This is the Grimpen Mire. Three days have passed since Stapleton's final attempt on Sir Henry's life.
Throughout Dartmoor, Inspector Lestrade and other constables search the mire for Stapleton/his corpse. It's a hopeless search. It's a great mire, and most constables are not too ambitious about diving in quicksand. It may take longer than what time society has to find what remains of the late Rodger Baskerville III...also known as Jack Stapleton.
On the upside, Baskerville Hall is, once again, settled and peaceful. Sir Henry enjoys the good life in his new home. True, he's still shaken up by the numerous attempts on his life. But with luck, time will cure what his ambition won't.
Around the Hall, Mrs. Barrymore wears black. She's still in mourning for her wee brother, the murderer and fugitive Selden. Her husband gives her space, and attends to his duties. On the downside, her brother deserved what he got; on the upside, at least his sister isn't going to jail for harboring a fugitive.
In Coombe Tracey, Laura Lyons punches out, after a long day of typing. She's not quite ready for bed...but then, no one would expect her to be. She's still single. Few expect her to be so for long.
For a while now, Mrs. Lyons has been sad that Sir Charles is dead. Now, she's even sadder that Stapleton's gone missing. She's sadder yet, and upset, that Stapleton was the one who killed Sir Charles. And she's even sadder yet, and disgusted, that Stapleton was really Sir Charles's nephew.
She flaps her hair, and leaves the office. She can never tell, but men watch her from all over Coombe Tracey, even when they can't see her...
Night falls over the mire. The crickets and frogs sing.
Somewhere in the garden around Baskerville Hall, Mrs. Baskerville, also known as Ms. Stapleton, has a small problem. She's small. Before making his final attempt on Sir Henry's life, her husband re-sized her, to keep her from trying to stop him. It worked. She couldn't get to Sir Henry in time to save him. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson stole that honor from her.
It's hard for her to find clothes that aren't too big. It's hard to find company that won't mistake her for a bug.
She can see the windows of Baskerville Hall from where she is. She waits until Barrymore has turned off the last one...
She searches for her usual way into the house. With luck, Mrs. Barrymore hasn't sealed it off yet...
It's a long climb up there. She's so small, she uses the grass stolons like ropes.
A moth bounces off the wall on which she climbs. She screams. To her, it was like a coach getting thrown against the cliff. She regains her balance-as hard as that is-and resumes her climb.
Out in the mire, the owls hoot. Wee Beryl would sure hate to end up in one's gizzard.
At last, she finds it. A normal human could barely stick their hand into it. But Beryl, at her size, walks through it as if it was a corridor. And the hall is long, and higher than it is wide.
Above and near her, ants crawl. To her, they're as big as coaches. She could mount one if she wanted. Ah, how she misses the years when her husband, Rodger, would demonstrate his old-fashioned Baskerville chivalry, and help her mount her steeds for her...and then ride really hard after them when they accidentally took off at a full gallop with her still on their backs.
Down here, these ants seem fast. Funny; they seemed so slow back as she once observed her husband studying them. At least they don't accidentally knock her over...or try to eat her. But then, she can't say she'd blame them if they did either. She's small and fragile. She's shocked that Sir Henry hasn't mistook her for a bug.
After a long walk, she gets into the parlor. As a gardener's wife, she's hasn't been in here much.
There's a blank space on the wall, where Sir Hugo's painting once hung. It seems Sir Henry didn't want to spend the rest of his stay here being reminded of how his ancestor's face once reminded Mr. Holmes, at least, of his late cousin, Sir Rodger III/"Stapleton," who tried to kill him.
Beryl can't say she'll miss that painting. Although from what she's heard, her late husband was MUCH nicer to women than Sir Hugo.
Beryl's brought a hook and some string. She uses both to climb the stairs to Sir Henry's chambers.
To think Beryl would've been a lady, if her late husband had succeeded in his endeavor to replace Sir Henry prematurely. If she were still her normal size, and legally divorced from Rodger, she could still be one...
On most of the plain-sized runners, the hook doesn't catch. But Beryl loves Sir Henry, and she gets to the top of the stairs just the same.
High abroad, Sir Henry slumbers in his chambers. The bed couldn't be comfier. The chambers couldn't be darker. Alas, the bed is wider than he is at the shoulders...
At her size, Beryl easily walks under the door. She doesn't even have to bend over to do so.
It's darker in here than it is out there. But by now, Beryl knows her way to the base of Sir Henry's bed.
She's here. High above, she can hear Sir Henry breathing. He sounds comfy. Beryl wonders if he ever misses her...
She whispers for him. He doesn't react. She whispers louder. He twitches, but doesn't react.
Beryl sighs. She'd hate to yell-but then, at her size, whoever else who's in the house probably wouldn't hear her.
She shout's her cousin-in-law's name. At long last, he wakes, and lies down on his bedside.
At last, they can talk. And they do. It's pleasant for both of them...as Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson observed many times as they worked on the Case of the Hound of the Baskervilles. For as long as it lasts, neither he nor she seem to care that she's as small as a rock that gets stuck inside his shoe.
She still calls him Mr. Baskerville. He calls her Beryl...and has surprisingly gotten used to it faster than she'd ever imagined, back when he still called her Miss Stapleton. One wouldn't know they're cousins-in-law. But they'd sure know they're in love.
He invites her to get in bed with him. She can't. Her husband might still be alive. The police haven't found him yet.
Sir Henry reminds her that the Grimpen Mire is a big place. (Neither of them know for sure; he grew up in Johannesburg, and she grew up in Costa Rica.) It'll take time for the police to find his body, if he's dead. And if he's alive, he won't likely try to come back and kill his cousin again, so soon after getting revealed by the great Detective Holmes.
Beryl admits that while she may be a robber's and a murderer's wife(?)/widow(?), she was still raised Catholic. She also has no memory of falling in love with Rodger because of his obvious traces of would-be British nobility.
Sir Henry reminds her that he loves her. He doesn't care if she's still legally married. She can't file for divorce in her state-although he's not completely sure she could even if she was still her normal size. Sir Henry can take care of her, and not even Lestrade would suspect a thing.
Beryl tells him she's not ready. She's scared.
Sir Henry yawns, rolls over, and goes back to sleep. He swears women can be so stubborn sometimes...
Beryl sighs, and senses her way out. She'd hate for one of the Barrymores to pancake her when they come in here in the morning.
Back in the mire, a dog howls. And here and there, every now and then throughout the night, it sounds like they're not alone...
A pair of glowing green eyes open in the mire's darkness. All around them, the mire's flora flies past...