Entry 7

"Let us move, Watson, we have a bit of a journey ahead of us."

Shirleigh had slipped into a pair of walking shoes and donned a long trench coat. She pulled on a pair of leather gloves and flung a satchel over her shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Oh," I shook my head, realising that I had been smiling for some time. "I am merely looking forward to our trip. I haven't had the chance to travel outside of Stratford. As beautiful as it is, a change of scenery is always good for the spirit."

My flatmate hummed and opened the front door. She allowed me to exit first and followed, locking the door behind us.

"Perfect timing," Mr. Hudson's voice rang out. "The next train leaves for Salisbury in twenty minutes. Here are your passes."

Shirleigh rushed down the stairs and retrieved the train passes from the front desk.

"Thank you," she said and handed me a pass.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Shirleigh sat in the seat across from me after we boarded the train. She propped her head up in the window with her hand and gazed out of the glass, watching the scenery of Stratford transform as we made our way to Salisbury.

"What are you working on?"

"My mind basement," I replied, not looking up from my laptop. "It is said that one retains information better if it is written down. So I have taken it upon myself to record our adventures together."

"Hm."

There was an intermittent silence.

"Did you ever follow up with the chief editor of the local paper?"

I shook my head.

"You aren't confident in your writing."

Lifting my gaze, I found Shirleigh's attention fixed on my laptop.

"How could you- you know what? Don't answer that."

"I say that you give it a shot," Shirleigh told me. "You never really know if you do not try."

I stared at her and she locked eyes with me for a moment before turning to look out the window again.

»»————-　♔　————-««

We stepped off the platform and a gust of wind came through. It was significantly colder than it was in Stratford.

There, in an open prairie, stood a large manor. It was a beautiful display of Victorian architecture. Multiple turrets reached toward the sky. The gable roof was adorned with scalloped shingles and the end treatments were gorgeously intricate. Milled panels covered the face of the building and it would have been absolutely stunning if it weren't for one thing...

"It's awfully... blue, wouldn't you say?"

The building that loomed before us was of a specific shade of blue. I had never seen a property painted such a peculiar colour before.

Shirleigh placed her hand on her chin as she gazed up at the mansion.

"At a particular time of day," she said aloud. "It would seemingly become invisible, especially to those who are not looking for it."

"You're right!" I exclaimed, squinting at the sky. "But, wouldn't that mean whoever owns this property is trying to hide something?"

Shirleigh gave me an impressed look and strode through the tall grass. I gathered my skirt in my hands and jogged after her.

"Shirleigh?"

"Hm?"

"Is it all right if I called you...my friend?"

"You already have once before, have you not?"

"I have?"

"When Lestrade arrived on-scene during my confrontation with Evelyn last month."

"Oh," I felt my face grow warm with embarrassment. "Well, is that a 'yes' then?"

"Call me whatever you like, it matters not to me."

Catching up with my friend, I tried to match my pace with hers.

"That reminds me," I said. "Don't you think it was a bit dramatic?"

"What was?"

"Your duel with Evelyn. A rapier? It was a bit much, no?"

"I think you will soon find that I have a flair for the dramatic."

Shirleigh pushed open the enormous double doors of the manor, her arms stretched out on either side of herself. Her head slowly oscillated as she scanned the foyer. Before long, an officer came down the spiral staircase and greeted us.

"Constable Taylor Gregson," she extended a hand. "You must be Miss Shirleigh Holmes. I was the one who sent you that letter."

Constable Gregson was of short stature. Her thick accent told me that she was from the country. Her golden hair was tied into a low ponytail and cascaded down her back. The eyes in her head were a beautiful mulberry colour and her eyelashes resembled wings when she blinked. Golden earrings dangled from her ear lobes and sparkled in the light of the sun being let in through the door. It was clear that she expressed herself through her bold fashion choices.

"I take it that the scene of the crime is up those stairs, yes?"

Shirleigh marched passed the constable and skipped up the stairs.

"Apologies," I said, shaking the constable's hand in Shirleigh's place before following my companion.

When I reached the landing of the stairs, Shirleigh was nose-to-nose with what I assumed was the victim's body. She took hold of each of the victim's hands and held them close to her face. Afterwards, she lifted each limb and placed them back how she originally found them. The other officers in the room glanced at one another with perplexed looks on their faces.

"Isn't it the strangest thing?" Gregson called from the staircase. "She looks completely fine, yeah?"

She was right. I made my way to Shirleigh's side and took a look at our victim. She was sitting upright in a lounge chair in what was a grand living room. If I wasn't informed of her death beforehand and was just passing by, I would have thought she was merely sleeping. She was dressed quite formally, in a suit and tie. Her hair stopped just above her shoulders and there was minimal makeup on her face.

"I reckon she may have been deceased for around a couple of hours," Gregson told us. "Rigour mortis is still present."

"I'd wager she has been like this longer," Shirleigh said. "It is rather cold in here, wouldn't you say? Given the chilly weather outside, would it not be wise to have the heat turned on, or even have that fireplace lit? However, it is nearly freezing in this room. The low temperatures have kept her muscles stiff and slowed the processes of rigour mortis. She has been here for at least a day."

Astonishment was plastered on Gregson's face. She stared at the body and turned to her coworkers who diverted their attention elsewhere.

I stood beside my flatmate, the both of us looking at the body with folded arms. Shirleigh tilted her head to one side and then to the other, all the while keeping a stone-cold expression.

"Did she just come back from work?" I wondered, focusing my attention on one of her shoes.

There was a black loafer just beside her left foot and it looked as though she may have been killed just as she was kicking her shoes off.

"She was getting ready to leave," Shirleigh stated, crouching in front of the shoeless foot. "This is not her place of residence."

"What makes you say that?" I asked, watching as she removed the sock that covered the victim's foot.

Shirleigh held up a business card between her fingers and I took it.

Emily J. Drebber was a jeweller from North America.

"Watson," Shirleigh said. "What do you make of this?"

"Yikes," I gasped, looking down at one of the victim's toes. "Looks like a subungual haematoma. It happens when the distal phalanx is injured causing bleeding underneath the nails. Because there isn't a way for the blood to escape, it can lead to pain and discomfort and that looks particularly painful."

"Is there a way to relieve said pain and discomfort?"

"Yes, it is also a fairly simple procedure," I answered. "Trephination is the process in which a hole is drilled into the nail to provide a way for the blood to exit. Relief is nearly instantaneous."

Shirleigh sprang to her feet.

"Wonderful, thank you."

I smiled to myself.

"Was there any word of why Miss Drebber was here in England?" Shirleigh asked Gregson.

"She had been in the country for a few months," the constable explained. "She was a jeweller and she came to assist with setting up a convention, bringing over gems and the like. We spoke with one of the assistants earlier this morning and they said that she had been complaining about toe pain and was searching for a doctor to get it looked at."

"There's our answer."

"Huh?"

"This is the practice of a doctor."

"Really?"

"Have you searched any of the other rooms?"

Gregson shook her head.

"Figured."

Shirleigh glanced around the room, fixing her gaze on each door before turning to the next. She approached a door with a golden plaque, the rest of us following closely behind. Twisting the doorknob, Shirleigh slowly pushed open the door and stepped into the room. We all froze at the scene that awaited us inside.

Scribbles and writings covered every wall. We found ourselves rotating to view the strange script.

"Why is it all written in blue?" Gregson asked. "I'm starting to get a headache."

"Strange," I said aloud. "Do you suppose it's paint? It's a darker hue than that used on the outside of the manor, though."

"Blood..."

"Come again?" I asked, turning to my companion.

"It's blood."