Two months had passed. The pewter hue of the winter skies were replaced by spring's robin's egg blue and the light green of fresh leaves. Like the seasons, life had swung forward and continued down its set path. For our family, life was begrudgingly slow in its paces with false starts and fallacious hopes.

Essentially, the police—after a month of investigation—found nothing concerning my father's murder. They found no clues, no evidence, or no suspects whatsoever. Though Inspector Hopkins vowed that he and his officers would continue investigating yet judging from the look in his eyes, it was only said out of solace.

I saw very little of Holmes for those two months. He would manage to visit every two weeks for tea and it was a nice break from the dreary atmosphere that always hung over the house. However with his impending and grueling exams (as he would be graduating at the end of Trinity term) and my turning into a recluse since Dad's death, very few words passed between us.

One day, my dear friend Katherine decided to take a break from her bluestocking duties and pay me a visit. I heard her musical tones coming from the doorway and I tentatively walked a few steps down to see her. As soon as she walked into the hallway, her face glowed with that lovely smile of hers.

"Oh, Charlotte, how are you, dear?" She greeted me enthusiastically.

There was no way that I could equal her enthusiasm but I managed to smile and greet her genuinely. "Hello, Katie, this is a surprise."

Josephine came over and took Katie's hat and coat. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. It's just that I had not seen you since…" She stopped abruptly, not wanting to say that the last time she had seen me was at the funeral. She smiled sheepishly. "I haven't seen you in quite a long time, that is."

"Well, Katie, I would be happy to visit you but honestly, I'm quite a wreck." One of the benefits of being a recluse was the practical disregard of one's appearance. I wore an old dress with my hair tied in a loose, messy plait and to top it off a pair of ratty slippers on my feet. However, with Katie in her most de rigueur of garments (perhaps she had been out with her beau earlier), I could not very well go downstairs. "If you're willing to wait, I just need to get dressed."

"Of course," she said as she smoothed her own dress unconsciously.

I disappeared from the staircase and after a quick change into an adequately tidy white blouse and an old yet comfortable skirt. After brusquely brushing through my tangled hair and tying it up in a bun, I emerged more or less presentable. Josephine had kindly set down a tray of tea along with some muffins on the table. Katie had already helped herself to some tea and a blueberry muffin when I came in.

"I hope you did not mind that I helped myself to some of Josephine's wares." She said after swallowing a fluffy morsel of blueberry. She wiped her hands with the cloth napkin and then looked up at me with those lovely eyes. "So how have you been?"

It was such a normal question yet I knew by the tone that there were hidden implications to her question. I bluntly answered, "Well, I'm not planning to commit suicide, if that's what you mean."

A grimace crossed across her face. "Oh, Charlotte, I'm just concerned about you. I mean, you rarely go out of your house and you're not taking care of yourself—I mean, I know you do not really care for fashion but I've never seen you in your pajamas past noon. You're not even going out with Mr. Holmes anymore and I know that was enjoyable for you…"

I resisted the enormous temptation to snort. If it had not been for my disability and the lackluster reputation that actresses garner, I would have been perfect for the stage. Yet there was a minute amount of truth in her words, there were some moments that I actually enjoyed my time with Holmes. I let her carry on her monologue for awhile and when she finally wound down, I spoke.

"Katherine, I appreciate your concern." I began. "Honestly, though, Her Majesty Queen Victoria has been mourning her husband's death for more than a decade and you're not telling her to snap out of it."

For a moment, she resembled a fish out of water gaping for oxygen. "You weren't rude either. It seems that your manners went the same way as your father."

My eyes bulged at the last comment and hers did as well. The main difference was that I reacted out of rage and she reacted out of shock for her own words. I wanted to take my walking stick and smash it against her head. She saw the stiffening of my shoulders and my white knuckles and guessed as much.

"P-please, Charlotte, I-I-I did not mean to say such a nasty thing. Forgive my gaucheness; I am just so concerned for you. You were always so lively and everything and now…"

"It's to be expected, Katie," I said gently. "I am absolutely disheartened by the attempts of the police. My father's murder is seemingly unsolvable and no one has been apprehended. And last but absolutely not least, I just lost the most important person in my life. Does that not at least account for some insanity on my part?"

"Well, I'm sure it does." She said, surprised by the candid nature of my speech. "I'm sorry…could we just start this whole conversation over? I've just shoved my giant boot into my mouth."

"That's fine," I said, though in any other situation, I would have thrown her out the door. When we resumed our conversations, I soon realized that I was quite lonely. Such a simple observation but it had a profound effect on me. She spoke about her studies and her various extracurricular activities and I basically allowed her to dominate the conversation as while I missed company, it was the comfort rather than the interactions involved.

"So how is Mr. Holmes?" She asked me after regaling her own tales about her beau.

"Extremely occupied with his upcoming peer review," I answered vaguely since that was all I knew of his activities. "I have only seen him intermittently after the funeral. The last time I saw him was nearly a month ago for dinner."

"I see but I can tell that you're still fond of him."

"How so?" I asked out of curiosity, wondering how vast her social acuity could be.

"Your walking stick, you still use it. I had never seen you use anything to help you walk before he gave it to you."

I allowed myself to smile as an answer. It would be up to her to decipher what I meant by my smile. Her clever observation took me by surprise nevertheless. The only reason I did not even use any implements previous to this particular walking stick was because many of the canes that I had been provided with resembled those that doddering elders use. It was more for the sake of my own vanity and its practicality than its sentimental value that I used it.

She took my smile as that she had guessed correctly. "He must be a nice man underneath all that cold intelligence. I mean, he seems polite and all but he's not really a…well, how should I put this…he's not exactly friendly, if you know what I mean."

"He chooses his friends wisely, that's all." I replied diplomatically.

"Oh, and speaking of your beau, Holmes…" Again I had to hold back the temptation to snort. "I hear that he will be participating in the drama society's performance of Hamlet."

This time, I actually snorted. "My Holmes…I mean Sherlock?" Damn it, I was rusty when it came to acting like a couple. "Acting in a play? Why, he never told me a single thing about this."

"He has not told you anything? How odd…I wonder why he would not tell you." She said, wrinkling her forehead. "If you are not doing anything tonight, Charlotte, perhaps you and I could watch the show."

"Well, Katie, I really don't know about that..." I began to say my normal automatic response to any social event when she interrupted.

"I am not taking no for an answer," She said holding up a finger in my face for emphasis.

Within the space of half an hour, Katie had proceeded to rummage through my closet to find something presentable. Presentable turned out to be a more formal (and in better condition) version of the blouse I was wearing paired with a dark green velvet skirt (to bring out my eyes as she said). She proceeded to delve into my jewelry box and pulled out my pearls. The three strands of pearls had been buried deep in order to save myself from pulling them out accidentally and causing me pain.

She pulled the luminescent pearls out and fastened them around my neck. "These are absolutely lovely, Charlotte. It's such a waste to leave them languishing in your jewelry box. It's almost a sin not to wear something so beautiful."

My fingers caressed the pearls and a flitting image of my father passed over my eyes. A pang of sorrow threatened to ruin the night for Katie and I was stabbed by a hairpin.

"Firecrackers! That hurt!" I complained as I rubbed the sensitive spot.

With pins between her teeth, she replied, "I'm sorry, Charlotte." She quickly braided my hair and tucked it into an elegant bun. She patted the top of my head and smiled at her handiwork. "There you are! Wait 'til your Mr. Holmes sees you!"

I surveyed the reflection in front of me. The person looking back at me looked slightly different from the last time that I had seen her. With my red hair tucked back away from my face, it seemed to emphasize the squareness of my jaw. My gaunt features scared me and I made a mental note to have a hearty dinner after the performance. Dark bags were present under my eyes from my adoption of an insomniac state. Due to my reclusive nature, my skin was nearly as white as the pearls around my neck. Otherwise, good old Katherine had done well in making me appear somewhat presentable. I smiled at the reflection.

"Thank you, Katherine, for everything." I stood up and embraced her.

She stiffened slightly, knowing that this action was not like me; I did not have an affectionate nature. Almost immediately, she returned the embrace tenderly and she did not need a university education to understand what I meant. My gratitude extended beyond her alteration of my appearance, but also for altering my outlook.

After a quick conversation with Mum in the garden, Katie and I left for the theatre. Talking with Mum, however, made me quite reluctant to leave. After all, it was only the both of us living in the house now and Mum was taking Dad's loss much harder than I was. I asked her is she wanted me to stay with her instead but she insisted on my adventuring back into the outside world and that she would be fine on her own.

"Honestly, Charlie," I stiffened at the mention of my former epithet and she quickly revised it. "Charlotte, it seems that our roles have reversed. Here you are playing the mothering role and asking after me. I'm fine and a young thing like you should savor your youth." She stopped and sighed, speaking next in a lower voice. "Besides, it is a widow's duty to mourn."

She smiled wistfully and squeezed her hand in mine. "Go have fun before it's too late. And that's an order."

"Yes, Mum," I acquiesced with a quick hug and kiss then headed toward the theatre with Katherine.

We took a hansom to Lady Margaret Hall, Katherine's alma mater, and to my surprise, this was no stuffy theatre production of usual conventions. The performance would take place in the meadow by the college and we were to sit on the soft grass and watch Shakespeare out of doors. Her beau, the ever so handsome George, had laid down a blanket and saved the both of us a prime spot near the stage—which was nothing more than a raised wooden platform with minimal set pieces and an indistinct backdrop.

"Hello Miss Andrewes, it's a surprise to see you," George said with a genuine smile on his face. I could see why Katherine would take a liking to him. He was a good looking man with ginger hair—not like mine, which is a dark shade of red that could be easily mistaken for brown—with a sprinkling of freckles on his face that gave him a boyish look on his face.

"Hello George," I greeted him; it was an oddity between the both of us as I could freely refer to him by his first name but he would not call me by mine. "How is the rowing club?"

"We've been practicing for the Boat Race so we're all exhausted since we've been practicing for hours but you know, we all want to beat Cambridge and all."

"Hear, hear!" Katherine cheered with vigor and gave George a kiss on her cheek. "Hurrah for my lads in dark blue!"

"Oh, George," I began tentatively. "How's Aidan?"

"He was quite sore after you ended things rather badly with him." I could not help but wince at his remarks. However, he shook his head and smiled. "It's a large blow to a man's ego when a girl leaves him and all but when he has good friends, he was able to move on and we all helped him with that. From what I know now, it seems that he's found himself a girl."

In excitement, Katherine nearly jumped from her seat and began tapping my shoulder incessantly. "Oh, Charlotte, you wouldn't believe who Aidan is courting now."

Now I ordinarily am not a gossip nor like listening to gossip but this intrigued me.

"Who?"

"Professor Ellis's daughter," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Aidan's courting Emily Ellis?" I gasped and before I could answer, I was being hushed as the play was already starting.

Shakespeare's tragedy Hamlet was among many of my favorite plays yet much of the material was extraordinarily sensitive since it concerned the death of a father figure and the offspring's grief. Yet, the play was surprisingly well done despite the minimal staging. The actors all performed their parts marvelously (save for the actor who played King Hamlet's ghost, playing the part with a ghostly wail more like a banshee than a regal deceased monarch). The ultimate surprise came in the form of Holmes, who played the title role. He was not playing the role of Hamlet, he was Hamlet; from his very stance to the enunciation of his words, this was a man who was in terrible pain and confusion over the sudden death of his father and the hasty (and incestual) marriage of his mother.

My favorite part came when Hamlet lectures the actors on how to play their roles. It is here that Hamlet attempts to lay a trap on the detestable Claudius by producing a play called The Mousetrap and observe if he displays symptoms of guilt. Holmes, as Hamlet, came onto the stage and gathered the players around him. Before speaking, he viewed the audience and—I believe—his eyes fell on me. Whether or not this was the case, it did not matter but when his eyes returned to the players, there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he started to speak…

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, by use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness…

If I had felt anything close to admiration for Holmes, it was in that very moment.

Raucous conversations of university youth replaced the tragic soliloquies of medieval madmen on St. Hilda's meadow. Katherine and George were busy speaking with the actors that played Rosencrantz and Guildenstern while I stood among them, politely listening into the conversation. It turns out that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were also members of the rowing club. It was while they were relaying a tale of a sinking boat when I felt someone grip my upper arm.

"Hello, Holmes," I whispered. I did not even need to turn around to see who it was as the boniness of the lengthy fingers gave him away.

"Hello, Charlotte," he returned my greeting with a kiss on the cheek, much to my surprise. However, this action was not affectionate but more likely to draw attention to his arrival…which it did.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes!" Katherine shouted with glee. "Oh you were practically bone-chilling as Hamlet. Nearly brought me to tears and almost had my makeup in ruins."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry for nearly damaging your cosmetics, my dear Miss Quincy." Holmes said with a light-hearted laugh. He was in a pleasant mood due to his obvious triumph on the stage. He spoke with the others quite a bit while I once again played the jolly role of observer and listener. After some humorous stories were shared, Holmes stole a glance in my direction and then said, "Well, Charlotte, my dear, you have not said a word since I've arrived. What did you think of the performance?"

"It was quite lovely," I answered politely. "Yet, I do not understand why you did not tell me that you would be acting nevertheless that you could act."

"You never asked," he replied with a teasing air in his voice. He then addressed the others around him, "If you'll excuse me, I would like to take some time with Miss Andrewes so if you will excuse us." He bowed theatrically, looped my arm around his, and walked off into the twilight spires of Oxford.

After some length in distance as well as silence, Holmes spoke first.

"Have the police discovered anything of importance?"

I could tell by the sardonic quality in his voice that he expected what my answer was. "No, they have discovered nothing."

"Typical, really," Holmes said with a combination of pity and cynicism. "I have read everything about the case in the newspapers and it really is terrible that nothing has been found."

"You needn't tell me, Holmes." I muttered. "It is frustrating to know that my father will not receive justice."

"Is there anything the newspapers did not report perhaps?"

There was a curious quality in his voice, almost like a dog that was trailing a scent. In fact, he was often nicknamed The Greyhound around Oxford as he both resembled the dog and sniffed around others' business.

"Nothing really, Holmes. The trail has gone cold and I fear that there will be no rest for me."

"You already have had no rest. The bags under your eyes tell me as much."

I pulled my arm away from Holmes and began to walk at a faster pace. "I'm quite fine, Holmes. You needn't be concerned about my welfare."

"How would I look then if I show up with you on my arm as an emaciated recluse? It would look negligible on my account if I do not make inquiries about your health. Honestly, Charlotte, I'm honestly concerned just looking at you. I look at you and see that you have lost nearly a stone within the past two months. You clearly aren't concerned with your welfare and frankly…I am!"

His outburst took me by surprise. This was ordinarily a man who neglected his own health, not eating for extended periods of time and smoking like a chimney. Yet, instead of inciting an argument between us like normal, I decided instead to take a more peaceful route.

"I will eat and get more sleep if that will make you happy, Holmes. If that's what you want and if that will get you to stop nagging at me, then I will."

His grey eyes narrowed. "You have changed."

"Well, of course, I've changed!" I exploded and we both stopped walking. "When you see that your father's been beaten and gutted like a bloody fish, of course that'll change a person."

He nodded his head. "Of course, a person has changed because of a tragic event. However, you have not accepted the change, Charlotte. You have let it defeat you and pound you into submission. If you were the Charlotte Sophia Andrewes I knew, you would be arguing with me at this very moment. But as you have said…you've changed."

And with that, he bade me good night and left me to walk home alone. And walk home, I did. I walked along the pavement for several blocks with only the trotting of horse-drawn carriages and the clacking of my walking stick with my every step. However, I soon realized that along with my walking stick, I heard the sounds of a pair of footsteps behind me.

At first, I thought it was Holmes following me out of amusement on his part but then I noted a grim discovery. I remembered Holmes had worn dress shoes with light soles. From what I was hearing, these were heavy boots. I did not think it wise to stop and turn around nor to run away. Instead, I began to play a game with my pursuer, which consisted of my slowing down and speeding up the rhythm of my walk. Yet I could not play this game forever and was beginning to feel nervous when I saw a corner coming up. If I turn the corner, my follower would be temporarily blind and then I could stun him with my walking stick. I sped up and turned the corner, waiting for him to appear. I saw his shadow fall upon the pavement and I took that opportunity to swing with all my might.

Unfortunately, my pursuer caught the walking stick with his hand as easy as frog catching a fly. Clearly, I was the fly and with my walking stick, he pulled me in closer and took it out of my hands. His breath smelled like stale alcohol as it breathed down my neck.

"Very impolite for a young lady such as yourself, Miss Andrewes," he said in a slithery, oily voice. "But if you could be so polite, please step into the alley over there."

I lifted my jaw in bravado. "If I don't?"

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" He muttered and then pulled out a rather long knife out of his jacket.

I gulped and acquiesced, stepping into the alley. The knife had been placed at my back, pointing ever so slightly into it as to remind me of its presence. He stopped me at a certain point and ordered me to stand against the wall. He threw my walking stick in the other direction.

"This is no ordinary mugging, am I right?" I ventured.

The man looked back at me appraisingly. "Smart lass, ain't you?" I viewed my pursuer. He was a compact man yet all muscle beneath his clothes. His face was obscured by dark paint or ash. The shadows he was standing in made it even harder for me to take notice of his features. "Wish your father had been the same."

I felt as if I had just been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water. My face obviously gave me away and he laughed.

"Did you kill him?"

A rakish smile appeared on his smile. "'Fraid not, wish I had though." He suddenly lunged at me, the knife now set against my neck. "Now, luv, your father was writin' somethin'. What was it?"

"I don't know," I immediately answered, which I realized belatedly was the wrong thing to do. The knife dug in a little bit closer to my neck.

"This knife isn't a decoration, sweetheart. He was writin' something like a memoir or somethin' or other. What was he writin'?"

"I don't know! Please, I'm being honest with you." I exclaimed as he seized my arm tightly, causing tears to leap into my eyes. I began to jerk away from his grasp as it was beginning to hurt. "He wrote many letters but I don't know anything about my father writing memoirs or anything like that. Please, sir, let me go!"

"Well, it looks like you're tellin' me the truth." He said pulling away from my face a few inches yet the knife was still there by my neck. Suddenly, he grabbed my hair and tugged my head backwards, exposing my neck. The knife dangled dangerously from above. "But you know, I can't have you skippin' off to the constable and all…"

Before I could even scream, his large hand pressed onto my mouth and extinguished any chances of rescue. The knife pressed into my skin and pain smoldered along my neck when his hand suddenly flew up as if somebody had wrenched his arm away. And someone had; his arm had been wrenched away and my assailant whirled around to see his own attacker when he was punched on the jaw, causing him to fall over.

"Charlotte!" And with that familiar voice, my breath was instantly returned to me followed my walking stick, which was thrown magically into the air. I caught it in my good hand and whirled over to the thug.

My assailant started to stand back up and that's when I took the opportunity to swing my stick like a cricket bat and slammed it into his stomach. He doubled over once more and finally I hit him in the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. I dropped my walking stick after I was sure that the brute was down for now.

"Nice swing,"

I leaned back against the wall and out of breath, the sound of laughter slowly wheezed out of my throat. In the moonlight, Holmes' grey eyes immediately locked onto the dark stain of blood along my neck with a yelp and he rushed forward. He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against my neck. While in close quarters, he set about examining my face for any other injuries.

"Are you hurt?" He asked with a note of concern in his voice.

"No, I'm quite fine, Mother," I retorted. I pressed my hand over his and then pushed his hand away so that I could press the handkerchief against my neck. I briefly pulled the handkerchief away to examine the blood on it. "My neck is not bleeding as much as I thought it would. Were you following me?"

"I had begun to walk back when I saw that man come out from behind a tree and began to follow you. I decided to follow him." Holmes explained as he pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke with shaky hands. Was he nervous? Concerned? About me? "I heard what he was interrogating you about. It makes me extremely curious."

"What will we do about him?" I pointed to the fallen figure on the floor. No sooner than the words had left my lips, a clatter of footsteps echoed from outside the alley and a torchlight fell upon us.

"Mr. Holmes, is that you?"

"Ah, Inspector Walken, there you are." Holmes said in a tone as though he had discovered a surprise guest. Inspector Walken meandered over to the prone figure on the dirty alley floor. "This is the man, go ahead and clap him in irons. If you do not mind, I shall take Miss Andrewes home. She has had a rather trying night and if you would like a statement from her, then come back tomorrow."

And for the umpteenth time in my life, Holmes once again began walking me home. He briefly stopped underneath a streetlight to examine my wound more properly.

"He merely broke through the skin."

"It still hurts." I replied.

"It won't scar." He added ignoring my comment.

"It still hurts!" I repeated vehemently.

"Well, of course it does, your throat was nearly slit." He replied, echoing my vehemence. "I'm just glad that it was not anything serious. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, if I must say."

"Rotten indeed, but I must agree with you in saying that I've had a rather trying night and I would like to go home."

"Then walk home we shall," Holmes agreed.

We had taken a couple of steps when I stopped and kissed him on the cheek. It was rather dark so I could not see the expression on his face. He spoke sharply, "Now what was that for?"

I immediately felt my face burn up. He was making so much out of it, honestly. "Saving my life of course! Firecrackers, Holmes, I'm just trying to show my gratitude. Just accept it and hush."

"Then you are quite welcome. After all, I cannot pretend to court someone if they are killed." I offered him my arm and he tucked it into his. "There is much to consider about this new development about your father's murder. You must tread much more carefully from now on and we shall wait for what your attacker has to say. I believe that he will shed some light on what conspired against your father and also who hired him."

"He was hired by someone?"

"Yes, much like the ones who killed your father. That is the only data that I solidly believe at the moment. It is something that I will consider tonight. Oh, and Charlotte?"

"Yes, Holmes?"

"It is a pleasure having you back, my dear lady."

"Holmes, don't belittle me,"

He smiled. "Of course not,"

And with that, he walked me back home and with each step, we stepped deeper and deeper into lurking danger.