Chapter 1
A young maiden's disappearance under unclear circumstances. That was the issue that presented itself at Sherlock's door on that sunless Monday afternoon of February 19, 1884.
The morning had been gloomy, extraordinary long and boring. With no cases to attend and his closest friend, Dr John Watson, busy with boring domestic matters, the well-known consulting detective had tried to occupy his restless mind in every possible way.
He had started new experiments and finished old ones, had played his violin and had read everything that came in his way, even "The Strand" where the account of his latest adventure, which Watson had written with great detail, was proudly displayed.
By mid-afternoon, however, his mind had begun to crave something more alluring. If something interesting didn't crop up, and soon, he would surely lose his mind!
So when just before teatime he heard the knocker double-knock on the downstairs door, he immediately knew his prayers had been answered. They were clients. Mrs Hudson presently appeared followed by two people whom she introduced as Mr Albert Potter and his wife, Alicia.
The elderly landlady gave him a reproachful look glancing at the mess of leaflets, newspapers, books and test ampoules scattered on almost every free surface in his front room. He jumped up instantly trying to free up enough space to accommodate the two spouses as quickly as possible, while babbling apologies for the chaos.
As soon as the chamber had a decent semblance, Sherlock motioned for the Potters to sit onto the sofa. Mrs Potter's pale face suggested she needed a strong drink so Mrs Hudson went to her flat downstairs with the promise to return shortly with pastries and strong black tea.
Mr Potter who, by his bearing, was undoubtedly a pragmatic man, without preamble or beating around the bush, went straight to the point. He, Sherlock Holmes, had to find their twenty-one-year old daughter who had mysteriously disappeared the night before last.
Alma and her betrothed, Phineas Merritt, had gone for a walk right after dinner but unexpectedly by nine she was already home. Still, she hadn't stayed as she usually did to chit-chat with them, but had briefly lingered at the parlour door, bid them her good night and went up to her room.
In the morning when the maid had gone to wake her up, she had found Alma was not there. She hadn't even slept in her bed. Which is completely unusual for the girl because, although she sometimes had the habit of getting up very early in the morning, she certainly wasn't used to making up her bed by herself. Least of all leave the house without leaving a note of what her plans for the day were .
They had immediately started looking for her. Obviously first inside the house, from the attic to the basement, and then in the surrounding area. But there was no trace of Alma.
Mr Potter, whose concern something serious had happened to his daughter, later had turned to Scotland Yard which, for its part, after having ascertained that there were no obvious signs of forced entry or struggle proving the girl had been the object of a crime, had downgraded Alma's disappearance as wilful escape.
Probably, one of the police officers speculated, the girl had fallen in love with someone. She hadn't had the courage to say it and maybe this someone had convinced her that eloping together was the best solution…that was nothing new in those days, "It wouldn't be a surprise if she returned home in a couple of days!".
Mrs Potter, after loudly blowing her nose, whimpered "I can't believe my little girl did such a thing! She is betrothed, for goodness sake! Phineas loves her, she's the light in his eyes!".
While quickly wiping her eyes from which some tears threatened to fall, Alicia Potter gave a particular look to her husband that Sherlock didn't fail to notice. A subtle plea for him to add more. But the man played dumb continuing to sip his tea impassively.
At which point Mrs Potter rolled her eyes at her husband's silence and, folding her hands in her lap, leaned forward slightly staring Sherlock straight in the eye, "Nevertheless, our Alma is very young and has only recently entered the real world on her own. She is still quite… naïve" she paused briefly glancing at her husband as if she expected him to pick up where she left off.
When he didn't, she sighed and turned back to Sherlock, "There is…there is this person, who…who may have negatively affected our daughter with their conduct and may have put silly ideas into her head".
"Alicia! Please stop this!" Sherlock caught a tone more exasperated than harsh in Mr Potter's voice scolding his wife. This made quite clear to him that the couple had already argued about this unknown person over and over again but hadn't however found a point of agreement.
"Forgive her, Mr Holmes" he said quickly, "But my wife has a tendency to get a little carried away by what she calls maternal gut feeling". "It's not about that!" Mrs Potter complained resentfully, "It's just a fact. Alma has changed since meeting this person, you have to admit it, my dear".
Before a domestic bickering broke out before his eyes – heaven forbid! -, Sherlock decided to intervene, "Please, Mr Potter, you have nothing to apologise for" he said politely, "I'm still interested in what your wife has to say. Every detail, even the smallest and most insignificant, can be useful to understand what happened to your daughter and find her".
At his words a resigned expression appeared on the man's face while his wife's eyes sparkled, "Mrs Potter, please, do continue" Sherlock spurred her as he placed his hands in prayer position under his chin.
Mrs Potter began by saying Alma had always been, since she was a child, a generous and selfless creature. Particularly prone to help those who did not enjoy the same privileges as her. In the past it had been about helping the little girls of Maud, their head maid, or the mother of Eliza, their cook. But Alma felt she wasn't doing enough.
So one day, while she was in a shop in Bond Street, she had come across an elegant and polite lady who had come to collect a couple of dresses that the shop was just giving away to charity. The lady in question was the house manager of the Bennet Women's Refuge, "Have you ever heard of Mrs Isabel Bennet Stamford?".
Of course he had heard of Mrs Stamford! Hers was quite a well-known name in town, mainly for her philanthropic and charitable work. Sherlock didn't say, however, he knew Mrs Stamford personally, albeit superficially, for quite other reason.
The lady was in fact married to Dr Mike Stamford of St Bartholomew's, one of the few London hospital which also had a mortuary. And the free access Sherlock had, for his detective work, to said mortuary, was precisely due to the leniency of Stamford.
So he nodded in answer to Mrs Potter's question and motioned for her to continue, "Well, within two weeks Alma started doing some volunteer work at her women's charity". And it had been right there, at the Women's Refuge that Alma had met the young lady that Mrs Potter saw as smoke and mirrors.
"Who is this lady? What is her name?" asked Sherlock. "In all honesty, I forgot it" the woman in front of him said, fiddling edgily with her fingers, "I know what you're thinking, Mr Holmes" she added timidly, "What kind of mother forgets the name of an acquaintance of her daughter?".
Before he could open his mouth let alone contradict her, she began to speak again, "The fact is, Mr Holmes, I've never liked this young lady. From day one. And remembering what her name was, is not relevant to me".
"Alma has always opened up to us. She has never hidden from us anything that happened to her. And it was no different on the evening of her first day at the Refuge" the woman stopped to take a deep breath as if to calm her nerves and Sherlock patiently waited in silence. "She was thrilled with everything…with the place, Mrs Stamford, the servants and the two women she had referred to as colleagues".
"One of them in particular, had impressed her" Mrs Potter raised the teacup to her lips, "Alma spoke glowingly of her. She did nothing throughout the dinner but sing her praises. A capable, self-sufficient woman who supports herself by working and who does not need any kind of man, be he betrothed or husband, to provide for her needs. In a nutshell, Mr Holmes, a feminist", the last word was spat out with contempt.
The same disdain Sherlock read in her eyes as they met his, "Such a friendship was not for her. An unmarried woman with such a way of life! It was unthinkable, impracticable. It was…definitely not for my daughter, that's what I told her", Alicia Potter reiterated firmly.
She took a moment to sip her tea while Sherlock and Mr Potter exchanged a look. The man cleared his throat as if to begin speaking but his wife anticipated him, "At that our daughter accused us of being old-fashioned and unfair in judging a person without knowing them. She has been quite insistent about this. So I was forced to tell her bluntly that I wasn't…we, we weren't" she corrected herself, "Interested in getting to know anything about this young lady".
"Even more so, I went so far as to command her not to speak to that woman if she insisted, as she did, on attending the Refuge. But I doubt she listened to me" she shrugged disconsolately, "Do you know what she had the audacity to do, Mr Holmes? She asked her betrothed to postpone the matrimony for at least another year. Poor Phineas! He was very shaken!".
Mrs Potter continued to shake her head and seemed to find no peace at her daughter's boldness, "Who knows what other silly revolutionary ideas about a woman's independence that young lady had put into Alma's head!" she added with a little sob.
"Although you weren't satisfied, you didn't forbid her to go to the Refuge" Sherlock's statement immediately triggered Mr Potter's reaction, "Alma is no longer a little child, Mr Holmes. You cannot impose a ban on her and expect her simply to obey. On the other hand, indulging in her desire to be useful does not mean I'm willing to tolerate this diversion of hers becoming a source of family tensions, so I have tried to talk to her. Explain our reason".
"She is usually a reasonable and sensible girl. But not this time. This time she was stubborn beyond belief" he rolled his eyes disconsolately, "I got to the point where I begged her to back down. If only for her mother's sake! I told her we'd find her another volunteer commitment. But there was no way to convince her to give up going to the Bennet Women's Refuge".
"You should have been more adamant with her, husband" said his wife in a plaintive voice, "Yes, perhaps I should have. But I saw how happy this pastime made her, so I thought it best to set conditions on her about the attendance of that place" he justified himself, "Well, they've not been very successful if we are at this point now!".
Sherlock raised his hand to stop the marital exchange of words, "Please Mr and Mrs Potter, let's stick to the facts" he scolded them tersely, "What kind of conditions have you imposed on your daughter, Mr Potter?"
Wife and husband exchanged an uncomfortable glance and Albert Potter brought up again the line of discussion, "The hours of volunteering were to be only in the morning. She always had to be accompanied by me or her mother, both to and from. She was not permitted to attend parties or fundraisers or any other event involving the presence of the other young ladies employed at the Refuge".
"In addition to Mrs Potter's command not to exchange any word with said young lady" Sherlock pointed out, placing his hands on the chair's armrest, "Precisely" Alma's father merely nodded.
Sherlock remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze still on the Potters, then he stood up and said, "I'm going to need to inspect your house. And talk with your daughter's fiancé". Both respectfully complied but only Mrs Potter ventured to ask him if he was going to question the unnamed miss as well.
"You said you don't remember her name. Have you ever seen her? At least once? Do you know what this woman looks like?" Sherlock asked. "Of course we saw her, Mr Holmes!" grumbled Mr Potter, "We saw her several times…although always through the carriage's window".
It did not seem true to Mrs Potter that she could gain the upper hand in giving a, in her opinion, more than accurate portrait of the woman in question. It didn't take more than ten minutes and in thanking her, Sherlock made it clear to the couple it was time for them to leave.
His mind was already working at full capacity and he needed tranquillity and silence to process all the information up to that moment in his possession.
He pondered, as he watched the Potters' carriage pull away from Baker Street, that Alma Potter was definitely a little something. Despite her parents' discontent, it was enough for her to agree to a few silly rules to go straight on her own way, still getting what she wanted. Without Albert and Alicia Potter realising it, she manged to have both her parents twisted around her little finger.
Sherlock suspected the revolutionary ideas of the mysterious young lady of the Refuge had nothing to do with Alma's change in behaviour. He bet she had very clear ideas of her own. And he also bet that the lady of the Refuge knew them very well. Which is why he needed to talk to her as soon as possible.
When he lost sight of the carriage, he turned his back to the window considering the possibility of going immediately to the Bennet Women's Refuge, "I don't think a visit is in order at this hour, Mr Holmes".
He jumped at hearing Mrs Hudson's voice, whose presence he had not been aware of, and who was busily busy building a fire in the hearth, "Hmm, I guess I spoke aloud, Mrs Hudson" he hummed and wearing a boyish grin, he looked up from his pipe go find her gaze, "I'll stay here and I prithee to trouble me not. Don't let anyone in…unless it Dr Watson, of course".
"Very well" replied the old landlady, smoothing the front of her dress with her hands, "I'll bring you something for dinner, later". He nodded absently, already he wasn't listening to her anymore, lost in his own ruminations.
