Chapter 7: We Are For The Dark

"The bright day is done,

And we are for the dark."

-William Shakespeare

John advised Nicole to leave the room several times, but she would not. I knew that neither of the men were particularly inclined towards forcefully removing her, and so she was allowed to remain, although her presence was entirely ignored.

Not knowing what to do, she remained motionless just inside the doorway, purposely averting her eyes from the body of her father on the ground, rigid and frozen eternally in the act of some grotesque seizure or convulsion. I dared not say anything on the subject to her, but her continued presence was truthfully doing no additional good to the process of searching for clues as Holmes and my brother were doing, and it was obviously an act of sheer stubbornness on her part. I understood, of course. I had been both curious and stubborn enough to discreetly slip into the first crime scene I had seen, the victim also in my case being my own father. She wanted not as much to help examine the scene as to prove herself worthy of helping in other areas of the investigation.

After only a few moments of searching the room, during which he lowered himself flat on the floor and closely studied the area of the carpet which had been soiled with the spilled tea, taking repeated whiffs of it, Holmes sprang to his feet. "This isn't just a simple murder anymore," he said, affording a glance at the corpse. "Two are dead. We are dealing with a killer who is targeting multiple people. This is a far more serious case than I had previously anticipated. I'm going to send a telegraph to Lestrade. Perhaps he shall be kind enough to come up and assist us."

He departed the room after this announcement, and I was left with a very sinister feeling. Holmes was entirely correct. One murder was something I knew he had solved multiple times before, with assistance from the local constabulary. But multiple murders was far more serious, and dangerous. Even Holmes knew that he couldn't properly take on that kind of an investigation without the proper authorities. The risks were far too high, especially when we now had to protect someone who seemed to be a likely candidate for the next target, should there be further killings.

My gaze snapped to Nicole. "May I speak to you outside for a moment?" I asked.

She nodded, seeming more willing to listen to me than she was to either of the men, following me as I gestured towards the open doorway.

The hallway was quite refreshing, and it felt less oppressive than the bedroom had been, the presence of a horrifically positioned dead body adding to the atmosphere considerably. I took a cleansing breath and looked Nicole seriously in the eye. "Nicole, your father and your brother are both dead. You are the only member of the family that remains."

She ducked her head, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress. "You think I may be the next target," she said softly, shivering and glancing behind her, already seeming a little frightened at the thought.

"I think that it is a definite possibility," I said slowly. "And it's very probable that you will be put into very close protection so that we can avoid you being poisoned as well. I want you to be prepared for that. And I must ask, is there anyone that you know of who has reason to want your family out of the way?"

Nicole shook her head slowly. "Most of the workers in town hate us, but they don't seem…capable, if you know what I mean."

"So you don't believe any of them would be capable of murder to this degree?"

"No. I doubt they would have the capacity for murder at all. They may not appreciate those of our class very much, but they're very passive."

I nodded, and was opening my mouth to reply when she added, "Although…"

"Yes?" I prompted her, raising my eyebrows. "Although what?"

She bit her lip, seeming indecisive for a moment before speaking. "There have been a rather unusual number of fights among the townsfolk of late."

"Unusually high?"

"Very. The past few months, there's been far more reports of violence in the town than anyone's heard of in years. Especially among those working directly in the mines. But I still doubt any of them would have enough anger to kill. The worst casualty from the recent violence is a few broken bones, as far as I've heard."

I didn't waste another moment before making the decision. "I'm going to find Holmes," I said. "And you're coming with me. I can't risk any harm befalling you, and I need you to tell him exactly what you told me."

"But didn't he go into town to send a telegraph?"

"Most certainly not. He'll have sent one of the house staff into town to do it. The constabulary will need alerted as well. He wouldn't leave the scene alone for that long. Not while any evidence is still fresh."

I grabbed Nicole's arm to pull her along with me and set off down the hall in the direction Holmes had gone. We walked briskly until we found him standing in the foyer, hands clasped behind his back and tersely waiting, presumably for the return of whatever messenger he had sent, and help from the local constabulary, which I doubt consisted of more than one or two officers and a local doctor.

"Holmes, Nicole – er, Miss Camberwell, sorry – has some information for you." I nodded at her. "Tell him what you told me," I instructed.

She took a breath and confidently repeated, word for word, everything she'd said to me about the townspeople and the recent violence.

"That's very interesting, oh, very interesting indeed!" Holmes exclaimed at the end, seeming very passionate about having new information to work with. I wasn't sure just how important it was, but I knew that it must tie in somehow.

"Holmes, what of the poison?" I asked. "It's likely that it was consumed through the tea, is it not?"

Holmes nodded. "It is indeed."

"Does that mean you'll be able to identify it?" Nicole asked.

He gave her a sort of look, as if he was still slightly annoyed with having to answer her as more than a client, but answered all the same. "Once the assistance from town arrives, I shall take a sample from what is left, and I will do whatever tests I am able to perform in order to identify its name and origin."

"Will Lestrade come?" I asked.

"I suspect we shall have an answer to that question by morning," Holmes replied, giving yet another glance towards the window, clearly hoping to see the light of a lantern being held aloft as the carriage containing the town constabulary rolled in.

"But in your opinion, will he come?"

"As I have often told Watson, Lestrade is the pick of a bad lot. He is by far the most sensible and intelligent of the Scotland Yarders. In all probability, he will come. Over the years during which I have worked with Scotland Yard, he has formed a sort of dogged loyalty to me. It would take a great deal indeed to keep him in London when I have promised him multiple murders in a small, secluded mining town. Yes, he will come. Now Emily, why don't you escort Miss Camberwell up to her bedroom? It is late, and likely these next few days will not be easy ones. You would both do well to get some rest."

I nodded and took Nicole's arm, turning to lead her up to her room, but stopped. "Nicole, why don't you go on up?" I asked. "There's something I wish to discuss with Mr. Holmes, I'll only be a moment."

Holmes gave me a stern look, probably for dismissing the precaution of keeping an eye on her at all times, and Nicole looked at me skeptically, but I nodded to her and she turned and started walking up the stairs, and as I watched, I could see that she did not tremble as she did so. Her father was gone. And however terrifying having a murderer targeting her family might be, she was safe.

Once she was safely out of sight, I turned to Holmes. "Are Simon Camberwell's friends from Eton still your main suspects?" I asked him.

"There's no reason at this stage of the investigation for them not to be," he replied. "They were still the last ones to see him alive, and –"

"No, they weren't," I interjected.

"Pardon?" Holmes asked inquisitively.

"According to what you said the pub owner told you, he was the last one to see Simon Camberwell alive."

A thoughtful look crossed over Holmes' face. "This is true," he said. "But Mr. Johnson, as far as we know, had no motive to kill either of the men. Young Mr. Camberwell's friends, however, were seen violently fighting with him just hours before his demise."

I fixed my eyes on the floor for a moment before raising them again to look at Holmes. "Have you any plans to speak with them?" I asked.

"I would prefer to wait until Lestrade arrives, in the event that at that time, proof becomes readily available, and an arrest must be made. Now please, see to it that Miss Camberwell stays safe. Do not lead her into danger. Surely you are already aware that she may very well be the next target."

"I am. And I have alerted her of that fact, as well. Very well, then. Goodnight, Holmes." I turned grimly and ascended the stairs, keeping my shoulders tense, for I knew that relaxation would dull my senses.

"Please stay with me tonight," Nicole had pleaded, so I had agreed to do so. Now I was sitting on the edge of her bed, as apprehensive as ever, but this time not without reason. Something was wrong. I could tell. Nicole was perfectly calm as she obliviously ranted to me, but I wasn't listening. My eyes were focused elsewhere. There were scuff marks on the windowsill, and little clumps of mud were visible on the window and the floor underneath. Someone had come in that way. Maybe they were still in the room.

My breath came quicker as my eyes flitted around the room for other indications or signs of movement before finally falling on the folding doors of the closet, which were partially open. In that moment I could have sworn I saw the sharp glint of an eye caught in the lamplight. In another instant it was gone.

Stop talking, stop talking, I willed Nicole. But instead I let the silence in the rest of the room drown out her voice. I could hear a sound. Heavy breathing. Was it coming from the intruder stashed in the closet or were they my own panicked breaths?

My senses were rife with danger, and with each heartbeat, coming more and more rapidly with every second, the feeling coursed through my veins and all through my body, sending a tingling shock into my fingers and toes. I reached out and grabbed Nicole by the arm, letting instinct take over my actions.

I was vaguely aware of her abruptly stopping in the middle of a sentence. "Emily, what –"

I didn't reply. If there was indeed someone hiding in the closet, I didn't want to confirm that I knew they were there.

Casting a warning glance in her direction, I quickly opened the door and pushed her out of the room.

I lingered in the doorway. My first thought was that we should run and get help. John and Holmes' rooms were just down the hall. By now they would both have retired and would surely be there. No. If we both left the room, the intruder could escape out through the window again, obviously having been discovered. So I turned to Nicole and hissed, "Run."

She stared at me, wide-eyed, for a moment, but didn't question me. And she seemed to understand the hidden meaning in the word, for she immediately turned and ran in the direction of the rooms down the hall where Holmes and John were staying. I did not stop to watch. I took a breath, confident in my ability to temporarily fight off whomever may be inside based on what Andrew had been teaching me, strode to the closet door, and wrenched it open.

I did not recognize the face inside, nor did I have time enough to think about it, for immediately something was clasped over my mouth. My stomach turned. It was sweet. Horribly sweet, like rotting fruit. Everything in my head turned to mist, and my eyes flickered closed, and all I could see around me was utter darkness.