I quickly made my way back to Tania's, to find the household in turmoil and upheaval over the unexpected arrival of Wiggins "mouser". It was a tiny thing, more fluff and fur than anything else, with tortoiseshell markings and barely ready to be away from her mother. Tania, of course, saw the kitten as a bad omen, refusing to listen to the sense that the cook and maids were telling her about the need for a means of control of the rodents in the townhouse. I had only arrived back as she was determining the best place to take the kitten to drown it. Looking at the tiny thing I had to admit it did not look like a killer; but as I knew appearances to be deceiving, I took up defending it.

"Tania, " I started, as I picked up the bit of fluff and scratched it ears, " I can- I will not - abide the practice of drowning cats. It seems to me it would be worse luck to kill such a little thing ... "

She was in no mood to hear me but, with the support of the staff, Tania at last agreed that the kitten could have a fortnight's trial period. I volunteered that if it did not hunt successfully, I would take it with me, rather than having it drowned.

I understood better my friend's situation when she confided her delicate condition later that night. In turn, I stated I would take the kitten with me, although I did advise her to keep a mouser in the household, mentioning casually the increasing rat population in London and stories I'd heard of children bitten by such vicious rodents. It was apparent my visit was going to be cut short much quicker than I would have liked, if only to assuage my friend's insecurity over her upcoming changes to her figure - and her life- with the addition of a child.

However the primary reason for leaving London became crystal clear upon a quick review of my chequebook. It was appallingly clear that I needed to begin earning money again, My current inquiry, intriguing and diverting as it was, needed to be abandoned for a profitable one, at least for now. Unfortunately, it was time to find a situation. I started writing my letters of inquiry that night with the kitten curled up on my lap, purring contentedly. I posted them the next morning on my usual stroll.

Within the week, a most promising letter returned to me. It was for a position as a music teacher for two young ladies at an estate in Derbyshire by the name of Pemberly. For a generous bonus I was also requested to perform two solo performances, for the Holiday and New Year's festivities. I wasted no time in writing back with my acceptance, adding of course that I would be bringing a kitten with which I was sure the young ladies would enjoy playing.

February 26th, 1891

Dearest Tania,

i am glad to say that Derbyshire has turned out to be a most charming situation. I am treated more like a guest than a staff member here and though the audience was smaller than I would have liked, I received the highest accolades for my performances at both the Christmas and New Year's Balls. My charges, twin girls, Eliza and Georgina, are not only willing and eager pupils but also both endowed with a moderate measure of vocal talent. Their voices blend well together, and they are a joy to listen to, as well as to teach. They are certainly a lively pair, waisting no time in trying to match me up with all the eligible men in the area (no one of interest at all, I might mention: all boring, stout, and windy in every which way), and then went on to tell me that I reminded them of their grandmother Lizzie. When I asked how, they both merely giggled. As I was upset to be compared to anyone's grandmother, I inquired of the staff; they insisted the girls were being nothing but a complementary, stating that the person in question was one of the most charming former mistresses of Pemberly. The older ones among them recalled her merry ways, her dancing eyes, and a particular knack for as teasing her husband into a better humor. They were most eager to show me the portrait hall with her picture, as well as those of all of the family. It was an impressive collection; most of the best artists of each era are represented in the hall. Interestingly enough, there was even a distant cousin with the name of Holmes.

Holmes. Even here I cannot escape that name, it seems. My ample free time is usually spent walking the grounds and reading in the most well endowed library. It is enlightening and somewhat diverting. However, I find these days, I am often left to muse on my own, far too often for my own good. The girls are eager to be off to London to be presented at court, as this is the year they come of age; I am not inclined to follow them along, as I find I have no more to teach them, either in piano or in vocal training. As spring approaches, I am increasingly restless, and find my mind keeps wandering back to that concert at Saint James' Hall and the following course of events. I am perplexed by the memory of that languid smile, as well as to why my photograph is locked in its owner's drawer. What was I thinking, leaving that bit of hair in that drawer? It was an impulsive move, and possibly a foolish one. Still, what's done is done. I cannot retract my action. I must move on from here; I am starting up inquiries into joining a touring company. I have heard of a few which are in need of a coloratura, and hope to be on the road soon.

I will keep you posted on my travels.

yours,

Rene.

The ennui did not return that autumn, for subtle patterns were emerging in the crimes Holmes investigated, revealing the deft touch of that sinister spider at the center of it all, Moriarty. Holmes was consumed by the pursuit and planning to catch the master of crime, as well as all of his gang. One mid-winter afternoon Holmes was mulling facts that he had collected so far. In an introspective mood, he reached for his violin and found the resulting sound lacking. The bow was dry. He reached into his waistcoat pocket for the key for the drawer, intending to extract the rosin, and noted faint scratches at the edges of the lock. Opening the drawer, he immediately saw the hairpin and the small curl of dark chestnut hair.

"Mrs. Hudson!" The shout was deafening. " Come here! Someone has been in my rooms!"

Martha Hudson stood in the hallway, frowning. "As far as I know, Mr. Holmes, no one has in been here without you, since…"

"THINK!" It was a command, not a question.

"Er… well, there was that American, last fall, she stitched up the curtain … "

"An American? Go on…." his tone was more cajoling now,

"Yes… she knocked at the door, bold as brass, I recall. … We had tea… what was her name? Clara … I don't remember her giving me a last name, come to think of it. She stitched up the curtain, and went on her way. I didn't think it was worth mentioning, I was going to send it out for repair but then she showed up …'"

"How convenient. " he said dryly, then continued pensively, " An American named Clara … when was this?"

"It was … October, I'd think, just around the time that red headed gentleman came round, Mr. Wilson. "

"Ah… Thank you Mrs. Hudson. That is most enlightening."

As soon as she left the room, he dove for the index.

"Adler, Irene: b. June 28, 1858, as Clara Stephens, in Trenton New Jersey. Younger of 2 children … "

She was in London? Why? Whatever was the purpose of this? There had been no mention of her return in the papers; he was certain he would have noted that, or, more likely, Watson would have mentioned it in his last visit, if only to tease. There was no note, no threat nor a request, merely a curl and a hairpin. Puzzling and most ...unusual. She'd even closed and re-locked the drawer.

Shaking his head, he picked up the rosin, attended to his bow. As he raised the Stradivarius to his chin and began to play, he let his thoughts wander. What was the meaning of this? Was it meant to be a scheme to distract him? Was it a warning? Could She be working for the Professor? This was beyond him for now. Better to focus on what he could do, bring down Moriarty's gang. If she were part of it, he'd find out soon enough.

A/N

Thanks to you all for the encouragement and reviews. Eventually these two will stop their cat-footed musings and (eventually) end up in the same place, hopefully within the next two chapters. Bear with my relatively short updates for now.

Again, reviews are appreciated, if only to flatter the Diva, who is still holding my crystal hostage. (wink!)

Please notes there is a new poll located on my profile if you'd care to give your opinion.

I'd also like to hear (via PM) what YOUR version of Irene is like and how you see mine. (Probably will not change mine any, but I'm always interested)