All darkness shall be hid in his secret places: a fire not blown shall consume him.
Job 20:26
Chapter One
Your descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs.
Genesis 15:13
All Sarah remembered was visiting the grounds of an ancestral home which had long since passed into the hands of a different line of her family. Although her great grandfather had been the first born heir to the Mounteney estate, he had been disowned, the reason for which was a deep, dark family secret. Her line of the family did not keep in touch with the current owners although Sarah did not know why. Perhaps family feeling still ran deep or perhaps her branch of the family had merely been conveniently forgotten with time. At any rate, it was her first visit to the estate at the age of 21. On the tour she had signed up for, they were allowed to spend an hour exploring the grounds.
Sarah went directly to the lake which was beautiful and bounded by forest on one side. She was alone, as the rest of the party had preferred the pleasure gardens with the marble fountains and follies. Their voices faded over the crest of a slight, grassy hill. She wandered around the lake toward the forest. Suddenly, a dreadful fear suddenly descended on her mind as she reached the outer borders of the forest. It was so strong and so sudden that it almost seemed to come from outside her.
She waited without taking another step for a full five minutes trying to distinguish the origin of the fear. Was it something she had heard or seen out of the corner of one eye? Was there something unusual in this stretch lake shore that was so different from anything else she had already transversed? She could discern nothing at all. The sun filtered through the canopy in a perfectly normal way ahead of her. Sarah could hear no strange sound. There was nothing at all that her five senses could determine that could justify the sudden fear.
Sarah gritted her teeth and pulled herself together. She knew she was being ridiculous and she wasn't about to cave in to some ethereal and unfounded fear. She had spent many hours in solitude hiking without the slightest fear and now out of nowhere came this irrational feeling. Sarah forced her feet to move while every instinct she had screamed at her to return the way she had come.
Just past an enormous oak tree, the light faded quickly as the foliage above became much denser. Sarah's heart was pounding and she felt dizzy. She still could not locate any reason for this sudden descent into terror. Still sternly lecturing herself on her own absurdity, Sarah decided to move closer to the lake where there would be less trees and therefore more light. Just as she was stepping out of the dim greenish light, Sarah slipped on a mossy stone and began to fall. After that, she didn't remember a thing until she came around in a quaint and rather luxurious looking room.
Sarah could feel that she was grubby. The mud from the lake's edge still clung to her skin. She desperately wanted a shower. As Sarah slowly regained consciousness, she was able to take in more details of the room she was in. She was lying on a rather hard bed in one corner near a window. Heavy velvet curtains trimmed with brocade framed the glass and were held back with rich cording. The wallpaper was heavily patterned with an odd, old-fashioned pattern that looked Victorian and quaint. Sarah was used to the stark, minimalist style in regards to décor and to her, it looked like the epitome of bad taste. The ceiling was very high and molded in what struck her as being a very fanciful and over-done manner.
On the far side of the room near the only door was a heavy wooden desk. It looked like an antique that was so well cared for that it could have been brand new. On it was a heavy brass ink-stand. Sarah concluded that the owner of the room had a taste for antiques that bordered on the ridiculously impractical. What use could an ink-stand be in the age of computers? There was a blotter on the desk and some heavy looking, leather bound books.
Sarah closed her eyes again until she heard the door open and shut. A gentleman just on the right side of thirty had entered the room. He had a rather old-fashioned moustache and kind brown eyes. It was his peculiar dress that caught Sarah's attention. He obviously was an eccentric who lived in a by-gone century judging by both his personal appearance and the décor of his room. Sarah decided she rather liked him. She had a soft-spot for eccentrics, they were interesting.
"Hello, my dear. How are you feeling?" he asked very kindly and with a sympathetic look as he crossed over to where Sarah was lying. Even his accent was a bit old-fashioned. Like an actor in a Victorian drama.
"A bit odd but otherwise fine," Sarah replied frankly.
He frowned slightly. "I don't recognise your accent. What part of England are you from?" he said with a puzzled expression.
"I grew up in Kent," Sarah replied.
He gave her a mystified look.
"Only from Kent? Your people don't hail from elsewhere?" he asked mildly.
"My mother is from Kent, my father grew up in London," Sarah answered.
"Ah, well. Your accent is a bit unusual, that's all. Still, I don't have the best ear," the man said kindly.
Perhaps he was a looney, Sarah thought. If he was eccentric enough to dress and decorate the way he did, perhaps he lived in his own private fantasy and thought everyone should speak in that odd, old-fashioned way.
"Where am I?" Sarah asked.
"In London," he replied cheerfully.
"How did I get from Kent to London?" Sarah asked, frowning in confusion.
"The Duke found you unconscious down by the lake. I happened to be in the area and he knows about my… connections, so he asked me to bring you here," the man replied hesitantly.
A bit evasively, Sarah thought.
Sarah sat up carefully afraid that the dizzy feeling may come back and looked outside the window. Her mind reeled and she felt very odd. She honestly did not believe the evidence of her own eyes. Outside was a cobbled street with horse-drawn hansom cabs and char-le-bancs clopping up and down the street. There were people milling around in Victorian fashions.
"Is this a joke?" Sarah asked sharply. "Am I on a movie set?"
"I'm sorry madam but I don't know what a movie is," he replied mildly.
Sarah pursed her lips. She could see she was not going to get any further information from this strange man.
"Do you have my bag?" she asked anxiously, looking around.
He bent down and retrieved something from next to the bed. "Is this what you mean?" he asked politely, holding up her small carry bag.
"Yes, thank you," Sarah said gratefully. At least it was something she recognised, she thought.
"I would like you to meet a new friend of mine. He may be of assistance to you," the man suggested self-effacingly. "But first let me check that you are alright to get up." To Sarah's astonishment he went to a small table next to the bed and pulled out a very crude looking stethoscope. Sarah had no idea that this man was a doctor up to that point. There was certainly nothing of the doctor's surgery about the large and luxurious room.
He listed to Sarah's heart and checked her pulse and temperature. Finally he was satisfied and Sarah could get up.
"Who is this friend of yours?" she asked.
"His name is Sherlock Holmes," he replied with a cheerful smile.
Sarah simply stared at him. "Sherlock Holmes?" she repeated. "The only Sherlock Holmes I know of is a fictional private detective."
The man visibly started. "My dear, I assure you that Sherlock Holmes is not fiction, but how did you know of his profession?"
"I've heard of him," Sarah said with deliberate vagueness, realising that whatever was going on, she needed to play along for now.
Watson decided Sarah had had a blow to the head because he didn't pursue the point. "I am Dr Watson," he said kindly.
Sarah decided it was best to say nothing. There were two possibilities here. Either he was telling the truth and she had suddenly fallen into an odd time warp or he was completely mad. In either instance it would be best to practice discretion.
"The Duke thought you were a boy at first," Watson said genially, obviously trying to make conversation and distract Sarah from her current difficult circumstances.
"Why, because of the trousers?" Sarah asked, feeling rather amused.
"That and the short hair," Dr Watson replied.
"It's not that short," Sarah protested. She wore her hair in a slight concave bob that reached her chin in the front.
"There are plenty of boys with longer hair than yours madam," he said with a small smile and bow.
"Well, thank you for your care but unfortunately I don't have any money of the right denomination to pay you," Sarah explained, digging her purse out of her bag. She didn't think it would be wise to suddenly display modern notes at that point.
"You woke up very soon after you arrived so I haven't been put out at all, really. There is certainly no need for payment," he said gallantly.
"You're very kind," Sarah said with a smile. Just like in the stories, she thought.
"I would like you to meet Mr Holmes," Dr Watson said, "Will you accompany me to his rooms?" he asked.
Sarah just nodded, not wanting to say too much.
"It's not far, just in Baker Street," he said, picking up his hat and cane. Gathering up her backpack, Sarah followed him outside to the street.
"I think we'd best take a cab," Watson said hailing one. "You would draw too much attention in those extraordinary clothes."
