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"I don't care what everyone thinks of her, that girl is trouble." Colonel and Mrs. Holmes were getting ready for breakfast. It had been a long time since they had shared a room, much less a bed. Violet Holmes insisted on helping her husband with his necktie. Despite the fact that they were going home today, he still abused the poor girl's reputation, "Her voice is too loud. She flirts. She laughs. And worse, she acts as if she was a boy."
"I think Alinere is a quiet and sweet girl. I've never seen her acting in any uncomely way."
"Even a gorgon's perfect in your eyes," he pushed her hands away and readjusted his tie in front of the mirror, "you should have seen her, chatting with a bunch of young men as if no thing wrong with that or they were little girls like her. She'll never be a flawless British young lady, I tell you, and quit your matchmaking. Even Sherlock's too good for her. That's what you get when you have bad blood in you. Lord Wilkins told me that her mother was French."
"But my mother had a French brought up."
"Exactly my point." Bang! He shut the door behind him.
Mrs. Violet Holmes vaguely remembered Alinere's mother as the famous, or rather, the infamous, Lady Blackcastle, who was the 'prime donna' of the elite Parisian society until her second marriage took her to a far foreign country. 'Was it Austria?' She thought, 'or Russia?' No wonder Alinere was so beautiful, she definitely took after her mother. Who was her father? She was always presented as Lady Alinere and nothing else.
These thoughts quite occupied Violet as she walked down stairs. She found her husband and their host. She was told that her son went on a brief trip with Alinere's brother to the City, and he'll go back to their London home on his own. She almost laughed as she saw the displeased lines between her husband's brows. Not for a second did she have a clue of what her son was doing.
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"Hullo, young'un, care for a little fun with mama?" a woman approaching her late forties, dressed in a piece of clothing not even big enough for a doll, called to the boy with a scar down his left cheek. His green eyes narrowed in disdain as he pushed her away with a trail of insults that resembled that of a sailor's. "Fine, you little- " she said, then she was again pushed aside by a much taller and older man, who did not even glance at her and followed the boy. "Tsu!" she spitted, "h-ll with ye all!"
"That was some language you got there, Master Billy," Holmes was uncomfortable in this ill-clad, unsanitary sphere. He had often came to London, usually visits to the BM and such, never ever had he step beyond the boundary of sanity.
"Master Billy" grinned, "if you want to survive in this business you'll have to learn to become different characters, and," she could see that he was getting queasy, "get used to all kinds of wonderful environments."
"Great," he smacked his lips and shook his head. "I'm having second thoughts on this thing."
She could not help but laugh, "no way, it's too late. We are here." She glanced at him then turned her gaze onto a tiny flat stuck between two gigantic warehouses. "My people had already checked the place out. It appeared the target had moved out no more than three days ago, with two months of rent unpaid. He had taken everything with him, except the furniture, which are the owner's. By the way, by what method do you want to get in?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind, the owner isn't home, there's only one way." She walked up to the door and pulled out a piece of metal hook from her front pocket. She placed her body very close to the door, so her oversized jacket well covered up the movements of her hands. With a click the door opened. "C'mon," she waved her companion in.
"Did you just pick the lock open?" he said when they were in and the door shut.
She placed her instrument back where it was, "yes, I did. And I think you should learn it before long. So," she inspected the room, "my best men couldn't find anything helpful here. Let's see what you can do."
Even though years later he would pick locks and knock down doors without a second thought, as a young man bred in the finest air of Yorkshire high society, he still had a few skepticism about breaking laws. But business first, he checked the most obvious places like in the drawers and bookcases. He wasn't surprised that he found nothing. Alinere stood and watched the front from the window, in case someone came bustling in. She eyed the busy mass below while whistling "Turkish March." He checked the window drapes and beneath the furniture. She whistled. He checked the corners and edge of the walls, while wanting to throw a book at her or something to make her stop. She still whistled. He found a tiny piece of red mud at the side of the cheap carpeting and a scrape of newspaper next to the fireplace. She came and grabbed him by the neck. He was leaning down, so it was easier for her than the arm. "Follow me," she spoke almost inaudibly. They were at the back studies window. Holmes followed her by sliding down the rain pipe. "What is it?" he asked her when they both reached ground level.
"There," she threw her head to the side. Two constables were working on the front door lock, while a crowd watched with fascination. "Someone must have ticked them off," she said with a silent rage, "we were betrayed."
They came to a small beverage shop for some tea and laughed silently with a devilish amusement as the bobbies across the street scratched their heads at the empty house. Meanwhile, he related to her his findings. She put two lumps of sugar in his cup as he wanted and drank hers bland. "I know where the Scarlet- "
"Scarlet Ibis."
"Yes, I know where he is. He is at Hull, I'm sure of it."
"How can you be so sure?" she crossed her legs under the table.
"Here," he took out the envelopes in which he saved his findings, "this is a piece of pottery mud only found to the south of Yorkshire Wolds, it's extremely rare. A few summers ago I've spent time with a relative of mine who is an antique admirer. Also," he gave the piece of newsprint to her, "this is a part of 'Hull's Gazette,' for it has a tiny curve at the end of every 'l'."
"Maybe someday you can teach me to be more observant," this made him blush a little, "good work, Holmes. I knew we could rely on you," she stood up and withdrew a few small coins for the drink, "I'll have to get the information to my men. They'll start extra guard in the port of Hull. You want to come?"
"No, no, I think I'd rather go home on my own, thank you." he was glad she did not see the way his fingers were shaking. It had been an interesting and trying day for him. Adventure, challenge, and success, all in one day, what more could a person need? A little time to calm him down. He didn't want to go back to their London house, at least, not yet. He sat there, with his head leaned back, for almost ten minutes until he felt an icy metal rod pointed at the back of his neck. "Please don't move," a gruff male voice hissed, "unless you want your brain be shot into a million pieces." He swallowed hard and glanced around only to find no one able and near enough to help him. 'Where are those damned officers when you need one?'
There was nothing to do but do as he was told. He got up and stood arm-in- arm with his abductor. That was when he first had a sideways look at him. He was tall, as tall as Holmes was, with a heavy beard, apparently fake, and extremely bushy eyebrows, those were real. "Please come with me," his tone was from northern England, perhaps as far as Edinburgh. They walked out and down the street. For twenty minutes, no word was passed between them.
"Where are you taking me?" he was, after all, scared.
"For a little walk," he said bemusedly, "and a little talk about the Trinity Order."
"I don't care what everyone thinks of her, that girl is trouble." Colonel and Mrs. Holmes were getting ready for breakfast. It had been a long time since they had shared a room, much less a bed. Violet Holmes insisted on helping her husband with his necktie. Despite the fact that they were going home today, he still abused the poor girl's reputation, "Her voice is too loud. She flirts. She laughs. And worse, she acts as if she was a boy."
"I think Alinere is a quiet and sweet girl. I've never seen her acting in any uncomely way."
"Even a gorgon's perfect in your eyes," he pushed her hands away and readjusted his tie in front of the mirror, "you should have seen her, chatting with a bunch of young men as if no thing wrong with that or they were little girls like her. She'll never be a flawless British young lady, I tell you, and quit your matchmaking. Even Sherlock's too good for her. That's what you get when you have bad blood in you. Lord Wilkins told me that her mother was French."
"But my mother had a French brought up."
"Exactly my point." Bang! He shut the door behind him.
Mrs. Violet Holmes vaguely remembered Alinere's mother as the famous, or rather, the infamous, Lady Blackcastle, who was the 'prime donna' of the elite Parisian society until her second marriage took her to a far foreign country. 'Was it Austria?' She thought, 'or Russia?' No wonder Alinere was so beautiful, she definitely took after her mother. Who was her father? She was always presented as Lady Alinere and nothing else.
These thoughts quite occupied Violet as she walked down stairs. She found her husband and their host. She was told that her son went on a brief trip with Alinere's brother to the City, and he'll go back to their London home on his own. She almost laughed as she saw the displeased lines between her husband's brows. Not for a second did she have a clue of what her son was doing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hullo, young'un, care for a little fun with mama?" a woman approaching her late forties, dressed in a piece of clothing not even big enough for a doll, called to the boy with a scar down his left cheek. His green eyes narrowed in disdain as he pushed her away with a trail of insults that resembled that of a sailor's. "Fine, you little- " she said, then she was again pushed aside by a much taller and older man, who did not even glance at her and followed the boy. "Tsu!" she spitted, "h-ll with ye all!"
"That was some language you got there, Master Billy," Holmes was uncomfortable in this ill-clad, unsanitary sphere. He had often came to London, usually visits to the BM and such, never ever had he step beyond the boundary of sanity.
"Master Billy" grinned, "if you want to survive in this business you'll have to learn to become different characters, and," she could see that he was getting queasy, "get used to all kinds of wonderful environments."
"Great," he smacked his lips and shook his head. "I'm having second thoughts on this thing."
She could not help but laugh, "no way, it's too late. We are here." She glanced at him then turned her gaze onto a tiny flat stuck between two gigantic warehouses. "My people had already checked the place out. It appeared the target had moved out no more than three days ago, with two months of rent unpaid. He had taken everything with him, except the furniture, which are the owner's. By the way, by what method do you want to get in?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind, the owner isn't home, there's only one way." She walked up to the door and pulled out a piece of metal hook from her front pocket. She placed her body very close to the door, so her oversized jacket well covered up the movements of her hands. With a click the door opened. "C'mon," she waved her companion in.
"Did you just pick the lock open?" he said when they were in and the door shut.
She placed her instrument back where it was, "yes, I did. And I think you should learn it before long. So," she inspected the room, "my best men couldn't find anything helpful here. Let's see what you can do."
Even though years later he would pick locks and knock down doors without a second thought, as a young man bred in the finest air of Yorkshire high society, he still had a few skepticism about breaking laws. But business first, he checked the most obvious places like in the drawers and bookcases. He wasn't surprised that he found nothing. Alinere stood and watched the front from the window, in case someone came bustling in. She eyed the busy mass below while whistling "Turkish March." He checked the window drapes and beneath the furniture. She whistled. He checked the corners and edge of the walls, while wanting to throw a book at her or something to make her stop. She still whistled. He found a tiny piece of red mud at the side of the cheap carpeting and a scrape of newspaper next to the fireplace. She came and grabbed him by the neck. He was leaning down, so it was easier for her than the arm. "Follow me," she spoke almost inaudibly. They were at the back studies window. Holmes followed her by sliding down the rain pipe. "What is it?" he asked her when they both reached ground level.
"There," she threw her head to the side. Two constables were working on the front door lock, while a crowd watched with fascination. "Someone must have ticked them off," she said with a silent rage, "we were betrayed."
They came to a small beverage shop for some tea and laughed silently with a devilish amusement as the bobbies across the street scratched their heads at the empty house. Meanwhile, he related to her his findings. She put two lumps of sugar in his cup as he wanted and drank hers bland. "I know where the Scarlet- "
"Scarlet Ibis."
"Yes, I know where he is. He is at Hull, I'm sure of it."
"How can you be so sure?" she crossed her legs under the table.
"Here," he took out the envelopes in which he saved his findings, "this is a piece of pottery mud only found to the south of Yorkshire Wolds, it's extremely rare. A few summers ago I've spent time with a relative of mine who is an antique admirer. Also," he gave the piece of newsprint to her, "this is a part of 'Hull's Gazette,' for it has a tiny curve at the end of every 'l'."
"Maybe someday you can teach me to be more observant," this made him blush a little, "good work, Holmes. I knew we could rely on you," she stood up and withdrew a few small coins for the drink, "I'll have to get the information to my men. They'll start extra guard in the port of Hull. You want to come?"
"No, no, I think I'd rather go home on my own, thank you." he was glad she did not see the way his fingers were shaking. It had been an interesting and trying day for him. Adventure, challenge, and success, all in one day, what more could a person need? A little time to calm him down. He didn't want to go back to their London house, at least, not yet. He sat there, with his head leaned back, for almost ten minutes until he felt an icy metal rod pointed at the back of his neck. "Please don't move," a gruff male voice hissed, "unless you want your brain be shot into a million pieces." He swallowed hard and glanced around only to find no one able and near enough to help him. 'Where are those damned officers when you need one?'
There was nothing to do but do as he was told. He got up and stood arm-in- arm with his abductor. That was when he first had a sideways look at him. He was tall, as tall as Holmes was, with a heavy beard, apparently fake, and extremely bushy eyebrows, those were real. "Please come with me," his tone was from northern England, perhaps as far as Edinburgh. They walked out and down the street. For twenty minutes, no word was passed between them.
"Where are you taking me?" he was, after all, scared.
"For a little walk," he said bemusedly, "and a little talk about the Trinity Order."