Our American Neighbor

by "the girl with the strawberry curls"

Holmes and I were tired, irritable, and decidedly footsore as we approached our cottage on the Sussex Downs, in the early morning hours of the last day of May 1922.

Spurred on by an irrational need to be home immediately, we had taken the milk train from London. The last three weeks had been an exhausting exercise in futility and failure. Brother Mycroft had asked one of his "little favors." A quick trip to France to help some agents on a minor matter turned into a nonstop sprint across Europe. The two agents we sought were dead, the victims of unknown enemies. Finding the trail of the killers, we pursued, and Holmes and I came perilously close to losing our lives during a pitched battle on a deserted beach in Greece.

We escaped, bruised, battered, and lucky to be alive. The objects of our chase melted away into the islands and vanished. Holmes and I returned to England, silent and longing for the succor of our Sussex cottage. Thus were our somewhat ill-conceived travel plans.

As soon as we finished our report to Mycroft we had put our feet toward home. The train had been miserably uncomfortable, the perfect setting for our ruminations on defeat, which had hung about us like a fog. Mycroft's disappointment at our inability to lay our hands on the enemy agents was evident, but I'm sure he was happy to see us alive; at least we would be available for future favors. This did not in the least cheer us. Disappointing Mycroft was not something Holmes or I found palatable, and we were in wordless agreement that staying the night in his rooms to catch the more reasonable early train to Eastborne was not an option. Neither of us could face a night in London when home, and the palliative it offered, was so tantalizingly close.

Arriving in the darkened train station at such an ungodly hour caused us to abandon our trunks and set out on foot to walk home carrying only our lightest hand luggage. My husband of a little over a year, and the center of my world, was in a black mood that reflected my own. With my spirits at such a low state, I did not have the energy or inclination to try to lift his. We struck out silently on the long walk home. My thoughts were not of my husband's mood, but of a hot bath and my own bed. After a time I reminded myself that we had had failures before, and would probably have them again. In the past, when defeat had loomed before us, Holmes himself had given me a litany of his own. I wrenched my thoughts from this depressing subject and filled my mind with visions of home and of Mrs. Hudson's ministrations; those would soon restore our normal equilibrium.

As we topped the last hill, my trousers were muddy, my legs quivering with the exertion of the long walk. We had been on the move for thirty-four hours with little sleep, and I was beginning to fantasize about a two-hour bath with gallon after gallon of lovely hot water. Maybe Mrs. Hudson would have muffins for breakfast. That would go a long way toward smoothing the rough edges of my mood. With this glowing picture in my mind, I walked right into the back of my husband. He had stopped dead in his tracks at the crest of the hill.

"Holmes, what the..." I growled.

Then, lifting my eyes, I took in the sight that had frozen Holmes. There was an automobile in the circular drive of our cottage. An automoble that I had never seen before, and judging from Holmes' reaction it was equally foreign to him.

"Oh God, I can't face visitors, Holmes. How will we ever get rid of them?"

"More to the point, Russell," Holmes murmured, "What are they doing in the cottage at this hour, and when we are not expected for another two days?"

I almost giggled as I was suddenly struck with the vision of Mrs. Hudson entertaining a caller in the wee hours of the morning. No... that was ridiculous! There could be danger here, and my heart began to thud as I realized Mrs. Hudson was alone and helpless.

"Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have a guest at this hour, would she?" I offered as a possibility, not for its truth, but to squelch my fears.

"Hardly," came the hard reply.

"All right, I agree this is disturbing, and we need to assess the situation before we just walk into trouble," I stated with more anger than I intended. " Do you want the front or the back?" I quickly added to cover my lapse.

Holmes took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "You have your revolver, I trust?" This was said in a low, tight voice that finally had me looking at my husband. He was tired. The long hours without sleep and the stress of our failure were etched in his face. I often forgot about Holmes' age, because he rarely showed it, but tonight, after all we had experienced over the last weeks, the years were all there in those drawn features. I desperately cast my mind to alternative courses of action, but finding none, answered.

"Absolutely."

Mrs. Hudson was in that cottage, alone and for the most part defenseless. Although she had been Holmes' landlady and then housekeeper for more than 40 years, she was ill-prepared to take on armed thugs.

My concerns must have played across my face, because Holmes reached out his hand, and ran it down my arm. As always, his touch steadied me, and I nodded. "I'll take the back." Our fingers brushed as we parted and set out down the hill toward the cottage.

The downstairs lights were ablaze as I crept up to the kitchen window. Mrs. Hudson would never tax our batteries in such a fashion. At this rate they would be dead soon and the cottage plunged into darkness. Maybe this was Mrs. Hudson's plan, I thought.

The window curtains were apart, and I was immensely grateful we no longer had the need for blackout curtains. Those would have made this bit of spying far more complicated. I could clearly see the signs of a meal having been prepared. My anxiety elevated a notch as I perceived the state of the kitchen, belaying any idea that Mrs. Hudson had participated in the preparation of this meal. One is familiar with the ways of a cook in her kitchen, and this was not Mrs. Hudson's way. The tea caddy was open and on the large kitchen table, not put away in its spot on the cupboard shelf, right next to the stove. A sharp knife that Mrs. Hudson had never liked lay on the counter, obviously having been used to cut vegetables. The debris of this action was in a bowl next to the cutting board. No, Mrs. Hudson had not prepared this meal, but what did it all mean?

Surely, a burglar or any villain wouldn't break in, tie up Mrs. Hudson, (for she would have to be bound or unconscious to prevent her from keeping a stranger out of her kitchen) and then cook a meal? A friend of Mrs. Hudson's, perhaps? No, she barely allowed me to help in the kitchen, a friend cooking there was out of the question.

I proceeded around the corner of the house and the conservatory to the window of Mrs. Hudson's room. There was a low light coming from a candle, and as I moved cautiously forward, I could just see a figure (was that a woman?, yes, but taller and more finely framed than Mrs. Hudson.) I perceived the good lady on her bed, but because of the low light, I couldn't make out if she was bound. One leg did seem abnormal. The curtains were partially drawn and prevented my having a complete view of the room. "Blast," I muttered under my breath. We would be forced to enter and confront whoever was inside. With that thought, I withdrew and hastened to find Holmes.

I could just see his shadowy figure in the dark near our copper beech. As I approached, he took my arm and whispered, "I could see no one in the front of the house, but there is a woman's hat and coat of good quality but uncertain age thrown casually over the back of the sofa. A lady's handbag is on the floor near the front door." All pointed toward a social call, but after Patricia Donleavy's visit, neither of us was willing to be cavalier about the situation.

"There's someone in Mrs. Hudson's room," I hurried to tell him. "A woman, I'm sure, but I just couldn't get a good look. Mrs. Hudson is dressed for bed, and lying in it with her head and shoulders supported by pillows. I couldn't tell if she was bound." This all came out in one quick utterance, and I realized I had been holding my breath as I listened to Holmes' report. I loved Mrs. Hudson, and the thought that she might be in some peril was squeezing my heart and making breathing a chore.

Holmes' voice was cool and steady as he said, "We need to enter from the back and front simultaneously and catch our prey between us. If possible we must position ourselves on either side of the hallway door she would use upon leaving Mrs. Hudson's bedroom. I remind you it would be very inconvenient to be shot by my wife, so kindly consider before pulling the trigger." This last resulted in a derisive snort from me. Holmes held my eyes, with his steady gray gaze for a brief moment, and then whispered, "Take care, Russ." We parted to enter the house and face whatever danger waited there.

I moved quickly, and after gaining the back door, it took only seconds to pick the scullery door lock. I walked briskly through the kitchen, making a mental note to replace that lock forthwith, and proceeded toward the living space. I didn't hear Holmes' entry through the front door, but I knew he would be there, in the big room, when I entered. My revolver felt reassuringly heavy and solid in my hand as I took a position on one side of the hallway door, and I nodded to Holmes across from me. We just needed to wait till the intruder left Mrs. Hudson and came to us.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality no more than five minutes, we heard the sound of a door closing, quiet footsteps down the hall and the knob on the hall door turned. The figure of a tall woman came through the door backing into the room, hands holding a large serving tray I recognized from the kitchen. The tray was piled high with dishes, cutlery, glassware and teapot. With a swift, well-rehearsed maneuver, the heavily laden tray was transferred to one hand and held aloft. I noted the musculature of the left wrist and arm as it held the tray, and decided this woman had been a waitress at some time in her life.

With the tray balanced, the right hand was used to turn off the lights in the hall and pull the door closed behind her. Then she brought the tray down to both hands, with equal grace, as she turned, took one step forward and hesitated. She took in the sight of two pistols pointed at her with equanimity. I was immediately impressed that she didn't drop the tray in surprise.

In the next instant she continued forward four quick steps to place herself directly between Holmes and me. She didn't look at either of us, but fixed her eye on a spot on the wall opposite her.

I adjusted my aim to her leg, taking in the fact that Holmes had taken aim at her head. His angle would miss me if he had to fire, I noted.

Her posture was erect and her hands steady as she spoke. "My name is Emily Rogers-Pierce. I'm hoping you are the employers of Mrs. Hudson, although I wouldn't have expected revolvers. While shopping today she had a fall in town, and her left ankle was badly sprained. She has seen a doctor and has been told to stay off the leg for at least five days. I had a car, so I brought her home after she refused my offer to care for her at my brother's house. She said her employers were not due back for another two days, but she didn't wish to be away when they might show up unexpectedly. I suppose she had a point," she offered. "Anyway, I decided to stay here and make sure she was looked after. I have cooked a meal for us, and gotten her to bed and as comfortable as I could, but she won't take anything for the considerable pain she is experiencing. It has taken me hours to get her settled and to sleep, and with all this talk she is liable to awaken, which would be a shame," all this was spoken in a low but firm voice.

She then turned her back on Holmes and addressed me. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to tidy the kitchen and..."

Holmes menacing cold voice cut her off. "Madam, you will kindly remain where you are, and do not take one step toward my wife."

I saw her make the decision and I was ready. She squared her shoulders and in a firm voice answered. "Will you shoot me in the back, sir?"

"No, but my wife will put a rather large hole in your leg, and the resulting leakage would ruin our carpet," was my husbands reply.

At this I saw her eyes widen and a twitch of her mouth told me she appreciated the humor of the statement, but was aware of the danger.

We stood like this for several heartbeats, and then a voice from down the hall called, "Do not shoot her Mr. Holmes, and Mary dear, she is a friend. And it would be very unfortunate for the carpet."

The woman facing me turned slowly to look over her shoulder, and spoke in an angry tight voice, "Now you've done it, she's awake. Well, you'd better go in and make sure that I haven't trussed her up or something, because that's what we wild Americans always do to helpless old ladies. As a matter of fact, I haven't abused nearly enough Brits since I've come here." She turned on me and said, "Either get out of my way, or shoot. I have work to do in the kitchen."

I lowered my weapon and stepped to the side, turning as she passed me to keep her in sight. Holmes was opening the hallway door and calling to Mrs. Hudson. She could be heard saying, "Oh Mr. Holmes, I'm so sorry to be such a bother."

This last statement caused the lady before me to freeze and start muttering under her breath. "Mr. Holmes... and Mrs. Hudson. Good Lord, it's true. The rumors are true, and I was just exceedingly rude to Sherlock Holmes in his own living room. Damnation!! When will I ever learn to curb my temper? I told Greg I wasn't suited to this. Not the first time I've put my foot in it, and probably not the last."

She was still muttering and shaking her head as we continued through the doorway into the kitchen. Holmes would settle Mrs. Hudson; I wanted to ask a few questions of this "friend." She was starting to tidy the counters and wipe down the stove, making order out of chaos, when I entered. Her movements had purpose and economy and I sat down at the kitchen table to watch in fascination. She cleared the counters, putting everything to its usual place without hesitation and filling the kettle, then set it on the stove to boil.

"You'll want tea and the kettle is already hot; it'll just take a moment to boil." She quickly brought down one of Mrs. Hudson's many teapots and placed it before me while pushing the tea caddy in my direction. Then she turned her focus to getting all the dirty dishes into the scullery in preparation for washing up.

"You can leave that," I offered.

"No, I made the mess, I'll clean it up and leave." Changing the subject, she added, "You are... Mrs. Holmes?"

"Yes, but I prefer Mary Russell."

"Miss Russell, then. I have to ask about the guns?"

"What about them? Pistols are standard procedure in this house when we suspect someone has tied up Mrs. Hudson," I tried for a lighthearted delivery of this last statement.

"Fair enough. It's just Mrs. Hudson told me her employers were a retired gentleman and his Oxford scholar wife. I wasn't prepared for Sherlock Holmes and his pistol-packing spouse. It just was a bit disconcerting, that's all"

"I should imagine. How long have you known Mrs. Hudson?" I abruptly changed the topic again.

"We just met today. Actually she befriended me in a teashop and changed my opinion of the locals with her open kindness. I hadn't been given the best impression of the village folk while shopping."

I watched as she ran hot water and started washing up the dishes, pots and pans.

"You know your way around a kitchen," I observed.

"Yes, and this one is easy to use. Mrs. Hudson must be as good a housekeeper as she is kindhearted. Of course, if the stories are true she has been in Mr. Holmes' employment for many years."

"Indeed." This was said quietly, as I was busying myself with the preparation of the tea. I stood, pulled out two cups, picked up the boiling kettle and thought I should inquire if she was joining us.

"Do you want a cup?"

"No thank you, I've drunk enough tea today to float a ship. My compliments on your bathroom facilities, by the way." Her face was full of mischief with this statement.

"I'm glad you have been comfortable this long night."

"I have been, thank you. I am sorry about using your batteries with such abandon. Mrs. Hudson did warn me about the possibility they would run down with all the lights blazing. I'm still not accustomed to the country life. Shouldn't we turn these lights off now?"

"Holmes will see to the rest of the house, these we can keep on for the time being."

"What do you require from me, Miss Russell?"

Direct and to the point, I was again impressed. "I require more information. Tell me exactly how you met Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, you would want to know that." She didn't stop her washing of the dishes, but took a deep breath and settled herself. "This morning I went to your village to do a bit of exploring and to pick up a few things needed at my brother's house. I spent a frustrating few hours going in and out of shops without making any purchases. The shopkeepers were too busy talking to and serving their regulars to offer a stranger any help, and I suspected that I was already labeled a Yank and someone unimportant. Which is the truth, I suppose." She laughed a small tight laugh. "It had rained the whole morning, and I was wet, hungry and tired when I entered a little teashop on the main street. It was very busy and every table was taken. The people who had entered the shop ahead of me were quickly called over to join others and share their tables, but I was left standing in the doorway. As I said before, it had been a bad morning, and I'm sure it showed on my face. I was just about to turn and leave, defeated, when I saw the wave of a hand from an older lady at a table by the window. She kept waving in my direction so I finally walked over and inquired if I could help her. She said she was rather hoping to help me, and asked me to join her at the lovely big table."

"And her fall," I prompted.

"She asked me to join her, shopping. It was like having a fairy Godmother. With Mrs. Hudson's introduction, the shopkeepers couldn't help me fast enough. We had just finished at the butcher; tonight's lamb will make very nice sandwiches for tomorrow's luncheon," she interjected. "Mrs. Hudson had opened the door to leave, when the butcher call her name, and said he would have some chops she likes the next week. She called a thank you and stepped out and misjudged the distance while distracted, coming down hard on the ankle. The step down out of the butchers is a bigger step than one would expect. She went down on the sidewalk, giving everyone quite a fright."

I interrupted with, "Everyone?"

"There were several people on the walkway who saw her fall and rushed over. They knew her name and offered help. When she could not put any weight on the ankle, I asked where there was a doctor and several people told me the town doctor had an office half a block away. He was sent for and arrived quickly. He assessed her injuries and pronounced her fit to move. Several men stepped forward and made a fireman's chair with their arms to carry Mrs. Hudson with as much dignity as the situation would allow. At his office, the doctor made a more complete examination, wrapped the ankle and gave us instructions. She was more upset about not being able to do her duties for you, than the discomfort of the injury. She really is an amazing woman."

"So, you brought her home and stayed?"

"Yes, as I said she wouldn't accompany me to my brother's house. There we would have been able to care for her properly, but she insisted that I bring her here. What was I to do? I couldn't leave an elderly woman alone with that injury. I called my brother and told him the situation and said I would return when I could. He wasn't happy, the household is in an uproar just now, but he agreed it was my only decent course of action. Oh, a man Mrs. Hudson called Will helped us here when we arrive at your cottage. Without him, I'm not sure I could have gotten the good lady into the house. He almost carried her, but she protested so, he just supported her with her arm around his shoulder. He offered to stay, but Mrs. Hudson assured him that it was all right to leave her in my care. He has the look of a bodyguard or policeman about him, retired I suppose."

With this tale finished, she completed the dishes and was drying her hands. Her gaze went past me and I turned to find Holmes leaning in the doorway to the main room. His countenance told me he was satisfied as to Mrs. Hudson's well being, that he had overheard much of this woman's story, and that it matched Mrs. Hudson's.

"Tea, Holmes?" I inquired.

"Yes, please, and I need to heat some milk. I think Mrs. Hudson will sleep if she takes some warm milk with brandy."

Before the sentence was completed, Mrs. Rogers-Pierce was putting a pan on the stove and pouring milk into it.

I took a moment to examine this woman who had taken over Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. She was tall, not my height, but five feet nine or so. She was slender with a well-muscled body and moved with confidence and grace. An attractive woman of about thirty with hair that color of red sometimes described as Titian, blunt cut at chin length and wavy. It was thick and, although short, was not in the severe shingled style that was currently fashionable. Her hands were calloused from hard work, and her arms, where she had rolled up her sleeves to plunge them into the hot, soapy water, had small burn marks that further reinforced my idea of her having worked in a kitchen or waited tables. But it was her eyes, a deep, dark blue, that held my attention. , They sparkled with humor, and something else. I was sure I had seen grief there, but why did I think that? My reverie was broken by my husband's voice.

"Who is your brother, and where is his house?" Holmes inquired in a voice that was quiet and almost sleepy.

She squared her shoulders and walked over to face him. "I'm sorry I was rude before, there are no excuses for bad manners, and believe it or not, I do know better." With this she offered her hand to Holmes. "Emily Rogers-Pierce. My brother is Gregory Rogers. He married Evangeline Hollings and lives at the Hollings' farm, about 15 miles from here. They met in a London hospital where he was a patient and she a volunteer. She was sent to Sussex and he followed after his release. They married weeks later. Evangeline recently died in childbirth, leaving him with a newborn son. I've just come over to help. I'm hoping you will forgive my boorish behavior, sir."

Holmes' face gave no hint of his reaction to this statement, but he did accept the offered hand, saying, "I knew the parents slightly, an insignificant case some years ago. I met the daughter at that time, a lovely girl of twelve, as I recall. It's a shame the whole family is now gone. The parents were killed in the bombing of London, and now the daughter has died." This last he said with regret in his voice.

Turning toward me he said, "Russell, I think the milk must be warm by now. Kindly take it in to Mrs. Hudson. She will need to see you before she will settle into sleep."

"Certainly, Holmes," I said sweetly. I disliked being dismissed, but I did see the necessity of it. I busied myself pouring the milk into a large cup, and putting the pot back on the stove. Our "guest" picked up the dirtied pot and took it into the scullery to wash. With a glance at my husband to say, "your turn," I walked out, taking my tea and the cup of warm milk.

I stopped in the main room to pour a generous measure of brandy into the milk, and proceeded into the hallway and down to Mrs. Hudson's room. Upon entering, I crossed to the woman on the bed and handed her the cup.

Before I could say anything, Mrs. Hudson spoke. " I'm so sorry you and Mr. Holmes had to return to the house in such a state." Her voice was small and tired.

"We're just grateful your injuries will heal. You are very important to us. Now drink up and try to relax." This was said as I bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No dear, I'll just drink this and drift off, I'm sure. Judging from the fumes I'll be lucky not to have a bad head in the morning," she chuckled.

Her ankle was very swollen and looked painful. I certainly hoped she could sleep. We had our drinks in companionable silence. When she finished I took her cup, and helped her find a comfortable position. I wished her a good night and, reminding her to call if she needed anything, I left.

I walked back down the hall and through the doorway to find Holmes and Mrs. Rogers-Pierce in the sitting room having a heated discussion. His body language told me he was enjoying himself, but she was almost vibrating with determination. Her chin was up and her jaw set. Clearly they were at an impasse.

"What is the difficulty?" I inquired, as I set the cups on the table.

"Your husband seems to thinks women incapable of driving themselves anywhere. I will not be told what I should or shouldn't do," she said with steel in her voice.

Although Holmes had ventured the opinion in the past that my driving had taken years off his life, he would never subscribe to the dictate that women shouldn't drive. Before I could voice my objection, however, Holmes spoke.

"I merely pointed out that a fog is settling and the roads are unsafe to be driven by anyone. I did not venture a gender."

I glanced out the French doors toward the sea and perceived that Holmes was correct; a heavy fog was closing in on the cottage.

"Mrs. Rogers-Pierce..." I started.

"Please call me Emily. Mrs. Rogers-Pierce is such a mouthful. I stubbornly wouldn't give up my family name, and my husband really wanted me to take his, so we compromised. Silly, I guess."

Holmes' gaze turned to me with his eyebrow cocked, a question resting there on his face. I returned the look and wordlessly let him know I had no intention of becoming Mrs. Russell-Holmes. He received my message with a look of chagrin spreading across his face. The woman before us caught the exchange and I clearly saw her reappraise this husband and wife.

To redirect her attention, I quickly said, "Emily, then. You told me your brother wasn't expecting you back tonight, and the fog will, in all likelihood, dissipate by the morning. Stay the remainder of the night and get some rest. We have a comfortable guest room upstairs, and you are very welcome to it."

"Yes, of course, Miss Russell, I was out of line. I apologize, again Mr. Holmes. I took your warning as an assessment of my skill and I should not have done. I'm too stubborn for my own good. It is the wisest course of action to rest on your sofa till morning. I will be available to attend to Mrs. Hudson if she calls for assistance. It was what I planned to do before your return. Is that agreeable?"

"If that is your wish, certainly."

Holmes had stood silently as these negotiations took place. He now built up the fire for the comfort of our guest and, turning to Emily, said, "You have provided us with an interesting diversion this evening. One we needed after the past few weeks, I thank you, and I bid you a good night."

He had turned toward the stairs, when Emily said, with a quiet, wistful voice, "Nathan would have loved to have met you, Mr. Holmes. He was a fan, and told me once that you were a real person. I thought he was joking with me." At this statement Holmes turned slowly toward our guest, his eyes gleaming with intensity. I was taken aback by that look, and I'm sure Emily didn't know what to make of it.

"Indeed," he said slowly. Then unexpectedly, he reached for her hand and picked it up in his. She stiffened at the touch, than relaxed when their eyes met. His were filled with kindness and possibly, regret; I was unsure. He held her gaze for just an instant, and then gave a courtly bow over the hand in his. Releasing it, he turned abruptly and was up the stairs, calling after, "Are you coming Russell?"

"Goodnight, Emily," I said, and followed my husband up the stairs, leaving a very confused woman standing by the fireplace, and dirty cups on the table.

In our bedroom I quickly closed the door and rounded on Holmes. "What was that all about?" I asked.

"That was about either having an accomplished imposter resting on our sofa this night, which I very much doubt; or the widow of a hero, Russ."

"I seemed to have missed something. What is going on?"

"Nathan Pierce, of the New York City police department, was murdered in broad daylight on a city street in the company of his wife some four months ago. He was working to rid that city of the scourge of organized crime... The Mafia. He had put together a team of officers from several precincts to work on that very problem, and was having some success. The criminal element fought back and he was the first casualty of a war that still rages in that city. I have contacts in that police department, as you well know. They have asked for my help in the past directly, and through Mycroft. That is how I came to hear of Nathan Pierce. His death was a great loss. His widow equally a hero, slightly wounded in that same attack -- she tried to shield her husband with her own body when he was down. There was some talk of a vendetta and the possibility that she would also be a target, but it came to nothing. As I recall, she refused protection and turned her back on the police and the investigation. She chose to distance herself and grieve in private. There is something more there that will need clarification, I think." He had recited all this while readying himself for bed. Then he added, "I had not realized the sister of our American neighbor was this person."

"So, you think she really is this widow?" I speculated.

"Don't you? She had given us ample demonstration this evening of her courage, iron will and nerves. It fits."

"All evidence does lead us to that conclusion," I admitted, "but, what now?"

"We are both in need of some rest. Let us put aside the questions raised by this woman's presence in our home. The answers will be found through inquiries best done in the morning. Now, to bed, my good wife, I wish to sleep what is left of this night in our bed, with you beside me."

What is one to say to that? I joined him in our warm bed and relaxed into his arms.

Too few hours later, the sun was up and the warm space next to me was empty. I put on my spectacles and found the time to be eight in the morning. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and as I was adjusting my pillows to sit up more comfortably in bed, the door opened and Holmes entered with two cups of tea.

"How are the invalid and our guest?" I queried.

"One is up, dressed, and fed, while the other has decamped, leaving word she would return this afternoon with something for our supper" was his answer.

"How kind," I ventured. "She doesn't want Mrs. Hudson worrying about us, and has taken it upon herself to see that we have adequate meals. She did mention some lamb for sandwiches last night. It seems Mrs. Hudson has found a caring and resourceful friend. She has always been a good judge of people."

"Yes, I remember she took to you very quickly. A ragamuffin girl dressed as a lad, brought back to her table, too hungry and in no little emotional pain. She took it all in at a glance, before I had put all the pieces together, and threw herself into alleviation of one of your needs. This world is a better place with the good Mrs. Hudson in it." He had that quiet faraway look in his eyes that sometimes visited when he was remembering the past.

I was out of bed now, and pulling on clothes for the day. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for Mrs. Hudson, and then see about some breakfast for Holmes and me. "Mrs. Hudson has eate,n you said, then I will see about something to fill our voids."

"The good 'Emily' has left muffins, and I have indulged in two while talking with Mrs. Hudson. Yours is the only void left under this roof."

"Then I'd best apply myself to filling it."

As I came down the stairs I could see Mrs. Hudson was now ensconced on the living room sofa, her injured ankle propped on a pillow. She looked more rested than she deserved, and greeted me with a smile.

"Mary dear, there you are. I was afraid Mr. Holmes would return and finish off these muffins before you had a taste of them. Now don't you worry about our supper, Emily has promised to return with something lovely. She insisted and I was that much relieved. I know how hard it is on the two of you when you return from one of your little 'trips.' I wouldn't want to bring any further distress to you for the world. It has always been my place to see to comforting you at these times." This was spoken with such emotion I was hard pressed to keep my voice from wavering when I replied.

"Your presence in this house has always been a source of comfort to me, and to Holmes. We just can't do without our Mrs. Hudson." At this I gave her a kiss on the cheek and fled into the kitchen before I made a fool of myself.

The day passed companionably, with the three of us in the main room chatting and sharing stories. It had been some time since we had just been together like this. We told Mrs. Hudson much edited tales of our latest adventure. It wouldn't do to admit how badly everything had gone. She, in turn, regaled us with the latest happenings across the downs. All in all it was an interlude of peace and friendship which allowed us to put defeat and disappointment into their proper place... the past.

By early afternoon, my ears, and those of Holmes, I'm sure, were tuned to hear the sound of a car on our drive. In due course it was heard, and the same car that had started our adventure last evening pulled up the circular drive and to our front door.

Holmes had the door opened and was beside the car before our guest could extricate herself and a large pot.

"Good afternoon," she said in a clear strong voice. "If you would, Mr. Holmes, there is a bag on the passenger seat that needs to be brought in. How is our patient?"

"Resting tolerably," was his reply, as he picked up the cloth bag and turned for the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Miss Russell, I'll just put this in the kitchen, if I may?"

"Certainly," I said.

She greeted Mrs. Hudson and allowed her to see into the pot that she was carrying before she took it through to the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson beamed and told Emily that the lamb she had left us for sandwiches had made a delightful luncheon.

Holmes followed Emily into the kitchen with the bag, and they stayed rather longer than I thought necessary. This made me wonder if the phone calls and telegrams Holmes had spent the better part of an hour on this morning had generated a response, of which I was uninformed. No... the telephone had not rung today, and I remembered no messengers at our door. What was taking them so long, I wondered?

I excused myself from Mrs. Hudson and entered the kitchen. Holmes was putting the kettle on to boil. Emily sat at the table and said in a very quiet voice, "Did you meet Nathan, Mr. Holmes?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Last night, when you took my hand, I saw something in your eyes, a recognition of his name, perhaps. I dared to hope you had met sometime. He once told me you were real, as I said, not just a fictional character. So I thought he might have met you in the past."

"To my regret, I never had the pleasure of that meeting. I have had reports reach me of the work he was doing before his untimely death. May I offer my deepest condolences on your loss?"

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. Nathan would have been honored that you knew of him."

"Excuse me," I said by way of making my presence known, "I thought I would make tea. Will you join us Emily?"

"No thank you, I must return to the house. I do need to talk to Mrs. Hudson for a moment. She said she knew of a girl who had experience as a baby nurse. I fired ours this morning and will need to replace her as soon as possible."

She left the kitchen and went in to speak to Mrs. Hudson. Then, taking her leave of us, she was gone.

We didn't see Emily again for several days. A Mr. McKinnon, the houseman of the Rogers household, and someone known to Mrs. Hudson, dropped off meals faithfully.

From him we heard that the girl, Nelly, had been hired as baby nurse. She was someone Mrs. Hudson had recommended and was working out nicely. The former nurse, Miss Warner, had left with threats and a collective sigh of relief from everyone under that roof. She had caused strife and unpleasantness from the moment she arrived, and had not seen to the needs of the child to anyone's satisfaction. In his words, "The house is as happy as it can be without our beloved Miss Evangeline. We are lucky to have Miss Emily, though. Fine woman she is, too." These were word of high praise from someone who had worked in that household for over thirty years.

One sunny afternoon, as we sat in the garden with Mrs. Hudson, Holmes received a packet from Mycroft, delivered by a messenger. Mrs. Hudson's ankle was much improved and with the help of one of Holmes' walking sticks she could get around, but she was still limiting the time she spent standing each day.

Holmes and I excused ourselves and returned to the cottage, anxious to see what information the packet contained. Once in the kitchen, Holmes opened the bulky envelope and started to read. He didn't offer me any of the contents, but as he pored over reports, letters and newspaper clippings his countenance darkened and his spine went rigid. I was suddenly aware of the anger emanating from him as he continued to read. I had known this man for over seven years, and had seen him in every manner of mood, but I stepped back unconsciously at what I saw on his face. Sherlock Holmes was in a rage.

"Holmes, what is it?"

"Mycroft's agents have put together a very complete report about the life of Emily Rogers-Pierce; a life that few could review without emotion. The press victimized her." This was said as he waved several newspaper clippings. "After Nathan Pierce's death, his Captain tried to use the widow to further his career. When she refused, he started a campaign in the press and by way of common gossip to destroy her. Information was leaked, anonymously, concerning her background, suggesting she was imbalanced. Her parents had died in a murder-suicide when she was 18 and her brother 12. The mother shot the father, a U.S. Army Sergeant, with his own service revolver and then turned the gun on herself. None of the leaked information was ever traced directly to the Captain, but suspicions continue to this day. What wasn't reported was the manner in which this girl of 18 took on the responsibility of raising her young brother. She was left with little money, and no relatives to turn to for help. She found employment and sacrificed her youth to raise the boy. She even found the funds to send him to university. Supported him by working two jobs. He left school to enlist in the army and was shipped to France early in 1918. He became a hero in the war, was wounded and sent to London to recover. There he met the Hollings girl and upon his release from hospital, followed her to Sussex and they eventually married. Her statement that she recently came over doesn't tell the whole story. Her brother sent for her, but did not send the funds necessary for the crossing. Russell, she sold her hair to purchase her passage." I noticed this statement caused a small muscle in Holmes' jaw to twitch. "Her life has been one of sacrifice and self-denial. And her reward has been the murder of her husband and the vilification of her character. By all accounts a good, decent person, who has been put through hell."

"Thank you for that Mr. Holmes," came a voice from the scullery door. It was Emily standing rooted to the floor, her face pale and her hands shaking. She stepped into the kitchen and put down the casserole she held.

"Captain Daniels wasn't pleased with Nathan's choice of wife. We reluctantly told him of my past when we decided to wed, wanting nothing hidden from Nathan's commander. I suspected the Captain was behind the smear campaign, but I had no proof, and no one would listen to me. He let me know soon after the funeral that I would need to put on a show as the proper helpless widow. It was obvious he didn't care about Nathan, just the publicity and good public opinion he could get from parading the widow at his side. When I refused to attend meetings and press conferences with him, he made it very clear that I would regret the decision. Several days later, the first newspaper article appeared, and my past was laid out for the world to judge. The whole of the police department closed ranks and turned their collective backs on me. Even Nathan's partner, with whom I thought I had a good relationship, stopped calling. I received hate mail and disgusting phone calls. The newspaper articles resulted in the loss of my job. I am of the opinion the Captain really thought he could drive me to take my own life. I wasn't about to oblige him. It was very hard, there was little money and I couldn't get work. It was at this time I received word of my sister-in-law's death. Greg wired he needed my help, and so I left all the ugliness behind and came here to start over. And yes, I did sell my hair. It was a triviality, in the grand scheme of things. Greg was so distraught he hadn't thought of the cost of the trip. I really didn't mind. Nathan had loved my long hair, but with him gone it wasn't that important. I thought I would have a new beginning here, a chance to find some peace. I didn't imagine I would come under the magnifying glass of Sherlock Holmes." With this recitation done, she just crumpled into a kitchen chair.

Holmes quickly caught her gaze. Oh, those gray eyes that could convey such empathy and kindness, or cut to the bone. They held hers for several seconds before he spoke. "Emily, you have nothing to fear from us. The information was obtained from the most discreet source in all of Great Britain, possibly the world. I can personally vouch for your privacy in these matters." He had taken her hand while he spoke and he now placed it gently on the table with its soft patina.

She broke the eye contact and bowed her head, fighting for control. Her voice was shaky as she said; "I'm in your debt, both of you." She turned to look directly at me. "Thank you."

"I must say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson now. We had a word when I arrived, and she directed me to enter through the scullery door."

This brought to mind a question I wanted to ask. "How did you arrive? I didn't hear your car."

"Mr. McKinnon dropped me at the turnoff from the road, he needed to take the car into town for petrol and I wanted to see how Mrs. Hudson was doing. He will be returning to retrieve me soon."

I escorted our guest back into the garden to where Mrs. Hudson sat under the copper beech. Holmes joined us after a few minutes, carrying a tray with a bottle and four delicate glasses. He dispensed the honey wine as he had so many years before, under this same tree. As then, he used the potion to sooth; and as I accepted a glass from his hand, we exchanged a silent acknowledgement of that shared memory.

Emily Rogers-Pierce became a regular visitor to our cottage. She and Mrs. Hudson enjoyed chatty visits, going into town together several times in the weeks that followed. They made it a habit to have tea at the cottage whenever they met. Holmes and I would join them if we were at home. We enjoyed this intelligent woman's company and both became quite fond of our American neighbor, a fondness that entangled us in a case that thrust both households into peril.

The month of June in the year 1922 gave us the epitome of an English summer. It was filled with cloudless skies, long days of heavenly warmth, and nights with air like velvet. I had returned home from Oxford at the end of the Trinity term, taking a much-needed break from my research for a book I was writing on Jewish wisdom. My sudden departure from Oxford in May had set my research back and seriously curtailed my progress. I had been working flat out for two weeks to catch up, and found myself exhausted and, although I would have denied it, missing Holmes. I returned to Sussex determined to spend a week or two of lazy days with my husband, with no thought of the book.

The first few days home were glorious. Holmes and I spent much of every day relaxing in our garden and walking the downs. In the evenings we swam in the sea as the sun set, and then lounged on the terrace, sipping our coffee and brandy after dinner. It was on one of these summer eves that I asked Holmes about the case that precipitated his meeting the Hollings family.

"Holmes, you told Emily you knew the Hollings family through a case; tell me about it."

"It was a trifle," he drawled. " A maid, who had been in the Hollings' household for three years, disappeared. She left no note, no word, just went missing one night. She left all her things in her room and it appeared she left with only the clothing on her back. The family contacted the police, but with no evidence of foul play they were reluctant to become involved. That's when the entire family showed up at my door. Robert and Marjory Hollings and their daughter Evangeline, each with grave concern on their face, asking for help. It was this display of concern that caused me to entertain their request. It was unusual for people of their class to go to such lengths for a servant. As I have related, the case was ridiculously simple. A day of my time and transportation costs, for which I received remuneration. I tracked the girl through the train station. She had eloped with a boy. She was so excited at his written proposal, delivered through a bedroom window at three A.M., that she left without any thought of her employer and without packing a bag. When I found the silly girl, now married, I convinced her to write a letter of apology to the Hollings, which I delivered, with a request that her things be packed and sent on. My expenses were paid, and Miss Evangeline, who solemnly thanked me and shook my hand, showed me to the door. That was the last time I saw any of them. I do remember when their London townhouse took a direct hit during those last months of the war. Both parents were killed, but the daughter was already in Sussex. I gather the parents disapproved of the penniless American soldier, with few prospects, for their only child. They had moved her back to Sussex to separate them. That would have been the summer of 1918. Did you ever meet the girl, Russ?"

"No, I don't think I did. My time was so taken up with the Simpson case and my volunteer efforts for the war, that I didn't socialize, as you will recall. I certainly don't remember meeting anyone named Evangeline," was my reply.

"One can almost see the parents point of view. An American, with few prospects, would hardly be a 'brilliant match' as they say."

"No, not a brilliant match, but one for love," I ventured. "That has to count for something, I hope."

"Sentimentality, Russ? Not your usual bent of mind"

"Most assuredly not, just an academic appraisal of the impact of love. Not romantic love certainly, but the love that can attract like minds, and souls. I've come to appreciate the unique quality of some love, the unexpected joy of it. I hadn't expected joy." I said very quietly. "What I'm trying to say, husband, is that I've been happier, more complete, these last fifteen months than ever before in my life. I know I have not said it before, but I think I should thank you for marrying me." I held his eyes for a few seconds as I said this.

Sometime while we were speaking, we both stood and were facing one another. Unexpectedly, he thrust his arm around my waist and drew me close to him, whispering in my hair as he delivered a kiss to my temple, "I might say the same to you, wife. Now come, the hour is late, let us be off to bed."

I didn't need to see his face to know there would be a rakish grin spread across it. Holmes always knew what action was needed in any situation, and he never disappointed. Should I ever know his limits? Not for the first time I pondered the depths of this man,with whom I shared a complicated and exciting life.

Our lovely slumber was rudely interrupted, at four-thirty in the morning, by the insistent ringing of the telephone. Holmes had the ability to launch himself from sleep to full alertness in a heartbeat, and he was down the stairs, pulling on his robe, before I could get my feet into my slippers and my spectacles on my nose. I was steps behind him and reached the bottom of the stairs in time to see him take the receiver from Mrs. Hudson's grasp and place her in a near by chair. I quickly advanced to stand in front of her, and took in her pale face and shaking hands.

"What has happened Mrs. Hudson," I entreated?

"Oh, Mary, it's very bad," was all she could say before dropping her head into her hands.

This sent me for the brandy. Mrs. Hudson was rarely shaken by anything. Whatever it was, it must be bad.

Holmes hung up the receiver and turned his grim face toward us. He put a hand on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder and said, "She is alive, and we are needed. Are you able to go, Mrs. Hudson?"

"I'm fine, sir," this said after a large gulp of brandy. "Certainly I'll go," was her reply.

"Holmes!" I almost shouted, "What has happened?"

"There has been a break-in at the Hollings Farm. Gregory Rogers has been murdered in his bed, and an attempt to harm or kidnap the child was thwarted by Emily. She fought with at least one intruder, and has been beaten and stabbed. A local doctor is treating her at home. Her condition is serious, but it isn't thought advisable to move her. That was the girl, Nelly, on the phone. She is trying to keep everything under control in the house, and has asked if Mrs. Hudson, joined by us, would come. I gather half the county is in an uproar, and the local constabulary has agreed our help would be welcome. I know you had hoped for a quiet break from your book, but I do think this is important. Will you come Russ?"

"Emily is our friend and needs our help. There's no question I'll come."

Holmes was already picking up the telephone receiver to make the necessary calls, and said, "Pack for more than a few days. This might take some time to resolve. Murder is usually a complicated piece of business."

Mrs. Hudson was on her feet now. The shock was gone, and she immediately put her energy into readying the three of us for our stay at the Hollings Farm.

Holmes notified Old Will of our impending absence from the cottage, and he roused the local taxi driver to our door within three quarters of an hour. My Morris only had two seats, and Mrs. Hudson was not about to sit on Holmes' lap for the trip. After loading bags, a full hamper from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, and ourselves, we drove in silence to the stricken house.

Hollings Farm (as it would no doubt be called for decades) was a typical country house. Two stories of gray stone, with servants' quarters in the back of the first floor, near the kitchen, and bedrooms on the second floor. It was unimpressive architecturally, a square building, with a straight gravel path to the front door. Around one side there was just a glimpse of an outbuilding, housing the automobile, no doubt. A small wooded area could be seen in the distance obscuring the road beyond. The house had the look of permanence that permeated the architecture of the English countryside. It might have occupied this land for twenty years, or two hundred. One just couldn't tell at first glance. The only oddity was a long ladder leaning against the front of the building. A window on the second floor was open and the ladder was placed so that anyone exiting that window could use the ladder to descend to the ground.

As our vehicle pulled up to the front door, three individuals emerged and approached us. The first was a very serious young constable, the second a young woman dressed as a nurse, and lastly the good Mr. McKinnon.

The constable introduced himself with an outthrust hand to Holmes, and the immediate dismissal of Mrs. Hudson and myself. "Constable Bailey, Sir. I'm very happy to make your acquaintance Mr. Holmes. I don't mind telling you I'm glad you're here. I've been on to my superiors, and they have instructed me to inform you that Scotland Yard has been advised of this situation and will be sending an Inspector to handle the case." He stopped and pulled out his notebook to consult his information and continued, "Chief Inspector Lestrade, it is. He telephoned some time ago to confirm he will drive down today, and that I should offer you any assistance within my power, and I quote, to stay out of your way as much as possible, end quote."

"Thank you, Constable, for that report. Inspector Lestrade and I have worked together in the past."

I watched as Holmes controlled his mouth from twitching in humor at the Constables' seriousness and his ignoring of Mrs. Hudson and myself. I decided not to press that point and allowed Holmes to take charge.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you find the kitchen and see about some breakfast for everyone? It has been a long and disturbing night and we have a busy day before us. Nelly is it, yes, good girl, you have done well here. Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell my wife what you know of this business. Mr. McKinnon, will you please see to our bags and then join Miss Russell. Constable Bailey if you will accompany me upstairs, I desire to view the victims. I trust nothing has been touched." He added.

"No, Sir. That is, nothing in Mr. Rogers' room. The only person who has entered that room was Mr. McKinnon. He confirmed that Mr. Rogers was dead and then closed the door and no one has entered since. Mrs. Rogers-Pierce has been moved, of course, and is under the care of the local doctor. A Dr. Lowe, who has asked for a word when you arrive."

"Good, then take me to Mr. Rogers first." Turning to me he added, "Russell, I propose we confer in an hour's time."

I nodded my agreement, and the two men disappeared into the house and up the staircase to the second floor. I looked at my watch and found it was already going on seven in the morning. If Lestrade drove, he could be here in less than two hours; we had much to do before his arrival.

Mrs. Hudson and I walked through the solid oak door to a comfortable well-lit entry hall. She continued down the long hallway to the back of the house where the kitchen would be located. I turned to Nelly and pulled open the first door on my left. As I expected it was a parlor and I motioned Nelly in and to a chair.

"Nelly, Mr. Holmes and I are very impressed by the way you have handled all this. Calling us so promptly will make it easier to solve this case. You have shown a great deal of good sense."

"Thank you, Madam. My first thought was to stop the bleeding from Miss Emily's wound and to get a doctor here as soon as possible. Then I thought of Mrs. Hudson; she would help with Mrs. McKinnon. Poor woman is beside herself. The doctor had to give her something to calm her down. When Mr. Holmes came on the line, I was that relieved. I knew he could make things right here, so I told the Constable Mr. Holmes was coming and he had best tell his people about it."

"Quite right, Nelly. It is always best to keep the police informed in these things. Now, can you tell me what you know about last night's events?"

"Yes, Madam." She folded her hands in her lap, and straightened her back, then began. "The baby, Robby we call him, was fussy last evening. Miss Emily and I were up until about eleven before he settled enough for us to take to our beds. Robby's room is in between our rooms and has a connecting door to each. Sometime before three I was awakened by a strange muffled noise from Robby's room. It wasn't something I had ever heard from the baby before, so I got up and pulled on my robe to check on him. Then there was a scuffling noise and I hurried to the door. I opened it slowly, and saw the back of a man and Miss Emily struggling with him, holding his arm. She saw me and without giving me away she shifted her eyes to the baby's crib. I took her meaning and I grabbed up Robby and ran back to my room, locked the door, and then ran down the hall. I saw Mr. Rogers door was ajar, and I almost entered, but I smelled the blood. It's an odor you can't mistake if you have ever smelt it before. So I just ran, down the stairs and back to the McKinnons' door. I pounded until they let me in and I told Mr. McKinnon what I had seen. He grabbed his shotgun and told us to lock the door and put up a barricade until he returned. Mrs. McKinnon was so upset it was all I could do to keep her and the baby calm. Then we heard two shotgun blasts and Mr. McKinnon returned and told me to go up and do what I could for Miss Emily, he was calling for a doctor and the police. He also told me Mr. Rogers was dead, stabbed to death in his bed. Mrs. McKinnon started crying something terrible, but I thought it best left to the Mister to calm her. I was needed by Miss Emily." Her face was pale, but she remained calm and I was impressed by her composure.

"Can you describe the man you saw struggling with Miss Emily?"

"Yes, I think so, he was a bit taller than her, big build, with dark clothes and no hat. They were a workman's clothes and work boots. He had a knife in his hand, the hand Miss Emily was holding. She kept him occupied while I got away. I just wish I could have done something to help her. Poor lady, so brave and all."

"You did exactly as you should, the baby was in danger and Emily wanted him safe. That was your first responsibility, and you may very well have saved her life by getting help as you did. You were brave and kept your head." At this she gave me a small smile, and a quiet, "Thank you Madam."

"Nelly, where is the child now?"

"Oh, I have him in a bureau drawer in the McKinnons' room. He is sleeping very quietly, too. I thought it wouldn't be right to have him in the nursery with everyone in and out. Mrs. Hudson is looking in on him while I'm away, Madam."

"That's fine then."

Mr. McKinnon entered the parlor quietly and said, "I've put your luggage in the guest room at the end of the hall upstairs, Miss Russell. Mrs. Hudson will stay in the room next to ours, downstairs. It's near the kitchen and she thinks it will suit her best."

"Thank you Mr. McKinnon. I was just commending Nelly on her actions last night. It seems you have both had a difficult time. Oh, Nelly, one last question, then I'll let you get back to your duties. Was there a light on in the child's room?"

"Yes, Madam. We keep a nightlight on in the nursery. It helps in the middle of the night if we need to see to him. Is there anything else, Madam?"

"No, Nelly. Thank you."

The girl rose and dropping a curtsy, left the room. I turned to Mr. McKinnon, who was standing, and motioned for him to take the seat opposite me.

"Now, can you tell me what you remember about last night?"

He started talking without preamble; "The missus and I went to bed around ten. As usual I did my rounds before going to my bed. I checked the windows and doors and turned off all the lights. Mr. Rogers hadn't been down for dinner, and I asked him if he would be wanting anything before we went to bed. He had been staying in his room much of the time lately. I know Miss Emily was concerned about him. He had the missus and me worried. He wasn't eating and we would hear him walking about late at night."

"This wasn't his usual behavior, I gather?"

"No, he was a very pleasant, easy going man before Miss Evangeline's death. He took it very hard, and even after Miss Emily came, he didn't seem easy in his mind. If you take my meaning."

"I see. Now tell me about what you heard after you went to bed last night."

"I've racked my brain, and I don't remember anything unusual until Nelly came pounded on our door. I looked at the clock then, and it was going on three. I knew something was wrong, and I got the missus up. When I opened the door, Nelly, with the baby in her arms, comes in saying someone is upstairs in the nursery, hurting Miss Emily, and that something was queer in Mr. Rogers' room. I grabbed up the shotgun I keep in the closet, and told them to lock and barricade the door behind me. I went quiet like, up the stairs and went directly to the baby's room and I see Miss Emily on the floor, and the window standing wide open. I went to the window and saw a ladder against the house. I'll swear it hadn't been there earlier. "

At this last statement, I interrupted to ask, "Was the ladder one from here?"

"Yes Ma'am. It is kept in the outbuilding where we keep the automobile. I'm sure it was there three days ago. I used it to repair one of the upper windows at the back of the house. I put it back when I finished with the repair."

"Thank you. Please go on."

"Let me see, I looked out the window and there was the ladder, and then I saw two figures running from the house. There was moonlight, and I could just make them out. I let loose with one barrel toward each, and then turned to Miss Emily. I could see she was bad off, bleeding and all. I ran to Mr. Rogers' room, and found a terrible sight. He had been stabbed to death in his bed. I only touched him to make sure he was gone, but with all that blood I was pretty sure. So, I closed the door and that's when I went downstairs and got Nelly. She's a nurse, so she would know what to do. I told her the Mister was dead and Miss Emily needed help. Then I called the Constable, and put in a call for a doctor, took some time, too, the usual man was out, so I tried Dr. Lowe and he was available. That's about it. My missus was in a right state, so I tried to calm her down. The doctor came, and finally gave her something to settle her nerves."

He seemed to run out of steam here, and his shoulders drooped and his head came down. The exhaustion that often follows shocking events was covering him like a blanket. He would need rest and food now.

"Thank you Mr. McKinnon. That will be all. You should have some breakfast and see to your wife. Try to get some rest yourself. When the Chief Inspector arrives from London, he will have questions for you, and you will have to tell your entire story to him at that time. I'm afraid the household has many more trying hours ahead."

"Yes, Ma'am. I could do with some food and a rest." He stood and walked slowly from the room.

I went to the front door and examined the lock for signs of forced entry, and then walked to the back of the house and, finding only one door there, did the same. My findings were unsatisfactory. How had they gained entry, I wondered? Neither door had any signs of tampering. Knowing Holmes would examine the windows upstairs I concentrated on those downstairs. I walked from room to room, and found that they were all closed and locked, just as Mr. McKinnon had left them. Holmes had come downstairs and gone outside during my inspection, and I met up with him as he was entering the house from the front steps. I told him the results of my efforts, and he shared that the upstairs was likewise free of tampering, including the nursery window used to exit the house. It had been opened from the inside, and showed signs of smeared blood. He agreed the lack of any evidence of forced entry was provocative.

We went to the kitchen then, and found Mrs. Hudson had taken things well into hand. From her capacious hamper and the stores of this unfamiliar kitchen she had produced a meal fit for field hands. It was laid out in the style of a manor house buffet. Chafing dishes filled with soft scrambled eggs, bacon, kippers, porridge, broiled tomatoes, and buttered toast lined the counters. Mr. McKinnon was just sitting down with a laden plate and was helping himself to tea. Holmes and I joined him and I commented that Lestrade would probably appreciate all this after his long early morning drive from London.

"Yes," said Holmes, "Lestrade always has a good appetite."

I noted the warmth in Holmes' tone. He had a genuine fondness for Lestrade. I, too, liked the small, intelligent man whose countenance always reminded me of a ferret. My first introduction to him had not been auspicious, though. When Holmes had introduced my eighteen-year-old self, the inspector had thought it a joke, and went so far as to take me for a "sweet young thing." No, it hadn't been a good beginning, but we had moved well past that. Although he was still often taken aback by my abilities, he and I had come to a place of mutual respect, and I found I was pleased he would be the police presence here.

After finishing our meal, and checking that Mrs. Hudson didn't need our assistance, Holmes and I took our third cups of tea out the back door and into a lovely garden. This wasn't a recent addition. It had the look of generations of careful planning and loving care.

"Goodness, what a lovely spot," I commented, as we found two chairs and took our seats under the shade of a massive elm. I was struck by the juxtaposition of all this beauty next to a house where death and brutality had taken place the previous night.

I related to Holmes all that I had discovered about the events of that night, and asked him if he had examined the front lawn for signs of the two intruders described by Mr. McKinnon. He said he had found two sets of footprints at the base of the ladder, where it had been set in soft earth. He had also traced their prints back to the side building, where they had taken the ladder, and into the woods at the far south side of the property where they had entered from the road. When they descended the ladder, they were in more of a hurry. Their prints showed they ran straight away from the building across the lawn, parallel to the gravel road. There were also several drops of blood in the grass some twenty yards from the house. The shotgun blasts had found at least one target. There wasn't much blood, but enough that a few pellets must have embedded into flesh.

"What did the doctor want?" I inquired?

"He asked if I could entreat Watson to attend to the wounded Miss Emily."

"Why ever for?" I interrupted.

"It seems there is a whooping cough epidemic present in this county. All the doctors are stretched to their limits. Someone should be in attendance here, but that ties up a desperately needed resource. He pleaded his case quite eloquently. The poor man is on the verge of a physical breakdown. I put a call in to Watson, who said he would be down on the next train. Good old Watson, always ready to come when I require him. I've called the taxi service to pick him up and deliver him here."

"Good Lord -- Holmes, Uncle John and Lestrade. This is starting to have the feel of one of Watson's tales in The Strand," I observed.

"Not quite that lurid, I hope."

"You haven't said... how is Emily? Is she conscious yet?" I had a sudden pang of guilt that I hadn't inquired about the woman I had called a friend a few hours before.

"No, there has been considerable blood loss. The doctor is hopeful, but she did take a beating along with the stab wound. She was struck in the face and kicked while lying on the floor. Her assailant had no compunction about striking and kicking a woman. There were definitely two people involved. I found that one only was in Mr. Rogers' room, and then he entered the nursery after the struggle had taken place. His distinctive heel marks were over those of the struggle in the room. These were not professionals. They entered an occupied house, one stabbed Rogers to death leaving behind the knife and a blood trail in the hallway, and another was prevented from his mission by a struggle with one woman. No, they were ruthless, but not professionals. What bothers me is the method by which they gain entry to the house, and what was their intent with the child? Was it murder also, or kidnapping?"

"Why would they kidnap the son of a man they had just murdered? That wouldn't make any sense. What would be their motive for such an action? A ransom couldn't be demanded with the parents dead. How would they know if the aunt had the resources to pay anything? The alternative is just horrific. Had they intended to murder both father and son? Killing an infant, for what motive? We need more information before this will become clear." I was shaking my head at this point.

"Yes, we lack data. We don't have sufficient information to reach a hypothesis as to whether or not there will be another attack. Whatever their intentions were toward the child, they failed. This begs the question, will they be back? One would surmise they would have the good sense to realize this house would be under guard, but in my experience one can't expect desperate criminals to use anything like good sense."

"At least with Uncle John here, we will have one more revolver."

"Yes, Watson knows to bring his when called out by his old friend Holmes."

We heard the sound of a car approaching the house, and taking our cups we walked around to the driveway. Lestrade was just pulling up in a very large, very shiny saloon car. Much nicer than I thought would be available to Scotland Yard. This puzzle was answered by his greeting to us.

"Remind me to thank your brother for the use of this beauty. Nicest thing I've ever driven. Made the drive down a pleasure, even with the hay carts and the cows. How are you, Mr. Holmes, Miss Russell? Nasty bit of business, this?"

"Yes, Lestrade. I see Mycroft took care of your transportation needs. Did you contact him, or he you?" inquired Holmes as he took Lestrade's hand.

"I had just finished the call that landed this murder, and your presence in the middle of it, in my lap, when the phone again rang. To my surprise, it was Mr. Mycroft Holmes on the line informing me that a car would be delivered to Scotland Yard, in the next fifteen minutes, for my use on this case. It gave me quite a turn; but one doesn't say no to someone like him, so I just said thank you, and got myself ready to come down here. I do need to ask why your brother is mixed up in this. Are there some international entanglements, of which I am unaware? At first glance this appears to be a rather messy murder and assault. What information am I missing? For that matter, why are you involved, Mr. Holmes? I admit I'm happy for your help. I find these country locations difficult to work. The people often refuse to speak to an outsider and information is hard to gather. Is that tea?" he added as he greedily eyed our cups.

"It is, and Mrs. Hudson has breakfast waiting. While you eat, we can answer those questions and fill you in on what we have learned to this point." With this said, Holmes and I escorted him to the kitchen where he ate with the appetite of a man twice his size. He nodded and grunted at our recitation of facts, stopping occasionally to jot a word or phrase down in his notebook. When the last crumb was removed from his plate, and his third cup of tea drained, he was ready to proceed upstairs.

I hadn't seen the murder room as yet, but I forced myself to view the bloody scene dispassionately. We three went about recovering what bits of evidence this room held, and eventually, when they arrived, were joined by the police photographer and print specialist. By the time we were all finished in the room, the coroner was waiting to remove the body.

We moved down the hallway, marking the blood drops as we passed. Holmes took the lead in the nursery, and Lestrade listened intently as Holmes walked him through the events as the shoe imprints showed them. He nodded as they inspected the rug on the nursery floor and envisioned the struggle and the second man entering and going out the window followed by the man who had struggled with Emily Rogers-Pierce. They both opened the connecting doors, first Nelly's room and then to the room currently occupied by Dr. Lowe, the unconscious Emily, and the grave Constable Bailey. The latter stiffened to attention so violently that I thought I heard his bones snap.

"Chief Inspector Lestrade, this is Dr. Lowe and Constable Bailey," Holmes introduced.

"Dr. Lowe, do you have any idea when Mrs. Rogers-Pierce might be able to answer questions?"

"No, Chief Inspector, I don't. Her body has taken a severe shock. The stab wound isn't life-threatening, but she has lost a considerable amount of blood, and from the bruises I've observed, been punched and kicked."

"Yes, I see. Will you be staying, then?"

"No, as I told Mr. Holmes, I am needed elsewhere. Mr. Holmes has sent for his friend Dr. Watson, so I will be leaving soon."

"Dr. Watson is coming here?" Lestrade looked very surprised at this development.

"Yes, I called him and he should arrive on the London train in the next hour. I am having him met and driven here," was Holmes' reply.

"Bailey," Lestrade's voice commanded.

"Sir," came a high tight reply.

"I'm going to call for a guard around the clock on his house. Front and back are to be posted and someone is to stay upstairs at all times. I want you to stand the first watch here. Notify us if the lady regains consciousness." His orders delivered, he turned to the doctor and added, "Dr. Lowe, you may leave now, and thank you for your help."

Dr. Lowe looked startled, but quickly gathered his instruments, put on his coat and started toward the door to the hall. He stopped and said, "I've left my notes for Dr. Watson. There isn't much to do until she wakes up, then she might need morphia for the pain. I've also left a bottle and syringe, in the event Dr. Watson doesn't bring a supply."

"I'll sit with Emily until Watson arrives," I said as I took the chair that had been pulled to the bedside.

"Lestrade, we can walk the doctor out and you can see the path the intruders took as they left."

"Very good, I'll need a phone to make a report to the local constabulary and get the men posted. " was his answer.

The men left, and Bailey stepped into the hallway to take up his post, thus leaving me alone with the still pale woman on the bed. Her left cheek was swollen and the skin was darkening into an angry bruise. The man who had left those marks was right handed and had grasped her right upper arm with strong fingers leaving marks there also. This I observed by pushing up the sleeves of her gown. I then opened the throat of her nightgown to inspect the bandage on the area above the clavicle near her left shoulder. Prying carefully I loosened the bandage and inspected the wound. A narrow gash, approximately two centimeters, sliced the area. It was a clean cut made by a sharp blade of indeterminate length. I reapplied the bandage and picked up first one hand, then the other. There were small cuts on both; defensive wounds, and I found blood and skin under the nails of her right hand. Emily had fought for her life.

"Who did this to you?" I said under my breath. There was no answer, so I was left to my own thoughts. Time passed, and the silence lengthened until the sound of the turning of the hall doorknob startled me out of my musings.

Holmes came quietly through the door and stood at my side. "Have you examined her?"

"Yes, the knife was narrow and sharp, and she scratched the man; blood and skin are under her nails." I picked up her right hand and showed the cuts and the bruises on the upper arm. Then I showed him a scar on the upper portion of her left arm and said, "This must be where she was wounded during the attack on her husband."

Holmes nodded gravely. "As Lestrade said, a nasty piece of business," was his reply as he pulled another chair next to mine. His pipe and tobacco pouch appeared in his hand, and he went about the business of getting his pipe filled and lit. I enjoyed watching those long graceful hands going about this much repeated process. Then came the strike of the Vesta and the first draws on the stem, followed by the familiar fragrant smoke. I knew from experience he wanted to contemplate the facts quietly, mentally putting them in order. We sat in silence as he smoked, both of us lost in our thoughts. When the pipe was done, he walked over to the fireplace and, knocking the dottle out, refilled the bowl, lighting it anew. Some time passed before I broke the silence that had once again descended on the room.

"Holmes," I asked, "how are we to proceed on this case? Have you and Lestrade spoken about who will follow what leads?"

"Yes, we are in agreement that until we can hear Emily's account we are limited in our directions. He will put men on tracking down the former nurse, a Miss Warner. Mr. McKinnon is providing additional information there. She was hired through an agency."

"I have been wondering if Dr. Lowe asked to see Mr. Rogers after he arrived. Surely as the first doctor on the scene he would want to determine for himself that Mr. Rogers was indeed deceased."

"I asked Bailey that question. He reported that Dr. Lowe never asked about the gentlemen, or to enter his room. The Constable took it to mean he was too occupied with the wounded Emily and that the doctor took it as fact that Rogers was dead."

Before I could articulate my uneasiness of this answer, Holmes added, "I agree it is suggestive, and I will ask Watson to give us his opinion as a physician."

We both turned as the hall door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered. She walked to the bedside and gravely observed the still, unconscious form on the bed. Her voice was steady though, as she asked if we required anything.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, we're fine. How is Mrs. McKinnon doing?" I inquired.

"She's better now, and helping me with meals. It's a pleasure to feed people who appreciate my food. If I might ask, do you know when the police will be done in Mr. Rogers' room? Mrs. McKinnon has asked if I would help her clean in there. I'm not sure that would be the best thing for her, though."

"No, it wouldn't, I'm afraid. Better leave that to us. You both have quite enough to do, with feeding this multitude," said Holmes.

"If it is all right, Nelly is going to move her things into the nursery and use the day bed there. We will put Dr. Watson in her bedroom for now. If the Chief Inspector is staying, that leaves a sofa or Mr. Rogers' room."

"Not to worry Mrs. Hudson, we will work out the sleeping arrangements later. There will be at least three Constables on guard for the time being. They will need some of your excellent food," Holmes said.

"Very good, sir. I'll be in the kitchen, or with Mrs. McKinnon if you need anything," she said as she opened the door and departed.

"If the circumstances weren't so dreadful, I suspect Mrs. Hudson would be in heaven with all these mouths to feed. The woman should have run a boarding house," Holmes said to the closed door.

His revelry was interrupted by a groan that escaped from Emily's pale lips. This was followed by the name, "Nathan."

I lent forward and took Emily's hand as I said, "You're safe, Emily, we are all here with you."

Holmes was out of his chair and at the door calling for the constable to find and bring Lestrade immediately.

I watched the drawn, bruised face register pain and confusion. Then her eyes flew open and she stared straight into mine.

"Emily, it's Mary, you are all right."

"Mary? Is that Mr. Holmes? ...what? ...The baby!!

"The baby is safe. Nelly took the baby, remember."

"Yes. Oh God, Greg's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid he is. Here, can you take a sip of this water. That's better. How is the pain, do you need something?"

"No... I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

"We have come to help. Mrs. Hudson is here also. We know the Chief Inspector who has been assigned this matter."

Just then Lestrade walked in with Uncle John. The two were chatting like old friends, and I suddenly remembered that they had met before, during the Donleavy case. And they were both on the dock when I had stormed off the ship, and "abandoned" Holmes. Was that only three years ago?

I was struck by the fact that this stone house was so solidly built; we hadn't heard the approach of the car delivering Uncle John. Watson shook Holmes' hand and I kissed Uncle John's cheek, then said to Emily, "May I introduce Dr. John Watson and Chief Inspector Lestrade.

There was shock and confusion in Emily's eyes at this pronouncement.

Watson laughed and patted Lestrade on the back. "This fellow is the son of the Baker Street Lestrade. Good man too, like his father. Your father's still with us, isn't he son?"

"Yes, he's retired now, of course. He'll be please to hear you're still being called out by Mr. Holmes."

"It's all right, Emily," I said with humor in my voice. "You'll get used to it. It's a bit like walking into your parlor and finding all the characters from your favorite novel having tea. Strange, but somehow comforting. To explain, let me say Dr. Lowe treated your injuries this morning, but he was called away, so our friend Dr. Watson has agreed to help. We have worked with Lestrade before, and he has been assigned your case."

Holmes retook his seat and asked quietly, "Do you think you could tell us what happened? It might save your retelling the story several times."

She nodded the affirmative and, closing her eyes, she seemed to marshal her reserves of strength. Then she opened them and, looking at Holmes, started speaking in a weak but determined voice.

"I went to bed at eleven last night, after helping Nelly settle the baby. He'd been fussy all evening. I went right to sleep, but was suddenly awakened by footsteps in the hall. I got up to see if it was Greg; I've been worried about him. He hasn't been sleeping much, and hadn't eaten all day. I heard the hallway door to the nursery open and I pulled on my robe and opened the connecting door to peek in. There was a strange man walking toward the crib. He didn't know I was there until I grabbed his arm. I didn't see the knife at first; I just knew I needed to stop him. That's when Nelly came through her door, she received my wordless plea and grabbed Robby and fled. The man struck me in the face, and I lost my grip. It stunned me for a few moments, and then the knife was in my shoulder. I went down. He bent over me, and I thought he would slit my throat, but another man came in breathless and agitated. He said 'I done him. Done him in his bed.' Then, 'Where's the brat? The first man answered, 'She stopped me the --' Here he used a particularly foul word, and he kicked me. The second man said he heard someone coming and they needed to go. I was kicked again, and I heard the window go up and then they were gone. I remember two loud blasts, maybe a shotgun, then nothing."

"Can you go on? Good. Tell us what the men were wearing and anything you remember about them," requested Holmes.

"The first was slightly taller than me, maybe five feet ten inches. A balaclava covered his face, so I couldn't make out his features, but his eyes were brown. He was dressed in a brown work shirt, and I tore the beast pocket when we struggled. I think I scratched his hand. His khaki pants were new, and his boots were lace up and brown. I didn't see much of the second man, his light brown pants and new work boots was all."

"New?" I said.

"Yes, no scuffs, and they squeaked like new, lace-ups also. Their accents weren't from here or London. I'm not familiar with all the accents, but I do know those two. The sound was harder, more clipped. The profanity was unusual. I've only heard it once before."

"Where?" was Holmes' quick question.

"From a Portuguese sailor. He came into a café where I was working, and when his waitress spilled hot coffee on his hand, he called her this word. The owner almost threw the man out. He usually didn't react so violently to colorful language, he might caution someone if they needed to curb their tongue, but this oath had him threatening the man."

"I won't ask you to repeat the word, but could you write it down?" asked Holmes in a soft, gentle voice.

"Yes, I could do that, but I'm not sure of the spelling."

Lestrade produced a pencil and fresh page in his notebook; Emily wrote a phonetic spelling of a word I immediately recognized as Italian.

Quickly I asked, "Emily, was the café owner Italian?"

"Yes, he was, Mr. Manelli, a good, kind man. He gave me my first job after my parents' death." Here her voice failed and tears appeared in her eyes.

Watson immediately went to her side and, picking up her wrist, had his pocket watch out, frowning as he took her pulse.

"That's enough for now," pronounced Watson. "I need to examine my patient, and she needs to rest. Everyone, kindly leave."

Lestrade put on an official face and said to Emily, "You're safe now, and I want you to know that every resource available at Scotland Yard will be used to apprehend the persons involved."

"Thank you, Chief Inspector." At this Emily closed her eyes and grimaced with pain.

We all filed out of the room and left Uncle John to his patient.

Once in the hall, Lestrade looked at the word on his notebook page and asked, "Is this Portuguese?"

"No Inspector, it's Italian, and a particularly offensive word to describe a female person," I answered.

His eyes went wide, and his eyebrows flew up, as he digested the idea that I would even know such a word.

"My wife is quite the linguist, Lestrade," drawled Holmes.

"If you say so, Mr. Holmes." Poor Lestrade would never be comfortable with my less than lady-like knowledge and skills.

He covered his discomfort by continuing, "As I have it we are looking for two men. Both wearing work clothes, one right-handed and approximately 5'10", heavy build with a torn pocket on his brown work shirt and scratches on one hand. One or both of the men may have been struck by buckshot, and they may be sailors, or familiar with Italian profanity. This last doesn't eliminate those Mafia fellows you were telling me about, though."

"I'm afraid not. We should also not overlook the former nurse Miss Warner, and the possibly odd behavior of Dr. Lowe," Holmes added.

"Wonderful, that narrows down the suspect list. I've already started the inquiries into the background and present location of this Miss Warner, and I'll do some quiet checking into Dr. Lowe. Let me know what Dr. Watson has to say about him."

"Will you be spending the night here?" I inquired.

"No, I'll go to the Eastbourne Station. They have the resources I'll need to go forward with this investigation. I'll be in touch tomorrow, by telephone or in person if time permits. You'll be getting Mr. Mycroft to follow up on the possible American connection to the Mafia or that police captain, I assume."

"Yes, those possibilities must be eliminated before we get too far into this investigation," mused Holmes.

"Pick up some sandwiches before you leave Inspector. Mrs. Hudson would be crushed if you went away hungry," I interjected.

"Thank you, Miss Russell, I'll do that. Until tomorrow."

Holmes and I stood in the hallway watching Lestrade's sturdy but compact body vanish down the stairs. I noticed Constable Bailey relax just a fraction once the Inspector disappeared. That young man was going to wear himself out if he continued to be so nervous in Lestrade's presence.

"You told Lestrade about Emily's past?" was my quick question to Holmes.

"Not the specifics, but he did need to know about the possible Mafia connection and the vengeful police captain. I did not share her personal information, as I promised."

"No, you wouldn't. I'm sorry. I surmise you will contact Mycroft to clear up the American questions, but after that, there isn't a great deal for us to do at this time. I'll take a book into the garden. Join me there when you have finished, perhaps a walk?"

"Yes, I think that would do nicely."

Later we walked the farmlands for hours and talked over all we knew of the case, but we came to no conclusions. Holmes had spoken to Watson about Dr. Lowe's behavior, but the good doctor could not say conclusively that anything was out of the ordinary. He was able to confirm the presence of whooping cough in the area, and state unequivocally that the care given Emily had been first rate. Without further information all we could do was be a presence in the house and continue our guard.

Days passed without any breaks in the case, and eventually the additional guards were pulled as the men were needed for other duties. Lestrade stayed in the area, only occasionally returning to London as other cases needed his attention. Emily improved and was able to come down the stairs and into the garden with help. Watson showed no signs of leaving even with her improvement, and told us he wasn't going to depart until the culprits were found. We had insisted that all the doors have their locks changed, as the only explanation of how entry was gained was a duplicate key. Mycroft's sources confirmed that there was no connection to the Mafia or the American captain, and that line of investigation was closed. With little to do and the assurance that Mr. McKinnon's shotgun and Watson's revolver could keep the household safe, we returned to our cottage.

As so often happens in cases like this, there were frustrating dead ends. The nurse, Addie Warner by name, had disappeared, and all lines of inquiry as to her whereabouts led nowhere. She was a qualified nurse, but she was sometimes thought lazy. Her last two positions were considered satisfactory, but not exceptional. When questioned, Dr. Lowe had agreed she wasn't the most qualified, but at the time she was all that was available. The death of the mother left the child in need of immediate care, so she was engaged. He said he was not surprised that she had been replaced.

One day Lestrade appeared at our cottage door looking gray with fatigue. My first thought was to bundle him into our guest bed before he dropped. He rebuffed my declaration that his driving himself into a collapse from exhausting wasn't going to solve the case, and firmly stated that he was here only to request that Holmes accompany him to Portsmouth to follow a lead on the two men.

I suspected he only wanted Holmes to drive so the Inspector wouldn't fall asleep and crash the car on the way to Portsmouth. This didn't cheer me in the least. I had promised to drive Mrs. Hudson to the Hollings Farm today, and as much as I wanted to join the men, my presence wasn't needed. Moreover, I couldn't disappoint the ever-patient Mrs. Hudson.

It was still very difficult to stand in our drive and watch the big car disappear with Holmes at the wheel and Lestrade snoring in the backseat.

"Damn," was my farewell to them. Holmes and I often separated during a case, but this felt too much like I was being left behind. "Steady, Russell," I admonished. Checking up at Hollings Farm wasn't being idle, but I ached to be in on the chase for the killers.

Instead, that afternoon I dutifully drove Mrs. Hudson to the farm in my old Morris. She rarely rode with me, and I enjoyed watching her pleasure in the drive.

Our arrival was anticipated, and a much calmer Mrs. McKinnon met us at the door. She escorted us to the garden, where Emily and Dr. Watson were enjoying the balmy afternoon sun.

"Hello, Uncle John. You look wonderful. The country air must agree with you. I don't believe I have ever seen you looking so well." I allowed him to give me a quick hug, and he kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek in greeting.

"Oh, Dr. Watson, you are looking healthy, and your leg seems stronger," said Mrs. Hudson. "Emily my dear, the color is returning to your cheeks, I'm so pleased. Our Dr. Watson is taking very good care of you I can see."

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, Mary. I'm so glad you have come. But, isn't Mr. Holmes with you?"

"Not today, Emily. He and Inspector Lestrade are following a lead in your case. He will visit another time."

"I see," came a quiet reply. "I will look forward to that."

"How is the baby?" I offered as a change of subject.

"He's a fine boy. He should be up from his nap. Shall we go up and see him?" offered Watson.

"Oh yes." Mrs. Hudson cried. "I'm dying to hold him again."

"Could you take them Dr. Watson? I 'm not feeling up to several trips on those stairs just now. It's so lovely in the garden. I'll wait for you here."

"You two do ahead. I'll just keep Emily company." Babies held little fascination for me, and I wanted a few minutes alone with Emily.

We watched as Dr. Watson threaded Mrs. Hudson's arm though his, and led her back to the house. Their heads were together in quiet conversation, interrupted by a lyrical laugh from Mrs. Hudson, which made her sound like a girl of sixteen.

Emily looked in the direction of the house long after they had disappeared from view, her face an unreadable mask. "They have had a lifetime together, haven't they, all three of them. Do you ever feel like the outsider?" she mused.

"Strangely enough, no. They have always been generous with their acceptance of me. Uncle John and Mrs. Hudson have ties to Holmes that run very deep, and from the beginning they felt my friendship with him was beneficial. Watson soon became my honorary uncle, and Mrs. Hudson has treated me like a daughter. It was from her that I learned much of what a young lady should know. "

"Then you have known them for a long time?" Emily ventured.

"Yes, quite long. I lost my family when I was fourteen. I met Holmes when I was fifteen. He changed my life in so many ways. Oh, our marriage is recent, only fifteen months now. Before that he was my teacher, mentor and friend. It wasn't until my twenty-first birthday that we declared our feelings for one another. Until then I didn't have a clue that he felt anything more than friendship. He can hide his true feelings very successfully."

I wasn't sure why I had given so much personal information to this woman, and waited to see if she continued to probe into my private life.

"Eighteen months was all the time Nathan and I had as husband and wife. I knew him almost exactly two years. My greatest regret is that I wasted six months of our time together resisting marriage. I was so determined not to wed; I almost missed the love of a great man. I just couldn't get past being owned by someone, not being in control of my own life. I saw what it had done to my mother, and I was determined not to fall into the same trap."

"What changed your mind?"

"Nathan. He showed me we could have a marriage based on an equal partnership. He offered me love and freedom. Something very rare."

"Yes, it is," I answered quietly.

Just then Mrs. Hudson and Watson exited the house, and with a wordless agreement to drop the foregoing subject, Emily and I greeted them.

The afternoon passed pleasantly. At dusk Mrs. Hudson and I took our leave of the Hollings Farm. When we returned to our cottage we shared a quiet supper and went to our beds early. Holmes and Lestrade didn't make an appearance until the next morning.

When they entered the cottage Lestrade looked more rumpled than before, if possible; but Holmes, who had an innate ability to look fresh in the oddest of circumstances, was shaved and tidy. Over breakfast they told me of the apprehension, in Portsmouth, of the two sailors. They had been tracked to an Italian freighter and were about to make their escape when the police swarmed aboard and arrested them. Under intense questioning and the presentation of the evidence against them, each tried to put the blame for the murder on the other. They both admitted Addie Warner was their contact. She had hired them and provided the duplicate key. Faced with the gravity of their crimes, they were more than happy to implicate Addie and provide a lead to her whereabouts. They told of her fleeing to London and gave the Yard information that just might lead to her apprehension. I asked Holmes why they had come back to the cottage and hadn't proceeded to London to be in on the final arrest.

"I feel we are better placed here. Addie Warner is not the driving force behind these events. There is someone else, I fear," intoned Holmes.

"Who?" I asked.

"That remains to be seen, my dear Russell."

Lestrade had just left the table to go up to our guest room for a much needed nap when the phone rang. Holmes answered, but quickly turned the receiver over to him. He listened intently for several minutes and swore several times at who ever was on the line. When he hung up the receiver he quietly asked if we had a spare revolver, and would we retrieve it and come with him.

Holmes nodded in my direction, and I took the stairs two at a time as I went to our room and gathered weapons and ammunition. I returned with three revolvers and bullets. Handing one to Lestrade, I asked, "You know how to use this, don't you, Inspector?"

"Yes," was his brusque reply. "You drive, Miss Russell. I'll fill you in as we go."

We all piled into the saloon car. Lestrade took the passenger seat and Holmes took the back.

"Where am I driving?"

"The Hollings Farm; the case has broken."

At that I put the car in gear and tore off up our drive and onto the road.

"That was the Yard on the line. They finally located that Warner person. Under interrogation she confessed that she provided the duplicate key and verified the identities of the two men we already have in custody. She didn't want to be the only one tied to a murder, so she told all she knew. There really is no honor among this type. She put the whole business onto Dr. Lowe, even providing some diaries belonging to him. She had stolen them for insurance. She and the doctor have been friendly for some time, it appears. The Yard has made repeated calls to the Hollings farm, to advise them of the involvement of Dr. Lowe, but they have gone unanswered. It appears the lines are down. The Eastbourne station has also been contacted, but they are unable to provide help. There has been a massive fire in the warehouse district, and all the available officers are being used for rescue and crowd control. We are the closest to the Hollings Farm, and may be the only help for hours. At this time the whereabouts of Dr. Lowe are unknown.

"Dr. Lowe -- but all our inquiries found nothing unusual! Quite the reverse, he has a good reputation in the county and leads a quiet life. What could possibly be his motive?" I asked.

"The diaries provided by Warner detailed his obsession with Evangeline Hollings. He knew her as a girl and hoped to ask for her hand after he became a doctor. He was away at university when she met and married Rogers. He couldn't accept losing her, so he stayed in this area and played the good country doctor and friend. He had advised her not to have children. He told her she was too delicate to withstand childbirth and for a time she believed him. Then last year she went to a specialist in London and was told there was nothing wrong with her. She confronted him with his misdiagnosis and she dismissed him as her doctor. This appears to have deranged the man, and when she became pregnant and died in delivery, Dr. Lowe blamed Rogers. It seems Rogers wasn't aware that the Warner woman had ties to Lowe when he hired her. Lowe then sent anonymous letters, delivered secretly by the Warner woman, accusing him of murdering his wife. That explains Gregory Rogers's change in behavior. The doctor had concocted a plan to take the child using Warner, but she was fired just as he made the decision to act. She had obtained a duplicate key, and for a large sum of money, found the two thugs to do the dirty work. They were instructed to kill Rogers and take the child. Lowe had decided if he couldn't have the woman he wanted to possess, he would take her child and raise him as his own. That way he would have all that was left of her, and his hated rival would be dead. There was evidence he was going to Europe to change his identity."

"Good God," I murmured.

We were pulling into the driveway of the Hollings Farm, and I stopped as I saw Dr. Lowe's car in front of the house.

"He might hear our approach if I drive further," I said.

Both doors flew open, and Lestrade and Holmes were out of the car and running silently toward the house. I followed on their heels.

Lestrade was faster than Holmes and disappeared into the house as we ran up the front steps. We both hit the staircase and pounded up, and then down the hallway. Just as we got to the nursery door there was the sound of two gunshots. Holmes and I came through the doorway as one, him high, and me rolling low. The scene that greeted us was frozen in time. Lestrade was standing just inside the door, his smoking revolver in his hand. Several meters in front of him, Dr. Lowe was on the floor, a blossom of scarlet appearing on his chest. Dr. Watson was on the floor by the crib just beginning to stir. In the far corner by the window, Emily was hovering over Nelly and the child, using her body as a shield.

Holmes went to Dr. Lowe and, taking the gun from his hand, felt for a pulse. He looked up at Lestrade and said, "He's alive." At this Lestrade staggered slightly, and Holmes rose and was quickly at his side, taking his gun and guiding him to sit on the daybed. He was pulling off the Inspector's jacket as he exclaimed, "You've been shot," with true concern in his voice.

I went to Uncle John and found he had a lump on the back of his head, but was quickly regaining his senses. Emily looked in horror at the body on the floor, the blood dripping from Lestrade's arm, and the dazed look on Watson's face, and galvanized into action. The baby was placed in the crib, and soft diapers were used to stop the flow of blood from wounds. Mr. McKinnon was called and told to take a car and fetch the police. I threw him the keys to the big car, now blocking the top of their driveway.

The next few hours were tedious, filled with the inevitable aftermath of a case. Loose ends tied up, questions answered, forms filled out, and multitudes of police were in and out of the house, causing chaos. Dr. Lowe was removed under police guard, his life having been saved by Watson's care, a life he no doubt would lose to the gallows. Although he protested, Lestrade, who had a sizeable hole in his arm, was treated and sent to the guest room bed, under the direct command of Emily, who seemed to have called up enormous reserves of will and energy. Her infirmities were forgotten as she took charge of the injured men. Dr. Watson retreated to his bed in Nelly's room, with an ice pack for his aching head, his training as a doctor and his need to administer aid having kept him on his feet long enough to treat all the wounded. Holmes and I stayed to answer the last of the questions and see the last of the police from the house.

As dusk fell, Emily walked us to the car and driver waiting to transport us home. There were tears in her eyes as she thanked us for our help. She promised to take very good care of our friends, Watson and Lestrade. Then she surprised us by kissing Holmes and me each on the cheek, turning briskly and walking back into the house, her carriage straight, giving no sign that she had ever been injured.

Holmes threaded my arm though his and said, "I suppose you can't put off your return to Oxford for another week. It's a pity we didn't get those two lazy weeks together."

"Admit it Holmes, you enjoyed all this much more," I said as we strolled down the gravel path to the waiting car. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he had an odd expression on his face.

"Perhaps my dear Russ, perhaps. But, you do realize you and I had little to do with the resolution of this case. It almost pains me to say this, but Lestrade and Scotland Yard provided all the leads and the action. I'm not sure I will recover from the idea of Lestrade shooting the suspect and taking a bullet himself. Not the Yard's usual way of doing business."

"True, but times are changing. The criminals are using weapons with shocking regularity these days. The police need to protect themselves, but I must admit I was very apprehensive about giving Lestrade the revolver. I hoped he wouldn't shoot himself or one of us, but it appears I needn't have worried."

"No, I could have told you that. I taught him to handle a gun when he was a young man contemplating a career in police work. His father came to me and asked if I would speak to the lad. I agreed, and tried to dissuade the son, but his mind was made up. So I instructed him in gun use. I told him there would be times when he would need to protect himself or others, and I wanted to be sure he could."

"Holmes, I had no idea."

"No, neither of us speaks of it. He's his own man, not the protégé of Sherlock Holmes. He's done well and made a fine career for himself. The sting of this is lessened somewhat by the fact that he headed the investigation. But you will not repeat to him one word I have said. I still have my reputation as a gadfly to the Yard to uphold."

"Certainly, Holmes. We wouldn't want the good Inspector to have a swollen head." Lord, I thought, I will never understand the ways of men.

I patted Holmes' arm and, smiling sweetly, said, "Although, he might recall the scene when you realized he had been shot. You betrayed yourself with a look of true concern and emotion in your voice."

To which observation, Holmes snorted.

After the upheaval of the summer months, Holmes and I returned to our normal rhythm of life by fall 1922. I was once again splitting my time between Oxford and Sussex. The work on my book was going very well, and I spent happy mornings buried in the Bodleian at my favorite table, and spent long afternoon in my lodgings writing. I was content, and my husband had been amused and entertained of late by several "little problems" put before him by Mycroft.

We saw little of Emily, but kept in touch by telephone and letters. She was completely recovered and the baby was flourishing. The gray stone house where they resided was once again a place of peace and harmony. Watson and Lestrade visited our cottage with more frequency than had been their wont prior to the introduction of Emily Rogers-Pierce, but nothing was said by either of them.

One day in late September there was a knock on my lodging door, and I opened to find my landlady with a visiting card in her hand.

"A lady to see you, Ma'am. She said you weren't expecting her, but wished to speak with you, if you could spare her a few minutes. I told her you were very busy, but she insisted I bring you her card. What shall I tell her?"

"Nothing Mrs. Robertson, I'll come down and see her." The card in my hand read Emily Rogers-Pierce, Hollings Farm, Sussex. I couldn't imagine why Emily would be in Oxford, and why she had tracked me down. My curiosity piqued, I followed Mrs. Robertson down the stairs and entered the front parlor. There stood Emily, examining a portrait of one of my landlady's ancestors, with rather more intensity than was required.

"Hello, Emily," I called to break her concentration on the awful painting.

"Mary, thank you for seeing me. I'm sorry to just drop in on you, but I need to ask your advice about something. I really don't know who else to talk to; I know this is an imposition."

"That's quite all right. Of what do you wish to speak? Is there some problem at the farm, or with the child?" Heaven help me if it was the latter.

"No, it's a personal matter. I've mentioned it to Mrs. Hudson, and she felt, as you are friends with both the gentleman, I should address my concerns to you. I'm sorry, I just can't talk to Mr. Holmes about this. I know he is close to both of them, but I would feel better with another woman's opinion."

"Wait, are you talking about Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade?" I asked with trepidation. Personal matters were not something with which I wished to become involved. Particularly with two men I considered friends and, in the case of Dr. Watson, family.

"Mary, I know this is awkward, but both John Watson, and John Lestrade have been paying me quite a bit of attention since the terrible events of last June and July. I want to assure you that I have made it perfectly clear to both of them that I am not interested in a husband. I went so far as to tell them, separately of course, that if their intentions were honorable, they were wasting their time."

I stifled a laugh, at this last statement, and inquired, "What did they say to that?"

"Watson made that throat clearing noise that older gentlemen do, and said his intentions were always honorable, but he wasn't looking for another wife. His exact words were, 'I've outlived two wonderful woman, and I have no intention of ever entering into matrimony again.' He went on to say he enjoyed my company and the good country air, and if he was in the area visiting his long time friend Holmes, would it be acceptable to spend some time at Hollings Farm."

"And you said..." I prompted.

"I said I would love to have him visit. I enjoy his company, and he's wonderful with Robby. He really should have had children of his own. He would have been a good father, and grandfather. He calls and comes down every few weeks for a day, or a weekend. It is all very proper; the McKinnons are always home when he comes."

"Uncle John would never do anything improper," I chuckled. "And Lestrade?"

"When I told him I didn't want a husband, he seemed relieved. His career keeps him very busy, and relationships take more time and effort than he has just now. I think he just enjoys talking to me. I was a policeman's wife, and can understand some of the stress he's under. He visits less frequently, sometimes he arrives so tired he collapses into the guest bedroom and we don't see him for twelve hours or so."

"Are you all right with this?"

"Yes, only I'm not sure I'm being fair to either of them. Shouldn't I discourage their attachment to me?"

"Why, it seems you have clearly stated your feelings, and they have accepted your boundaries. If they wish to enjoy your company, so be it."

"I suppose you're right, I just don't want to hurt either of them. They are both good and kind and have done so must for me, as have you and Mr. Holmes. This country has blessed me with friends and acquaintances that would make anyone proud."

"May I ask why you are so sure you will never again marry?"

A quizzical look came across her face, and she carefully said, "I'll answer by asking you, if Mr. Holmes were to die, would you want to marry again?"

"No," I said slowly, "but ours is a unique partnership."

"Yes, I know. I didn't at first. I thought yours was a marriage of convenience. An older gentleman marries for a companion, and a young scholar marries to gain the respect that comes with a husband, and to be taken more seriously in her work."

"You are not the first to think that."

"I realized pretty quickly how wrong I was."

"How?"

"I told you of my marriage. Once you have experience that type of partnership, it's easy to recognize in others, if you look. I had thought we were unique, but then I saw it in the marriage of Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell. I, like you, will never settle for less than I have already had. I will be content living in this country and raising my brother's child."

"And enjoying the company of two good men." I added.

"Can it be that simple, Mary?"

"Simple, no, but it can be a life filled with purpose and rewards. You just need to stop worrying, and trying to protect everyone. Watson and Lestrade are grown men who know their own minds. Personally, I think you will be good for both of them. I'm sure Holmes would say the same. But I will ask him if you wish."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary. I'll take the advice I asked for, and do as you say, relax and enjoy. Thank you, Mary." She paused, some internal debate played across her features, then was gone. Slowly she continued, "By the way, how did you become so wise at such a young age?"

"I had Sherlock Holmes as a teacher. One gathers wisdom and ages at an alarming rate under his tutelage," I said with more than a little mischief in my voice.

"I suppose so... he is a bit intense."

"You have no idea, Emily." I laughed. With a shake of my head I thought how, in my twenty- two years, I had experience more of life, the bitter and the sweet, than people twice my age, but I wouldn't change a minute of it.