Bailey Holmes: Black Magic - Chapter 1

Thick, black menacing storm clouds, lash the city of London with heavy rain droplets. On the street below, a lone horse and carriage travels quickly down Park Lane. The sound of the hooves echo on the cobbled street, it passes No. 221 b. A set of white marble steps lead up to the house, a thick, black painted oak door with a golden lion door knocker becomes the barrier to the strange yet inventive goings on that occur in this house. Inside is a small hallway with 18th century period wallpaper and black tiles cover the floor. The tick from the grandfather clock by the stairs fills the hall with its ticking suspense. A Doberman appears from the shadows and snorts at the worn down Winster carpet. Flames of lightning light up the sky and reflect from the canines deep hazel brown eyes. The creak of a floorboard makes them dart to the sound. A woman appears at the bottom of the stairs. She looks up and her gaze meets with the Doberman, then both look at the door which leads to the study and then back at each other. There is tense pause before the woman makes a quick dash for the door. The Doberman lets out a low bark and quickly follows. As the woman turns the corner, she skids slightly and collides into the wall. She soon regains her footing and continues to sprint for the door; she hastily looks behind to see the dog gaining on her. Fortunately she manages to get to the door and shut it tight. The Doberman quickly slows down and slides on the tiled floor. It lowers her head and tries to look through the gap beneath the door.

"You really need to train that incoherent mutt of yours Holmes" a voice says from behind a broadsheet newspaper.
"On the contrary Sampson, this is all part of the training…" Holmes replies hastily before hearing the sound of sniffing coming from beneath the door.
"So trying to avoid your trousers being savaged by simple distraction is all part of it?" the voice says half amused.
"Yes"
The broadsheet newspapers top left corner folds down and a thin yet rounded face with light stubble and small reading spectacles delicately placed on the ridge of nose, stare back. Hazel brown eyes look on with a disapproving glare.
"You need to call a trainer Ho…"
"I don't a need a trainer. Those fools are a waste… a waste of my precious time" Holmes retorts. She begins to rummage through a pile of paperwork on her desk. Her long, dextrous fingers working each piece with expert care.
"Where is my Sonoran drawing?" she asks sharply at Sampson.
"I don't know" Sampson replies continuing to read his newspaper.
"I must have dropped it whilst I had that altercation with Feodosi at the abbey" Holmes says; her mind drifting back to event …
A torch is placed into is brass hold, the flame flickers gently as a soft wind passes through. Black boots walk across the granite tiles with such majesty that only monarchs possess. In the middle of the chamber, that lies deep beneath Westminster Abbey, is the tomb of Lord Feodosi. Feodosi was the most powerful deputy prime minister at the time. He had such power that could persuade anyone, including the prime minster to do anything he wanted. He would often abuse his power but this tyranny was soon cut short.

On a cold December morning, Lord Feodosi is making his daily journey through the filth ridden streets of London to the Houses of Parliament. Everything seemed to be going as it normally would, when suddenly his carriage came to a body throwing stop. He puts down his newspaper and looks out of his carriage window. A tall policeman appears and opens the carriage door.

"Routine inspection m'lord" The policeman says with a grin, before two bandits appear beside him.
Before Lord Feodosi could protest to this preposterous excuse, the bandits pull him from his carriage and he is thrown into a large burlap sack. They then throw the sack into their carriage and speeds away.

Weeks passed and no one could conclude what happened to Lord Feodosi. Many believe that his body is buried under one of London's commons, other speculate that it was a stunt to get away from public view, as his popularity was dropping. By the time the New Year arrived the government decided that it would be best to hold a state funeral in the hope of heightening down the public speculations …
A purple cloak softly slides along the chamber floor. Upon the tomb it approaches, is a young girl in her 20's. Her body twisting and contorting like some possessed voodoo doll and her face locked into a primal scream. A leather glove draws a small knife from a velvet pocket. The sound of Latin murmurs and softly echoes around the stone walls. The hooded figure circles the young girl.
In the small balcony above, Holmes watches in intense silence. Her blue sapphire eyes analyse the situation, silently calculating when to strike.
"Jumping down from the balcony, I kick with my left foot causing the knife to be dropped. I then grab and twist the wrist causing it too sprain. I then deliver three right hooks to the lower abdomen, causing bruising and cracked ribs. Recovery time: 3 months. Death: unlikely"
Holmes sapphire eyes lock onto the purple velvet cloak. She jumps down, sprinting; she delivers a powerful front kick, knocking the knife from the grasp. The hood sharply turns towards her. Holmes swiftly goes to grab the wrist and twist soon followed by three potent punches to the lower abdomen. Unknown to Holmes, the other gloved hand seizes her right arm and pushes her onto the tomb; both hands grasp her neck and begin to squeeze. Holmes begins to grapple desperately at the cold leather gloves trying to release the vice like grip around her neck. Suddenly the hooded figure is hit on the side of its head with leather bound, hardback book. The hooded figure releases its grip and falls to the cold chamber floor.
"Late again Sampson" Holmes says picking herself up.
"Nope, just fashionably early" Sampson says with great wit, bending down to the mysterious figure.

He then pulls back the hood and what is revealed causes even Holmes to be shocked.
"Lord Feodosi" Sampson says mesmerized.
"Desecrating your own tomb are we?" asks Holmes watching him.
"Oh Holmes, you have no idea" Lord Feodosi weakly chuckles.
"Well …"
Holmes stops as Constable Hodges and his men arrive into the chamber. A rotund man of his late 40's, Constable Hodges is one of the top police officers in London.
"My God Holmes, you've found Lord Feodosi. He's been wanted since the day he went missing. Good job" Hodges exclaims.
An officer places Wormscrum in handcuffs and leads him away.
"Say Sampson fancy going for a drink at the Dog and Gun to celebrate?" Constable Hodges asks, with a cheery red smile.
"Sampson has a lot of work to do. Now if you'll excuse us" Holmes says leading Sampson away …
A thunderous knock at the front door snaps Holmes out of her own self recollection. Sampson places his newspaper down and gets up from his green leather high back chair. Holmes on the other hand, starts begin to stare out of the window onto the bustling street below. Constable Hodges enters the study and clears her throat.
"Ah. Hodges, have you come to gloat about something?" Holmes asks with a smirk.
"No Holmes, I've come to talk to you about an incident that occurred last night" Constable Hodges says sternly.
"Oh and that is?"
"A girl has been found dead in her house in Camden. Local forces want you over there immediately"
Then without a word Holmes grabs her black trilby and duffle coat and heads towards the door.
"Oh Holmes, you dropped this" Hodges says handing her a piece of folded up paper.
"Thank you Hodges. I bid you goodbye" Holmes says closing the door in his face and approaches her awaiting carriage.
"You got back your drawing then?" Sampson asks sitting opposite her.
"Yes but let's not get carried away old boy" replies Holmes looking out the carriage window, her chin resting in her right hand.
"I wasn't getting carried away" retorts Sampson.
"You were Sampson …. Your shoes are untied"
Sampson smiles and bends down to check and to his surprise they were.
"The great Bailey Holmes once again solves another case. You certainly live up to your grandfather's name"
They both smile as the carriage jolts forward and heads down Park Lane towards Camden.
As Holmes and Sampson exit the carriage, they are approached by an officer but as soon as he begins to tell them the situation. Holmes walks through the front door and heads towards the stairs. She stops and picks up a small piece of purple material. She intricately examines it and then, she begins to delicately taste it. The officers and Sampson all stop and stare at her.
"What are you doing Holmes?" Sampson asks confused.
"1948 Rose perfect with salmon" Shadows exclaims, placing the material in her pocket.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You know how I work Sampson. Don't question me" Holmes says walking the up the stairs and then turns left.
As she turns the corner and looks down the corridor, she sees body lying on the floor. A guarding officer steps aside as she bends down and places her hand on the face of the body.
"Oh dear, looks like one of her customers turned on her" Sampson says approaching Holmes. Sampson begins to bend down and exam the stab wounds.
"Looks like these were done with quite some force. The one on her heart is at least 2 inches deep"

Holmes looks at the face of the prostitute again and something triggers in her mind and as quickly she came up the stairs, she's down them again

"Holmes, where are you going?" Sampson shouts down the stairs.

"To see an old friend"

The front door slams shut and leaves Sampson standing at the top of the stairs looking perplexed.