Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are not mine. They belong to…lots of other people.
Chapter Nine – Truth
A convoy of carriages carrying several police officers and three prisoners rattled down the road towards town and more specifically the local police station, where the prisoners would be held for questioning. These prisoners were three young women, including the mysterious Mary who had played such a part in the abduction of the three local girls. They had returned to their strange home only to find their children gone and the police waiting for them.
It was late now and the sun had disappeared from view completely, leaving them with only the moon and carriage lamps to light their progress. In such darkness they could be forgiven for not seeing the abandoned carriage in the forest by the side of the road.
Watson felt sleepy sitting in the dark, gently rocking carriage but he was kept awake by his racing mind and frantic heartbeat. The sheer excitement of the day had yet to wear off and he was aware that he was fidgeting.
Holmes, who was sat beside him, did not care as he was fast asleep. Watson looked over at his slumbering friend and examined him in the pale glow of the moonlight. His thin face was covered in livid, purple bruises, his bottom lip was split and there was a deep cut on his left eyebrow which would definitely need stitching. He also noticed the thin lacerations around his wrists, which had bled quite heavily a soaked the cuffs of his white shirt.
Whatever he had been through showed on his face and not just through his injuries. Even though he was in a deep sleep he occasionally squirmed in his seat as though he was struggling against an imaginary enemy and his eyebrows were knitted together in a look of discomfort, even pain. At one point during the journey he mumbled something incoherent in a voice that sounded almost panicked. Watson shushed him soothingly and soon his friend relaxed back into a calmer sleep.
Holmes awoke as the carriage ground to a halt. They had arrived at the police station and Captain and Mrs Harris were waiting for them. Watson thought the couple looked a lot older than the last time he had seen them; the lines of worry were so deeply etched on their faces.
As Constable Simpson helped young Anna Harris out of the carriage her mother ran to her and threw her arms round her, hugging her daughter tightly in relief. Holmes smiled to himself as he watched Anna stroke her mother's hair and whisper calming words of comfort as she sobbed on her daughter's shoulder. She was the stronger of the two. There weren't many Anna Harrises in the world.
Watson noticed Carl Smith was present too, standing beside a frail, gaunt lady. He embraced Jane Carr who was sobbing on his shoulder, mumbling apologies about Ethel. The young man shushed her and rubbed her back in soothing circular motions.
"Don't worry," he said. "They can't hurt you anymore."
Holmes did not wish to witness the affectionate displays of any more friends and family, so while no one was looking he slipped into the police station, unnoticed by his clients. Watson followed him, keen to get at that cut on his friend's right eyebrow
Inspector Lestrade walked across the station carefully, cup of hot tea in one hand and a case file under one arm. As he approached the small office where Miss Harris was sat with her parents ready to give a statement he noticed the gangly figure of Constable Harry Simpson lurking about. He was peering through the small window in the door with the look of a puppy dog that had just lost its owner.
"Don't you have work to do, Simpson?" The young man nearly jumped out of his uniform when he heard his voice.
"Sorry, sir, I...I was just..." his mouth worked for a few seconds but no words came out. He just stood there and his face got progressively redder as his embarrassment increased.
"All right, Simpson, get on with it then. Don't just stand there blushing like some silly school girl." Lestrade sounded harsh and disapproving but secretly he was having some fun at the young man's expense.
"Yes, sir," he replied glumly and with one last lovesick look through the window he shuffled off.
As he turned away Lestrade smothered a laugh then quickly schooled his expression into a serious look. "Oh and Simpson," he called to him along the corridor, "don't go too far. I'm sure Miss Harris and her parents would appreciate a police escort home."
Simpson's face broke into a wide smile and his brown eyes lit up. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir."
But if you think a clever young thing like Anna Harris is going to fall for a flat-footed copper like you then you're a bigger idiot than Gregson thinks you are, Lestrade thought to himself as he watched him skip off. Still, stranger things have happened.
As he entered the office he saw that as well as the Harrises, Holmes and Watson were also sat there. The room was far too small to accommodate so many people, but that wasn't the inspector's biggest concern. He was concerned about Holmes. He looks like death warmed up. He wasn't surprised. He had seen that room of Sir Edward's.
"Here you are, Miss Harris," he said as he placed the cup of tea in front of the young girl. "Now," he continued and he sat down opposite her sandwiched between Holmes and Watson, "I'm Inspector Lestrade. I need you to tell me what happened."
Captain Harris squirmed in his chair. "Is that really necessary? Hasn't my daughter been through enough?"
"I'm sorry, sir," he replied, "I understand this is a distressing time and of course I don't want to cause you any further pain, but we need her to tell us what happened."
"Isn't it obvious what happened?" Mrs Harris piped up, her arms wrapped protectively around her daughter's shoulder. "You have the other girls."
"Yes, but your daughter's story is slightly different to theirs isn't it Anna?" Holmes looked directly at the young girl who simply stared back at him. She nodded.
"The other young ladies," Lestrade said in a gentle voice, "Mary and the others, they wanted you to be like them, didn't they?"
"Why don't you ask them?" Captain Harris stood and indicated to his wife that she should do the same. Holmes and Anna were still looking at each other, the other occupants of the room unaware of their silent dialogue. "We're taking our daughter home."
"The other girls have refused to tell us anything," Lestrade stated. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache brewing and his patience wearing thin. It had been a long, hectic day and he had started it after only three hours sleep.
Anna Harris shrugged her parents off and tore her gaze away from Holmes. She turned to Lestrade and looked at him with determination burning in her bright blue eyes. "I will tell you what happened."
"Anna, you don't have to," Captain Harris said to her as he sat back down beside his daughter.
"Yes, I do." Her words were simple but they held a wealth of meaning. She took a steadying breath then began her narrative. "I had been having piano lessons with Lady Wells. She was a good teacher really and I got on very well with Nancy, the lady she told me was her daughter. In between the lessons she would talk to me about other things. She would tell me how corrupt she thought society was and how unfair it was that women should be thought of as mere possessions, a way to acquire wealth or status. I agreed, but on that day...the day they abducted me she started to tell me how special her husband was. She was portraying him as some sort of Messiah and I was just...horrified, and I told her so, and I said I was going to leave. She got angry and she hit me and then told me that I couldn't go home, not now. She told me I would be one of them." Anna broke off and took a few deep breaths.
"You were taken to the bunker?" Lestrade asked while the young girl gathered her thoughts.
"I didn't know where I was," she answered. "They put something over my face and I fell asleep. When I woke up I was in a dark room with these other women standing over me. I thought they were going to kill me but they were actually very kind to me. They showed me their children and told me that they were the children of the future, that they were the children of humanity's saviour."
"What did they mean by this?"
"They meant that they were Sir Edward's children. They were convinced that he was some
sort of saviour and that they were helping to make the world better. He's nothing of the sort." She squeezed her words through clenched teeth. "Every day they would tell me about all the things wrong with society and then they would preach to me how wonderful Sir Edward was. I played along as much as I could because I thought they would kill me if I didn't."
Lestrade sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment as he willed the pounding in his head to go away. He was listening to one of the most bizarre and sickening stories he'd ever heard and if he hadn't seen the evidence for himself he would have dismissed it as nonsense.
"You know Jane and Lucy quite well," Holmes stated, taking over for the moment. "Were you told about them?"
"Yes, Mary said she'd brought Sir Edward the girls he'd asked for. I asked what he needed them for but they wouldn't tell me, said that I would find out when I was officially one of them." She shivered at the prospect. "When the girls went out they left me in charge of the children; they told me I needed the practice. I was allowed to walk about freely, but I realised now that that was because I couldn't get out anyway. I went to see Jane and Lucy...and Ethel of course. They were terrified," her gaze went distant as she thought back on that day. "The others used to take them water, but they weren't allowed any food so I stole any scraps I could for them. Ethel was first. She was taken to a room and I would hear the screams. It got so bad that I had to cover my ears because I couldn't stand to hear it anymore. Ethel died after only a day."
When she stopped talking the silence that surrounded them was unbearable. The occupants of the room were so shocked that they were left lost for words. All eyes were fixed on the extraordinary woman before them who was gallantly fighting back her tears.
"I would rather have died than become one of those people." Captain Harris and his wife were both sat pale faced with horror by the time her daughter finished her terrible story, Mrs Harris had tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving tracks in her make-up.
"Thank you, Miss Harris," Lestrade said softly as he closed the case file.
Outside the station the sky had started to lighten as day approached. The Harrises stepped into the street glad to be out in the fresh air after being cooped up in that tiny office. Anna Harris noticed Jane and Lucy stepping into a cab and she smiled and nodded at them as they looked over at her. They smiled back and waved goodbye to her as the cab pulled away taking them back to their old lives. Anna wondered if any of them would ever be able to truly go back to their old lives.
Sherlock Holmes stepped out into the street after them, still dressed in only his shirt, socks and trousers. She pulled away from her parents and walked up to him, smiling warmly.
"Thank you for all your help, Mr Holmes." Holmes nodded in response, choosing not to comment on his part in her rescue. "I was going to say that I would write to you, but you don't seem like the sort of man that would appreciate personal correspondence." Her smile widened and Holmes thought that he saw a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Of course, if I
see your name in the paper after you've solved some complex mystery I won't hesitate in writing to congratulate you." And without any further word she joined her parents.
"Mr Holmes." Holmes turned to see Constable Simpson holding out his missing clothing, including to Holmes' relief, his pocket watch. "We found these in one of those underground rooms."
"Thank you, Simpson," Holmes replied with a brief smile. Simpson then bounced off enthusiastically to catch up with the Harrises.
"Come on then, Holmes," Watson said as he helped his friend on with his jacket and shoes. "You need to get some sleep."
At eight o'clock, the local police arrived at a secluded spot in a forest to investigate the murder of Lady Eleanor Wells. Her carriage had been driven off the road and she had been shot in the head, chest and stomach.
She lay on the forest floor, her beautiful face destroyed by the force of the bullet, her soft hair matted with blood, dirt and leaves. The bags on the carriage had been ransacked and her purse had been rifled.
"The driver must have done it," Inspector Norden announced as he searched the empty carriage. "All of their staff has disappeared without a trace. She must have asked her driver to take her somewhere and he must have seized the opportunity to kill and rob her before he made his own escape. Do we know who he was?"
"No, sir," Constable Laughton answered. "They weren't local people and they all seemed to keep themselves to themselves."
"We'll have to make inquiries." Those were Norden's last words to his constable before he climbed in his own carriage and left the scene.
As Laughton looked a little closer at the body he noticed something that the inspector had missed. There was something in Lady Wells' left hand, something silvery. He carefully removed it from her cold, stiff fingers and held it up to examine it. It was a simple, rather cheap pendant necklace with a floral pattern on one side. As Laughton turned it over in his thick palm he saw there was something written on the back.
To Ethel, with love.