Hello there, sorry for the long wait, but I had little time writing really and my other story is much faster to write down, so while I can do that in between, this here is a bit more complex and I did not want to deliver yet another such story as the previous case, with which I am still not very happy. Then again, sometimes a solution can be just as unsatisfactory, so I think we all will have to live with it. So I hope this case is more to your taste and though I have basically finished the story and just need to polish it up, I still have to actually type it into the computer, so it might be a little longer between updates than you are used from me.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this case, please let me know what you think, I really appreciate your feedback.

Love

Nic

Methinks the lady absent - Part 1

Harriet:

A couple of weeks had passed since the unexpected appearance of Aldwin Holmes on our doorstep, and Sherlock's father had indeed followed his son's invitation and moved into Dr Watson's old room until he had found a suitable house out in the country. My husband had tried to persuade him that he could just as well stay with us, and I had heartily agreed, but father had none of it.

"Ah, London is all nice and well, but I prefer some fresh air and greenery around me, and aside, in the country, there might still be the one or other thing for me to discover," he had said, and with that, the subject was closed.

It was the beginning of April already, and though Sherlock had been busy enough with cases of various kinds, I had hardly had any share in them, for many contained an element of danger, so that Sherlock had either engaged his father or Dr Watson for help, while I only did the odd bit of research, and the others were of such simplicity, that there was no need for me to get involved nor to mention them here. Not that not any other case we had as yet solved together could not as easily have been solved by Sherlock Holmes on his own anyway, after all, he was the best in his field. Nonetheless, I liked a bit of brainwork myself, though this had been amply supplied by Dr Bell, when he charged me to see through various cases of violence and try and find definite signs that might show how to determine abuse. I had, of course, done something similar for my book already, and Dr Bell knew that very well, but there was so much more to discover, as I soon found out, delving into the depths of human perfidy and suffering, and so I compared, wrote down, dug through more cases and so forth, being occupied for weeks on end.

It was with that, that I was busy one early afternoon, shortly after lunch, sitting in our living room in Baker Street together comfortably with my husband, as Aldwin had gone out, when suddenly the doorbell rang and a moment later a young and quite excited looking lady was led into our chamber. She must have been around my own age, give or take a year or two, wore a very plain, almost drab looking travelling suit of grey tweed, fairly sturdy boots, and a simple straw hat. The only thing remarkable about her was her vividly red hair, which, however, looked quite dishevelled as if she had gotten into a horrible storm – had not her hat sat firmly on top of it and her intelligent and warm dark eyes which immediately recommended her to me.

"Mr Holmes?" she all but panted, giving the appearance that she had been running, and by the redness of her face, I was quite sure that she had done so.

Sherlock rose to greet her, looking at her in his usual inquisitive manner, presumably taking in five times as many details as I had.

"I see you have just arrived at St Pancras, by the 1:25." he, at last, said, smiling warmly.

Confused she looked down at herself, while I quickly spotted the first class ticket peeping out of her glove, the 'St' and 'Pan' clearly visible, while the ticket for the metropolitan was still firmly clutched in her hand. With another glance at the clock, I calculated how long it would have taken her via the underground and a quick walk to our door and voilà! Sherlock grinned as he now turned towards me, nodding slightly.

"Yes, Mr Holmes, that is quite true. I have come straight here for I did not know where else to go," the lady, at last, answered, reaching into her reticule to pull out a crumpled letter.

"Here, this is what I found on her Ladyship's seat when I returned to our compartment."

Sherlock took the missive, bid her sit down, but did not yet read it.

"Perhaps, Miss, you should start at the beginning, for this here rather seems to be the end of the story you have to tell," Sherlock smiled patiently as if he were talking to a very small child, holding up the slip of paper.

"Oh, but yes, of course. I am sorry, but I am so very confused. My name, Mr Holmes, is Miss Anne Jenkins, and I am a teacher at Rowland's School for young ladies up in Leicester, well, nearby really, for it is about five miles out of town," she replied and then looked at me, as if she only now became aware of my presence.

"Ah, this is Miss Jenkins is Mrs Holmes and you can be assured, that you can trust her just as much as you can trust me."

The young teacher only nodded and then carried on: "I was charged to bring Lady Penelope Bentham down from school to attend her father's marriage. Someone had to, for she was determined not to go, while Lord Bentham insisted on it and I being the youngest member of staff was charged with it. There have been a couple of issues within the family which have not been disclosed to me, but it was very obvious that not all was right, if I may say so. However, that is not why I am here, it is just to explain, why I had to escort her, for Lady Penelope is by no means a young child, but almost one and twenty and a very independent young woman. I think that her disagreement with her father has led him to send her back to school after two seasons, though of that I am not sure either."

I could see that Sherlock was getting slightly impatient, and still, he listened very attentively.

"We were about an hour from London, when Lady Penelope sent me to get her a cup of tea, and so I went to acquire one. When I returned, she was gone. At first, I thought nothing of it and sat down again, but after ten minutes I grew concerned and went looking for her, I went into every compartment, even knocked on the doors of the lavatories, but she was nowhere. At last, I asked the conductor, but he could not give me any information either. It was as if Lady Penelope had disappeared from the face of the earth. With a last shred of hope I returned to our compartment and on her seat, I found this note. Whether it had been there before, I cannot say, it might have, but I have to admit that I did not pay much attention, for the cup was filled to the brink and I did not want to spill anything. - Such a trifling worry, is it not?"

There Miss Jenkins started to sob, and I could not help feeling very sorry for her. With raised eyebrows, my husband looked at her, shook his head slightly and then unfolded the letter at last. The more he read the darker his expression became, till he got up and paced up and down the length of the room for a few minutes before he sat down at his desk and examined the missive more thoroughly with his magnifying glass before bringing it close to his face. Then, with a sudden bout of activity, he jumped to his feet, reaching for his coat and hat.

"Are you up to a new adventure, my dear?" he asked, already slipping into his overcoat.

Getting up myself I, too, slipped into my jacket and put on my hat, wondering what this haste was all about. I did not need to ask, for my husband had anticipated my question, as so often and with a tense expression on his face explained: "A long-distance train usually stays in the station for a couple of hours to get cleaned and re-equipped for the tour back, which leaves us sufficient time to search the compartment – unless it has been cleaned already, that is. So we should hurry thither before it will be too late."

All three of us were already on the stairs as he said those last words, and for lack of a four-wheeler made do with a Hansom into which we crammed ourselves, I in the middle, Sherlock and Miss Jenkins on either side of me. It was quite fortunate that we were all so thin, though I was well aware, with the increasing tightness of my corset, that I would be so not for much longer.

"So, Miss Jenkins, tell me more about Lady Penelope," Sherlock said as soon as we were all seated and the cabby had flicked his whip to set his horse in motion.

"There is not much to tell, Mr Holmes. She is a very taciturn young lady. She returned to school last summer, after two years of absence, and since I only started there last year myself, I have never met her before. She did not seem very happy, hardly mingled with the other girls and spent most her time reading. She has a couple of friends to whom she writes very often, but as she prefers to bring her letters to the post herself, I am afraid I do not know who they are."

"That is unfortunate. So she has no particular friend at school?"

"No, not that I am aware of. She was not required to attend lessons, but she did, remarking that as she was at a school, she could just as well make use of it."

"Very well. Thank you, Miss Jenkins. Oh, by the way, Harriet, here is the letter."

With that, he handed me the note, which I would have liked to read straight away, but did not dare considering the moving carriage and my tendency to get sick of late. Though admittedly, the nausea head ceased somewhat in the last couple of weeks and had gone almost completely in the mornings. If my husband wondered about it, he did not remark on it but rather started to drum his fingers against the latch of the cab till at last St Pancras Station came into view.

"Platform 6, non-smoking no. 14, first class" our bewildered companion answered Sherlock Holmes' questions as to where they had arrived and off he went, leaving it to us to follow him. We arrived at the stairs to the platform just as he descended them again.

"We need to get over to the engine sheds. Ah, there is the stationmaster..."

By now Miss Jenkins looked as if she thought the detective to be utterly mad, and admittedly I could hardly fault her for it, for how could she know that there was method to his seeming madness? Smiling reassuringly I took her arm and followed the two men at a more sedate pace. This time, when we caught up with Sherlock, he was already busy examining the empty compartment, which fortunately had not been cleaned yet, though the charwoman had only been two compartments down and looked none too pleased to be interrupted in her work.

"Come on in, Hattie, and then tell me what you see," I was invited by my husband, who looked somewhat bemused, but also oddly triumphant.

I saw nothing. The compartment looked neat and tidy, safe for two dents in the cushions of the headrests where the ladies had sat, a neatly folded handkerchief which had fallen to the floor and the untouched cup of tea which our client had been ordered to get for her Ladyship and which now still sat on the small fold down table underneath the closed window.

"That is exactly what I see, my dear," Sherlock replied pensively, bending down to pick up the handkerchief. "Now, read the letter, which I presume you had not yet had the time to do."

Of course, I had not yet read through it, too busy running after him. Unfolding the missive I gasped in shock. No wonder Miss Jenkins had looked so agitated upon her arrival.

My dear Lord Bentham,

I am sure, as a wedding present, you would like nothing more than to see your daughter safe and sound within your own house, would you not? Well, nothing as simple as that, good Sir, for all you need to do, is leave the amount of ₤ 10.000 in notes, within a picnic basket at the cloakroom of St Pancras by 5 am on the morrow. For I assume that you would not want your daughter to suffer the loss of her life, now would you? So, be punctual and no police, for else...

Yours sincerely

XXX

I shivered at the prospect of the young lady being in such serious kind of trouble. The attack must have come as a shock, for certain.

In the meantime, Sherlock had continued to examine the compartment, more thoroughly now with the aid of his trusted magnifying glass. Repeatedly he mumbled how interesting everything was, though I could not, for the sake of it see what he meant. There was nothing there, literally.

But instead of relieving my obvious curiosity, he went outside and inquired: "Miss Jenkins, you said that it was about an hour before you would arrive in London, so I presume it was shortly after you have left Northampton, for if I remember it correctly that is the only station between Leicester this train stops at?"

"Yes, it is. It comes down from Leeds."

"Very well. So, to Northampton, we will go then."

"But did you not just say that... - oh, never mind," I mumbled, still quite confused myself.

"Miss Jenkins, I recommend you find yourself a room and then call on us at around eight this evening. We should be back by then, I am sure." Sherlock carried on when we had stepped out of the train, lighting a cigarette.

"But the ransom note?" the young woman cried out. "Oh dear, his Lordship still needs to be informed!"

"We will see to that when it becomes necessary. For now, I would like to keep the message. By the way, what happened to the lady's luggage?"

Than Miss Jenkins was not particularly happy about this, was plainly visible, nonetheless, she kept herself from protesting and instead answered:

"It has been sent separately to be picked up upon our arrival here."

"Very good. Our train leaves in about forty minutes, so that should give us enough time to have a look inside Lady Penelope's suitcase."

"But it is locked, Mr Holmes, I saw her lock it myself."

"Oh, my wife, if I remember it correctly, has excellent lock-picking skills, and a head full of hairpins." Sherlock grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement, which I at the seriousness of the situation thought to be a little out of place.