Thanks very much for the kind reviews guys! Here's another chapter, sorry if it's all turning a bit grim and complicated... My other story 'Distractions' might serve to clarify things a little bit... The final chapter of this one's nearly done so watch this space!

Ida had to practically jog to keep up with the pace Holmes was setting, and she could clearly hear Mrs Hertford panting as she and Clarence followed. Despite having lived in London for some months now, Ida could not have navigated the way from Clarence's digs to the street where she and Holmes had seen Trelawney, but Holmes was ploughing through the back streets with absolute certainty.

'Hey!' he suddenly shouted. Ida stopped, confused, then saw a scruffy looking boy of about nine on the other side of the road

'There's a guinea in it if you can get inspector Lestrade down to number seven, Beaumont Terrace inside an hour!'

The boy hurried away.

'Perkins,' said Holmes to Ida, as if that was an explanation.

'Inspector Lestrade?' asked Mrs Hertford, tremulously,

'A precaution only, madam,' said Holmes, but his reassuring smile did not reach his eyes.

……

Within five minutes they had arrived at the cul de sac where Holmes and Ida had observed Daniel Trelawney and Emily leaving their cab.

'Follow my lead,' said Holmes to Ida, quietly, 'and try not to let Mrs Hertford get too upset…'

'…I don't see why that should be my job…'

'…Miss Greene, for once, please do as I say…'

'…it would be easier if you would tell me everything that's really going on…'

'What are you two whispering about?' Clarence broke in. Holmes looked at him with obvious annoyance,

'If you must accompany us, Mr Fortescue, please keep your mouth shut…'

'…Are we,' said Mrs Hertford angrily, 'or are we not here to find my daughter?'

'Quite so, madam,' Holmes said, contritely. 'I'll knock…'

The door was opened by a maid who couldn't have been older than fourteen. Ida gave her an apologetic look as Holmes swept past without a word, followed by the other three

'Mr Trelawney, sir,' she squawked in confusion, 'there's someone …'

'What is it, Amelia?' called a voice from behind a closed door. Mrs Hertford shoved past Holmes and wrenched it open, crying

'Where is my daughter?'

Ida hurried into the room behind her. A thin, grey haired man was sitting in a high backed armchair by the fireplace, holding a brandy glass. If he was surprised at the sudden invasion, he certainly knew how to hide it. So, this was Daniel Trelawney.

He leant back in his armchair nonchalantly, took a sip of his brandy, and observed Mrs Hertford's distress with undisguised pleasure.

'What have you done, you monster?'

'Won't you sit down, Mrs Hertford?'

'Where is she?'

'Are you sure you won't sit down? There are some things I need to explain. And I'm sure your…friends… would like to hear.'

'Perhaps,' said Ida, 'we ought to hear what he has to say…'

'Ah! Someone with some sense, eh? Come now, let's be civilised…'

Ida went to stand by Mrs Hertford, and guided her into an empty armchair which sat by the other side of the fire. Holmes and Clarence stayed by the door.

Since Mrs Hertford was still quite distressed, and Holmes had for some reason not spoken yet, Ida felt obliged to break the silence. Praying that her question wouldn't make matters worse, she decided to cut to the chase

'Mr Trelawney,' she began, 'why did you write a letter to Mrs Hertford pretending that her son was still alive?'

'Ah,' he said, 'why? Such an enormous concept, really, why. Whenever you think you've pinned it down you find there's something hiding behind it. For example, I could tell you it's because I spent the last fifteen years of my life in jail. In a Venetian jail, to be exact, not renowned for its hospitality.'

'That's…um….most unfortunate, but…'

'…Why? You see my point. Well. I was imprisoned for the murder of my cousin…'

Here Ida could see that the hand which held his brandy glass had started to tremble,

'…Edwina Trelawney, the most beautiful, gentlest creature to walk the earth… They thought I killed her.'

'Edwina Trelawney…' interrupted Mrs Hertford, 'but that was the name of Morris' fiancé…'

'Morris!' spat Daniel, 'Morris wasn't fit to kiss the ground she walked on… but she thought she loved him, yes, and…' his voice tailed off, and then he started speaking in a different tone '….and I promised, didn't I, I made her a promise, and I'm keeping it now…'

All of a sudden, Holmes was standing over Trelawney's armchair, leaning so that his face was merely inches away from the other man's

'…what have you done?'

'…only what Morris did,' said Daniel, dreamily, 'made someone love me, then broke their heart…'

'It wasn't Morris who broke her heart.'

'What do you know...' said Trelawney, then, in quite a different tone, 'what do you know? Who exactly… Holmes?'

'Where is Emily?'

'It is you. Well now, this is quite the reunion… You know, of course. You know I didn't kill Edwina. She killed herself.'

'Where is Emily?'

'I would have thought you could work it out.'

Holmes jerked suddenly upright, and when he turned round Ida saw terror in his eyes,

'She's in the house,' he said with desperate certainty, 'I just hope to God that...'

'…of course,' said Trelawney, 'I had to make sure she knew where to lay her hands on some cyanide, for the poetic justice of the thing, you understand…'

But Holmes was already halfway to the door, with Ida hot on his heels.

'…you're too late,' called Trelawney, 'you'll see…'

…………….

In the hallway he paused for the briefest of seconds before making for the stairs, saying simply

'Bedroom,'

Ida followed, trying not to think too hard about what they might find, and for once resisting the urge to ask Holmes to explain what was going on. As they passed various doors, Holmes tried their handles and located a study, an empty box room, a small door that Ida could have told him was a laundry cupboard...until he finally stopped at a white painted door with a round brass handle.

'It's bolted from the inside,' he said

'Emily!' Ida shouted desperately, 'Emily, open the door,'

'Stand back,' Holmes instructed her, as he prepared to aim a kick at the painted oak. There was a splintering sound as the bolt was torn away from the wall, and the door swung back on its hinges.

'Miss Hertford,' Holmes cried, dashing forward…