As soon as Ida entered the kitchen, it was clear from Prudence's red rimmed eyes that she had been crying.

'Oh, Pru,' said Ida, 'I'm so, so, sorry to have done this to you. Look, I'll work twice as hard from now on, you won't recognise me…'

'…stop, Ida. It's too late.'

'Too late?'

'…You know, this morning? I didn't mean it when I shouted at you, I was just so angry…But I wouldn't have actually gone to tell Mrs Beech…'

'…I know, Prudence, I know…'

'…But she came here, today, to…' something of the anguish in Prudence's tone finally got through to Ida. She felt as if a cold band of iron were closing inside her chest,

'…go on,' she said, hoarsely

'Mrs Beech came here today to check the housekeeping accounts. You know how…precise she is…'

'…yes…'

'…and she noticed that it didn't add up. I'd entered in the amount for the sugar, you see, but there wasn't…'

'…there wasn't any sugar,' said Ida, with an air of resignation.

'Ida, I didn't want to say anything, but she kept asking questions, and then she threatened me with dismissal…Ida, I can't lose this job, you know I'm the only one sending money back home to my mother and sisters…'

'…I know.'

'…and once I'd said…well...Ida, you never even told me what had happened so I didn't know what to say, and…Ida, I'm so sorry, but it sort of slipped out about that young man…'

'…it sort of slipped out?' Ida spat through clenched teeth, 'Prudence, you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about…'

Prudence merely broke down into loud sobs. Ida put her arm round her,

'It's alright, Pru,' she said, her anger dissipating, 'don't cry.'

Though as she stood there, comforting her friend, the true significance of what Prudence was trying to tell her began to dawn. She was going to lose her job. Not only that, with the sort of reference Mrs Beech was going to give her, she had lost all prospects of gaining employment in the service of a respectable family or business in the future. Unlike Prudence, she had no family: her parents and younger brother having succumbed to a cholera epidemic that had swept through the tenement housing where she had been born. At least that meant no one was dependent on her for financial support. But in the mean time she had nowhere to turn when she was, as was looking extremely likely, turned out onto the streets.

'When?' she heard herself asking suddenly,

'When what?' sniffed Prudence

'When must I leave?'

'Mrs Beech said right away…but I said I couldn't manage on my own… You've got until the end of the week.'

………

Ida went about her general household tasks with a detached air, her thoughts dwelling on Holmes, Watson, Clarence and Grimshaw rather than resting on the problem of how on earth she would manage without this job. She was in the parlour, idly sweeping some dust under the carpet (after all, it wasn't as though her reputation as a housemaid could get any worse), when she heard the opening of the front door and Holmes's voice in the hallway

'Don't fuss, Watson…'

'…all I'm saying is that it was hard enough managing the stairs this morning, and…'

'Who said anything about the stairs?'

'I'm assuming that you intend returning to our rooms…'

'Well, that would seem rather foolish, seeing as we shall shortly be leaving once more…'

'Excuse me?'

'The parlour, Watson…'

There was an awkward shuffling sound, then the handle of the parlour door began to turn. Ida hurried over, as the door opened. On the other side stood Holmes, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and Watson, red faced with exasperation and the mid afternoon heat. Several paper packages tied up with string were festooned about his person…

'Ah, Miss Greene,' said Holmes, 'a happy coincidence. Could you give us a few moments of your valuable time, or does the carpet require further attention?'

'I am at your service, sir,' said Ida, if there is any use for an impetuous, irrational, impulsive female she added privately.

'Good,' he said, hopping nimbly with the crutches over to the couch. He managed to swing himself into a seated position.

'Watson, the packages…'

The doctor untangled himself from the strings, and placed the brown paper packets beside Holmes.

'Miss Greene,' began Holmes, 'it appears that you cannot be trusted to keep away from the Fortescue House, despite the strictest of instructions…'

'…I…' began Ida, but his withering stare silenced her, and he continued

'…in light of this, and in light of the information you provided us with earlier today – information which, I admit, was useful – I think itmight be best if you stayed close by myself and the good doctor here as the investigation draws to a close.'

'Close by…?'

'You are aware, of course, of the little charade we played at the Fortescue House this morning?'

'Yes, Doctor Smythe, I am aware, although…'

'…well, Miss Greene, perhaps you would care to play the part of Doctor Smythe's private secretary?'

'…excuse me?'

'I am sure you could do an admirable job, as long as you manage to bite your tongue…'

'…but…'

'…I am aware that thanks to your various activities, your face is known to several members of the Fortescue household, but with a little…ingenuity…I am sure that problem can be solved. Observe…'

Holmes seized the first of the packages, and deftly unwrapped it, to reveal what appeared to be a cream coloured blouse and a dark green skirt. He laid these on the couch, then opened another much smaller packet and placed a lacy hankerchief and a small round brooch on top of the clothes, addressing his friend -

'The key is in the detail, Watson'

Another packet, and a pair of black boots was added to the haul…

'Second hand, naturally, we want to create a realistic picture…'

…a pair of round lensed spectacles on a gold chain…

'Unfortunately, Miss Greene, I had not the time to locate a pair made with plain glass instead of lenses, so I suggest you wear these far enough down your nose to be able to look over the top…'

Ida merely stared, speechless.

A hat, a hatpin, a small bag and a notebook completed the collection of purchases. The final packet was a very small twist of paper, which Holmes held out towards her

'Henna,' he said, as if that were an explanation

'Henna?' asked Ida, taking it,

'Yes. To dye your hair…'

'…to dye my hair?'

'Yes. Red, as it happens…'

'Red?' Ida put up a hand protectively towards her fairly nondescript mouse coloured hair that was, nevertheless, quite dear to her, 'but won't that make me more obvious?'

'Ah,' said Holmes, 'that's the beauty of it! The true master of disguise doesn't necessarily seek to hide away…'

'…but red?'

'You have fair skin, it should look natural enough.'

'But even so…'

'Miss Greene, do you want to assist us?'

'…yes…' said Ida, though she was feeling less and less sure of that by the second,

'So dye your hair, see if you can make it curl…'

Ida's scowl deepened, but Holmes seemed unperturbed,

'put on these clothes, try to take smaller steps when you walk, remember to address me as Doctor Smythe… do you think you could manage a different accent by the way?'

'Accent?'

'On second thoughts, try to speak as little as possible…'

Ida moved over to the couch, and fingered the clothes. They were of good quality, and looked as though they would fit her well enough. But Holmes's arrogance was starting to annoy

'The key may be the detail, Mr Holmes,' she said, 'but you seem to have neglected petticoat, stockings, drawers…'

She looked him directly in the eye, trying to provoke a reaction, but he merely replied coolly

'You have proven adept at improvisation so far, Miss Greene. The doctor and I were confident of your ability to think of something.'

Thankyou for all the kind reviews...sequel, eh? We'll have to see...