It wasn't until after she and Prudence had prepared lunch for all of Mrs Beecham's guests, served said lunch in the dining room (Holmes refused the offer of a tray in his room, and Ida wasn't going to press the issue), and washed up all the plates afterwards that Ida could snatch a moment to have a look at the notebook. She had taken the tablecloth from the dining room into the garden – supposedly to shake out all the crumbs – and once right at the bottom of the garden, out of sight from the house, she could hang the tablecloth over the branch of a gnarled old apple tree, and sit at its base to peruse the doctor's scribblings.

It was in the year of 1895, a year which you, my reader, will come to see in time was to have a singularly high frequency of cases relating to matters of academia, that the relative tranquillity of 221b Baker Street was shattered by the arrival of an elderly gentleman in a state of great agitation. We were first aware of his arrival by the frantic hammering on the front door, which was audible even on the first floor. Mrs Hudson went to open it, and within under 30 seconds footsteps pounded up the stairs and a white haired man, coatless and hat askew, burst through the door into Holmes and my living room. Clearly unused to such exertion, he was very much out of breath, and I went at once to assist him into a chair.

Ida looked up from reading the handwritten page, which was quite difficult to decipher, to check she was still unobserved. Satisfied, she bent her head to the page once more.

A good few minutes later, seated in a chair with a glass of water at his elbow, our visitor seemed in a fit state to tell us of his plight.

'Mr Holmes!' he began, in tremulous tones which, nonetheless, betrayed the distinctive vowel sounds of the well bred,

'Mr Holmes, I do beseech you…'

Holmes carefully laid down his copy of that morning's Times, and gave the stranger his full attention.

'I take it there were no cabs at Paddington. Strange for this time of day, you have been most unfortunate, Mr…or should I say, Dr…?' he raised his eyebrows questioningly, inviting our guest to supply his name,

'It's Professor Hayes sir…but…how…?'

'I take it that this matter is urgent, Professor Hayes, kindly continue with your explanation…'

The professor seemed rather put out by this, and opened and shut his mouth a few times distractedly whilst his eyebrows knit closer and closer together. But at last, he seemed to overcome his frustration, and burst out.

'There has been a robbery…scandalous…unprecedented…'

'…and you are the victim, sir?'

'Yes!...And…no… It was the property of the university of which I am a member, but…on a personal…an intellectual level…I feel the loss most keenly…'

'I see.'

'You were recommended to me by a colleague – a Mr Soames – who said that discretion was your specialty…'

Holmes glanced over at me, and I knew he was recalling, as was I, the case of the Three Students.

'…Deduction is my speciality,' said Holmes, levelly, 'but I am very discreet.'

The Professor glowered at my friend, then looked with equal hostility at myself.

'Professor,' said Holmes, 'pray continue…'

The elderly man exhaled loudly, and his eyes became, if possible, even more bulbous.

'Some very valuable specimens have been stolen,' he proclaimed at last, 'from the university museum.'

'Ida!' someone was shouting her name. Flustered, Ida stood up, stuffing the manuscript back into her pocket.

'Ida, where are you?'

Prudence was standing on the doorstep of the back door, scanning the garden. Hurriedly, Ida seized the tablecloth and headed back towards the house.

'What were you doing?' asked Prudence, clearly annoyed. Ida gestured vaguely with the tablecloth. As she reached the back door, Prudence took it from her

'I need you to go into town for me,' she said. Ida pulled a face. 'I was going to clean the bedrooms this afternoon,' she said, 'Mr Holmes…'

'I'll clean the bedrooms,' said Prudence, firmly, 'I need you to go and buy some sugar.'

Ida sighed. It was no good protesting, especially since she had in fact been slacking. She went to fetch her hat and coat.

….. ….. …..

Ida found that if she secreted the doctor's notebook inside her shopping basket, using the packet of sugar to keep it open at the right page, then by holding the basket against her stomach and walking with her eyes cast demurely downwards, she could continue reading the doctor's account.

'You have my condolences, sir,' said Holmes. 'Might I enquire as to the nature of these specimens?'

'Some very rare fossils…'

'Fossils,' repeated Holmes. There was no sarcasm in his tone, but our guest was of a most prickly disposition,

'I did not come here to be mocked, sir!' he exploded. At this, Holmes simply raised his eyebrows, infuriating the Professor still further,

'Palaeontology is

She suddenly found herself shoved to one side. Stumbling, she dropped her basket, which rolled along the pavement.

'Can't you look where you're going?' someone exclaimed, peevishly, then muttered 'Idiot girl…'

Ida dropped to her knees, scrabbling to pick up the pieces of paper which had fluttered out.

'Sorry, sir,' she said, distractedly, without paying attention to whoever it was she had unwittingly walked into.

'And you damn well should be,' came the voice again. Ida did not look up.

'Look at me when I talk to you!' She suddenly felt a sharp pain as someone grabbed her hair from behind.

'Leave it, Horace,' came another man's voice.

Horace! Ida gasped in dismay. She had cannoned into none other than Horace Fortescue! The need to retrieve the doctor's notes was now all the more urgent…But the tugging at her hair forced her to leave the papers and stand up, slowly. The pain was making tears prick in the corner of her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry out.

'I said leave it!'

'This has nothing to do with you, Clarence.'

Someone grabbed her elbow, hard. The pressure on her hair was released, and she was forced to turn around. Gulping, she kept her eyes fixed on the stone slabs of the pavement.

'Look at me, girl!'

Ida slowly raised her head, hoping that her eyes betrayed her fear rather than her suspicion. She met the young man's hostile gaze and held it for a second. His eyes narrowed.

'I'll have no insolence from a serving maid!' he exclaimed, suddenly, raising the hand which was not gripping Ida's arm. Ida flinched, involuntarily…

'That's enough, Horace.'

A second young man stepped forward, grabbing Horace's arm before he could strike her. Ida found herself released, as Horace turned to the other in anger

'I've had it with your interference, Clarence…'

Ida held her breath, not daring to move in case the pair who now stared each other down came to blows. But the moment passed, and Horace, with a gesture of dismissal, turned on his heel and stalked off.

'Please accept my apologies, Miss,' said Clarence, bending down to pick up her basket.

'My brother has been in a foul mood all morning, you were unfortunate to get in his way…'

'Your brother?' exclaimed Ida. She had known of course, that William Fortescue had more than one son, but she had never seen this young man in Keswick before.

'Yes.' He gathered up the papers, then stood up. 'Here,' he held out the basket and papers, 'I'm afraid that half your sugar's spilled all over the pavement…'

Ida sighed. That would certainly be coming out of her wages.

'…perhaps…perhaps you might accept a replacement as a small gesture of apology?'

'Replacement?' repeated Ida, confused,

'I'm sure we have plenty of sugar in our kitchen at home. Perhaps I could have some sent over to your house?'

'Er…yes…' said Ida, 'thankyou…' then she suddenly had an idea, 'or perhaps I could come and get some now? To save time? We do need the sugar rather urgently, you see…' she blinked a couple of times, knowing that tears were still welling in the corners of her eyes, and sniffed for good measure.

'Of course!' exclaimed Clarence, his expression full of concern 'we'll go right away! And I can't tell you enough how sorry I am…'

As they headed up the road, Ida quickly folded up the pages which had come loose and tucked them, with the rest of the notebook, into her pocket. The notebook did seem significantly slimmer, and she hoped that not too many of the pages were missing. Mr Holmes would probably take a very dim view of the case notes being scattered all over Keswick, at the feet of Horace Fortescue no less. Not to mention what the doctor would say at the loss of his hard work. But her concern over this was tempered by the anticipation of where she was going. A chance to explore the Fortescure mansion if she played her cards right. What she was looking for, she still had no idea. But this was too good an opportunity to miss

AN: Thanks loads to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you like it so far, and sorry for updating at irregular intervals...(am supposed to be revising for exams which isa real pain)... I'd be interested to know what people think about using Dr Watson's notebook to explain the backstory...does it work or is it annoying to have two stories running simultaneously?