Chapter 3

"I know a Hooper. Martin Hooper. He's a doctor…well, a pathologist to be exact. Mrs Stamford here must have heard her husband mention him as he works at St Bartholomew's mortuary" he said casually as he sat down, "Any chance you know him? A relative, perhaps?".

Mrs Stamford raised her eyes to her protégée, "I haven't just heard of him, Mr Holmes!" the lady said while hastily handing him a cup full of hot orange flavoured tea with the intent to deflect, however briefly, his attention from the young woman, "He is…".

"He's my brother" Molly replied, accepting the warm drink herself, holding the cup in her lap for a few seconds to hide the light trembling of her hands, "They are children of a cousin of mine" Mrs Stamford hurried to explain, "Margaret has been with us since she was fifteen, while Martin…he joined his sister later".

Molly felt Sherlock piercing blue eyes scrutinise her face and then glide over her figure, "Yes. I do see the resemblance, now" he murmured but didn't look away.

He lingered further in observing her, but not to find confirmation of her likeness with her brother…that was quite evident. "As children we were often mistaken for twins" she replied at his assessment as an imperceptible brush spread over her cheeks. Again.

Hmm, interesting. She wasn't, after all, as arrogant and opinionated, as the Potters made her out to be. She was socially awkward, shy and…ugh! God, she wasn't easy to deduce! He'd been trying since she'd entered the room, but aside from some basic information, he just couldn't. That's why he necessarily had to linger to scrutinize her.

Of course now that he saw her with his own eyes, Sherlock had to be honest with himself and admit that the description the Potters had made of her was not at all consistent with reality. As upset as Miss Alma Potter's parents were over her vanishing, they had been inaccurate in speaking of Miss Hooper.

Where they had depicted her as a barely pretty young lady in her late twenties, failing in perfect symmetry in her form and with questionable taste in the choice of colours of her dresses, he found her to have pleasant features. He was especially struck by the lively and attentive expression of her brown eyes which rendered her face uncharacteristically intelligent.

As to her figure then, although not perfect, he was forced to acknowledge that it was deliciously lean and graceful. And whatever the Potters said, the colour of the long skirt and Spenser jacket she was wearing that day, a rich navy blue, suited her beautifully.

Sherlock barely realised the young woman in front of him had managed to elicit a little smile from him. But he recovered quickly. He was not there to pay a courtesy call. Although there would have been nothing unusual given his acquaintance with Mrs Stamford.

But no. No friendly visit. He was there as Sherlock Holmes the detective. In charge of finding out where Alma Potter was. And standing before him, perhaps, was she who knew what had become of her.

"Forgive my frankness, Mr Holmes, but Margaret and I are quite tired and would like to go home. You said you're here for Alma, are you not?" Isabel Stamford interceded to break that impalpable suspense hoovering between the two of them.

"Sure. My apologies if I'm holding both of you longer than usual" he said as he glanced over to Molly, "Did you know she was missing?" he straightforwardly asked her, "When did it happen?" she promptly asked back.

"I'm the one asking the question here, Molly" he pointed out, holding his tea cup in mid-air and wearing a peremptory stare. Sherlock didn't mean to be rude but he wanted it to be clear which of them was in charge.

"I was asking out of curiosity" she said a little defensive, "No newspaper reported the news".

"Not all disappearances makes the news" he reiterated in a slightly impatient tone, "I'm afraid you'll have to trust me, Molly, when I tell you Miss Potter is not to be found". Sherlock got the feeling the young lady was trying to steer the conversation as she pleased, "Back to us…do you mind telling me if you knew Miss Potter is missing?".

"I thought I already answered you, Sherlock" she whispered as, sipping her tea, she raised her eyes to him with a mocking sneer. Mrs Stamford shifted on the sofa and the swish of her dress made Molly turn to her, "Margaret, dear, don't be impolite" she reprimanded her, "Answer Mr Holmes properly".

If Sherlock had expected Molly to blush with embarrassment and apologise, he was certainly disappointed to see the young lady give her benefactress an equally mocking smile. She was not at all annoyed by her earful, quite the contrary.

He barely held back a grin. His deduction about her being shy and socially awkward remained, but it was evident that with those she was familiar with, Molly could be unruly and brash. Something he was beginning to appreciate.

"No, Sherlock, I didn't know she was missing. I expected to see Alma here yesterday morning. She has never been absent once. And when she didn't show up, I thought she was unwell as she was always sneezing on Friday" she replied in a kind and polite tone, "And Friday was the last time I saw her. I accompanied her to the front door and saw her get into her carriage where her mother was waiting for her. I haven't heard from her since then, nor has anyone bothered to tell me she had vanished into thin air".

She wrapped her hands around her tea cup as she looked down and let out a short sigh. Then, in Sherlock's eyes, the momentary discomfort seemed to leave her and she pulled herself together. She gave a quick shrug and turning her gaze back to him, she said "Well, I guess it's not the kind of news her parents were eager to let me know".

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Then you know they don't look kindly on the association between you and their daughter!". Molly nodded, "Alma told me they had imposed rules on her so that she could continue to come here".

"And as far as you know, did Miss Potter follow these rules?". She grinned. An impish glint brightened her eyes, "All of them, except the one to not talk to me". Sherlock grinned back, "I didn't expect anything different from Miss Potter".

It was a matter of few moments and the face of the young woman immediately returned serious, "Has a ransom been asked?".

Sherlock shifted his weight forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped, "What makes you think this is a kidnapping?". She gave a casual shrug, "It is not?".

He shook his head, still staring at her, "No, it is not. It is as if she's evaporated straight through the walls of her room. On Saturday evening she retired to her room and the next morning…poof! Vanished!".

"Rather unusual" Mrs Stamford interjected. Sherlock could not pretend not to have heard the lady's comment, so turned his attention to her "What is it, Mrs Stamford?". The woman raised both eyebrows showing surprise that he hadn't caught what was obvious to her, "Well, that Alma disappeared like this, without leaving a trace. How is that possible?".

"That's what I'm investigating" Sherlock replied barely controlling the mildly annoyance in his voice. He shifted his enquiring look from one woman to the other.

For a microsecond he found himself debating whether to reveal what he and Watson had discovered that morning during their inspection of the Potters' home and surroundings areas. But no, he decided against it.

"Scotland Yard believes she ran away from home. Do you think it possible?" he continued turning to Molly, "To be honest, no. I see no reason why she should have to" she replied, delicately placing the cup and its saucer on the oval tray in the centre of the table.

Sherlock resumed an upright position, "Two possible hypothesis. Maybe she fell in love with someone who wasn't her betrothed. Or maybe someone encouraged her to crave a more independent life…" he murmured, hands steepled under his chin, and an intense gaze on Molly.

"Oh, I see! This is what the Potters think I did", Sherlock didn't miss the fleeting shadow that crossed her face. An accusation she was, evidently, used to, "I don't spend my time plagiarizing young maidens! And if the Potters really think Alma is so easily swayed, I guarantee you, Sherlock, they know very little about their daughter!" she stated emphatically.

"She's a good girl. Cheerful, nice, good-hearted. And if she expressed admiration for the way I live my life, because I guessed that's what she did, and her parents were alarmed about it…well, it wasn't out of spirit of emulation but simply because she is aware of the difficulties a woman has nowadays in trying to live without a man by her side. Nothing more than that".

The heartfelt way in which she had spoken those words in praise of Miss Potter were enough to make Sherlock understand how much Molly genuinely loved the girl. She loved her like only an older sister can.

And as such, surely without meaning to, there was a chance Molly had advised her the wrong way, "Are you sure you never said anything to her that Miss Potter might have sensed differently?".

"Oh, my goodness! You're not listening to me, Sherlock!" she sprang uneasily from her chair, "Alma is not easily manipulated. She knows exactly how she wants her life to be. She couldn't care less about living the way I do".

She took a deep breath closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she looked down at him with set, passionate face "She considers matrimony as I never could. Her fulfilment. She loves the idea of having a family of her own, a husband and children".

He looked up. Molly was leaning over him and although her figure was petite, Sherlock felt almost in a position of inferiority compared to her. Crushed even, by the passion that vibrated through her.

Sherlock stood up locking his arms behind his back. "If what you say is true" he said as he came to stand behind the chair he was sitting on, "How do you explain Miss Potter asking her fiancé, Mr Merritt, to postpone their matrimony for at least a year?".

He wasn't sure what reaction to expect in response to his question, but certainly not the furtive, concerned glance Mrs Stamford cast towards Molly that he noticed out of the corner of his eye.

For her part Molly didn't flinch. Or rather, her features showed no turmoil. The dark pupils of her sharp brown eyes, on the contrary…

They had dilated. A barely perceptible, quick twitch. But Sherlock noticed.

Aha! So, Molly knew about Alma Potter's atypical request! And not only that…Sherlock bet she knew why the young lady had expressed a desire not to get married in the short term.

And maybe even more.