A/N - thanks for the reviews guys, I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I'll be posting the new chapter of 'Distractions' as soon as I can, and before I post the next chapter of this one... (end of term now, so should have more time!)

It was a sombre Ida who returned to the Hertford residence at Victoria Crescent that afternoon. She slipped in the back door, glared the scullery maid into shocked silence and hurried up the servant's staircase. A moment's hesitation at the top, then she remembered the way, and hurried into Mrs Hertford's bedroom.

Once inside, she couldn't afford to let herself relax for even a brief second. She probably had only a matter of minutes before the housekeeper was alerted and all hell broke loose. She didn't even know if Mr Hertford – her one potential defence – was at home at this hour.

Holmes' earlier revelations were still a seething mass of unsettled thoughts buzzing in her head. Morris Hertford, his fiancé Edwina Trelawney and Holmes himself had – fifteen years ago - been caught up in some affair to do with Edwina Trelawney's Great Aunt's will. And Edwina's cousin, Daniel Trelawney – the man who now apparently had Emily Hertford in his power -had also had some part to play. But Holmes had held back almost all of the details, and all Ida could do was wildly speculate. Why had this Daniel Trelawney reappeared now, after 15 years? Where was this Edwina who had apparently been so very much in love with Morris, what had become of her after his death? And who…who had killed Morris, if Holmes was to be believed?

It was no good. Without more facts, she was powerless. And it was time for her to fulfil her side of the bargain. Holmes had requested that she retrieve the earlier coded letter which Mrs Hertford had received from her daughter, so that meant a raid on Mrs Hertford's study…

…As Ida moved towards the inner door, her hand outstretched towards the handle, her eye was caught by an oval frame on Mrs Hertford's dressing table. For some indefinable reason she felt drawn to go over and take a closer look.

The frame housed a simple line drawing in pen and ink of a young man, surely not more than 20 years old, whose laughing face had been captured with an almost unbearable delicacy of touch. Ida lent in, closer, to read the small inscription at the base of the frame…

'What are you doing?' came a hoarse voice from behind.

Ida spun round, guiltily, to see Mrs Hertford standing in the doorway of her bedroom, still clad in her outdoor coat. She had removed the veiled hat, however, and even from the other side of the room Ida was aware of her swollen, red rimmed eyes.

'Um…dusting…?' said Ida, instantly realising that her lack of apron, cap and in fact any housemaid paraphernalia might be a bit of a giveaway.

'Agnes dusts in here,' said Mrs Hertford, in a kind of bewildered daze

'Um, she's…not well today,' improvised Ida, 'I'm new, ma'am, I didn't mean any disrespect, ma'am….' Damn and blast it! Ida suddenly realised she had been keeping up eye contact with Mrs Hertford. No wonder the poor woman was even more confused, the very idea of a servant making this much eye contact…

'It doesn't matter…' said Mrs Hertford, her voice trailing away into a kind of gulping sob.

Hang propriety Ida suddenly thought to herself, this woman is going through enough. In a moment, she was beside Mrs Hertford, helping her to sit down in the chair at the dressing table.

'There there, ma'am, let it all out…' she found herself saying, wondering at the inanities she was capable of uttering in these situations, 'whatever it is, it can't be as bad as all that…'

…..

Mrs Hertford wept for a good five minutes. After her sobs had subsided to a mere whimper, she gave a shuddering sigh and then seemed calm again.

'Thank you, girl,' she said quietly, releasing Ida's hand.

The 'girl' rankled slightly, but Ida still hated herself for what she did next. Exploiting Mrs Hertford's fragile emotional state really was low…

'That's a lovely picture, ma'am…' Ida began, conversationally, indicating the young man in the oval frame, 'did you draw it yourself?'

Surprisingly, the fresh burst of sobbing which Ida had expected did not come. Mrs Hertford looked up at her from the chair, glowing with a kind of inner strength.

'No,' she said, 'an artist friend of mine drew it. It is a very good likeness… Of my son.'

That much Ida had seen from the inscription.

'I'm sure you're very proud of him,' said Ida, feeling as though she was adding straws to an already teetering pile that threatened to fall at any moment, 'what does he do?'

Mrs Hertford sniffed.

'He…would… have been a doctor.'

'Oh…ma'am…I'm so sorry, I didn't realise…'

'I haven't seen him for fifteen years.'

Warning bells were starting to ring in Ida's head.

'I don't understand, ma'am, is he…'

Mrs Hertford was staring at her strangely. Ida waited for the death blow, the sudden accusation of prying, the inevitable throwing out of the house…but it never came

'Can you keep a secret, girl?'

Unless revealing it is for the greater good… Ida added the desperate mental caveat, but she still knew herself to be basically lying and despised herself as she said -

'Of course.'

'Fetch me the green leather writing case that is locked in the third drawer of my desk,' ordered Mrs Hertford, proffering a small key on a piece of blue ribbon.

…..

Her heart hammering with the anticipation of a new development, Ida placed the writing case in Mrs Hertford's hands. She started to undo the three sets of knotted ribbons which held it shut.

'I haven't shown this to anyone', Mrs Hertford confessed, 'but…' here she sniffed, 'I just need someone else's opinion…'

She looked Ida with a sudden intensity

'You won't tell anyone, will you?'

'No,' said Ida, hoping her face would not betray her

Mrs Hertford opened the writing case, and withdrew a faded, yellow piece of paper

'This is a letter my son wrote to me, when he was at Oxford,' she said, handing it to Ida. 'Can you read?'

'Er…yes…a little…' said Ida, trying to hedge her bets

'Well, take note of the handwriting.'

Ida looked at the page. It was covered in a fairly standard copperplate hand, detailing something about a particularly sumptuous dinner and…yes, she caught sight of the name Holmes in there, and a mention of punting…

'Now,' said Mrs Hertford, 'please examine this'

Another page was handed to her. This one was much fresher looking, the ink a much clearer black and the page whiter. The handwriting was certainly a lot like that of the letter… Holding it up so as to catch more light, Ida read

'Mother, forgive my long, painful and unexplained absence. Trust that I am alive, whatever you might have thought or been led to believe by others. Tell no one of this yet, please have faith in Trelawney, he's a good fellow. It is only through his help that I get this message to you. Do not try to contact me, do not tell father, have faith that I will be with you all soon. Your ever loving son, Morris '

At the top of the page was a message in a different hand, dated several months previously

'Dear Mrs Hertford, I trust the below is of some comfort, and hope that you will be able to wait a little longer, with trusting patience, before being re united with your son. May I re iterate the importance of secrecy for the time being.

Your obedient servant, Daniel Trelawney'

'Mrs Hertford,' said Ida, slowly, 'this is…well…I don't really understand, but…'

'The content of the letter is of absolutely no concern to you,' said Mrs Hertford, 'and servant girls who make slanderous allegations are on a sure road to the workhouse…'

'…forgive me, ma'am….'

'I merely require your opinion of the hands. Are they the same hand?'

Privately, Ida was almost certain the note from Morris had to be a forgery. But how to break this news to Mrs Hertford in a way that she would accept, without revealing all that she already knew?

'I…I couldn't say, ma'am…'

Mrs Hertford groaned, and Ida quickly continued, a wild idea taking root in her mind

'But, ma'am…I know someone who could tell you for sure…'

'I cannot show this letter to anyone else!' Mrs Hertford almost shrieked, 'I shouldn't even have shown it to you….'

'No…but…what if you just took a couple of lines…some key words…you could cut out a bit of the letter… Paste them onto another sheet. So as no one would know…'

'Cut it? Paste it? What nonsense are you blathering about?'

'My mother's second cousin has a son who is a handwriting expert,' said Ida, in one last brazen stab, 'and I could get you an appointment. This afternoon, probably, if you wanted…'

'A…handwriting…expert?' Mrs Hertford looked at Ida in astonishment.

'Yes,' said Ida, 'a….graphologist...'

…..

'Clarence, there simply isn't time for you to argue!' hissed Ida, snatching up papers and paintbrushes from his table and piling them roughly into a cupboard

'Hey there, mind out!' he exclaimed, reaching out a hand to stop her

'All you need to do,' said Ida, unheeding as she slammed the cupboard door 'is pretend to be a handwriting expert, and say that the two hands are clearly different, that the one is a forgery of the other. Got that?'

'No!'

'It's really very simple, Clarence…'

'Ida, I…'

Ida seized the last of the sketchbooks that still sat on the desk, and a page fluttered out. Clarence made a grab for it but found himself snatching at empty air.

Ida opened the folded page.

'Clarence…?' she looked at him questioningly. His eyes met hers and his cheeks flushed red

'It's…' he began, but a sudden rapping at the door cut his words short

'She's here!' Ida shoved Clarence towards the desk, 'Sit down!'

'But shouldn't I answer it…?'

'I will.'

'But she knows you…!'

'Not…' said Ida, reaching into her bag and drawing out a smaller, cloth wrapped package, '…that…' she continued, pulling out a large pair of round rimmed glasses and balancing them on her nose, '…well.' A floppy grey wig, made into the style of a loose bun was the last to emerge, and she pulled it over her own hair, positioning it with the aid of the large mirror above Clarence's fireplace. It itched like hell.

Damn you, Holmes… thought Ida to herself, as she affected a shuffling, hobbled gait and made to open the door.

……

'Good afternoon, madam,' quavered Ida, as she opened the door on a flustered looking Mrs Hertford, 'So sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr Fortescue can see you now…'

'It's, uh, Professor Fortescue, actually,' came an over-nonchalant voice from the back of the room.

'Why, yes, of course it is,' said Ida, with a forced smile, 'why, I'll forget my own head next, I will indeed…'

'Don't worry, I…solde…' he said, 'it happens to the best of us…'

Isolde? Isolde!? Ida fumed inwardly as she guided Mrs Hertford towards the desk, and looked daggers at Clarence.

'Mrs…' Ida paused,

'…Hertford,' supplied Mrs Hertford,

'Mrs Hertford, Professor,' announced Ida, 'you remember, that young lady relation of yours made an appointment for her to see you…?'

'Why yes!' said Clarence, beaming, 'for it really happened, and I always remember things which really happened…'

Mrs Hertford stared at him in bemusement. Ida glared at Clarence with even more venom, and he spoke again

'So, tell me, what can I, a humble… handwriting…expert…do for you, madam?'