Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Prologue

14th September 1893

I carefully leap from wall to wall, peeking through windows trying to catch a glimpse of their documents. The 5 brutish men sit around the table, schemes and blueprints sprawled across it, illuminated by oil lamps and candles. The manors garden is ideal for sneaking around, as they have a series of brick walls covered in hedge groves and framing flower beds. The manor itself is grand, situated on the outskirts of London, and the large grounds are cushioned by a small but dense forest.

I'm trying to make words out of the low pitched muttering when I hear a door open and the crunching sounds of someone walking down the pebble path towards me. In haste, I look around searching for a place to hide, and seeing that there is only one way to go. Up.

I begin to scale the walls of the manor, grabbing onto old, tough roots of ivy and small footholds that time has chipped into the bricks. I finally make it to the balcony and haul myself over the side when I see the withered groundskeeper shuffling past, guided by an oil lamp and a collie that somehow looks older than he does. Catching my breath, I scan the bedroom that connects to the balcony. A guest room fitted with a four poster bed, wardrobe and it's own bathroom. I begin to riffle through various pockets and secret compartments I have specially made in each of my dresses. In one pocket I find a piece of paper, in curiosity I pull it out. I hold it up to the moonlight and smile when I realise the contents. The most recent letter from Lord Tewksbury, I must've left it in my pockets and forgotten. Tewksbury was the first missing person I ever found, and a most curious case at that. I slip the letter out of the envelope and smile at the pressed flowers. I hug it close to my chest.

I carefully tuck the letter and flower into my corset and shove the envelope into my pocket. I eventually find my lock picking set hidden in my hip enhancer, and carefully begin to jimmy the lock. The door slides open and I slip inside, carefully shutting it behind me. I spot the key and I think about locking it, in case someone were to discover it was open and grow suspicious, but I decide not; it may be useful as an exit. Instead I tuck the key into a pocket.

Quietly I begin to descend the stairs. At this hour, most of the servants have retired. I'm sure that Lord Nigh would have ensured this, lest someone eavesdrop and inform the police of his plans.

Slowly, careful of creaking floor boards, I peer into the dining room through a small gap in the door. On the table I see maps and diagrams that make my stomach twist. The Battersea club? That can't be right... I slide away from the door. The very thought of their plans- I need to calm my breathing. Panicking won't help anyone, Enola. If I am trying to protect my future, I need more information. 

I know What. I know Where. The How is rather obvious given the Where. What I need to figure out is the why, and When. And more detail regarding Who wouldn't go amiss.

I start to develop a rather risky plan. I will wait until they begin to conclude their meeting, then, after spying to see where they store their plans, I will slip into a hiding spot. I will then reemerge, steal their plans and slip out. The difficult part of course will be the timings, for I won't have long at all to spy and then hide. I start to scan the hallway, looking for hiding spots, when my plan is very quickly thrown out the window. Across from me, emerging from the water-closet, is a tall muscular man. We both stare in silence for a split second, before I smile, dart towards the main door, and he begins to yell 'INTRUDER.'

I hear the men start towards the hall and the man who spotted me pulls a sword off of the wall. I try to open the latches, but upon realising there are too many to unlock in the short time I have before a possible death, I bolt towards the stairs. Grabbing onto the banister, I swing myself round, using the momentum to carry me up the first few steps. Through the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I only feel a slight jolt of pain, as the large man's sword slices my upper left arm.

Gripping the wound to stop the bleeding I charge into the guest bedroom and run out the balcony door. I go into my pocket and frantically try to grab the key as I shut and then lock the door. Leaving 5 very angry looking men staring at me and desperately pulling on the handle.

I swing round (accidentally dropping the key) and descend the wall, before running across the garden, brambles snagging on my dress and mud splattering across my shins. I hop onto my bike and begin to pedal for dear life through the complete darkness of the night, my eyes adjusting to the black a second before I almost pedal into a large tree trunk.

Finally, I find my way onto a road and I begin to descend into London, I start to slow down. I stop and rest in a quiet spot, leaning my bike against the road under a streetlamp and catching my breathe. My left sleeve is now quite covered in blood. Alarmed, I began to clean and bandage the wound with the supplies in my bust enhancer. While it is a bad cut, considering the weapon and the strength of the man wielding it, it could've been much worse. I think the force I used to swing round on the banister rather saved me from having the arm amputated.

I was lucky. But I can't stop now. I still have work to do