Chapter 3

Madeline...

Madeline's heart thudded heavily once in her chest, and she took an elegant sip of wine to calm her erratic nerves. She glanced over at her dear Watson, who currently had a mask of betrayal upsetting his face. Maddy sighed faintly, and decided that she may as well tell all, seeing as she'd been discovered far more quickly than she would have favoured.

"All right, Mr Holmes; John. I'll tell you the truth. But before I begin, I would just like to clarify that I am not a murder, and I did not kill that man yesterday in cold blood."

Maddy peeked at Watson, and was relieved to see that he looked slightly more assured than he did just a few moments ago. Although, she was slightly hurt by the fact that Watson thought that she, his childhood best friend, would assassinate someone.

"Go on then, Madeline." He nodded stiffly.

Madeline cleared her throat delicately, and began her harrowing tale. "A couple of months ago, my mother died of Tuberculosis. She was peaceful, in the end, I like to think; she left us in her sleep, clutching her favourite novel." Madeline stared off into the distance for a couple of minutes in reminiscence before continuing.

"We all reacted differently to Mother's death; I read all of her books, smelt her perfume and spent all of my time in her room, trying to preserve her memory; my brother became a compulsive gambler; and my father took to alcohol." Maddy's fist clenched on her lap, and to distract herself as

she spoke, she leisurely polished her cutlery on the ivory napkin that was set out before her.

"Often, William would come home and root the house, looking for something of particular value to sell in an attempt to pay off his mountainous debts, most of which were owed to dangerous thugs. My father, who could normally be found in a drunk stupor, would roar his disapproval, and beat William until he was black and blue; then retreat back to his study with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and his own company.

"One evening, my brother came home from a poker game in tears.

'Maddy,' he pleaded with me. 'They're going to come here and kill me if I don't pay them. Please! Just lend me those pretty jewels that hang around your neck and they'll be gone!' I was frightened, as this sounded nothing like the brother that I loved; William had been replaced by a madman who was interested only in woman, drink and money. He had a wild look in his eyes, one close to that of a hunting tiger, and his voice sounded mechanical and slightly insane. He pounced upon me and viciously ripped the silver necklace I was wearing from my throat, and started out of the door with it. Unfortunately for him though, Father had decided to retire for the night, and walked into the room, unaware of what was going on between us."

Madeline closed her eyes.

"I don't even know if father was drunk or not that evening. He caught my brother by the throat and threw him across the room, and in his drunken rage he-"

Madeline stopped and realised she was breathing heavily, twisting the table cloths in knots.

"Well, I'll spare you the morbid details," she laughed humorlessly. "It all ended with William grabbing a knife that was lying on the kitchen table, and stabbed Father four times in the heart. Once he'd realized what he'd done, he grabbed the forgotten necklace that was lying on the floor and fled from the house. I remained in our village long enough for the funeral and reading of the will, and then I decided to follow my dear brother to London, where I knew he was heading if he wanted any semblance of a job. While I searched for him, I applied for a job in a book shop, and checked into the Strand Hotel."

"And I'm assuming you were successful in your search for him?" Holmes asked drily, and Maddy knew that he must already have deduced what relation William had to the case.

"Oh, I found him. Down a dark alleyway, slaughtering a poor woman and taking her jewelry. He looked up just in time to see me arrive; he winked at me and ran out of the alleyway and into the neighboring shop. I knew then, in that moment of time, that my brother had died inside, and was no longer the playful boy that taught me to ride a horse or play games with me in the parlor. He had been taken over by a fierce predator, thirsty for blood and the thrill of the hunt."

There was a long heavy silence that was broken by Watson's hoarse voice.

"So, are you saying that your brother, William Hart, is the infamous Ivory Angel who's bee terrorizing London?"

"That's absurd."

"As absurd as it may seem, John, it's true."

There was another long silence as everyone mulled over their own thoughts. Suddenly, Holmes sprung up from his seat.

"It may be absurd, Watson, but this is elementary! Don't you see?" Holmes began to pace the room with long strides. "We now know his motive for all of these disastrous murders, and if we have a motive we can piece together the diminutive amount of clues we have, resulting in a discovery of a pattern or some sort of hint as to where he'll strike next..."

Holmes continued with his babble, and the realization of what was happening began to crash down on her.

Her brother was the murderer. Sure, Maddy had been tracking him every day since she arrived in London, and even more so since she was him in that alleyway. She'd even been present on multiple occasions when Holmes and Watson were close to discovering who he was. But all of that felt unreal; like she was stumbling blindly through a horrible fairytale that wouldn't have a happy ending. Now, however, it was like Holmes had turned on the light when he had caught her in that warehouse, and now she was seeing details clearly, sharply; and the realness of what is happening started to suffocate her.

Madeline began to rise out of her chair, interrupting Holmes mid-speech.

"I ought to go, much to do tomorrow." She lied.

Holmes stared at her intently, as Watson showed her out of the door. "Will you come here tomorrow? You would be a great asset to the case, Maddy." Watson asked her.

"Of course." Maddy smiled, and descended down the steps into the dark velvet night, oblivious to the fact that a pair of eyes were watching her from behind a tree.