neither overflowed. Then he picked them up and placed one down on the table beside Mr Hunter. He knew the exact locations of every piece of furniture in the room so it wasn’t particularly hard for him to place the cup down without spilling a drop. The other he took back to his seat, sitting back down.

“If you turn to your left, beside your chair, you will find a small, round side table, and in the centre there is a china cup and saucer. Please do be careful, the tea is hot.”

Max sipped his tea.

“In the early days of my blindness I too found that I had a great deal to come to terms with, but as you can tell, I do not lead any less of a full life than I would have, had my sight not been taken from me. In fact, I have found that there are at least some compensations. People do tend to underestimate a blind man and that is quite useful in my profession.”

He paused, and sipped his tea again. The cup clinking on the saucer.

“However, I spent a great deal of time relearning the mundane and teaching myself to use my other senses to their utmost. I discovered an entire new world to explore, with new experiences and strange new perceptions. Hearing, touch, taste, smell... I suddenly realised that I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings at all. It was something of a revelation.”

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Of course.

He should have known that Carrados would want to have an explanation for their past meeting. He remembered wondering briefly about whether or not he would bother to check the, admittedly, somewhat clumsy background Rip had created for himself back then, but it had not mattered once the mission was done since he had not intended to meet him again. 

“I suppose you deserve an honest answer.” Rip sighed, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose tiredly. He didn’t want to lie to Carrados, even when it had not been his own idea to come here he still felt like he owed him the truth, but he could not tell him what he really wanted to know.

“You are correct, I am not a detective nor am I a part of said special task force. However, as much as I would like to tell you more about who I work for, I can’t give you any details. It is a matter of personal interest as well as certain circumstances that are beyond my… control. I can tell you that I consider myself to be a special agent who is not involved with the government in any way. I am also not what you would probably call ‘active’ nor am I a part of any investigation at this point.”

Rip gave a deep sigh.

“My name is Rip Hunter, but I’m afraid that you won’t find any information about me anywhere since, officially, I do not exist. My visit here is of an entirely private nature, but I will, of course, accept your decision if you prefer to not continue this meeting.”

The reply perhaps raised more questions than it provided answers. However, Max got the distinct impression that Mister Hunter would not give up further information. At least not at this time, and he certainly had no wish to turn the man away from his door. After all, Max liked a good mystery and Rip Hunter was most definitely that.

“Whilst I despise deception in the guilty, I can forgive it in the well-intentioned. I sense no further lie in your words. Perhaps once you have got to know me better you may feel able to give me another small piece of the puzzle, but I will leave that to your judgement. There is certainly no need for us to abandon our conversation.”

He heard the clink of cups in the hallway, and noted that Parkinson was approaching with their tea. Perhaps he might allow himself to show off a little, and also alert Mr Hunter that another person would be entering the room, since he doubted he enjoyed such mundane surprises at the moment.

“Firstly, Parkinson is approaching, so you should tell me how you take your tea, and then we will turn our full attention to why you are here. I’m sure you have questions for me.”

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timewantstohappen:

It seemed like such an easy task - cross the room to sit down in a chair. Something he had done so often in his life that he had never thought much about it. But what had once had been so normal, now presented a rather difficult challenge to him, one that was making him feel helpless in a way he had never experienced before.

His host started moving and Rip followed, his fingers tightening on the man’s arm. He couldn’t help but count the steps toward the chair, trying to ignore the strong feeling of embarrassment that was creeping up his throat at his own helplessness. 

“I assumed that Ray…. that Doctor Palmer had told you about my situation,” he said as they were half-way across the room and for a moment he wondered if it would have made this easier. Given that he still didn’t know in what way this meeting was supposed to help him, he found himself wondering if Carrados would have all the answers even before he could figure out the questions - just like he had done during the case that had brought them together.

When they finally reached the chair, Rip did as Carrados had instructed, feeling the back of it and then moving so that he could sit down.

“Thank you for your assistance.”

He was relieved to be sitting down, and at the same time he was still tense. So far he had only been around the Waverider and even though he could no longer see the rooms, he still knew what they looked like and where he was when he entered them. Right now he couldn’t even tell if they were sitting close to a wall or in the middle of the room, a fact that didn’t really make him feel comfortable. 

“I have to admit that I’m not entirely sure how to do… this, but my team seems to be under the impression that I need help from someone who has been where I am now.”

Max paused only briefly to hear that his guest had indeed managed to take his seat, and then moved back towards his armchair. His own footsteps were assured and without hesitation. He sat in his seat and addressed the man opposite him.

“I’m afraid that your Dr Palmer, with the interesting American accent, was somewhat economical with the details of your situation. He mentioned that you had been injured under difficult circumstances and that he hoped I could offer advice on your situation. He said that in a number of different ways and with considerable nervousness, without actually imparting further information. I got the impression that he didn’t wish to give me details that you would prefer to pass on yourself. But, of course, I understand why he thought I might be of help completely now.”

He noted the way that even though Detective Hunter was now seated, he had not heard the springs of the chair moving to suggest that his visitor had relaxed into it. That indicated continued anxiety to Max. But his mention of “a team” was interesting, as he doubted the detective was referring to sports, and his usage was unusual. It was something that he had noted in the man’s speech before, he spoke familiar words but occasionally did not quite use them as expected. He decided that he must address the elephant in the room.

“I would suggest that we start by you telling me who, in fact, you are, because I am very certain that you are not Detective Hunter of the Special Task Force of Scotland Yard, since no such person exists. I took the liberty of checking your credentials after our last meeting. I was not entirely surprised or, to be honest, disappointed, but I was thoroughly curious, and I would prefer to renew our acquaintance on a firm foundation of honesty.”

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timewantstohappen:

He was waiting for it, that moment, the very second when Carrados would realize what exactly he had said and the atmosphere would shift. It happened all the time with the Legends - when they were reminded of what had been done to him, of how much he had been broken. There would be a pause, just for the duration of a heartbeat, really, and he could hear it in their voices: Sympathy, but also pity.

There was no pity in Carrados’ voice. 

A moment of calm acceptance and then he was offering his help without any hesitation. And there was even a joke, something which no one had done before. It wasn’t the funniest he had ever heard by any means, but it was there, an attempt to lighten the mood… and it did make the corners of his lips twitch slightly upwards.

Soft footsteps moved closer and Rip found himself tensing uncomfortably. Max Carrados wasn’t a stranger to him, they had worked together on a mission before and he had come to respect the man for his very unique insight into the situations they had found themselves in - and still his very presence so close to him made Rip want to shrink back against the wall. He wasn’t aware that he was squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, expecting to be touched any moment and trying to steel himself for it.

- don’t touch me don’t touch me PLEASE don’t touch me -

Memories came rushing at him suddenly, of the first moments he had spent with the team, confused, half mad with pain and sleep deprivation and people trying to help him, touching him when he couldn’t see them, hurting him more –

Taking a deep breath, Rip struggled to push them back into the furthermost corner of his mind, his hand tightening convulsively on the cane, almost as if he was considering using it as a weapon.

Again, Carrados surprised him.

It took a moment for his panicked brain to realize that he was given a choice, that there would be no forced contact that he couldn’t control. Slowly he reached out, trembling fingers brushing over the man’s jacket tentatively, then curling around the arm.

“Thank you,” he breathed, suddenly aware of how tense he was and how fast his heart was beating.

Max’s keen hearing took in the changes in his guest’s breathing and he was not surprised to feel that Detective Hunter’s grip was unsteady at first. The American who had called him had hinted that something rather traumatic had happened, without ever putting it into words. Anything which robbed someone of their sight was bound to cause some nerves - Max himself had suffered through a number of unpleasant nightmares, but they had faded relatively quickly.

The increased heart rate and breathing brought to mind a condition that he had once read about, referred to as “Soldier’s Heart” and found mainly in veterans of the Crimean War. His interest was now piqued as to what exactly had happened to Detective Hunter, who he already knew to have something of an air of mystery about him, given that he had been unable to locate him again after their last meeting.

However, first things first. He had a guest in need of assistance.

“We shall move slowly forwards in a straight line. There are no obstacles in your path. I keep the well-used thoroughfares clear for reasons that I’m sure you’re now very aware of. It is ten steps at most to the chair, and then you should be able to put out your hand and feel your way to sitting. I find a touch of the backs of my legs to the seat gives me a good idea of how low or high the chair is. This particular armchair is of a lower height with leather upholstery, and is luckily quite forgiving if you misjudge.”

He paused slightly.

“Let us proceed.”

He stepped forwards, waiting to feel that Detective Hunter was falling into step with him.

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timewantstohappen:

Ray was watching him. 

Rip didn’t need his sight to feel his friend’s eyes on his back. The friend who was currently making sure that he didn’t somehow find a way to get out of this. Because, apparently, his team had decided that this meeting would be good for him, that it would help him. 

And it didn’t matter that he disagreed, it didn’t matter that he did not want to come here, nor that him just standing where he was could potentially trigger an alteration of the time line of the person he had been dropped off to see. None of it mattered to them which meant that he had to see this through.

He vaguely remembered Parkinson from the mission, but he couldn’t put a face to the voice that greeted him and asked him to come inside. If the manservant was surprised to see the cane Rip had brought with him, it didn’t show in his voice.

When Parkinson asked for his coat, Rip almost turned around and left. The sensory net Ray had put inside the fabric was still glitching and would, more often than not, freeze up on him. It was far from working perfectly - but it was so much more than what he was able to make out without it. It had not occurred to him that he would be forced to only rely on his walking aid and it made him feel even more vulnerable than before.

He somehow managed to fight the urge to flee from the situation and stayed reasonably calm as his coat was taken from him. Parkinson then led him to what Rip assumed was Carrados’ office and announced his presence, then seemed to disappear into thin air. 

The friendly greeting was met with a rather tense smile and Rip took a couple of hesitant steps into the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Carrados,” he said as he reached out to place a hand on the wall behind him. “I appreciate you taking some time out of your busy schedule for this… conversation.”

He trailed off, fiddling with the walking stick in his hand. His next words sounded somewhat forced, even to his own ears. “I’m afraid I am going to have to ask for your help… with… uhm… finding the chair. Things… have changed since our last meeting, I… I have lost my sight and I don’t seem to remember the layout of this room well enough.”

Max had already picked up on the rather reluctant steps towards his study, but until Detective Hunter had actually spoken, he hadn’t quite realised the depths of that hesitancy. 

The sound of a cane being used alerted him to some new infirmity that hadn’t been present when he last came into contact with the Detective, even before his visitor confirmed it with his words. The touch on the wall suggested something further was bothering his guest though, and it vaguely reminded him of his own occasional need to locate the walls in a new venue, before he had learnt to make more of his other senses. The halting words, which were clearly difficult for the detective to say, confirmed his tentative hypothesis that his visitor could not, in fact, see his surroundings.

That explained a good deal of the hesitancy, and also gave Max a clue as to what the content of this conversation was likely to be. He remembered quite vividly how difficult the early days of his own impairment had been. However, he doubted that Detective Hunter would want to be pitied and quite frankly, Max didn’t feel it was required. Losing his sight had simply alerted Max to how keen his other senses were, and whilst he didn’t regard it as a blessing, he didn’t regard it as a tragedy either.

He moved towards the detective.

“I understand. You have my condolences. Let me come to you, and I will steer you to a seat. Although of course this is the literal embodiment of the blind leading the blind which is perhaps somewhat amusing, but I do have the advantage of being very familiar with my surroundings.”

He walked the few steps across the room to where he knew the Detective stood. Ascertaining his location was made easier by his nervous fidgeting, which allowed Max to find him using his sense of hearing alone without even much effort. He positioned himself so that the Detective was close and to his diagonal left. Then he turned back towards the fire, ready for the return walk to the chair. He was still within easy arm’s reach and all the Detective had to do was move his hand forwards to find his arm.

“If you reach your left arm forwards, you can take hold of my arm. Then I can guide you.”

Max had felt very strongly that the Detective would prefer to be the one to make physical contact under these circumstances. His strained words had suggested that the Detective was finding asking for aid quite distressing, and he had no wish to wound his pride further.

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Max had just sat down by the fire in his study with a copy of the Times, when he heard the sound of the bell that indicated that someone was at his door. Pulling out his pocket watch, his fingers found the hands of the unusual timepiece that had no glass covering the face, and discovered that his guest was exactly on time. An earlier, rather mysterious, telephone call from an American gentleman had requested this audience with some fascinating details, and an even more intriguing lack of other details.

He concentrated momentarily on the sound of muffled voices, one of which was easily identified as his manservant, Parkinson. The other… was the person that he had been expecting, but too muffled for him to pick out enough of the accent and other vocal cues with exactitude. His visitor was definitely British, and certainly from London, although he would need them to come closer to give the exact area.

There was a knock on the door, and Parkinson entered.

“Sir, a Detective Hunter to see you.”

Max turned towards the sound of Parkinson’s voice, standing to receive his guest and folding his paper to place on the table beside him.

“Of course, Parkinson, please show him in, and bring us some tea.”

“Yes, sir,” said Parkinson, and he heard his manservant step away, leaving his guest to enter the room.

“Welcome to my home, Detective Hunter. I note something of reluctance in your step, but please enter and take a seat. Then perhaps you can elaborate on the reason for your visit. Your American friend skirted around many of the important details, I fear.”

He indicated the seat opposite his own. A leather covered armchair, positioned to be at the correct separation for easy conversation, and just the right distance from the fire so as not to be too hot or too cold.

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About Max

Max Carrados (originally Max Wynn) is an amateur detective in Edwardian London, with the unusual distinction of also being blind. He lives in The Turrets, Richmond, and is financially independent after an American cousin left him a small fortune. He could only inherit the fortune by changing his name to Carrados, which he did not object to. He compensates for his lack of sight by paying close attention to his other senses. Max can read print by finger-touch, use a typewriter, and usually identifies people by their voice alone.

He has been compared to Sherlock Holmes for his insight into mysteries, using his intellect and senses to solve complex cases. He is often called upon by Scotland Yard and his friend Louis Carlyle, the head of a detective agency, to assist in criminal cases. He has a particular expertise in numismatics (coins) and is a keen collector. He is also an alarmingly good marksman, considering his obvious disadvantage.

He has a sighted manservant, Parkinson, who he has trained to observe with impartiality, and often accompanies him. He also is assisted by his Secretary, Mr Greatorex.

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Max Carrados is from a series of mystery stories and books by Ernest Bramah, the first of which was published in 1914. They appeared alongside Sherlock Holmes in the Strand Magazine, in which they often had top billing, and frequently outsold his eminent contemporary at the time.

Several of the stories can be found in an excellent collection of radio plays, read by Arthur Darvill.