I waited outside the room with Lord Jacobson, not all that eager to see another dead body, and listened intently as I tried to pick up snatches of the conversation between Watson and Holmes. I couldn't pick out any whole sentences, but I did pick out the occasional word such as 'nightshade' or their names as they told of their findings to the other. After what seemed like an age, the two emerged from the room and reported their findings to us.
"Just as we thought," Holmes said. "It was nightshade poisoning- although it looks as though someone tried to cure her after her death."
Lord Jacobson coughed nervously and shuffled slightly.
"I have always made sure to keep activated charcoal around the house since my wife was poisoned six years ago," he explained nervously. "I was worried that I might be targeted next, and so I never mentioned it to my servants- perhaps if I had she could have been saved."
"Perhaps," agreed Holmes. "But it would be better if we could focus on what did happen rather than what could have happened."
With a nod, Lord Jacobson led us back to the waiting room where Watson and I sat either side of Holmes on the sofa as he took the chair opposite. It felt like we were a jury, readying to hear the evidence of the accused- and Holmes was a scrupulous judge.
"Who was present at the time of the murder?" he asked, and we watched the Lord Jacobson calm himself before replying.
"Maxwell Turner- who is my butler and whom you've already met, Miss Isabella Crowe and Miss Eudora Fisher- assistants in the kitchen, and finally Gideon Wilson who is a waiter," he replied. "They stay overnight so as to prepare breakfast and wake me up; the other staff didn't arrive till later."
"How many people do you employ in total?"
"Well I currently have seven other kitchen assistants and five other waiters- as well as four maids." He looked down at the floor thoughtfully. "Yes, unfortunately we had to let of Maxwell's younger brother after an incident involving one of the maids."
"Incident?"
"Just a little romantic quarrel," replied Lord Jacobson dismissively, moving his hand as if to brush the subject away. "Nothing of any importance."
Looking at Holmes, I could see that he didn't appear to think that- and I was inclined to agree with him. For all we knew it could have everything to do with this case, but we had to reluctantly drop it as Lord Jacobson gave a look that made it quite clear he wouldn't be pressganged into divulging any information on that given subject.
"Where were you when this was taking place?"
"I was in my room eating breakfast," he replied. "I do prefer to have something to eat before I am forced to get up."
It was obvious we weren't going to get anymore out of him that was relevant to the case- so we instead opted to speak to the witnesses of this crime, starting with the butler- who still didn't drop his 'holier than thou' attitude as he took his masters seat. But seeing as he had already given us a brief narrative, he didn't have much to add- and neither did Miss Crowe nor Miss Fisher. In fact it wasn't until we got to Mr Wilson that anything vaguely interesting happened- when we asked him about Maxwell's younger brother.
"You mean Luther?" asked the squinty-eyed man, who was probably in his early forties. " Maxwell and 'im never got along- probably 'cos Maxwell was all posh-like and Luther was more like 'is dad."
"Do you know about this 'romantic quarrel' then?" asked Watson.
"You mean that fight 'e 'ad with Lord Jacobson paying special attention to Miss Simons? Course- everyone knows it, we just 'ush up about it so we can keep our jobs."
"Then why are you talking about it?" asked Holmes, regarding him carefully. "None of the others seemed to know anything about it."
"You keep such pretty company, Mr 'olmes," replied Mr Wilson, flashing us a grin which showed nasty teeth. "Surely someone who keeps such a pretty lady around can be trusted with this?"
I naturally felt repulsed at this, but tried not to let is show on my face as Holmes gave me a quick sideways glance before leaning back into the chair.
"That's an interesting statement," he commented. "What, might I ask, gives you that impression?"
"Well I 'eard how you're the only consulting detective in the world- So I was wondering as to why three of you turned up," explained the man. "Then I 'eard Maxwell saying as to 'ow your friend 'ere is a doctor- but that leaves the mystery of the lady, 'cos I'm fairly certain she ain't no detective or doctor."
"And what exactly are you implying?" asked Watson, seeming fairly annoyed.
"I'm not implying anything," chuckled Mr Wilson, crossing his legs and leaning back. "I'm just wondering what the merits are of keeping such a pretty, young lady around."
"She is a colleague of mine," replied Holmes, in a serious tone. "So I suggest you drop with the vulgarities and answer our questions."
"Why should I?"
I could sense that this wasn't going anywhere, as could Watson seemingly- but Holmes wasn't one to give up easily and pursued the subject relentlessly.
"You should answer us because it is in your best interests to do so," he replied, then leant forward slightly. "Unless you want to consider yourself a suspect in this case."
"I've already spoken to the peelers- if you want answers then go the them."
In the end we found it was useless to pursue this any further so instead, after Holmes had a final conversation with Lord Jacobson, we took a cab back and made to drop Watson off first before Holmes and I headed back to Baker Street- but not after a bit of news.
"You're doing what?" asked Watson in disbelief, looking at the detective who sat next to me. "Why are you going to France?"
"I have something else to take care of," replied the detective vaguely, smoking his pipe now that we were free of Warburton Hall. "I can trust you two to act in my place, can't I?"
"So you're going to go gallivanting of to France, leaving Alex and I to attend this Christmas ball in order to see what happens next? Holmes- I was planning to spend Christmas with my fiancée." Watson was getting more annoyed by the second, whilst the detective just stared back at him.
"Well do that then," replied Holmes with a shrug. "Leave Miss Alex there on her own without anyone to help her if she gets in trouble- she might even get poisoned."
He actually looked amused at that, and I shot him a glare to which he raised an eyebrow.
"Are you not worried about being poisoned?" he asked.
"I'm more worried about meeting up with Mr Wilson and his 'missing H' problem, Mr 'olmes," I replied. Watson tried not to smile, and Holmes seemed amused by the idea.
"I'm still not going," replied Watson as we pulled up at Cavandish Place, climbing out. "So why don't you go instead and drop this silly trip."
Before Holmes could reply, Watson was walking up to his door and the carriage continued on its journey to Baker Street. I leant against the side, propping my head up as I fanned away the smoke that drifted my way from the pipe.
"You don't like smoking?" asked the detective, seemingly confused. "You've never complained before."
"That's because you've never smoked in a cab before- at least not with me," I replied, ignoring the look he was giving me. "It's a nasty habit."
"It helps me when I'm thinking," he replied, leaning back against his side as we stared each other off. "You want me to solve this case don't you?"
"Not in a cab," I replied.
"Oh, so you have a preferred area as to where I should solve my cases?" he asked, sounding amused. He placed his fingertips together as he smirked. "Do tell."
"Your bedroom," I replied, coughing as I caught another whiff of the smoke that was beginning to fill this small space.
"My bedroom?" he repeated, eyes glistening. "Well I hadn't thought of you as that type of girl, Miss Alex."
"Wait. What?" I asked confusedly, and he laughed at my expression. "No! What the hell are you thinking?"
"Calm down," he chuckled, taking the pipe out of his mouth as I glared daggers at him. "I'm thinking that you are the one trying to seduce me."
"I'm not trying to seduce you," I replied with gritted teeth, much to the detectives amusement. "Stop trying to wind me up."
"I'm not trying if I've succeeded," he replied, then brought his pipe up to his mouth. "Such as you have."
In that one moment my anger turned to blankness as I wondered at the meaning of Holmes' words.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, but his burrow was now furrowed as he became lost in deep thought and I resisted the idea to hit him around the head with his pipe.
But I never receive the answer to that question as Holmes was out of the cab and up into 221B Baker Street before I had managed to get out- leaving me to pay the cabbie. I then didn't hear from him until the next night- unfortunately for him.
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"Wake up, Miss Alex!"
I opened my eyes to find myself face-to-face with Holmes- almost quite literally- and proceeded to push him away with unbridled fury.
"Go away, Holmes," I replied, rolling over to face away from him. "It's the middle of the night and I'm trying to sleep."
"You don't know that," replied Holmes as he sat on the bed.
"It's dark- that's indication enough," I replied with a growl, and I felt the bed shift as he leaned across me so he could see my face. "Go. Away."
"How do you know that something important hasn't happened?" he asked.
"Your idea of important and mine are completely different," I responded, pulling the sheets tight around me. "For me, sleep is important, just like your wellbeing is not important to you?"
"What make you say that?" He asked, and I proceeded to punch him in the jaw. "Now that was uncalled for."
"So is waking me up at god knows what time," I replied moodily. "What do you want?"
There was silence, as he seemed to consider it before speaking.
"I fear the adventures of our night time intruder are not over," he replied, and I almost literally froze with fear.
"What?" I hissed, before turning around and sitting up in the same movement, bringing me closer to the detective than I was comfortable with- our noses a hairsbreadth away from each other. "What do you mean? If this is some kind of joke Holmes then-"
"It's not," he interrupted. "They left a sign for me, which means that you may be in danger again."
"They're after me again?" I asked, and he nodded in reply.
"Yes- I'll need to keep you closer to me from now on- perhaps then I can have a chance at finding out who the mastermind is behind this plot."
I almost rolled my eyes- of course he didn't care about my wellbeing- he just wanted to catch the bad guy behind this, and I'm sure one name was coming to both our minds at the moment.
"You will need to relocate yourself to my room for the time being," he continued. "It's larger than this one and will be safer seeing as I'm around."
"And as Watson's not around to comment on the inappropriateness of it," I replied, and he grinned widely.
"Naturally," he replied, then got off the bed. "Though why he cares about that rather than your safety concerns me."
I rolled my eyes again as the 'relocating' began, wondering if I should write my will now and if it were possible to come back as a ghost and haunt Holmes because if it. All the while that one name ringing through my mind with every angle that this crime could take.
Moriarty.