From the Shadows

„These two are brethren, Adam, and to come/ Out of thy loins; th'unjust the just hath slain/ for envy that his brother's offering found/ from heav'n acceptance, but the bloody act/ will be avenged"

Paradise Lost

It was amazing how the two words on the backside of the paper made my legs shorter, my face more freckled. My hair seemed to gather into a pony tail, and from the light draught, I could feel how short my skirt was, only just touching the knees.

I appeared to wander down a hall - stately and solemn, expensive, but with a certain neglect that betrayed the fact it was not a real home, just a temporary solution. My Uncle Jonathan's house. I could see Louise, his maid, go to answer the door, and I slid behind the stairs noiselessly, as ghosts would.

Louise's high, intimidated voice rang in my ears, together with the icy inflection of the man in our anteroom. She cowered back, and receded to open the door into the parlour. „A visitor for you, Madam."

„I won't see anyone now, Louise", my aunt Cathy wearily replied.

„But the gentleman is most insistent, madam!"

„Who is the gentleman? One of our regular callers?"

„Oh no, Madam."

„Did he give a name, then?"

„Yes, madam. Mr. Holmes, Madam."

A brief pause. Then: „Where is he?"

„In the anteroom, madam. I told him you had gone out, but…"

„Show him in", Aunt Cathy said with sudden resolution.

Louise extended her arm to signal the caller that he should step closer. He passed my hiding place, and I felt the hair rise on my nape as he did: A cold flow of air seemed to accompany him, and from the corner of my eye, he seemed to float rather than walk….he was tall and grey, meagre like a preying animal, moving stealthily, noiselessly. I dared look neither too closely, nor too far up where his face would be, so I peered down to the floor, to the patent leather shoes on his feet. A freezing hand seemed to clutch my heart with a firm grip, and I held my breath as he disappeared into the parlour.

Louise made her exit as soon as at all possible. She was frightened, I could see it, she sensed the danger virtually emanating from this creature with the same intensity as I did. But I did not take to flight. Instead, I drew near the closed door. My head needed to bow just a little to be one hight with the keyhole.

My Aunt Cathy had given an audible start at the appearance of her caller. „You! What are you doin' `ere!"

„I am not on a social visit, as you may have guessed, Miss Winter."

oooOOOooo

My eyes, from staring into void space, lowered to the slip of paper in my lap only with a tremendous effort of will. My eyes squinted, but the words on this side of the paper remained the same:

Mycroft Holmes

Tom Rhys-Folmec; just with the letters in an alternate order. That factitious name. How could nobody have seen it earlier?

I breathed heavily. There it was again, the hand, freezing cold, that was laid around my palpitating heart. I felt the approach of a panic, and breathed quicker, quicker, ever accelerating, until I felt a warm, dry hand on my arm. Uncle John had stepped to my side, caring and solicitous as ever.

„Calm down, Fanny. I apologize, I had not foreseen this would have such an effect on you." He squatted down in front of my seat, passing a hand over my hair and looking into my face earnestly.

I forced a smile. Poor Uncle John. How could he have known I had these recollections? He had assumed Mycroft Holmes would be little more to me than a name, and had reckoned on my surprise, but not on the horror that no doubt had been reflected by my eyes.

„I am sorry…I…I'll be me own mistress again presently. It's jus' - so unexpected…" I glanced above his shoulder to where Holmes lightly rested against his writing desk. Though this could not be news to him, his face was wan, and he watched me steadily, as though something were expected from me, as soon as I had recovered from the shock. Something I-knew-not-what, but it could not possibly be good.

I swallowed. „You will have ter explain", I croaked weakly, dimly wondering whether another drink would not be in order now. „I don't follow. How does `e come into all of this? The last that I `eard was that `e `ad fallen from grace - `er Majesty's grace - and was divested o` `is functions and `is power."

Holmes seemed to see right through me, for he had turned aside to refill my whisky glass. „A man like my brother", he said with a contemplative air, „is never really stripped of his powers. If he fails in one place, well, he starts afresh in another. He needs neither royal nor familial aid to do so - though you'd be wrong to assume that he did not foster a desire to take revenge; revenge on those who gave offence to his amour propre. This is why he engaged some wretch to create havoc at the Louvre museum, and to cause damage to the King's Orb - a royal possession. This is also why he established an influence in the Parisian metropolitan police, and it is equally the reason why he tried, with their help, to steal the treasure. He knew that with a British national heirloom and the prestige of the French State at stake, I would be called in at some point."

„So this is basically a campaign o' vengeance?" I could scarce believe it. It sounded too extravagant, too romanesque for this prosaic world.

„Yes", he replied simply, and handed me the glass. „You don't know Mycroft, Fanny, and it probably is for the best. But you may rely on one thing, and that is, that after the detriment I did him, he can never be happy unless I am unhappy. The exalted personage that I consulted with yesterday is of like opinion. His aim, ultimately, is to destroy me, and I think I am not exaggerating if I say any means through which he can achieve it will be acceptable."

I quietly sat a minute, trying to digest that. Uncle John had risen from his squatting position, and, rubbing his back, also helped himself to another drink. If there were more revelations pending, it would end up making us a bunch of hopeless alcoholics I thought, smiling absurdly. But my inapposite merriment died when I thought of Madame Zhao. No friend of mine ought to be delivered into Mycroft Holmes' power…a power, I suspected, whose horrors weren't tempered by too great a predisposition for mercy.

My head flew up. „Where is he?" I inquired sharply. „That `ouse, o`er yonder in the fields…it belongs to `im?"

„So it would seem", Uncle John cautiously said.

„ - but he merely owns it to spy on me", Holmes interrupted. „There is nobody there at present. I made sure of that. He - or somebody in his pay - has been there not too long ago. I suppose he was curious what steps I would take, and went out of his way to keep an eye on my movements."

„But where is `e now? An' more importantly: Where is Madame Zhao?" I insisted. „Do you fink they are somewhere close to `ere?" And the thought that my missing friend might be near me without knowing it suffused me warmly. We would find her, no matter how, no matter what!

Holmes gravely shook his head. „I should doubt it. There is an official ban on Mycroft. He must not enter the United Kingdom. He had to buy this house under a false name and, it is to expected, he comes and goes by means of a fake passport. However, his citizenship in this country has been annulled. I presume he succeeded in acquiring the French citizenship, by courtesy of our family connection. But there is no resident in Paris either under his own name or under that of Rhys-Folmec. I have made inquiries."

„He might reside there un`er a third assumed identity!" I protested. „It is easy, blending in wiv the great, anonymous masses…."

„That is not altogether impossible. But I had another theory."

„Yes?"

Holmes inhaled deeply. The two men exchanged a long glance, before Uncle John, as it seemed, gave him leave to reply.

„There is a little village in Normandy. It has a castle nearby, well, a manor-house if you will, that the Vernet family can lay some claim to. However, nobody ever showed much interest in the quite expensive enterprise of sanifying this ancient monstrum, so inconveniently situated in the middle of nowhere. Thus, it has been left to slowly crumble away for the last hundred years or so. I myself have been there only once. My grandmother showed it to me when we were holidaying by the seaside. But even then, it was not safe to step inside, so we only looked at its mouldy facade, and then took to our heels. Mycroft, however, might relish the atmosphere enough to invest a pretty penny…it is an admirable hideaway."

I looked at his eyes, gleaming with eagerness, and a slight suspicion crept into my heart - wasn't he just working himself up into an idée fixe? „`e might, and then again, `e might not. This is pure speculation", I ventured, uneasily.

Uncle John shook his head. „Not anymore. A telegram was sent to the mayor of Merveille-en-Terre, under a fictitious name and pretext naturally. The old castle is tenanted by some offspring of the Vernet family, and he has taken up considerable renovation measures, which is why the estate has been spaciously enclosed."

I closed my eyes for a second. A vision of the sea, and gulls, and an old, forbidding Norman structure, engulfed me. Oh Madame! Help is near!

„It does sound fairly conclusive", was, however, the only reply I gave.

„It does, doesn't it?" Uncle John started filling his pipe, and Holmes, as if by reflex, did the same. „And what is more, a violent breaking into the Hôtel Meurice yesterday has been communicated by the newspapers, so we may safely assume that the counterfeit Madame crafted is now in Normandy as well - but I spurn the idea that as astute a man as Mycroft can be deceived through such an imposture. Which means that your friend, if she is still alive, might be in considerable danger."

I felt the color drain from my face, and he hurried to add: „But we mustn't assume the worst. It is highly likely Mycroft will avail himself of her expertise until the real Orb is found."

„Yeah, but what can we do?" In exasperation, I tore at my hair. „There is no proof of anything. An' the French police ain't reliable. What can we possibly do?"

Holmes lowered the hand that held his pipe. The other hand dived into his waistcoat pocket and extracted the King's Orb. Both Uncle John and I started at its splendor - in the fire light, the valuable stones sparkled intensely, and in more varied hues than ever. It was so beautiful, but, in a sense, so deadly. Our eyes followed closely as Holmes tossed it up into the air, and caught it again in his hand.

„We'll bring him this."

„Bring him - !" I believe my mouth fell open. Next to me, Uncle John remained quite calm. He had doubtlessly been let in on the plan beforehand.

„Why, yes. It is the gem he wants, and my head. I can serve him with both. Why should any other party continue to suffer, if this is completely between us? No, no. No more breaking-in, no more corruption and abduction: He shall have what he wants, and see what good it will do him. Oh, you need not imagine I will surrender to him without a struggle," he replied to my expression, blatantly aghast at his derring-do. „He shall get his deserts, if I am man enough to give them to him. And if your friend or other innocent hostages be in his power, I shall be damned if I stand by inactively. But I will no longer hide, or run away from him. I am quite tired of it."

„I see." I rose from my seat, and began roaming the room in the same pointless manner as he would, occasionally. „And when you say that we shall bring 'im the Orb - alongside with yer loaf - I suppose ya uses a figure of speech. Ya means that I an' Uncle John `ere shall continue running an' `iding till one o' you `as succeeded in dashing the other one's brain awt. Now that's a real fine plan, I must admit!"

I flashed an angry look at him. How could he think we would ever agree to such a scheme? We of all people, we, who to all intents and purposes were the closest associates he had in this world! Did he think we could live with letting him go, unprotected and at his own risk? It was the pink of inconsideration!

To my surprise, however, Sherlock Holmes returned my look steadily. „You mistake my meaning, Frances. I am not trying to delude you by means of rhetorics. When I approach my worst enemy - and he is, all others notwithstanding! - then I would like to do so fully equipped, and with the use of both my right and my left hand."

He drew nearer, extending the said members to us. Uncle John glanced at me hesitantly, doubtfully. We were not made out to be heroes - we had not the requirements for a mission of this dimension. But that was of no importance, and I told him as much, without words. It was not that I mistook the chances of being put to death. I had had my impression of Mycroft, and it was clear-cut. But Holmes, Uncle John and I, we were allies, yes, even kindred in a way. And we were left over.…two widowers, and a friendless woman. If we died, who would be there to mourn?

He seemed to relent, and yielded his hand to me. I enclosed it firmly with mine. With the other one, I reached out to meet Holmes' left, and our fingers locked solemnly. Then the men joined their hands together, and the agreement had been sealed. We remained like this for a minute or so, thinking, I believe, similar thoughts. Then we let go, and the little smoky room seemed detached from this universe: Like a frail capsule it carried us though time and space, and everyone in it lived and re-lived the past and present that led up to an incalculable and forbidding future.

Hullo!

So the old enemy has risen again! Those who read „A study in wedlock" will remember how Mycroft's criminal deeds were disclosed by his brother, whereupon he lost his government post and disappeared from the political stage. Now we know what he has been up to since: rebuilding an old Norman fort and brooding over sinister plans for vengeance.

Do our heroes stand the least chance against such a formidable enemy? We shall see soon!

Love, Mrs. F.