The Case of the Masked Gypsy
Chapter 3 – Victorian Vigilante
The rest of the day passed almost like a blur for each of them. In many ways, it carried on as though it were any other day, looking past the obvious absence of the ballet master. Josette and Victor were the only ones who knew of Esmé's plan, and thus tried to act as naturally as she did. Still, with every hour that passed, the weight of the knowledge of what was ahead of them grew heavier, until, finally, it was just past eight o' clock.
The three hurried quickly but quietly into the dressing room, Josette and Victor having brought the clothes for Esmé to wear.
"Merci," she nodded, "Victor, do please turn around."
"I can't," Victor disagreed, "the room is full of mirrors. And I suppose you wouldn't trust me if I simply closed my eyes?"
"Only if I am allowed to make sure you don't do otherwise," Josette said.
Victor rolled his eyes, turned around, and closed his eyes. Josette then went to work helping Esmé change out of her usual clothes into the ones that would help create an entirely new identity for herself, one which she'd been carefully working on for the past several days.
"I should tell you I still don't see the sense of dressing this way," Josette said.
"I must look distinct from any other criminal on the street," Esmé replied, "But come now, we can't waste time with talk."
Josette raised her eyebrows slightly. Even so, she helped her into a red bodice with short, flowing sleeves and a line of jewels descending from the neckline. They'd gotten most of the clothing from the theater itself. The skirt that was originally part of the costume, the girls had removed.
Esmé then pulled on a pair of gloves the same red color as the bodice, and over them, the pair of golden wrist bands she'd worn the previous night. Then came one of the more crucial elements.
"Now for the trousers," Esmé said, "Are you sure they'll fit me Victor?"
"They should," Victor nodded, his eyes still shut, "We are the same height."
"Are you sure you want to wear these at all Esmé?" Josette asked.
"I explained it to you Josette," Esmé replied, "Not only will this help me look distinct, but, admit it, it's so much more practical."
"Well, I am fond of practicality," Josette reluctantly admitted, "It just seems a bit, odd."
Esmé knew how she felt. She too thought it a bit strange, being in man's clothing. Still, the occasion nonetheless called for it, and without thinking about it any longer, she stepped into the trousers, and slipped the straps over her shoulders.
The eyes of both girls widened at the sight before them, though one was more willing than the other to voice her opinion. "Practical, as you said."
Esmé opened her mouth to speak, but let out a sigh instead. She then chose different, more honest words. "It does feel strange, but only a little. And they do seem to fit."
"Can I see?" Victor asked.
Esmé and Josette's eyes widened even more. They then looked at each other for a silent, brief moment, but they both nodded and looked back at him. "Promise you won't laugh?" Esmé asked.
Victor shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe," he replied in a slightly mischievous voice.
Esmé pressed her lips together in frustration, as she wasn't going to allow for any loose ends, especially for tonight. "That was a 'yes' or 'no' question," she said, only realizing after that she sounded a bit like Josette.
"Then yes," Victor said. He then turned around, with his eyes open. And once he saw his cousin in trousers, he crossed his arms and carefully looked her over with examining eyes, up and down, while both Esmé and Josette hoped he'd keep his word.
Victor raised an eyebrow, and then a slight smirk made its way across his face. "I knew they would fit," he said, "Not perfectly but, more than well enough."
Both girls exchanged looks for a second time, each rather confused at first, but they decided to take his words as a sign of approval. "Then on with the rest," Esmé said. And she and Josette went back to getting her ready, moving a bit faster than before.
Victor gave her a red vest to match her bodice and gloves, while Josette tied the red sash that she'd had on last night around her waist. Esmé then received from Victor a pair of tall boots and a belt with a leather bag attached to it.
"Is the money inside?" she asked.
"Oui," he nodded, "I put it inside earlier."
Esmé nodded back. She then turned back to her other cousin, who now held a brush, and a red, golden-fringed ribbon in her hand. Esmé nodded at her, and turned her back to her. Josette then brushed her hair up into a high ponytail, and then tied the ribbon to hold it into a bow. Once her hands left her head, Esmé turned back around, and asked in a slightly nervous voice, "Do you have the mask?"
Without a word, Josette nodded, and quickly produced the most crucial part of Esmé's new outfit, the part that would keep her identity hidden, at least for the time being. Esmé took it, and then, in a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, donned the mask. It was red with an embroidered pattern all across it, and a translucent scarf of the same color hung from it to below her chin.
Finally, after taking a moment to breathe, she walked over to the nearest mirror to see the result. What she saw, whatever she'd previously expected, made her eyes widen. She had completely transformed from a ballet dancer, and into perhaps the most unusual looking thief she'd ever seen, with her trousers mixed with her sash, and her bodice mixed with her vest. Indeed, one probably would have thought she'd come from a circus.
But that was the point, to attract attention to herself. Though if she were honest, she'd also chosen this particular style of dress to reflect who she was. With her sash, her jeweled bodice, and her wrist bands, she looked somewhat like a gypsy. Not really to perpetuate the commonly held idea of gypsies as thieves, but her own mother had been a gypsy before she married her father. Even now, five years after her death – a timespan that sometimes felt like an eternity but at other times felt like it had happened only yesterday – Esmé wished to honor her memory.
Suddenly, thinking of her maman made her pity her cousins. They barely knew their own mother, as they were but small children when she died. And then their papa was taken from them by that murderer, whoever he was. Suddenly, Esmé felt a new determination. She wasn't just going to help bring her papa back for herself, she was going to do it for Josette and Victor too.
Still, she wished to have their opinion before she left. She turned toward her cousins and asked, without hesitation, "How do I look?"
Both took a while before giving a reply. Josette shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Well, you look conspicuous, as you wished."
Victor gave a bigger smirk than before and nodded. "Definitely like a feminine version of Robin Hood."
Despite the seriousness of the present situation, Esmé couldn't help but chuckle. When she first explained her idea last week, she and Victor got the idea to use codenames for her, him, Josette, and even Mr. Holmes. Since one of their favorite books was The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle, and since Esmé was donning a similar identity, the idea stuck. She was Robin Hood, Victor was Will Scarlet, Josette was Alan-a-Dale, and Mr. Holmes, to their own amusement, was the Sheriff of Nottingham.
But the amusement quickly faded, as did Victor's smile. He looked at Esmé with an expression devoid of his usual humor.
"I take it back," he said, "Esmé, you don't have to do this."
Esmé was immediately confused.
"Now you're trying to talk me out of it?"
"Yes," Victor nodded, "I admit it. I am." He then let out a heavy sigh before looking back at her, sincere concern on his face. "Esmé, I may be the youngest of all of us but, you know Oncle would want me to protect you and Josette right?"
"Oui," Esmé nodded back.
"Look," Victor went on, "I know I said before that you thought this through but…I just hope you're aware of the danger of it."
"I am," Esmé assured him. She then looked at Josette, who looked back at her with a concerned face for a but a moment before sighing and looking away. While the caused Esmé's heart to soften, it also caused her to press her lips together in slight frustration.
"I've prepared for this," she then said, "And I promise you both that nothing is going to happen to me. If this is the only way to lead Mr. Holmes to me so I can ask for his help, I must take it."
For a brief moment, Esmé could almost see a hint of admiration in her cousin's eyes, and the sight inspired her. Victor may have been in some ways like any other little brother, but he still loved her as a brother would a sister.
"You're that determined are you?" he asked.
"Yes," Esmé replied.
"Then, I hope you'll remember what I taught you," he said.
"I will. I've been practicing when I could." During her week of preparation, Esmé, having realized she'd need a bit of fighting experience, convinced Victor to teach her as much as he could in the time allowed. He himself had learned it from two of his friends, the sons of one of the stagehands. And while Esmé wasn't a master by any means, she'd treated it just as she treated dance, dedicating herself to learning as much as she could.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Victor then reached into his pocket and pulled out a smaller belt with a hilt, and a knife.
"Oh good," Esmé nodded, "Merci."
After strapping it around her right leg though, Josette spoke up. "Esmé, promise me you'll use that only when it's absolutely necessary."
"Of course," said Esmé, taking her motherly words to heart. She had no intention to use it on Mr. Holmes, or even Wellington, but the most dangerous criminals were out at night, and she needed to take every precaution.
Now, after checking for one last time if she needed anything else, she concluded that she did have everything, and realized, with a mixture of ambition and reluctance, that it was time.
"Well, I'd best be off," she said, "The night isn't getting any younger."
Both her cousins nodded, and then, choosing to embrace each other all at once, Esmé, Josette, and Victor held each other in a group hug.
"Good luck Esmé," Josette said softly.
"And don't do anything stupid," Victor said, trying even now to lighten the situation.
Strangely enough, it worked. Esmé managed a smile at both him and Josette before letting it turn back into a frown again.
"I shall return as soon as possible," she said, "I promise."
The two nodded. Then without another word, Esmé turned around and took up one last thing: a black cloak with a hood to obscure her in the nighttime darkness. After putting it on, she bid her cousins goodbye, and then left the room.
Once she left, both Victor and Josette could only wonder whether they did the right thing in letting her go, when suddenly, Victor remembered something of critical importance, something he wasn't sure Esmé knew of.
"Josette, wait here," he said. Before she could think to stop him, he walked hastily out of the room, through the theater, and then to the door that led outside, hoping he would find Esmé and stop her from making a big mistake.
"Esmé!" he exclaimed after opening the door. But she wasn't there. Victor hurried out of the shadows for one last effort, but still, he couldn't find her. He looked left to right, again and again, but his efforts proved to be in vain. He pressed his lips together, and felt like he wanted to hit something. But he decided to do so in a more appropriate place. For now, all he could do was go back to be with his sister and hope for the best.
Meanwhile, Esmé was making her descent into the depths of England's capitol. Only less than a few times had she ever traveled through this city after dark, and while it did scare her to some extent, she felt confident at remembering that she'd planned for this. Even at this hour, with the black sky above her, the still rather cold weather, and only the gas lamps and occasional window or two for light, she saw the familiarity of every place she'd encountered.
Taking a daring decision, Esmé maneuvered through as many alleyways as possible and crossed as little roads as possible. She wanted to do all she could to keep anyone from seeing her, even if she was wearing a mask and a cloak, for she did not want anyone tracking her down to the theater before it was warranted.
Being cautious though, she looked briefly for any possible threats before running through an alley, ready to whip out her knife at even the slightest sound or ominous sight. Still, while she was very aware of the dangers of being a young girl traveling through such a large city at this time of night, in a way, she thought it sort of fun. She'd always been a bit of a risk-taker.
For as long as she could allow, she let herself recall a warm, summer day, when she was nine years old and still living in Paris. Esmé, her parents, and her cousins were taking a walk. And once they got to a bridge overlooking the Seine River (instead of the Thames), she decided it would be fun to walk on the marble railing. Needless to say, she'd scared the wits out of both her parents, and while she did apologize and said she'd never do it again, even now she looked back on it with humor.
But her humor was swiftly swept aside. She was getting closer, and she preferred to keep out of danger for the rest of the journey. Even so, she still tried to make some light of the situation. Tonight, she was Robin Hood, helping those who couldn't help themselves. Though instead of wearing brown or green, she wore mostly red. Instead of traversing through the trees of Sherwood Forest, she was traversing through the alleyways and streets of the forest-like city of London. And instead of combatting the Sheriff of Nottingham, she, in a way, would combat Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in Europe.
Finally, after what seemed like a thousand lifetimes spent in the dark, Esmé came upon the house of Lord Richard Wellington. As she expected, it was grand, big, and just the sort of house for a man like him.
The palace of Prince John, she thought. Ironic, she noted, that his first name was Richard, the name of the king whom Robin Hood was loyal to. She'd succeeded in Part One of her mission, now onto Part Two.
But before she proceeded, she took a moment to thank her papa, wherever he was, for being who he was. Thanked him for being a learned man, for teaching her and her cousins not only languages and other subjects, but also about character and standing for what is right, among other things. Thanked him for helping her discover her love of dance, and helping her grow in it. And most of all, she thanked him for simply being the best father in the world, never knowing how she could possibly repay him for everything he had done for her, before and after her mother died.
After one last deep breath, and a silent request for strength, Esmé ventured across the street, and into the shadows on the side of the house.
Once she was at the back, and away from the vision of any possible witnesses, she took out her knife, and used it to unlock the back door. Josette did tell her to use it only when it was necessary, and now was definitely one of those times. As soon as the lock gave way, she slowly and quietly made her way inside the pitch black of the building. The only light she could see came from the outside behind her, and the faint, but still prominent one through the cracks of the door above her. Without thinking twice, she closed the door, locked it again, and ascended the stairway that led her to it.
For a moment, the inside of the house seemed rather smaller than on the outside, but maybe that was because of a lack of light. Either way, Esmé closed the door, and walked down the dimly lit hallway quietly. Only when she found the right room would she make noise. For a brief few moments, she beheld the grand foyer, with its sweeping ivory staircase, pale, green walls holding portraits of male and female family members, and its chandelier hanging from the ceiling, before reminding herself that she was still on a mission.
She did hear that Wellington was an admirer of jewels, and that he had an entire room dedicated to them. But where was it? Was it on the first floor, the second, which she was on, or the third? Deciding that there was no time to waste, Esmé began her search. She first went to the nearest door, but found that it was a small library, with no jewels in sight. The next room on the second floor was a fine parlor, but still, she didn't see the pearls. Perhaps she needed to go to the third floor.
After climbing up the next set of stairs, she saw three more doors, and another hallway with a far end at the right. There, she saw what looked like another, fourth door. Likely the room where the jewels were contained. If Wellington did have a room simply for displaying his jewels, he probably would have chosen a less obvious place. Deciding to take the chance, Esmé made her way quietly down the hall, only to find that this door was locked too. She couldn't help but smirk, knowing that such a simple device as a knife could be as effective as a key.
She then opened the now unlocked door, and her eyes immediately widened. What she had heard was true. Though the room was smaller than the library or the parlor, there were still dozens of jewels on display, mostly kept on shelves on either wall behind glass. She slowly walked in, her gaze locked on one set of jewels, then the next. There were rubies, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds. She'd never seen such a collection all in one place. But still, she didn't find any pearls.
For a moment, Esmé wondered if her plan had been fatally flawed, that all of this might have been for naught. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. She slowly scanned the room one more time with both her eyes, wide open, from bottom to top, and then top to bottom. That was when her eyes noticed a small box on top of one of the shelves. Could it be? She had to take the chance.
Standing on the edge of her toes, she reached for the box on the very back of the shelf, and pressed her lips together in anxious anticipation before opening it. What she saw made her heart leap in victory. The pearls! She'd found them! Wasting no time, she quickly took them and placed them inside the leather bag attached to her belt before stepping off the chair and putting it back where she found it.
Now the moment had come. Now she had to draw attention to herself.
Esmé wondered how she going to do it, when she saw the open door, and got an idea. After securing her bag for one last time, she simply walked over to the door, and took a deep breath – preparing for anything – before slamming the door shut.
At first, she was somewhat startled, as it sounded louder than she expected. But suddenly, downstairs in the foyer, she heard an enraged masculine voice. "You blundering idiot!"
Though she'd never exactly heard him shout before, Esmé recognized that voice immediately. It was Lord Wellington. And apparently he'd gone out somewhere and come back, with someone. But before she made another move, she decided to unlock the door, open it slightly, and listen for anything else he might say.
"What did I do?" another masculine voice asked. Esmé recognized that one too, but less quickly. It was likely the landlord who took the pearls.
"Don't be daft!" Wellington replied angrily, "You know very well what you did back there!"
"Well I did a lot of things at the club," the landlord said, "It would help if you would remind me which one."
"Follow me," Wellington said, with a hint of annoyance in his still angry voice.
Esmé, her heart now racing, quickly closed the door again and locked it, only to realize she hadn't really thought of a hiding place. Still, she searched as fast as she could for one. Behind one of the shelves? No. Too obvious and not enough space. Underneath the gilt sofa near the door? No. She might sneeze. Then, she looked up, and noticed that the ceiling had wooden rafters, likely low enough for her to jump up and grab onto and spacious enough for her to hide between. Taking the chance – and knowing she'd probably ruin it with her dirty boots, but not caring – she stepped onto the sofa, then on top of one of the arms. Giving her best possible effort, she jumped as high as she could, arms stretched out, and caught the wooden beam.
After quickly shifting herself to the right, and hearing the footsteps get closer, Esmé used all her strength and hoisted herself as fast as she could onto the rafter, the back of her head touching the slanted ceiling even as she crouched on it. With her left hand holding her gathered cloak and her right holding onto the vertical beam next to her, she grit her teeth and closed her eyes before she heard the door unlock and open.
Wellington locked the door again, turned on a small lamp, and then he and the other man – whom Esmé now recognized as the landlord – stood directly below her. She forced herself to hold her breath and her heart to slow down as she heard their conversation carry on underneath her.
"I don't know how we ever became friends in the first place Felix!" Wellington said, more quietly this time.
"Because we studied at university together?" the landlord – Felix – asked.
"It astounds me how a man who studied at university, who can be remarkably smart, can also do the most dim-witted thing I've ever seen!"
"And what was that?" Felix asked.
"'Oh, are you talking about that jewel thief?'" Wellington sounded like he was quoting Felix. "'I may have a lead or two on him.' Does that jog your memory?!"
"I was only joking."
"That doesn't matter! Even joking around can lead the police not just to you but to me as well! I've gone to great risks to get those jewels from Loxley and Hampton!"
Suddenly, Esmé found herself listening more and more closely. Felix sounded remarkably less threatening here than before. In fact, she almost felt sorry for him.
"And I believe I've been very generous. I pay you with more money than I pay my own staff. I even allow you to keep those pearls in here."
So the pearls were the woman's. Esmé did have the floating theory that they weren't the woman's after all, but Wellington had obviously confirmed otherwise. She listened more.
"Yet you can't do so much as keep your mouth shut! It's not a hard thing to do! I'm not going to allow for any loose ends, especially considering the party I'm having in three days, because if my reputation is forever ruined, you will pay the price!"
Felix stayed silent, and Esmé was contemplating how she was going to escape, when Wellington brought up something else.
"And I will most certainly not leave any loose ends regarding that other secret I'm so desperately trying to keep!"
Esmé then for a brief second felt a conflict between her heart and her mind. On the one hand her heart wanted to know what he was talking about, and whether it could have anything to do with her father. But on the other hand, her mind wanted to use this as an opportunity to go through with the rest of her plan. In a split-second decision, she chose to go with what her mind wanted, and spoke out in French.
"That secret of yours, let me hear it!"
"What was that?!" Wellington asked as he turned around.
Felix shook his head silently, giving Esmé time to speak again.
"If your secret is so desperate, let us hear it!"
"Who's there?!" Wellington called out.
Knowing that there was no turning back now, Esmé jumped down from her hiding place, and stood straight in front of the startled Wellington, hoping her eyes behind her mask were intimidating him.
"Wha-, who are you?!" he demanded.
Esmé quickly pulled back her hood and put her hands on her hips, letting him get a good picture of her before telling him in a proud, and a bit defiant, voice, "I am the Masked Gypsy. She who serves the oppressed!"
Once he looked back and saw the open box, it didn't take long for Wellington to realize what she'd done. "She has the pearls! Grab her!"
Esmé spun around to see Felix charging at her. But then, deciding to finally put her training to good use, in mere seconds she grabbed him by the coat collar, turned around, and hurled him across the room, where he landed on the floor and against the sofa. Before Wellington could think to do the same, Esmé dashed past him, unlocked the door, and then rushed out the door, leaving Wellington to wonder what just happened, but also with a need to stop her.
"What are you waiting for?!" he asked Felix, "Follow me!"
As he rushed down the hallway after her, Felix got up and did as he said, catching up with Wellington to join the chase.
Esmé managed to stay at least five feet ahead of them as she ran down the hallway, down the two sets of stairs, and then out the front door, as she'd planned. And as she also expected, Wellington shouted in the cold night air behind her, "Thief! Stop her!"
Instead of going through the alleyways like before, she ran down the open streets, her arms behind her to get maximum speed as well as the least physical demands. Part Two of her plan had worked, and now Part Three was ahead of her as she sped past the people still outside at this hour, with Wellington and Felix behind her shouting, "Stop that girl!"
On one particular street corner stood Inspector Lestrade and four policemen, all engaged in a rather lively debate.
"The key thing that is most important, gentlemen," Lestrade said, "is that you must always be aware and ready. You must always be prepared for any…"
Suddenly, before he could finish, a blur of black and red roughly pushed aside two of the policemen as though they were a pair of doors, and ran between them before any of them could react. They then heard a pair of running footsteps behind them, and a commanding voice shouting, "Stop her! She has my jewels!"
"Lord Wellington!" exclaimed Lestrade as he recognized the rough-looking and clearly desperate man.
"She just took my pearls!" he shouted as he came to a stop in front of him, Felix beside him, "She may be that thief who robbed Loxley and Hampton!"
"Are you sure?!" one of the policemen asked.
"Come now men!" Lestrade ordered the four. They quickly responded, and the seven men continued together down the road after their new suspect, not all of them really knowing what was going on but equally determined to get some answers.
Esmé was now running even faster than before – despite her slowly tiring state – with the police now after her. Although, her running past the policemen as she did was intentional. She needed to draw attention, but not too much attention. She would let them chase her for a while, but then she'd have to find a way to get them off her trail. Esmé could only hope she'd hold out until then.
After a short while, she realized that now was the time to try to get them to stop following her. She was beginning to see less familiar roads, and she wasn't about to lose her way. Using her blessed gift of sight, she looked around as she ran for any possible distraction. Her chance came when she saw a row of what looked like small, wooden buckets of water. She swiftly picked one up, turned around, and tossed the water, sending it splashing to the ground. While at least three of the men then slipped and fell onto the cold, hard pavement, Esmé took off once more, trying to think of a more permanent way to stop them.
At one point – after hearing the whistle for at least the twelfth time, and hearing Wellington shout, "Stop thief!" – Esmé suddenly came up with another idea to slow them down, after realizing only now that something was slowing her down. While it may have helped her before, she saw relatively little use for it now.
Time to abandon this cloak, she thought as she pulled at the strings at the base of the hood, desperately trying to get it off.
Meanwhile, at a nearby street corner, the great detective was walking out of one of the city's finer establishments, a smoking pipe in his hand, with a finer dressed man with a look of gratitude on his face at his side. After stopping under one of the gas lamps, and taking pity on the man with a broken-down cart on the road in front of them, the two turned to each other for the last time before they planned to part ways.
"I thank you Mr. Holmes," the man said as he extended his hand, "I really appreciate your commitment to this case."
Holmes gave a ghost of smile as he took the man's hand and shook it. "I do what I can my lord. Rest assured, I intend find your jewels and get them back to you as soon as I am able, I promise you."
The man nodded, but suddenly the cool of the night was pierced by the sharp, shrill sound of a police whistle, once, then twice, followed by the shout of "Stop thief!" Both the man and Holmes instantly turned toward the sound, and beheld Lestrade, four policemen, and two other men in pursuit of an even stranger sight. From what Holmes could see in the next few seconds, this wasn't an average thief. In fact, this may have been the most unusual looking one he'd ever seen. A female she was, but wearing trousers and boots. He also caught a glimpse of gold fringe around her waist and gold metal around her wrists. Her dark hair was pulled back, but her face was hidden by a red mask. Even though Holmes had seen a lot of oddities in his career, this was a most bizarre spectacle, even for him.
But he continued to watch. The woman untied the strings of her cloak, turned around, and threw it at the men chasing her. Oddly enough, she succeeded. One policeman managed to trip over the cloak while two more tripped over him. Holmes didn't waste time to roll his eyes at them, as they were focused on the escaping thief.
Though the next few seconds passed quickly, for both the detective and the thief, it seemed as though time slowed down.
For Esmé, it happened once she saw a pair of scrutinizing eyes at the corner of her eye, one that made her head turn, and see none other than Mr. Holmes on the street beside her. For perhaps only a single second, their gazes were locked on the other just as they had been the night before. His wide-eyed stare was a near hypnotizing one that almost made her freeze in her tracks, but a quick remembrance of her mission pulled her back into reality at the last possible instant.
For Holmes, while time did seem to slow once his eyes met those of the thief, it slowed even more when she looked back at the path in front of her, and she noticed the broken cart in her way. The man beside it immediately darted out of the way, while the masked woman did something that took longer than usual for Holmes to believe. In the style and quick thinking of an athlete, she raised her arms above her, and leaped over the cart, one leg behind her and the other in front.
Time only got back to its normal speed once she landed and then took a diving roll underneath a passing cab, making it only just. Once she disappeared, Holmes turned his vision back to the men who'd been chasing her. The scene became even more out of control as two of the policemen ran into one of the horses, causing the cab to stop, the horse to become agitated, and a lot of shouting to ensue.
"What on earth was that?!" the man beside Holmes asked in great alarm.
"Excuse me my lord," he nodded at him. In an attempt to lessen the chaos in any way he could, he rushed over to the cab, and joined the two policemen in calming the large black horse down before it could trample anyone. Fortunately, by then, with some urging by two of the policemen, the shouting died down somewhat, giving Holmes a chance to speak to Lestrade and get some answers regarding the most bizarre of scenes that just took place.
"Lestrade," he greeted him, "my good man. It's been a rather long time since I last saw you in an active pursuit."
"And it's been a rather long time since I haven't seen you in one," Lestrade retorted, "But now isn't the time to poke fun. That thieving girl could be anywhere in the city by now."
"And with my jewels!" a lone voice suddenly shouted above them. Holmes turned to see that it was Lord Richard Wellington, looking a bit disheveled, and understandably so considering his previous claim.
"Just, give me a moment my lord," Holmes said to him as he held up his hand, "and I'll speak with you as soon as I can."
He then turned back to Lestrade and their conversation continued.
"How long have you been chasing her?" Holmes asked.
"For at least ten minutes," Lestrade replied, "And I know this may seem unexpected, and even questionable, but we have reason to believe that she may have been the jewel thief we've been looking for."
Holmes raised his eyebrows. A simple girl like her, a well-class jewel thief? Lestrade, for all his bumbling, was right. It was highly questionable. But then again, not all of his opponents – in fact, one could say the majority – weren't all what they seemed, and that taught him to consider all possibilities, no matter how unusual.
"What is your evidence?" he asked.
"Well, if you didn't see it just now, she was wearing a black cloak. And Lord Wellington claims that she has stolen jewels from him. Two key clues to our search. If only we hadn't lost her."
"Intriguing," Holmes replied, both out of sarcasm and being genuinely interested. He then voiced the radical idea that came to his mind. "Lestrade, with your permission, I'd like to investigate this case myself."
Lestrade immediately raised his eyebrows. "Well Holmes, not to demean your excellent abilities, but with your permission, I'd like for you to let us handle this. All we need to do is find her and bring her in."
"Well unlike you I prefer to bring in criminals only when they've been convicted by definite proof," Holmes declared before saying his last words to the inspector, "And I intend to gather all the proof I can."
Later, at an otherwise unimportant flat in the middle of London, the housekeeper of that flat had just dressed for bed. It had been a long, weary day, and she was looking forward to the comfort of rest, when all of a sudden, she heard a knock on her door. Wondering what either of the boarders could possibly want at this hour, she walked toward the door, and opened it to see a most bizarre looking figure.
Understandably, she let out a gasp of fright, but the oddly dressed girl put her finger to her lips and said "shh" as she quietly closed the door behind her. The woman backed away, but the girl spoke softly to her.
"Madame," she said in English, "you have no cause for alarm. I am neither a thief nor a murderer, but I am serious about what I do."
The woman took a moment before she spoke. "And, what is it you do, may I ask?"
"I'm afraid I haven't the time to explain," the girl replied, "But I want you to do something for me." She then reached into the leather bag on her hip, and pulled out something that caused the woman's eyes to widen with surprise: a string of pearls, and then, a fold of money.
"I want you to find the man who previously lived here with his wife and young son, and return this necklace to them. The money is compensation for the stolen rent money. Please, tell them to keep both in a safe place, and to watch for any sign of danger. Can you do that for me?"
The woman nodded, but just barely. "I suppose so."
The girl nodded back, giving only the slightest hint of a smile, before she returned to the seriousness of the situation. "Thank you. I must be off now. The hour grows late."
She then turned around and walked back across the room, but just as she touched the door knob, the woman stopped her. "Wait. What should I tell them when they ask who gave these to me?"
The girl turned around to look at her one last time, a genuine smile on her face. "Tell them, a friend, gave them to you," she replied. But her smile turned back into a frown again as she turned once more. "I do have one more favor to ask of you."
"Yes?"
"Neither you, nor the man's family, are to speak of me. This conversation never happened."
The woman, who was still alarmed but less so than before, nodded again. "Very well. I shall tell them what you told me. And thank you."
"You're more than welcome, as are they," the girl said. With that, before another word could be spoken from either of them, she opened the door quietly, and disappeared as quickly as she'd come, leaving the housekeeper alone in her room again.
Outside, in the cold, dark winter night which remained largely unchanged from earlier, two figures – determined but still rather tired – made their way through the city back to their homes, quietly and undetected, like shadows. One being a girl of seventeen while the other was a grown man. Though the two had many a difference, they shared one large thing in common: the ambition to come across the other again, and soon.
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