It’s getting dark.
I still haven’t gotten my letter to Dr Watson!
I jump out of my chair, nearly spilling my tea.
“Something wrong?”
“I just remembered, I have somewhere I need to be!” I’m stammering, and there’s crumbs all over my face. I pat my jacket to make sure the letter’s still there. It is. That blasted letter that’s going to be the death of me. “So sorry. I have to dash.”
Miss Maria frowns. “But we were having such fun.”
“I know. It’s great, really. And maybe I can come back sometime? But right now I need to finish this job I’m on.”
“Oh. Yes. You were running somewhere.” All the smiles are gone from her face now. She’s frowning, like suddenly she’s bored with me and the shop and the whole situation. It’s more like the sort of look you’d see on a world-weary old lady.
“Exactly. So I should get back to that.”
The door to the shop slams, and all the lamps go out.
It’s happening again. It’s happening again! I knew it! I should’ve listened to myself.
“You really shouldn’t be out after dark, you know. A little boy like you.” All of the childish sound is gone out of her voice. She sounds strangely old, even though she doesn’t actually look any different. “Something could happen. You know. You’ve heard there’s a murderer on the loose, surely.”
I’m starting to get proper scared now – more than I had with any of the others. “I… may have, miss.”
Miss Maria is examining her fingernails all casual-like. “Oh, you’re a clever boy. You’ve heard. You’ve got that look about you – so proud of how clever you are.” Then she’s looking straight at me and she’s smiling, and it’s such a calm smile I’m not sure why I’m suddenly twice as terrified.
“Shall I tell you about the occult murders? Would you like to know more?”
The occult murders… all the people who’ve been killed and had the sigils carved in their skin. Like the butler mentioned earlier.
“N-No, Miss Maria. I don’t think I would.”
“Hm.” She chuckles, but she’s not smiling. “That’s wise of you. I could easily tell you everything anyone could hope to know. I could give you enough to spare your employer weeks of work. Of course, I’d have to make sure you never leave this shop alive.”
“No!”
“Just another victim. What would it matter?”
I’ve run for the door, but my hands are shaking too much to open it. Either that, or somehow it’s locked itself tight. “I thought you were being friendly! We were eating biscuits together! You were nice!”
“Mmmmm, well, I’d thought I could keep being nice.” Miss Maria walks towards me with a hand out. “Come, now. Hand over the letter, and I’ll let you go.”
“This blasted letter… It really is more trouble than it’s worth. I’m about tempted to let you have it.”
She smiles. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I said about tempted.” And I grab the letter out of my jacket and wave it in front of me. “But I’ve a job to do, don’t I? Why do you even want it so badly? How do you know it’s about you?”
Miss Maria folds her arms and gives me this sort of rotten, scoffing look. “Honestly. My maidservant heard your employer through the window clear as day as she was walking down the street earlier: ‘Sensitive information of the utmost importance’. Loud as you please. I’m shocked the entire city didn’t hear.”
Oh. “I’m starting to think it did…”
“Regardless, what else could be of utmost importance to London’s finest detective save for the recent rash of unsolved murders? So hand it over. There is still a great deal yet to do.”
I stick the letter back in my jacket and shrink away towards the door. “You do know that I know you’re connected now, right? I don’t need any letter. I could tell Scotland Yard myself!”
“Oh, darling, who would believe you?” She laughs, and the worst part is it’s not even a malicious laugh. She really is just laughing at me, like I’ve said the stupidest thing in the world. She reaches out her hand to make a grab for my collar–
And then she pulls her hand away and shrieks.
I look up and see her gripping her wrist and making the most horrid face. And I would be, too – she’s got a bone-handled dagger sticking out of her hand. I cover my mouth and look away.
What? I can’t stand the sight of blood. Yes I know I’m in the wrong line of work for that… I’d like to see you deal with it, though.
I hear a voice from the back of the shop yelling at me to run – is it the shopkeeper? I can’t tell, and I’m in no mood to find out, so I start kicking at the door ’til it gives way, and I’m off.
No more stopping. No more waiting. No more nothing. If anyone even tries to stop me, I’ll bite ’em. I swear I will.
And no one does. I make it to Dr Watson’s practice, all out of breath and terrified and likely pale as death. That’s what I’m figuring, at least, given how he’s looking at me. He’s packing up his kit for the day, and he stares at me like he’s just gotten a surprise patient.
“Billy?”
I gasp. I grab the letter. And finally, finally, I hold it out to him. “Message for you, sir.” Then my head feels a bit wobbly.
Next thing I know I’m lying on the floor and Dr Watson is patting my face and asking if I’m all right. Course I’m all right, I tell him, but my voice sounds all raspy.
“You fainted, I’m afraid.”
That’s rubbish, I tell him. Only girls faint. But he’s doing all his doctor fussing around me, making sure I can breathe, so I figure it’s best to just play along.
Once I’m settled, he opens up the letter and has a read. “Very important,” I tell him. “Mr Holmes told me it was of the utmost importance and not to let anyone see it.”
“Did he…”
“He did, Dr Watson. And you wouldn’t believe how many people stopped me along the way to try to get it from me!” I feel my head going a bit funny again, but I go on even so. “Didn’t let a single one of ’em stop me, though. No, sir… Er, not for long, anyway.”
Dr Watson frowns and folds up the letter. “Who exactly were these people?”
“Erm.” I think back. “Well, there was the butler to Mrs Henrietta Oxford…”
“Ah, her again. Trying to compete with Holmes again, no doubt.”
“And then there was an Angelina Pritchard.”
I notice Dr Watson’s started writing the names down on the back of the note. “Hm. What’s she about?”
“Something to do with stitching up some lord or other. Winthrop? Wainwright? Something with a W.”
“Really…”
“And there was a lady called herself Miss Maria at a teashop who says she knows about the occult murders.”
“Miss… Maria… teashop. Anyone else?”
“Erm. Hart?… Charles Hart. Big bloke, looks like he’s about to explode.”
Dr Watson laughs. “God, him. He tried to shoplift a single cigar and he’s been turning himself in at Scotland Yard at least once a week for it.” He doesn’t write anything down this time.
“So, erm… seeing as how I risked life and limb for that letter, Dr Watson, sir… d’you mind awfully if I know what the important information was?”
“Mm.” He folds up the letter and sticks it in his pocket. “Holmes is going to be late to the opera tonight.”
“… oh.”
Dr Watson clears his throat.
“So… it wasn’t about any of them.”
“No, indeed. But apparently vanity runs stronger than logic in the criminal set. I shall let Holmes know that if he ever sends you on this sort of fact-finding mission again, he’s to double your salary. Can you stand up now?”