A/N: Thank you very much to all of those who reviewed my story so far. I
really appreciate all the encouragement and suggestions you offer me.
Chapter 11 is revised to make sure the plot fits later on, and Chapter 12
is late because of a slight plot change. The story is not complete but will
be. Please R/R. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlockian characters except Kathryn Granger and Jennifer Thomas.
There was another telegram! Why did no one else know of it? Kathryn looked not in the least surprised.
"Really? May I have those papers? I will return them as soon as I am finished. Thank you. The doctor and I must be off."
"Very well. I hope I was of assistance to you. Good day!"
Kathryn and I hailed another cab and were at once hurtling towards Kensington as we made our way back to the lodgings of Peter Stamford. As the hansom rattled through the cobbled streets, Kathryn sat through the hansom ride with the same mysterious, intellectual expression in her startling, introspective green eyes that I'd so often seen from Holmes.
We paid the cabbie and continued to walk down the busy street. Kathryn immediately set to work upon the telegrams. She seemed satisfied with the first two telegrams. The first was, as the landlady had said, from her brother in the States. The one to Ms. Stamford was from a Mr. Markus Fleming It was a simple letter, it seemed, from a past lover.
Kathryn's interest peaked when she opened and examined the telegram to Miss Thompson. It, too, was from Markus Fleming. This one, though, was a very singular communication that ran as such:
tigerlily:
ifs ittt mm aj i m pi e
lfio e ht
uontelmgat
hfn o eee -- mf
"Doctor, pray tell me what you make of this."
I took the message in my hands and stared at it for maybe a minute or more trying to fathom its meaning.
"I'm afraid," said I, "that I can't get much out of this. All I could tell you is that somebody doesn't want somebody else to know something."
Kathryn laughed aloud at my utter bewilderment. "Let's see what Mr. Mycroft Holmes could do with this." She took out a pocket watch from a pocket hidden among the numerous folds of her electric blue dress and glanced at it, before saying, "It is one o'clock, too early to call upon Mycroft. We shall lunch now, then return to Peter Stamford. I have a feeling that he will be able to help us in this investigation."
With that, she turned her gaze towards the passing street, and did not utter another word until we had stopped at the restaurant.
After a hurried luncheon, we rushed off again towards Kensington, arriving soon after 2 o'clock. We were once again at the doorstep of my old friend Stamford's home. The old servant once again opened the door for us, this time looking more haggard and harassed than before.
"Fancy seeing you two here again so soon," she grumbled and sighed as she let us in. "Please help Mr. Stamford, doctor," She continued, more pleadingly, "I'm at my wit's end. There is nothing I can do about him. He's calmed down a bit, but I am still afraid of that lost expression in his eyes. I shudder to think what he might do in this state."
"We will do what we can for him," I replied in as soothing a voice as I could muster. I myself had grown worried about my friend's well being, after seeing him in his crazed state only a few hours ago. The maid, however seemed comforted at my words, and she at once showed us into the library, where Stamford was collapsed in a chair, with a look of despair in his hasty blue eyes.
"W-Watson, o-old friend, how n-nice of you to c-call upon me again," he stuttered. "I s-see you've br-ought your f-friend. Wh-what can I do for you?"
"Perhaps we should sit down for this," I said calmly. "My friend here would like to ask you a few questions concerning Julia. I know this may be painful for you but by answering you will help bring justice to the one who did this to her."
"I thought that the man responsible was Sherlock Holmes, that bloody bastard, and that he's already in jail," Stamford responded bitterly, his eyes hardening into flints. "I can't believe that I actually was friends with him before."
I was about to respond when Kathryn help up her hand and said in her calmest voice, "We have reason to believe that the man accused of this crime is innocent. Think about this, Mr. Stamford," she continued, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, "Would you want your sister to be the cause of the death of an innocent person?"
Stamford lifted his gaze to look at her in the eye and for a moment, the faded blue orbs met and connected with the forest green ones and he peered sadly into the emerald depths of her gaze as a silent understanding came upon the two souls.
"I will do what I can for your friend, Watson. I want justice to be served more than anyone else and I want the man who did this to my poor Julie punished," he said, still gazing at Kathryn in what appeared an awed look, but regaining some of the old lively spark in his eyes.
"Thank you very much," said Kathryn gratefully, smiling as she stood up once again. "Tell me a little about your sister, Mr. Stamford," she prompted quietly.
Stamford sat up, leaning his arm weekly against the side of his comfortable chair.
"Julie and I were very close, ever since we were young," he said. "She was my little sister and after our parents died, I had become her protector in this world. She was an angel to me, the beacon of light in my hard life. We were left with hardly any money, so I worked as a bellboy to cover our living expenses. After I received my education and started to work at St. Bart's hospital, I started to grow distant from her. We spent less and less time together due to my busy work schedule. At first, it was little things, like missing lunches and coming home late. However, when the shifts lengthened, there was even less time to spend with her.
"At the time, Julie seemed to be fine with the arrangement. She had taken up work as a secretary at a small solicitor's office and seemed very happy at the thought of making money. As time passed, however, she grew sombre and melancholy. I was at the time too busy to notice, but now I that look back; it is obvious that she was depressed. About two years had passed and when I was invited to go to India, where an old friend of mine was staying. I asked Julie if she wanted to come with me but she refused. I had left behind enough money for her to live on, with the hope of finding her as well as she was when I left her.
"The visit turned out to be longer than I intended; my friend had been suffering from a rare flu, and I had nursed him slowly back to health. I spent a full two years in India and by the time I returned to England, I found that a much happier looking Julie had already met Mr. Markus Fleming. At first, he seemed to be the perfect gentleman; he was always very kind and courteous. I was happy for them, because I could tell that he had brought back some of the fire in Julie's soul. However, as time passed, I noticed there was something wrong about the man. I'm not sure what prompted my reaction, but there was something about his icy, blue eyes, which always held a cold, expressionless gaze, that made me suspicious of him."
He stood up suddenly from his chair, stepped across the room to an ornately carved ebony bureau, and opened its doors with a loud creak. Stamford then reached his sinewy arms in and from within its depths took out a small, framed picture of Julia Stamford and a tall, handsome young man.
"Here is a picture of the two of them, taken just before just after I returned from India."
Kathryn took the picture and examined it carefully before handing it to me. A very happy Julia was standing in a flowering garden with her light hair falling gracefully onto her elegant shoulders. Her whole expression was one of life and vigour, plainly seen by the pose of her shoulders and sweetness of her smile, nothing like the Julia Holmes described to me after his kidnap. She was standing hand in hand accompanied by a man in his early 40's. The man was also smiling, but it had not reached icy cold eyes. He looked exactly like a younger, clean-shaven version of Colonel Moran, with his heavyset jaw and his already balding head.
"Mr. Fleming had visited us on and off for about a year, the frequency of his visits increasing towards the end of that time. I had warned Julie that Fleming was up to no good, but she was very stubborn and would not listen to a word of it. We had many arguments over the matter. Then, one day Julie vanished without so much as a letter explaining why or where she had gone. I was at my wits end at what to do about the situation when she actually condescended to write me one last letter of parting.
"Her words were so distant that I felt she was a completely different person from the sister that I knew and loved. She told me that she was no longer happy living with me and feeling worthless about herself. She told me that she had gone off to live a better life with Mr. Fleming. It was the last I ever knew about her until the police told me about her death."
Stamford then buried his tear filled face into his hands and cried, filling the room with sounds of anguish and pain. Kathryn put a hand upon his shoulder and looked at him intently and sympathetically until his heart- wrenching sobs subsided.
"Thank you very much for telling us your story. I am truly sorry for what happened to Julia," she placated soothingly, her sparkling, green eyes filled with understanding as she gazed upon him. "Let me assure you that what happened was none of your fault. As I said before, there was no way that you could have known what was going to happen. You did what you thought was best in you own interests and the interests of your sister. It was her decision to leave you, and you couldn't have prevented her even if you had known."
"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Stamford, a small light returning to his dull, blue eyes. "I hope I have been of assistance to you in your investigation. If there is anything else I can help you with, please feel free to let me know."
Kathryn was lost in thought for a few moments, before looking at Stamford with a small smile and a twinkle in her emerald green eyes.
"You said that you lived in India for a period of time, yes?" she asked.
"Yes, that's right." Stamford asked, a little confused.
"Would you be able to identify this?" she asked and she took out a small ivory snuffbox with small, Indian elephant sculptures carved into its sides and lid.
Stamford stood up a little shakily and grasped the small ornate box in his slightly trembling hands.
"This is a very interesting snuffbox," commented he. "It is the box given to people who have been of great service to the richest man in India. Sires, I think the man's name is. I recall that there were only two people who ever had the honour of getting this type of reward, the late Percival O'Connell and Kumar Rao."
The new piece of information apparently shocked Kathryn immensely, as she leaned in closer and demanded sharply, "Are you sure that those were the only two?"
Stamford looked at her incredulously, somewhat surprised at her outburst. "Of course I'm sure," he replied, slightly indignant.
"What happened to O'Connell and Rao?" Kathryn asked earnestly.
"O'Connell died a few years after receiving his snuffbox of natural circumstances, I think. His box was passed down to his son, Benjamin, who still lives in India to this day."
"And Rao?" asked Kathryn.
"I'm not sure about him," replied Stamford thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I only know that he received the snuff box. I have no idea where he went after that or even if he's still alive."
"Well, thank you very much for your valuable time," said Kathryn, rising to her feet. "You have greatly assisted me on this case. I bid you good day."
Kathryn quietly stepped out of the room to talk with the old servant.
"Things will turn out for the better, eventually, Stamford," I comforted, putting a hand upon the man's sagging shoulders.
"Thank you, Watson," he said shakily with a small smile, "for helping me through this ordeal. I hope that I have helped a little in this investigation."
"I am certain that we will catch the villain who did this to your sister." I assured him.
"It's strange," mused Stamford, his eyes brightening slightly, "how you always seem to become acquainted with detectives."
"I suppose it's just a coincidence," I replied, chuckling. "I'm glad that you're returning to your old self. Just remember that we will get to the bottom of this no matter what, and things will get better soon."
"Thank you, old friend," Stamford said to me, taking my hand into his and shaking it gratefully. "Good luck to both of you on your case."
With that, I took my leave, following Kathryn's steps out of the library and headed to the front door, where Kathryn was waiting for me patiently.
"This case grows more mysterious," she mused with a pensive expression on her face as we walked down the road. "All of the evidence points toward one man as the murderer with the exception of the snuff box."
"What are we to do now?" I asked, bemused.
Kathryn pulled out her pocket watch again, glanced at it, and smiled, saying, "Well, Doctor, it is five o'clock. I do believe it is time to pay a visit to Mr. Holmes's brother, Mycroft."
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlockian characters except Kathryn Granger and Jennifer Thomas.
There was another telegram! Why did no one else know of it? Kathryn looked not in the least surprised.
"Really? May I have those papers? I will return them as soon as I am finished. Thank you. The doctor and I must be off."
"Very well. I hope I was of assistance to you. Good day!"
Kathryn and I hailed another cab and were at once hurtling towards Kensington as we made our way back to the lodgings of Peter Stamford. As the hansom rattled through the cobbled streets, Kathryn sat through the hansom ride with the same mysterious, intellectual expression in her startling, introspective green eyes that I'd so often seen from Holmes.
We paid the cabbie and continued to walk down the busy street. Kathryn immediately set to work upon the telegrams. She seemed satisfied with the first two telegrams. The first was, as the landlady had said, from her brother in the States. The one to Ms. Stamford was from a Mr. Markus Fleming It was a simple letter, it seemed, from a past lover.
Kathryn's interest peaked when she opened and examined the telegram to Miss Thompson. It, too, was from Markus Fleming. This one, though, was a very singular communication that ran as such:
tigerlily:
ifs ittt mm aj i m pi e
lfio e ht
uontelmgat
hfn o eee -- mf
"Doctor, pray tell me what you make of this."
I took the message in my hands and stared at it for maybe a minute or more trying to fathom its meaning.
"I'm afraid," said I, "that I can't get much out of this. All I could tell you is that somebody doesn't want somebody else to know something."
Kathryn laughed aloud at my utter bewilderment. "Let's see what Mr. Mycroft Holmes could do with this." She took out a pocket watch from a pocket hidden among the numerous folds of her electric blue dress and glanced at it, before saying, "It is one o'clock, too early to call upon Mycroft. We shall lunch now, then return to Peter Stamford. I have a feeling that he will be able to help us in this investigation."
With that, she turned her gaze towards the passing street, and did not utter another word until we had stopped at the restaurant.
After a hurried luncheon, we rushed off again towards Kensington, arriving soon after 2 o'clock. We were once again at the doorstep of my old friend Stamford's home. The old servant once again opened the door for us, this time looking more haggard and harassed than before.
"Fancy seeing you two here again so soon," she grumbled and sighed as she let us in. "Please help Mr. Stamford, doctor," She continued, more pleadingly, "I'm at my wit's end. There is nothing I can do about him. He's calmed down a bit, but I am still afraid of that lost expression in his eyes. I shudder to think what he might do in this state."
"We will do what we can for him," I replied in as soothing a voice as I could muster. I myself had grown worried about my friend's well being, after seeing him in his crazed state only a few hours ago. The maid, however seemed comforted at my words, and she at once showed us into the library, where Stamford was collapsed in a chair, with a look of despair in his hasty blue eyes.
"W-Watson, o-old friend, how n-nice of you to c-call upon me again," he stuttered. "I s-see you've br-ought your f-friend. Wh-what can I do for you?"
"Perhaps we should sit down for this," I said calmly. "My friend here would like to ask you a few questions concerning Julia. I know this may be painful for you but by answering you will help bring justice to the one who did this to her."
"I thought that the man responsible was Sherlock Holmes, that bloody bastard, and that he's already in jail," Stamford responded bitterly, his eyes hardening into flints. "I can't believe that I actually was friends with him before."
I was about to respond when Kathryn help up her hand and said in her calmest voice, "We have reason to believe that the man accused of this crime is innocent. Think about this, Mr. Stamford," she continued, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, kneeling in front of him with her sparkling green eyes pleading to my old friend, "Would you want your sister to be the cause of the death of an innocent person?"
Stamford lifted his gaze to look at her in the eye and for a moment, the faded blue orbs met and connected with the forest green ones and he peered sadly into the emerald depths of her gaze as a silent understanding came upon the two souls.
"I will do what I can for your friend, Watson. I want justice to be served more than anyone else and I want the man who did this to my poor Julie punished," he said, still gazing at Kathryn in what appeared an awed look, but regaining some of the old lively spark in his eyes.
"Thank you very much," said Kathryn gratefully, smiling as she stood up once again. "Tell me a little about your sister, Mr. Stamford," she prompted quietly.
Stamford sat up, leaning his arm weekly against the side of his comfortable chair.
"Julie and I were very close, ever since we were young," he said. "She was my little sister and after our parents died, I had become her protector in this world. She was an angel to me, the beacon of light in my hard life. We were left with hardly any money, so I worked as a bellboy to cover our living expenses. After I received my education and started to work at St. Bart's hospital, I started to grow distant from her. We spent less and less time together due to my busy work schedule. At first, it was little things, like missing lunches and coming home late. However, when the shifts lengthened, there was even less time to spend with her.
"At the time, Julie seemed to be fine with the arrangement. She had taken up work as a secretary at a small solicitor's office and seemed very happy at the thought of making money. As time passed, however, she grew sombre and melancholy. I was at the time too busy to notice, but now I that look back; it is obvious that she was depressed. About two years had passed and when I was invited to go to India, where an old friend of mine was staying. I asked Julie if she wanted to come with me but she refused. I had left behind enough money for her to live on, with the hope of finding her as well as she was when I left her.
"The visit turned out to be longer than I intended; my friend had been suffering from a rare flu, and I had nursed him slowly back to health. I spent a full two years in India and by the time I returned to England, I found that a much happier looking Julie had already met Mr. Markus Fleming. At first, he seemed to be the perfect gentleman; he was always very kind and courteous. I was happy for them, because I could tell that he had brought back some of the fire in Julie's soul. However, as time passed, I noticed there was something wrong about the man. I'm not sure what prompted my reaction, but there was something about his icy, blue eyes, which always held a cold, expressionless gaze, that made me suspicious of him."
He stood up suddenly from his chair, stepped across the room to an ornately carved ebony bureau, and opened its doors with a loud creak. Stamford then reached his sinewy arms in and from within its depths took out a small, framed picture of Julia Stamford and a tall, handsome young man.
"Here is a picture of the two of them, taken just before just after I returned from India."
Kathryn took the picture and examined it carefully before handing it to me. A very happy Julia was standing in a flowering garden with her light hair falling gracefully onto her elegant shoulders. Her whole expression was one of life and vigour, plainly seen by the pose of her shoulders and sweetness of her smile, nothing like the Julia Holmes described to me after his kidnap. She was standing hand in hand accompanied by a man in his early 40's. The man was also smiling, but it had not reached icy cold eyes. He looked exactly like a younger, clean-shaven version of Colonel Moran, with his heavyset jaw and his already balding head.
"Mr. Fleming had visited us on and off for about a year, the frequency of his visits increasing towards the end of that time. I had warned Julie that Fleming was up to no good, but she was very stubborn and would not listen to a word of it. We had many arguments over the matter. Then, one day Julie vanished without so much as a letter explaining why or where she had gone. I was at my wits end at what to do about the situation when she actually condescended to write me one last letter of parting.
"Her words were so distant that I felt she was a completely different person from the sister that I knew and loved. She told me that she was no longer happy living with me and feeling worthless about herself. She told me that she had gone off to live a better life with Mr. Fleming. It was the last I ever knew about her until the police told me about her death."
Stamford then buried his tear filled face into his hands and cried, filling the room with sounds of anguish and pain. Kathryn put a hand upon his shoulder and looked at him intently and sympathetically until his heart- wrenching sobs subsided.
"Thank you very much for telling us your story. I am truly sorry for what happened to Julia," she placated soothingly, her sparkling, green eyes filled with understanding as she gazed upon him. "Let me assure you that what happened was none of your fault. As I said before, there was no way that you could have known what was going to happen. You did what you thought was best in you own interests and the interests of your sister. It was her decision to leave you, and you couldn't have prevented her even if you had known."
"Thank you, Miss Granger," said Stamford, a small light returning to his dull, blue eyes. "I hope I have been of assistance to you in your investigation. If there is anything else I can help you with, please feel free to let me know."
Kathryn was lost in thought for a few moments, before looking at Stamford with a small smile and a twinkle in her emerald green eyes.
"You said that you lived in India for a period of time, yes?" she asked.
"Yes, that's right." Stamford asked, a little confused.
"Would you be able to identify this?" she asked and she took out a small ivory snuffbox with small, Indian elephant sculptures carved into its sides and lid.
Stamford stood up a little shakily and grasped the small ornate box in his slightly trembling hands.
"This is a very interesting snuffbox," commented he. "It is the box given to people who have been of great service to the richest man in India. Sires, I think the man's name is. I recall that there were only two people who ever had the honour of getting this type of reward, the late Percival O'Connell and Kumar Rao."
The new piece of information apparently shocked Kathryn immensely, as she leaned in closer and demanded sharply, "Are you sure that those were the only two?"
Stamford looked at her incredulously, somewhat surprised at her outburst. "Of course I'm sure," he replied, slightly indignant.
"What happened to O'Connell and Rao?" Kathryn asked earnestly.
"O'Connell died a few years after receiving his snuffbox of natural circumstances, I think. His box was passed down to his son, Benjamin, who still lives in India to this day."
"And Rao?" asked Kathryn.
"I'm not sure about him," replied Stamford thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I only know that he received the snuff box. I have no idea where he went after that or even if he's still alive."
"Well, thank you very much for your valuable time," said Kathryn, rising to her feet. "You have greatly assisted me on this case. I bid you good day."
Kathryn quietly stepped out of the room to talk with the old servant.
"Things will turn out for the better, eventually, Stamford," I comforted, putting a hand upon the man's sagging shoulders.
"Thank you, Watson," he said shakily with a small smile, "for helping me through this ordeal. I hope that I have helped a little in this investigation."
"I am certain that we will catch the villain who did this to your sister." I assured him.
"It's strange," mused Stamford, his eyes brightening slightly, "how you always seem to become acquainted with detectives."
"I suppose it's just a coincidence," I replied, chuckling. "I'm glad that you're returning to your old self. Just remember that we will get to the bottom of this no matter what, and things will get better soon."
"Thank you, old friend," Stamford said to me, taking my hand into his and shaking it gratefully. "Good luck to both of you on your case."
With that, I took my leave, following Kathryn's steps out of the library and headed to the front door, where Kathryn was waiting for me patiently.
"This case grows more mysterious," she mused with a pensive expression on her face as we walked down the road. "All of the evidence points toward one man as the murderer with the exception of the snuff box."
"What are we to do now?" I asked, bemused.
Kathryn pulled out her pocket watch again, glanced at it, and smiled, saying, "Well, Doctor, it is five o'clock. I do believe it is time to pay a visit to Mr. Holmes's brother, Mycroft."