MM04 The Sleuth

Opening first one eye and then the next, she was rewarded with the sight of an older gentleman bent over her and staring intently into her face as he rubbed and patted her hand. When her eyes were fully opened, she took in her surroundings. She did not know where she was but she did know what had happened to her, again.

“Who…Who are you?” Monica mumbled thickly, in a voice that did not seem as if it had been used recently.

“That’s what I was asking you, young lady,” the man replied. “My name is Watson. Dr. John Watson. And what is yours?”

“Monica. I’m Monica.”

“Are you all right, Monica?” the man asked. “I found you slumped against this wall, unconscious. You were moaning something that sounded like ‘Not again’ over and over.

With the man’s assistance, Monica stood up unsteadily and looked about. She was aware that her entire body was stiff and ached as if it had been in an awkward position for far too long. A moment of panic seized her and her left hand flew up to touch her chest to reassure herself that her favorite locket was still nestled warmly and safely where it should have been.

“Well, all things considered, I think that I prefer the park,” she said. She lifted her free hand and looked at the coat sleeve, recognizing the outfit that she last remembered wearing in the coach in London before she lost consciousness. She then followed her prior response with the revelation, “At least I’m dressed.”

“You do seem well now,” Dr. Watson said, not directly addressing either of her cryptic comments.

“At the risk of seeming less so, can I ask you what city this is, and what the date is?”

Dr. Watson did not act like this was such an unusual question. He answered calmly as if those were the questions that everyone was asking, “We are in London and it is half past nine on the morning of July 14th.”

“And the year?” Monica prodded.

“1887, of course,” Dr. Watson replied, a note of surprise creeping into his voice. He watched to see how the girl would receive this information, but could not tell if it came as a surprise to her. If only his companion was here. He was so much better at such things.

Deciding that he could not leave the disoriented young woman to the potential clutches of street urchins and worse, Dr. Watson helped her to stand, and said, “Would you like to come along and rest until get your wits about you? The flat that I share with my companion is just a few blocks away.”

The man seemed kindly and well meaning, but Monica was not so naïve as to trust just any stranger. Noticing her hesitation, Watson continued, “Our housekeeper can make you a cup of tea. My friend might be able to help you with the mystery of what caused you to be in this alley. He is very good with such things.”

Being somewhat reassured, Monica allowed herself to be led by the gentleman’s hand under her forearm. They chatted about nothing important as they walked along the cobblestone streets which were closely lined with two and three storied brick buildings. Not many other people were out walking this time of the morning.

* * *

“Here we are,” Dr Watson said as he led Monica up the steps to the flat where he lived with his friend on the second floor.

As they entered the foyer and began to ascend the stairs, a portly woman with mostly gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, stepped out of the staircase leading down into the cellar.

“Dr. Watson,” she said. “ I see that you have a visitor.” Her severe tone of voice indicated that she did not approve of young ladies appearing at her gentlemen’s lodging so early in the morning.

Affable as ever, Watson stopped and leaned over the banister, saying, “Mrs. Hudson. There you are. This is Monica. She has had a difficult morning. I was hoping that I could impose on you to bring up some tea.”

Not being at all reassured, but being used to the irregular activities of these particular two lodgers, she responded with a quiet humph and turned to go back downstairs. Dr. Watson and Monica continued upward.

As the Doctor showed Monica into what was obviously a male dominated apartment, she quickly scanned the room, categorizing in her mind the profusion of books and newspaper clippings, as well as miscellaneous odds and ends on every surface. The smell of tobacco, not unpleasantly permeated the room. Watson indicated a comfortable chair for Monica as he stepped over to a window and pulled aside the drapes to allow the meager light of the overcast day outside to filter in.

It was only moments after Monica settled into the indicated overstuffed chair before Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door, which had been left open. Entering, she deftly set a tray containing a tea service on the table buried under the least amount of paper, after which she eased out of the room, once more leaving the door wide open.

Just after Dr. Watson finished pouring the tea, steps upon the stairs indicated that someone else was about to arrive. A tall lanky man walked in through the open door. Watson added tea to the third cup, which Mrs. Hudson had knowingly provided.

“Now I see why the door was ajar,” the newcomer said. “What have we here?”

“This is Monica,” Dr. Watson replied. “I think that you will find that her story interests you. ”

“Tell me more,” the man said. “For example, why is she wearing those garments which seem antiquated but which are clearly new?”

Both Monica and Dr. Watson seemed surprised by these questions, sharing a quizzical glance with each other.

Finally Dr. Watson added, “You see, Monica. I told you that he was good with puzzles and such. Monica, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.”

Holmes noticed the lack of recognition displayed by Monica upon hearing his name, but said nothing. Since Watson had been publishing his little stories, he was becoming used to the notoriety that they had produced. Either this Monica was a consummate actress, or she was not aware of current events in London.

Holmes just looked at Monica expectantly, saying nothing. She lowered her eyes and found her hands to be very interesting all of a sudden. Dr. Watson gave in first.

“So, Monica. Why don’t you tell us how you came to be unconscious in Merchant ‘s Alley where I discovered you?” Watson asked. “Do you remember how you got there?”

Holmes did not miss the quick glance that Monica threw at Watson, before once more looking at her hands.

When Monica said nothing, Holmes finally said, “I cannot help you if you are not honest with me.”

This seemed to strike a chord with Monica. She glanced up, right into Holmes’ eyes. The desperation in Monica’s look was obvious.

“I have a story to tell,” she began. “I don’t fully understand it myself, and you will likely find it hard to believe.”

“You tell your tale and let me decide,” Holmes said.

Monica took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“To begin with, I'll answer one of your questions, even though it is not the beginning of my journey,” she began. “My dress is indeed probably an antique now. I bought it yesterday in London, but in the year 1750.”

She paused for a moment to let the year sink in. Dr. Watson seemed inclined to protest this statement, but he kept quiet at a gesture from Holmes. “Go on.”

“To be fully honest, I was born in the year 1770 in County Fife, Scotland, where I lived with my father until 1789, when all this started to happen.”

“I see. Please continue.”

“I feel asleep one night and woke up in a park in Edinburgh. The year was 1809. I was taken in by Inspector McDermitt. He and his friend, James McLevy, tried to help me sort things out, but to no avail. I fear that I was not as completely honest with them as I am being with you. I think that I feared that they would not believe such a wild tale.”

“And you feel that you can trust us?”

“Keeping secrets has not been fruitful. I have nothing to lose."

“You say that James McLevy of Edinburgh was unable to help. He was one of the first great detectives.”

“As I said, I was not forthcoming with all of the facts. Somehow, I had skipped twenty odd years, but without seeming to affect how I appeared. He did find some information about someone, but he did not think that it was me because of the age difference. In any event, I was only in Edinburgh for a few weeks before I fell asleep again and woke up this time in London and the year was now 1750. I never saw those papers that James gave me again.”

“Most intriguing,” Dr. Watson could not stop himself from saying.

“Yes. Go on,” Holmes added.

“In London, I was helped by Magistrate John Fielding and one of his Bow Street Runners. Unfortunately, I did not tell them everything. After all, somehow the year was now before I was born and yet still I appeared unchanged. They could find nothing to explain my circumstances and a few weeks later I once more fell asleep, wearing these clothes, and awoke in the alley where the Doctor found me this morning.”

At this point, Monica went silent. No one else spoke up for a few moments. Dr. Watson looked from Monica to Holmes, who sat fingering a large curved unlit pipe.

“You think me crazy or untruthful, don’t you?” Monica asked.

“On the contrary,” Sherlock Holmes replied. “I believe that you have told us exactly what you think happened to you.”

This comment caused a tremendous weight to leave Monica. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much better that makes me feel. I can hardly credit what has been happening myself.”

Holmes stood up, saying, “I have to go out and check on some things. Watson, will you ask Mrs, Hudson if she has a place where Monica can stay?”

Shifting his gaze to Monica, he added, “I assume that you have no place in town.”

“No I don’t. That’s very kind of you to concern yourself.”

Mrs. Hudson did have an open flat that Monica could use for a week or so.

* * *

Holmes returned to 221B Baker Street well after sunset. Entering, he stood shaking the water from the drizzle outside off his coat before hanging it on its peg.

Monica was downstairs in her loaner flat, presumably resting. Watson patiently waited for his friend to be ready to speak.

Holmes busied himself in front of the mantle packing tobacco into his favorite pipe for a moment before settling into his customary chair next to Watson. Once the pipe was sufficiently lit to be able to continue to burn, Dr Watson finally broke the silence.

“So you discovered what you expected?”

“Yes,” Holmes replied. “I was able to verify the greater portion of the girl’s tale.”

“So you believe all that talk of traveling through time?”

“I admit that I have not fully decided on that aspect, but once you remove the other possibilities, what you are left with must be the truth, however improbable.”

Holmes continued, “I was able to quickly ascertain that there had been a Monica MacDonald, a girl of nineteen years, who had gone missing and was never found in 1770. Apparently her father left his entire estate to a trust in her name and that account has grown considerably over the many years.”

“I considered the possibility that her entire story was a ruse to establish her claim to the trust, but it seems that they have what they consider a foolproof identification method, the details of which were not made plain.”

“It turns out that the remainder of her story also matches the records in the Times of London archives. There was both a Monica connected with the Edinburgh police detective Daniel McDermott and with Sir John Fielding, the famous Magistrate of the Bow Street Court and founder of the Bow Street Runners, before a formal police force was established.”

“And your opinion on the matter?” Watson prompted.

“I am inclined to believe that she may be telling the truth,” Holmes admitted. “The matter will be settled one way or the other tomorrow. We all leave for Edinburgh on the 8:00 AM train in the morning. I have contacted the firm managing the trust and we will meet in their offices after lunch.”

“I guess that the only thing left to see to is to apprise Monica of the plan,” Watson said.

“I have instructed Mrs Hudson to ask her to come up so that we can do just that,” Holmes agreed with his typical smugness.

Almost as if on cue, Mrs Hudson pushed through the door with a tray of tea, Monica in tow. Once the tea was placed on a table, Mrs Hudson departed.

Holmes got right to the point, saying, “I managed to find the same report that McLevy had uncovered. If you are indeed this Monica, or related to her, there is a law firm in Edinburgh who claims to be able to validate this fact. We have tickets for the morning train.”

He watched to gauge Monica’s reaction to this news.

“That’s fantastic news, Mr Holmes!” she exclaimed. She stood up and stepped forward as if to hug him, but the look on his face forestalled that action. “I did not think that you would believe me.”

“I may or may not, but the facts of your story do seem valid. Get some more rest. We leave at 7 in the morning to catch the train. It will be a long ride, more than a day, so you will have your own private sleeper berth.”

* * *

The morning after they began their journey, they arrived at the Edinburgh law offices founded by John MacKenzie over a hundred years before, in time for their interview with the current MacKenzie. They were shown to a waiting room where they availed themselves of the contents of a tray containing tea and shortbread crumpets.

A young man came into the room after twenty minutes and said,” Mr. MacKenzie is ready to see you now.” He led the way through a long hallway decorated with paintings that could only be prior solicitors of the firm based on their apparent age, and at the end he opened double oak doors, showing the group into a very spacious office.

The room had opened windows which let in the air from outside but which failed to dispel the gloom. A number of table lamps were called into service to assist. The numerous rugs and heavy drapes helped maintain a feeling of warmth.

An older portly gentleman with bushy sideburns stood up from the huge desk which dominated the room and indicated that they should be seated at the chairs arranged across the desk from him. When Monica had taken one of the chairs, the others did also.

“I am Duncan MacKenzie,” the man behind the desk introduced himself. “How can I be of help to the famous detective, Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am here on behalf of Lady Monica,” Holmes began, indicating Monica with his left hand. “She believes that she is descended from Monica MacDonald of Fife, for which you are managing a trust.”

“We have been informed that you have a validating procedure that is believed to be infallible,” he continued.

“Yes, yes,” MacKenzie said. “As you had made us aware of this when you requested this interview, we did prepare.”

“As you presumably also are aware, that trust has been dormant for some years and we really never expected anyone to come forward. The original principle was declared missing almost a hundred years hence and no word has ever been available.”

“True, but Lady Monica, who was unaware of the trust before yesterday, was told by a reliable source that she is, in fact, directly related to your principle,” Holmes responded.

Mackenzie picked up a small bell from his desk and shook it. In answer to the bright sound it made, a young lady entered the office in the company of the clerk who had originally shown them into the office.

“This is Miss Hendricks,” MacKenzie announced. “Lady Monica, if you would accompany her, she will explain.”

Monica looked at both Holmes and Dr. Watson for confirmation, then left the room with Miss Hendricks, who then led her only two doors down the hallway before entering another room.

The room the two women entered was much darker than the main office. The single window was covered by a heavy drape which allowed no light in or out. Two lamps provided meager but adequate light.

“Are you aware of our validation protocol?” Miss Hendricks asked.

“I have no idea,” Monica admitted. “I fear that this entire affair is very new to me.”

“As I was told to expect. Before we begin, I must ask you to read and sign the affidavit on this table,” Miss Hendricks continued, pointing to the paper and quill resting on the nearby table.

Monica did as requested, and after reading the short text, which certified that she was of sound mind and making a valid request of the firm, and agreed to not disclose anything that happened herein upon pain of legal suit with damages being assessed, she signed the paper at the indicated location.

“This will undoubtedly seem intrusive, then, but I am going to have to ask you to open your bodice so that I can examine the space underneath your breasts.” Miss Hendricks said after Monica had replaced the quill in its cup.

This comment caused the confusion that Miss Hendricks had been told to watch out for.

Monica blinked rapidly and then said, “You want me to do what!?”

“I know that it is most irregular, but I have been told that you have a birthmark, and I am required to examine it.”

“However, could you know about that?” Monica asked, incredulity in her voice.

“It was specified in the trust.” Miss Hendricks replied and then waited.

Monica thought for a moment and the quietly started undoing the buttons along the front of her bodice that she had been loaned by Mrs. Hudson, thinking to herself that it was fortunate that modern dress had the buttons in front rather than the back.

When the bodice was opened, she hesitated for only a moment and the continued with the chemise underneath. Covering her breasts with her arm across them, her locket gleaming from between them in the dim light of the lamps, she allowed Miss Hendricks to perform her search. The woman leaned in close to look and was able to complete whatever she needed in short order.

Standing back up, she told Monica, “That was all we needed. You can restore your garments now. Please keep in mind that you have signed an oath to never disclose what has happened in this room.”

As Monica refastened her buttons, Miss Hendricks filled the interval with small talk.

“That is an interesting locket you wear,” she said. “It appears well made and catches the light easily.”

“I have had it for as long as I remember,” Monica replied. “I’m not sure how it came to my family.”

When Monica was ready, they returned to the men waiting in the office. Miss Hendricks leaned in and whispered in Duncan MacKenzie’s ear. He did not give any indication regarding what he had been told. He just nodded and Miss Hendricks departed.

“Lady MacDonald, I am indeed very pleased to make your acquaintance after all these years. My grandfather, John MacKenzie told us to prepare for this day, but I must admit that I had my doubts.”

Holmes did not seem surprised, after a moment, it sank into Monica that he had said 'MacDonald'.

“Does this mean that you believe me?” Monica asked.

“The evidence is conclusive,” MacKenzie replied. “You are now a very wealthy woman. The trust which Dòmhnall MacDonald established many years ago has done quite well in your absence. We hope that you will consider allowing our firm to serve and advise you in these matters in the future.”

After some further discussion of details, Monica was provided a sum of cash to cover incidentals until further arrangements could be made, and the group departed.

On the train ride back to London, they talked. Monica was still somewhat in shock about how the revelations at the lawyer would affect her life.

“You will be able to establish a comfortable living now,” Holmes was saying.

“I know,” Monica said, “But it is all so much to take in.”

“There are still aspects of the case that elude me,” Sherlock Holmes admitted. “It seems clear that your report of what has happened to you is truthful, but how it could be possible is another matter.”

“Such as being in so many locations at such disparate times,” Dr. Watson interrupted.

“Exactly so,” agreed Holmes. “I cannot address the methodology, but I can deduce that it appears related to your affections for those you met during your travels.”

“What do you mean?” asked Monica.

“According to your account, each time after you arrived on the scene, you began to have feelings for a man in your life, that was followed quickly by your being ’moved’ to another place.”

“I never made that connection before. It does seem to have happened that way.”

“But what about your life at you father’s house?” Holmes asked. “You did not mention anyone special to you there.”

“There was no one,” Monica said. “My father was very indulgent and did not try to force a marriage upon me. There was a stable boy who appeared infatuated with me, but I had no feelings for him.”

“Most intriguing. It does not match the specific pattern but may still be related.”

With the cash that she had been provided, Monica was able to pay Mrs. Hudson to rent the flat that she had stayed the night in for a time to allow her to decide on her next steps.

* * *

After a few months, Monica decided that it was time to terminate her residence at 221B Baker Street. She was making great strides at ordering her new life and felt that she might be becoming a burden to her new friends.

She had retained an agent in County Fife in Scotland, and it had turned out that a portion of her father’s old estate, the area was available for purchase adjoining the hill on which the rune stones were located. The hill itself had been turned over to the government and was now a local park.

She purchased the plot of land and arranged to have a small cottage built there. While that work was progressing, the agent had arranged a flat in the nearby county seat of Cupar. She quickly struck up a friendship with the owner, Mrs. Haversham, and learned all the local gossip as well as where best to fulfill her shopping needs.

Some months later she was loath to depart her Cupar lodgings when her new cottage was ready for occupancy. She promised to check back in often to keep abreast of local happenings.

Monica made a habit of visiting her old haunts amongst the rune stones which were now within walking distance of her new property. She would sit for hours reminiscing about her youth and how her life had turned out.

Monica was sitting among the stones one day and her locket seemed to be warm. As she reached up and pulled it from within the confines of her blouse, she thought that she could detect a slight glow in the amber stone.

When she looked about to determine if it was a trick of the sun, she noticed an old woman watching her from the trees down the hill. When the woman discovered that she had been seen, she slunk back into the cover of the foliage, leaving Monica unsure if she had ever seen anyone there.

When she questioned the man who tended the maintenance of her property, he said that there were old wives tales of a crone living in the woods nearby, but most people discounted the stories.

Heeding the connection that Sherlock Holmes had made regarding her becoming enamored with an acquaintance, Monica never allowed herself to become involved with any of the eligible bachelors that sought her out. Being a single woman of means had its drawbacks.

As the days drifted by and became months and then years, her life was filled with excursions to Cupar and even the continent on occasion. Monica took up painting, spending many days capturing the aspects of the light on the rune stones, as well as the valley beyond.

Her needs were few and Mr. Mackenzie did an excellent job of managing her accounts. When she grew old on her estate and she knew that her time would be coming, she ensured that the trust would continue, just as it always had, in case any other relatives should appear.

One warm spring day, as Monica was among what she had begun to think of as her stones, painting another landscape, she felt the urge to include a smudge in the shadow of a tree, which in her mind represented the old crone that she had noticed watching her over the years. After that had been done, she also added another incomplete set of brush strokes which represented a man from her past. She mostly had not missed companionship, but only mostly.

As she observed her additions, she felt a pain in her chest. She could not catch her breath and became lightheaded, falling to the ground, her brushes and paints sprawled around her. Her last thought before she lost consciousness, 'I am happy to die up here where I have enjoyed so much of my life. I just hope that they find me before the creatures have their way with my remains.'