The Fate of Miss Sutherland (A Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction story)

Chapter Nine

It was a lovely September day when I stepped out of the barrister's office, and I was surprised to find Evangeline there. "Finally," she said, catching my arm. "I've been trying to think of a way to see you."

"Why? What's wrong?" I asked, concerned. "Are you well?"

"Wait until we get to the tea shop," she said. And then she began to tell me about a party she had attended the evening before with Alfred. She kept talking for the ten minutes it took us to walk to the tea shop we usually met at.

Then, when we were seated, she waited until fresh tea and pastries had been brought. "I thought you ought to see this before you go back to that wretched place you've called home," she said, bringing out a magazine.

Curious, I took it from her. The Strand was a popular one, I knew, though I had never read it myself. A page was turned down and I opened to it. It was a story entitled, A Case of Identity and was written by a Dr. John Watson, a name it took me several moments to recognize. "My goodness!"

"Take your time," Evangeline said, her eyes worried. "It is not an easy read."

I took a sip of my tea and settled my spectacles on my nose to read. It didn't take me long to recognize myself in the story. As I read Dr. Watson's telling of my visit to Baker Street, my own memories came flooding back. I'd forgotten he had been in the room, so eager had I been to put it before Mr. Holmes.

It was a faithful telling, though my naive words made humiliation wash over me. I would be faithful ten years, at least? Why had I made such a statement? And now any person who picked up the magazine would know about my foolishness.

And then Dr. Watson's description of me having a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way made me cringe. Would he say the same of me now that I had allowed myself to be guided by my friend's impeccable taste? I shook my head to get rid of the selfish thought.

"Did you see it?" Evangeline asked, her tone anxious.

"I'm still reading." How did the story end to make my friend so upset? Had Mr. Holmes solved the case and never been able to contact me?

To read Mr. Holmes' method of guessing my occupation and hurry that morning was enlightening. I had wondered how he had been so accurate when he had never met me before, but it was obvious now that I knew. Oh, to be so observant myself! How much heartache could I

I read of Mr. Holmes' interaction with my stepfather, feeling dread coiling in my stomach. "But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."

"No," I breathed. "No, it can't be."

James Windibank, with the help of my own mother —as Mr. Holmes goes on to explain—had disguised himself as Hosmer Angel, courted me to the point of engagement, and then disappeared in a manner to make a lasting impression on me. The fiend! How could he?

And I had been in ignorance of it all! Even worse, I had been so easily taken in!

"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.' There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world."

Shaking, I lowered the magazine. "I cannot believe it," I said faintly. I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze. What must she think of such a shameful tale? "How could he? How could my mother do such a thing?"