When the hansom dropped the pair off in front of the Nobleton Estate,
Watson drew in a gasp.
"Ye Gods, this place is magnificent!" He breathed.
Tall, white columns of Alabaster covered the large double doors, and gardens drew up towards the front of the house, filling the picture with beautiful fountains and topiary. The eerie thing, however, was that usually a place like this was filled with life. While the sun shone everywhere else in London, it was empty and gloomy there, with no sign of servants, maids, or gardeners. It was just...empty.
"Hmm," said Holmes. "But the gardener would do well to replace his boot soles. He has had a bad run in with a dog."
Watson was about to demand how he achieved his reasoning, when Holmes pointed gracefully to the ground, where the footprints lay. It was damp, but yet there was no print on the bottom. It was worn so much that you couldn't even make out its individual print any more. On the bottom were subtle marks that appeared to be where he deduced the idea of a dog.
The two companions continued in silence up to the house, where a maid flung the door open.
"Sorry, gentleman, the mistress is in no mood for visitors. Come again tomorrow."
She slammed the door curtly. Holmes lifted up a bony fist, made firm by his years of boxing, and knocked hard.
The maid opened the door again. "I thought I told you..." she began.
"Madam, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my assistant, Dr. Watson. We're with Scotland Yard, and we were hoping that..."
"Sherlock Holmes?" the woman breathed. "I've heard of your endeavors, I won't pretend that I haven't, but the young Mistress remains firm. She won't see anyone..."
"Let them in, Julie," said a low, sorrowful voice from the back of the house. "Heaven knows that it will be easier to listen to them explain why they are here than listening to you argue with them all day."
The maid gave them both a reproachful look. "Now you've done it," she muttered. "She'll be in a right mood all day."
They were lead into a sunny, saffron painted room with white furniture, and bouquets of daisies and roses everywhere, along with notes of condolence. The fireplace was large and filled with a basket and blossoms instead of wood, as it was in the peak of summer.
"I won't pretend to not know why you are here, gentlemen," said the voice again, this time, over from the window, where a figure was perched on the ledge. The curtains fluttered around peacefully, concealing her appearance. "You want to know more about my father, more about me, and more about his murder. You want to know if there is possibly anyone else who could have been involved, and you want me to relive the moments I found out he died over so that you can get the facts straight. Is that right?"
Watson felt a pang of guilt hit him, but Holmes was immune. Immediately, he turned on the charm that he used when trying to convince a stubborn woman to see his way. "Forgive me, dearest madam, for intruding in upon your household in a moment of fear, solitude, and pain. Might I ask if your brother is around?"
The voice gave a small, mirthless laugh, and Holmes felt something rise up against the back of his neck. "Have you been investigating me, Mr. Holmes? Or have you and Dr. Watson been analyzing my portrait, or even the minimal actions I have made? Well I can tell you, Mr. Holmes, that my brother has died as well, and now I am alone. Are you satisfied?"
The intended effect Holmes wanted to give was one of omniscience. Now, he was stunned at how coolly she had answered his question.
"Madam," he tried again, still persistent.
"Look," she said, dismounting from the window and allowing both men to see her full on for the first time. She was very tall; only a few inches below Holmes' huge frame. Her long, blonde hair was hanging loose around her delicate featured face, and the eyes were dark and imploring. She wore a simple gown of white, floating material that was perfect for the warm summer weather. She was not a tremendous beauty, but she could easily be described as pretty and subtle. However, her spirit penetrated this, and she was filled with strength and sadness.
"If I tell you everything, will you promise to complete your investigation, then go and leave me in peace?"
Holmes was struck not by the beauty of this strange creature, but by her strength and boldness. This was a woman of extraordinary capability, and of great integrity.
"Yes, I promise," even though for some strange reason, he didn't want to. He stifled this, and continued to be the ruthless, mind-machine that he was.
She sighed, and took a seat in a small armchair, and gestured for them to sit opposite her on the couch. They obliged.
"Julie?" She called gently.
"Yes, madam?" She appeared in the doorway.
"I told you, it's Elizabeth now, and are there any refreshments left over from what the neighbors sent?"
"I believe so, ma...Elizabeth."
"Would you be a dear and fetch some? I would help, but I am a little tied up at the moment."
Julie rolled her eyes. "It would have been a lot easier with a bit more help..."
Watson sprang up, but Elizabeth stopped him. "Just let her go. She's actually referring to the fact that I gave all the others the week off. Julie offered to stay for companionship, and I've been most grateful. She doesn't think that I should have give them all the week off."
She composed herself, and folded her hands in her lap.
"Now, gentlemen, what is it you require of me?"
Holmes was once again struck by the fact that this was a woman of profound bravery. "First of all, I'd like to know about your father."
"Ye Gods, this place is magnificent!" He breathed.
Tall, white columns of Alabaster covered the large double doors, and gardens drew up towards the front of the house, filling the picture with beautiful fountains and topiary. The eerie thing, however, was that usually a place like this was filled with life. While the sun shone everywhere else in London, it was empty and gloomy there, with no sign of servants, maids, or gardeners. It was just...empty.
"Hmm," said Holmes. "But the gardener would do well to replace his boot soles. He has had a bad run in with a dog."
Watson was about to demand how he achieved his reasoning, when Holmes pointed gracefully to the ground, where the footprints lay. It was damp, but yet there was no print on the bottom. It was worn so much that you couldn't even make out its individual print any more. On the bottom were subtle marks that appeared to be where he deduced the idea of a dog.
The two companions continued in silence up to the house, where a maid flung the door open.
"Sorry, gentleman, the mistress is in no mood for visitors. Come again tomorrow."
She slammed the door curtly. Holmes lifted up a bony fist, made firm by his years of boxing, and knocked hard.
The maid opened the door again. "I thought I told you..." she began.
"Madam, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my assistant, Dr. Watson. We're with Scotland Yard, and we were hoping that..."
"Sherlock Holmes?" the woman breathed. "I've heard of your endeavors, I won't pretend that I haven't, but the young Mistress remains firm. She won't see anyone..."
"Let them in, Julie," said a low, sorrowful voice from the back of the house. "Heaven knows that it will be easier to listen to them explain why they are here than listening to you argue with them all day."
The maid gave them both a reproachful look. "Now you've done it," she muttered. "She'll be in a right mood all day."
They were lead into a sunny, saffron painted room with white furniture, and bouquets of daisies and roses everywhere, along with notes of condolence. The fireplace was large and filled with a basket and blossoms instead of wood, as it was in the peak of summer.
"I won't pretend to not know why you are here, gentlemen," said the voice again, this time, over from the window, where a figure was perched on the ledge. The curtains fluttered around peacefully, concealing her appearance. "You want to know more about my father, more about me, and more about his murder. You want to know if there is possibly anyone else who could have been involved, and you want me to relive the moments I found out he died over so that you can get the facts straight. Is that right?"
Watson felt a pang of guilt hit him, but Holmes was immune. Immediately, he turned on the charm that he used when trying to convince a stubborn woman to see his way. "Forgive me, dearest madam, for intruding in upon your household in a moment of fear, solitude, and pain. Might I ask if your brother is around?"
The voice gave a small, mirthless laugh, and Holmes felt something rise up against the back of his neck. "Have you been investigating me, Mr. Holmes? Or have you and Dr. Watson been analyzing my portrait, or even the minimal actions I have made? Well I can tell you, Mr. Holmes, that my brother has died as well, and now I am alone. Are you satisfied?"
The intended effect Holmes wanted to give was one of omniscience. Now, he was stunned at how coolly she had answered his question.
"Madam," he tried again, still persistent.
"Look," she said, dismounting from the window and allowing both men to see her full on for the first time. She was very tall; only a few inches below Holmes' huge frame. Her long, blonde hair was hanging loose around her delicate featured face, and the eyes were dark and imploring. She wore a simple gown of white, floating material that was perfect for the warm summer weather. She was not a tremendous beauty, but she could easily be described as pretty and subtle. However, her spirit penetrated this, and she was filled with strength and sadness.
"If I tell you everything, will you promise to complete your investigation, then go and leave me in peace?"
Holmes was struck not by the beauty of this strange creature, but by her strength and boldness. This was a woman of extraordinary capability, and of great integrity.
"Yes, I promise," even though for some strange reason, he didn't want to. He stifled this, and continued to be the ruthless, mind-machine that he was.
She sighed, and took a seat in a small armchair, and gestured for them to sit opposite her on the couch. They obliged.
"Julie?" She called gently.
"Yes, madam?" She appeared in the doorway.
"I told you, it's Elizabeth now, and are there any refreshments left over from what the neighbors sent?"
"I believe so, ma...Elizabeth."
"Would you be a dear and fetch some? I would help, but I am a little tied up at the moment."
Julie rolled her eyes. "It would have been a lot easier with a bit more help..."
Watson sprang up, but Elizabeth stopped him. "Just let her go. She's actually referring to the fact that I gave all the others the week off. Julie offered to stay for companionship, and I've been most grateful. She doesn't think that I should have give them all the week off."
She composed herself, and folded her hands in her lap.
"Now, gentlemen, what is it you require of me?"
Holmes was once again struck by the fact that this was a woman of profound bravery. "First of all, I'd like to know about your father."