Chapter 6; "Oh my god, I remember!"

Winters was heading home. Everything had been cleared up. After much consideration in the courts of law Norwood was to receive Mrs Rison's fortune being the employee of its latest owner. Neither Norwood, Holmes, Watson nor the inspector had felt justified in turning Rison in, and the murder was proclaimed, due to lack of evidence a heart failure. The detective and Watson had departed back to Baker Street and now the Inspector was returning to his humble home in a hansom. He was mulling over the case, quite extraordinary, and the girl… Lydia. She really had come out of it with a rotten deal. Suddenly something clicked. The driver turned at the sound of a sharp scream to see Winters, white-faced and shivering in the corner of the carriage: "Cabby, get me to 27 Lanestreet Road in five minutes and I'll give you half a crown." The driver didn't wait about, and whipping his horses into action, set off at a gallop. Grasping at his knees, one phrase passed the Inspector's lips: "Oh my God, I remember!"

Three weeks later.

Holmes stretched out his long sinewy arm and rapped smartly on the door of 27 Lanestreet Road. Some time had passed with neither a case nor a sign of Winters. Therefore, for perhaps the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was making a purely social visit. In truth he was slightly worried; first he had called at the Yard for the Inspector, but Lestrade had told him that Winters had taken sick leave and had been off work for three weeks. Watson of course had accompanied his old friend, more out of curiosity than anything else, and so the two stood in apprehensive silence on the front step. There was a sound of hurrying feet followed by a female voice: "I'll get it!" and in a matter of moments the door opened to reveal the most stunningly beautiful, if slightly androgynous, woman. However, it was not this alone that made Holmes and Watson gasp, but her astonishing resemblance to Winters.

"Oh!" she began, "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I am Lydia Winters, Vincent's sister. "He's out just at present, but you're very welcome to come in anyway!"

"Wait a minute!" barked the detective shrewdly, "how, may I ask, did you know who we were?"

Lydia gulped. "I could tell from the same method of observation and deduction that you might use yourself, you are a relaxed, well-off English gentleman, who exercises on a regular basis and by varied methods and smells of tobacco. The good doctor is of similar social status, he exerts himself more frequently yet less strenuously than you. This on its own, I agree, would not be enough, but the fact that I am a great fan of Dr Watson's stories, have seen your picture plastered across 'The Strand' magazine, and would recognise you both even if you were disguised as the two halves of a pantomime horse, helps enormously!"

While they reeled in the wake of this, she led them into the sitting room, calling for tea as she did so. The three sat uncomfortably down on the elaborate chairs. Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but an oldish woman bustled in before she could. "Gentlemen from the city? Oh dear, I am afraid we are far from prepared, but perhaps they can tell me where you disappear to all day?" She laughed, half-jokingly, "Or why you came back with a black eye last month!" Holmes drew breath sharply and stared incredulously at her.

Lydia suppressed a look of horror that had momentarily marred her face and composed herself. "Julie, we have much of a confidential nature to discuss…"

"Oh, sorry Ma'am!" The old lady bobbed a curtsey, set down the tea tray and left, "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me!"

The room was left in an awful silence, "And you'll have understood what that means perfectly, won't you Mr Holmes?"

He turned to her and nodded slowly; "Absolutely!"

Watson glanced from one to the other bemusedly, "I however confess myself completely in the dark!"

Lydia looked wearily at him, I'll put it another way shall I?" She scraped her hair back behind her head and said in a deepened and familiar voice, "Inspector Vincent Winters sir, I'm a great fan of yours!"

Watson gasped; "You don't mean, no, it can't be! Are you… inspector?"

Lydia smiled wanly and let her hair cascade down her back. Holmes drew himself up to his full height, and appraising her with his sharp blue eyes began to speak stiffly; "Well, Miss Winters…"

He hadn't finished before she interrupted; "Miss Winters? Just because I'm a woman it doesn't mean my personality has changed drastically, or that I am in need of excessive politeness! Essentially I'm still the same person, don't you, can't you see that?"

Holmes sniffed then cocked an eyebrow sardonically and continued, "Inspector Winters then, I am able to see how you developed your disguise, an old acting carer I believe. Indeed a very useful talent, nonetheless I confess I am at a loss as to why you committed this… this atrocity!"

Lydia's face darkened; "Why do you think Mr Holmes? You really have no idea whatsoever? Very well I shall tell you, and what is more I shall shed further light on our… your previous case!"

Holmes interlaced his fingers and sat back in his chair, he was intrigued but his upper lip kept twitching as if in disgust; "Pray proceed!"

Lydia sighed sadly then began; "Firstly you must know that my real name is not Winters, I assumed it when I first came to London. My previous and true name was Ire. Lydia Ire in fact!"

"It's not possible!" cried Holmes, the verdict on her murder was death by drowning, and if you are truly her why didn't you come forward?"

Lydia sighed and tapped the arm of her chair in impatience; "Please, let me explain!"

Holmes rolled his eyes, "I think you are deluded but I suppose I cannot deny your right to speech!"

She smiled, "Very generous of you. Now where was I? Oh yes, as you know I was born and raised in India. People her say that great works of architecture and art, or even that I am beautiful! They have no idea, no possible way of comprehending the true, pure splendour of the jungles, the tigers their huge depthless amber eyes, and the pale moon at night caressing the trees upper branches. It is indescribable!" She paused for a moment, a far away look in-habiting her countenance, Watson cleared his throat loudly and she seemed to regain herself and continued; "My mother loved me and I think my father did to, in his own way! I spent my days resting or raiding my parents library, I had taught myself to read. As I grew older the books I stole became more advanced. I remember one particular evening especially. I realised I was out of reading material, and had crept into the library. However in the process of stealing "Hydrochloric acid and related experiments." Knocked over an entire bookshelf. My father was so angry it was unreal. I have told you of days… but the nights were different! I would sneak out of the house and down to the jungles where I would meet the tribe's people! I had become their friend over the years. Their customs and beliefs fascinated me, and in return for their hospitality I would bring them western medicines when their own failed. My life passed in this ecstasy until four weeks after my thirteenth birthday when I heard of my father's suicide and of his conviction of murdering my mother's former husband. I had no idea or a reason to believe he was still alive. We travelled to England, I had not wanted to go, what I had heard of it had not been good, and my predictions were soon proved true. Life was, to put it mildly, uneventful. Day after day after day of being the perfect little heiress! I had to act like a porcelain doll every minute of my seemingly pointless existence. Mr Holmes, could you bear it? No mental stimulation whatsoever! I was twenty-two and half mad with frustration when late one night some one crept into my room and pressed a chloroformed rag to my nose and mouth! I was briefly aware of some water but it was all very vague under the influence of the drug. I awoke the next morning in a miniscule fisherman's shack with no memory of my former life. After thanking him for his kindness I took my leave of the man who had plucked me from the water. I travelled down to London in an attempt to recollect my former life. At first I lived on the streets but within a year I had a job as an actress and incidentally a makeup artist with a theatrical company, these small lodgings and consequently a false identity, as Lydia (the only part of my old self I had managed to remember) Winters. I lived in relative happiness for another year until my company went broke and I was left redundant. I was in despair and about to take a post as a maid despite my complete lack of home economics. It was about then that I first began to read Dr Watson's accounts of your own exploits, and that's when I decided what I wanted to do. I used my acting and disguise skills to become a respectable man about town. Of course I didn't inform my landlady of my occupation, as you have just seen, for fear she might kick me out. So as I was saying; I applied for a job in the force. They laughed me of at first on account of my small… stature. But after I had displayed my intellectual abilities on a few trifling cases they were all too eager to take me on. I was successful and soon I was promoted to the ranks of inspector at Scotland Yard. My plan had worked, or at least it had until just now! Of course the Jason Ire affair bore some personal relevance, but I still had no memories of what had happened to me before being bundled out of the water. However when I was in a hansom on my way back here after our interview with Rison, something, I don't know, just fell into place! I was terrified, driven into paroxysms of old memories; I had no choice but take some time of work, although I had every intention of returning! Look gentlemen I know you may feel we can never work together again after this, but I beg of you no to inform the Yard of my true identity?"