Made a mistake last chapter, I'm all done with the rewrites! Woo! SO, please, REVIEW.
Disclaimer: Still? I don't own Harry Potter, stop suing me.
The Case of the Mini-Mycroft
Chapter the Tenth-
I leaned in closer to read the article, blowing the strands of my long black-haired wig out of my face. I had changed in a café bathroom, and was now sitting at a table by myself, sipping a cup of coffee. I made a face at the taste, it tasted horrible, still it provided warmth on the cold day, and I accepted that greedily. I began to read.
POLITICIAN'S SON TRAGICALLY KIDNAPPED
The famous son of the local politician, widowed Ms. Tewksbury, has gone missing this Wednesday morning. Vincent Tewksbury, a well-known young man throughout the town, was assumingly kidnapped when walking home. Police have no new evidence of foul play.
It is assumed that the young man was taken for ransom, although no demand has been made, by the local and dangerous gang-
"Gang?" I admit I gasped at that part.
What would an upper-class boy be doing with gangs? Why on earth would a gang even be here? What is this? A 1920's American mafia movie?
"Something wrong?" A waiter asked me, stopping by my table. He spotted the article, "Ah, yes, it's tragic about what happened. The old hag herself hasn't even come out from her house since Thursday."
I pursed my lips, but let him continue.
The waiter rattled on, "She's accepting any help she can get, practically lost her mind, well, and she'd have to have it to lose it in the first place. She was always convinced that Vincent was perfect, that he could do no wrong. Stupid if you ask me, practically crazy."
"Why?" I asked, leaning closer.
The waiter smirked, "Well, Vincent was no angel, he was quite the…" He searched for the right word, and I felt my patience waver. "I don't know what you would call him, not innocent though, a troublemaker."
I stared down at the newspaper. A picture of Vincent Tewksbury stared back up at me. It was a still, posed moment. He was dressed impeccably in a suit, complete with tie and all. While his posture read relaxed, his face was tensed, and I sensed that he was very, very uncomfortable when the photo was taken.
He couldn't be more than my age, 16 or 17 at most.
"Thank you." I told the waiter, and I folded the newspaper. "Can you tell me where I might find the Tewksbury household?"
He nodded, smirked again, and grabbed the pad that was hanging off his apron. He scribbled something on it, and then gave it to me. I nodded, and got up, ready to leave.
After the waiter left, I read the paper, memorizing it. Briefly I wondered why he had written a number also, before it dawned on me.
My cheeks grew pink very quickly. I rolled my eyes, shouldered my bags, and left, heading for the address that was scrawled on the paper.
(Let me say this now, unless you have gone back and re-read all the chapters after they have been edited, what happens next will be confusing. Please, you really should go back and read them again. Thank you. )
It was a big house; mansion would have been a better word for it. It was set on the border of the town, but not far from the café. It had a huge property, with big iron gates surrounding it.
It reminded me slightly of Ferndall-
Don't go there Enola.
I took in a deep breath, and placed my bags in a shrub, outside the door, hiding them from sight. Hopefully, I'll be in there, and then out.
I knew I shouldn't have been there, and maybe if I had known what was to come because of it, I would have turned, and left for London immediately.
But the story, the case of a missing person called for me, and I answered.
I pressed the doorbell, and within minutes a well-dressed servant answered the door.
"Hello, may I help you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. She was a plump old woman, dressed in black and white dress. While her dress was expensive, and well cared for, her shoes were built for comfort, and were brown, throwing off the black and white pallet she had for everything else.
Works on her feet for long periods of time then, probably the head servant.
I smiled, and brushed back a piece of hair.
I've never worn a wig before, but the long black wig I wore was itchy. It was longer than my own hair, but straight and luxurious. I wore a modest plain black dress that went to my knees. I wore tall black boots with no heel. Black clothes lined my hands, and I wore a ring on a necklace around my neck. A stylish hat with a black veil sat upon my head.
All in all, I looked beautifully sad.
A widower, whose husband had recently passed away, it was a nice disguise, and I hoped that such an adult look would throw my brothers off my trail.
"Yes, I am-" I began when I was interrupted.
"Mary, Mary, come quick!" A womanly, voice howled.
I looked past the servant, where a tall graceful woman dressed in robes of glorious black, swooped down from the stairs, and into the hallway. Smaller, mousier maids than the one in front of me trailed after her, asking her to come back inside.
The woman's eyes met mine, and she threw her arms around me.
I stumbled back, surprised, and perhaps slightly horrified. This dramatic and emotional woman draped herself on me, tears staining my dress.
"I-I" I began, unsure and stunned.
"Please, have they've found anything?!" She asked me, lifting her head up and staring into my eyes, hers searching for answers.
The old woman, Mary, pulled the sobbing lady off of me, and into her arms. "Oh hush mistress, hush, it's alright." She cooed.
The lady, who I presumed to be Ms. Tewksbury, (my heart, at the time, went out to Vincent, heaven knows how he managed with a mother like that) pulled herself away from Mary, and focused again on me.
"I heard that there was someone at the door and I just thought that it," She paused, letting out another fearsome wail. "That it might be him, back home!" She pushed herself away from the head servant, and clutched my hands, grasping them like a drowning man does at a straw. "Tell me; are you here to find my son? What's your name?"
(I must admit, that what I said haunts me forever, and I blame for the fact that I was so shocked at Ms. Tewksbury. Normally, you must understand that I would never act like this.)
"Enola Holmes." I answered, rather stupidly. I felt anger rise in me, I was such a fool. Now there would be several witnesses saying that they saw an Enola Holmes at the Tewksbury household. The disguise I wore would be utterly useless; I'd have to create an entire new one.
D**n.
I hoped that Ms. Tewksbury had never heard of Sherlock Holmes, and I was granted that wish.
"Who?" She asked, sounding slightly confused.
Sadly, that wish was immediately shattered, by one of the younger, mousier maids.
"Oh, are you related to the one detective in London, the one with the fancy website?" A maid piped in.
"Detective?" Ms. Tewksbury's eyes found mine again, "Find my son, I beg of you! Please!"
I opened my mouth to answer her, perhaps offer condolences of some sort, but I was interrupted for I could even begin.
"I will find the child, Ms. Tewksbury; don't bother with this insignificant girl." A tall, redheaded beauty boomed from the top of the stars. She was dressed extravagantly, swathed in drapes of colorful Indian print. Jewelry clung like moths to a light on her arms and neck, and as she stepped down the stairs, I noticed bare feet peeking out from underneath her long skirt.
"Madame Laelia, I'm sorry I rushed out, please tell me, have you?-" Ms. Tewksbury let her words hang, and the impressionable woman shook her head.
She crossed the room, and took hold of Ms. Tewksbury hands. "No, but don't fear, I am Madame Laelia Sibyl de Papaver, Astral Perditorian, and whatever is lost, can be found by me, because my spirits," She lifted her hands, and swirled her fingers above her hand, her bracelets jingling, and the fabric hanging from her arm swooshed. "Go everywhere, and see everything."
My eyes grew wide. The word Perditorian was new to me, and I realized that it was derived from the Latin word, perditus, meaning lost.
Perditorian, meaning one who divines that which is lost.
How dare she call herself that, that she is the all-finder of everything?
That is my calling, what I do. I would be a Perditorian, not an astral one. I would be the first logical, professional Perditorian.
And in one breathe of inspiration, from this colorful and strange woman; I knew what I was going to do in London.
I was going to set up shop against my brother.
I would be the first Scientific Perditorian.
Alright, that's the end of this chapter-PSYCH. There's still more because I'm feeling generous. Bask in my generosity.
I wasn't paying any attention to how the maids escorted the memorable Madame Laelia or Ms. Tewksbury away for tea. And they seem to have forgotten me as well. For I found myself alone in the great hallway of the Tewksbury residence.
I wondered up the stairs, and down the hallway, searching for Vincent's room, where I might find some clues.
My mind drifted to the original plan on finding Mum. I would take a taxi in London and ask for the a good hotel, get a room, and then sort things from there-wait, first I would figure out some way to get a message to Mum, but how?
I stopped, shaking my head; I needed to be focused on solving this case, not wondering about like a lost child.
I found myself outside an open door of a bedroom, and I peered in.
It was fancy, like a bedroom at Ferndall Hall, wood furnishings, white satin bed sheets. It was so neat, that I thought that a teenage boy couldn't live in here, but the open closet door caught my eye, and I saw hanging suits, and polished shoes for a man.
I stepped in, quickly and quietly shutting the door behind me. I walked carefully about the room, and glanced out the window.
Raindrops littered the surface of the glass, indicating that it was drizzling outside. I tried to look out farther onto the lawn, but my view was blocked by a great tree.
In fact, I couldn't see much of anything because of it, it was planted right in front of the window, so close that I could have reached out and touched a branch if the window was not there.
A brilliant idea struck my mind, and I crossed the swiftly. I pushed the window up, and it slid easily out of my way. I stuck my head out, tilting it up so that I might gaze into the trees.
Leaves poked my faces, and watered dropped into my left eye. Blinking, I looked for some sort of notch, or step in the tree, some indication that one could climb into the tree, and climb to the top.
Nothing.
Scowling, I leaned back inside the room, and closed the window. I looked back around the room, and sighed.
I was about to leave, when something flashed in the corner of my eye. I turned around and rushed to the closet, where, in the back, tucked away was a tin box.
A childish, colorful, old tin box. One might see a child of much younger years than Vincent Tewksbury carrying to this school. I found it under a pile of ties, where only a corner was peeking out.
It was a wonder on how the police hadn't found it.
I pried it open, and felt my head drop.
In the tin box, were cigarettes, lots of pound notes, a lighter, and a map. I opened up the map, where London was circled in black pen. My eyebrows furrowed. What on earth was Vincent planning?
I opened the map further, and a note fell out. I grabbed it, and held it up to the light, where I could make out the words that someone written on it. It was feminine, cursive writing.
Vinnie,
I agree, your mother is insufferable, we've got to get away. If she knew about us, she would never approve, she wishes to keep you under lock and key forever. We should run to London, it's perfect. Meet me at the Twenty-One Under pub, in the back alley. We'll plan in further detail there.
Love,
Your Jenny.
My jaw dropped.
"He did this all for a girl!"
I realized that he hadn't been kidnapped, at least, not truly. He had run away, because of some frilly romance, for some girl. I scoffed harshly.
"The waiter hadn't been lying, I'll give him that." I fingered the cigarettes. "Vincent was no angel."
There, although it wasn't much, I hoped you enjoyed it. Now, I have 16 followers, I need more than just 1 review for this. I know I get views more than just that anyway, and is it so hard to say 'good job' or 'looking forward to next chapter' or maybe 'check your grammar a bit more' perhaps even 'longer chapters please!'
Anything people, please, you're killing me here. Anyway…
With that out of the way, it's time to-
-GP2 OUT!