"He does not usually leave you behind like this."

Sir Walter's quiet words broke a long silence. I barely quelled the urge to jump, tearing my gaze from the passing crowd—and my thoughts from the past—to look at him. I had not expected him to voice the observation.

"Of course he does." One hand brushed the notion away—I hoped carelessly enough to avoid further suspicion. Our host did not need to know my thoughts any more than Holmes did. "Holmes has always been more skilled at the information gathering than I. He probably wants to listen or ask something without any more notice than necessary, and we are more recognizable together."

All true, but my words applied more to London cases than to every case. Between this and everything else he had done since we had boarded that train, however, I was starting to wonder if something more lay behind keeping me on the sidelines.

Whether he believed me, I could not tell, but he at least dropped the topic. "How long does tha cases usually last?"

I had to think about that. "A few days to a week," I finally replied. "One occasionally stretches to a month or more, but those usually have some other factor spending the time. We had one a few years ago that involved a pattern of attack based on the lunar cycle. Holmes worked that one for nearly five months before gaining enough information to capture the culprit."

"Another based his attacks around a foreign festival," a familiar voice added, "both to conceal the structure he desired and to frighten his targets." Holmes dodged a woman with her eyes on her feet to dive back into the covered coach. The wig came off a moment later. "Does either Thrombak ever spend an evening at the bar?"

"Not that I know," was the confused answer. "I 'ave only seen Greyson enjoy a glass of anythin' alcoholic at home, an' Gideon borders teetotaler. His father offered years ago to let him try anything he wanted at home—to know for certain that Gideon's curiosity did not put him in danger—but the boy 'as no interest. 'E told me 'e might try something when he gets older but that his father has proven one does not need alcohol to have fun." He paused, then smirked. "It probably didna 'elp that the boy's first taste of beer was a rather strong stout."

My own amusement escaped in a huffed laugh. "That would do it. I had a patient once that successfully made their child lose interest in both tobacco and alcohol by letting them try it at about age ten. The child did not venture close to either vice again until well into their thirties."

Sir Walter grinned a reply, but Holmes made no reaction, his entire focus still on whatever he had found. "Does Lord Thrombak own any businesses?"

"A few." Chagrin leaked into the words to suggest he had intended to tell us this earlier. "He owns a dry goods store an' a tailor near the station, as well as a small club in the town south of our homes. He never told me 'ow he acquired them."

Whether inherited, founded, or purchased, that meant, but Holmes frowned a thought rather than respond. When the beginnings of a scowl prevented me from starting a conversation with Sir Walter, I turned my attention to the passing scenery.

A lone road wound through miles of nothing. Gorse, broom, and heather dominated the landscape, but I also saw greening bits of crowberry, various grasses, and quite a bit of bracken down one slope. Birds flitted here and there on the breeze, occasionally landing beside a farmer's irrigation ditch to hunt for the insects living at the water's edge. One more wagon forced us to share the road, then a pair of wrought iron gates apparently signaled the beginning of Sir Walter's property.

Though not his home. Another several miles drifted aimlessly by before lanterns glinted in the half-light of dusk.

"Welcome to Rossenthwaite Manor." Sir Walter reached the ground first, a partially sarcastic smile referencing the sprawling mansion even as he led the way to an overly large entry. A tug on the bell apparently served as a warning before he unlatched the heavy door. "Raynolds should have set up a couple of rooms for you in the east wing, but I imagine you will find the dining room much more interesting at the moment. Nara promised to have a meal ready in about—" He cut himself off with a noise of surprise, eyes on the watch he had pulled from one pocket. "Ten minutes," he finished. "I will have to commend her forethought later. She guessed that almost perfectly."

"Does she do that often?"

"Oh, yes." One hand waved my question away as he tugged the door closed once more. "Nara worked for my uncle as well, an' many times over the years since I moved here, she 'as planned something far more accurately than even the trains could—sometimes accounting for otherwise unexpected delays an' complications. She calls it her 'mealtime intuition.'"

I called it a woman's magic. Mary had frequently guessed when I would finish for the day, as well as which days had a higher chance of a surprise patient, and she had used that knowledge to plan supper sometimes to the second. I had complimented her timing often.

I would not share that story here, however. Rapid footsteps echoed down the hall, then a tall man—the butler, Sir Walter informed us—rounded the final corner with ill-concealed pleasure. He must consider the elder Thrombak his friend as well.

"There you are, Raynolds," Sir Walter greeted with a large smile. "Did tha have time t' prepare their rooms?"

"Aye, that I did." Raynolds' deep voice carried a far thicker accent than did Sir Walter's. I had to focus to understand him. "T'first two in t'east wing, but I 'magine tha'art famished. Nara will 'ave tea on t'table shortly."

"Excellent. Thank you. Would you rather freshen up or eat first?"

A glance directed the question at Holmes, who easily read my preference. Our normal suppertime had come and gone hours ago.

"I believe we would both be interested in whatever food you have ready."

"Supper it is, then. Raynolds, would you take their bags? Then you are welcome to join us if you like."

"I 'elped Nara today," he returned mildly. Sir Walter's sudden grin announced a mixture of pleasure and wary amusement, but he let Raynolds disappear down the shadowed hall before releasing a hearty laugh.

"You are in for a treat. Nara is an excellent cook, but before I knew she wanted t' stay after my uncle passed, I hired Raynolds to do both cooking an' cleaning. Both of them in the kitchen provide a spread unmatched at even th' nicest motel." He pushed open an elaborate door on the right of the hall. A moment of shock amended his statement. "Though they also risk runnin' me out o' food."

Or they expected far more than two guests. A veritable feast covered a long dining table. Meats, pies, two casseroles, three desserts, dish upon steaming dish filled their air with a variety of delicious scents. Our host aimed for the door on the dining room's other end, postponing the food to address someone Holmes and I could not see.

"Nara, what did I tell you about cooking for th' entire countryside?"

Her unintelligible reply prompted a single, barked laugh.

"Well then get out here and help! We'll be eatin' casserole for t'next month!" The door clicked shut as he shook his head, a wry grin acknowledging Holmes' repeated glances between him and the kitchen. "I swear they do this solely to get a rise out of me, even considering the leavings' simpler meals."

I made no reply, and a glance noted both my confusion and Holmes' silent question. "While Nara likes to cook enough to last a while," he informed us, scanning the food as if to decide what he wanted, "she also cooks more when something is wrong. Gideon would normally have sought comfort in her kitchen rather than his own, and his absence probably worries her more than Greyson's. But enough of that." A sudden thought realized we still awaited direction on how meals worked in his home. The wave that followed directed us to the porcelain stacked on the table's corner. "Here I am tempting you with food and forgetting my duties as host. Grab a plate. Get what you want. Nara will be out shortly, as will Milton and Raynolds, despite his comment. I never held much for servitude, so Nara's desire to keep me out of her kitchen means she sets everything out and we all eat together."

A sensible arrangement, I decided as I drifted down the line of plates and bowls, considering Sir Walter alone lived here rather than working here. Mrs. Hudson only delivered our own meals to the sitting room in a desire to keep Holmes out of the kitchen, after all, and the room felt even more like home when an older lady bustled through the door, words of greeting for us intermixed with friendly bickering for Sir Walter. Our host ran a relaxed house staffed by friends rather than servants, and his comments made Thrombak Manor sound similar.

If my first impression proved accurate, we could find ourselves with a delightfully simple week. We had worked many cases over the years whose inherent danger started with the location and ended only after the local officials arrested someone no one had suspected. They always became stressful, sometimes frightening encounters with whatever ruffian had decided himself exempt from the law. After our last case had bedridden Holmes for several days, I would not mind a puzzle that left us both unharmed and well away from danger until Holmes staged an overly dramatic denouement to assuage his irritation. I always preferred that over an external, less controllable hazard.

Though the way Holmes changed seats to put Nara and Raynolds between us made me wonder if an internal problem was not nearly as bad.

Hope you enjoyed :)

And thank you to those that reviewed in recent days! heyihavesocks, yours made me grin :D