by Irene Adler
“My friend isn’t as clever as I am when it comes to names,” Sherlock said with a grin.
“My real name’s Arsène,” the boy said. “But I prefer to be called Lupin.”
“Are you French?” I asked.
He nodded. “And what about you?” he asked. “What’s your story?”
“She’s running away from home,” Sherlock butted in, hunched over his skinny, knobbly legs. “Nothing serious, though,” he added. “But you know how it is with parents.”
“She’d just prefer to get away from her family for a while,” Lupin suggested.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Did you get in a fight with your sister?”
I shook my head.
“Your mother?”
“Horatio Nelson,” I said. “But we didn’t fight. It’s just I don’t want to go home at the moment.”
“Irene’s on vacation,” Sherlock explained. “And I told her I had a friend who doesn’t ask a lot of questions.”
The two boys exchanged a look that seemed to mean, “We need to talk.”
Lupin put down his bucket and pointed to the rope that held the boat to the pier. “No problem,” he said. “Untie that knot and jump on board. Do you have a swimsuit?”
“No,” I said, scowling for some reason.
“Well, then just be careful you don’t fall in,” Lupin said.
The boat was tossed about by the waves. It really was tiny, with only two places to sit: one at the oars, and one a little farther forward.
At the back of the boat there was a pile of ropes, fishing nets, and assorted items Lupin had collected when he went diving. The two of them made me sit at the front while they squeezed in between the oars, taking one oar each. Like two old sea dogs, they rowed in perfect time with each other, and the boat glided gently out from the harbor.
“So, who’s this Horatio Nelson?” Lupin eventually asked me. “And how come he’s got the same name as a British admiral?”
I didn’t know exactly, so I didn’t answer right away. Mr. Horatio Nelson had always just been Mr. Horatio Nelson to me. I’d never asked myself why. He’d always worked for my mother’s family, even after the War for Southern Independence.
I looked at the harbor behind us as we slowly moved out to sea. The boat tilted up with every stroke and then dipped back down into the water. There were a lot of other boats all around us, all of them much larger and more impressive than ours. It felt a little like being a minnow.
We were just rounding the promontory when I heard a shout from the shore and saw some startled gulls fly away. I smiled. “Maybe you can ask him in person,” I said, pointing at the street. Mr. Nelson was standing there, waving at me and calling, trying to get my attention.
“Miss Adler! Miss Adler!” he cried. “Where are you going?”
My two friends instantly stopped rowing, appearing to be as frightened as if my mother’s huge butler had been in the boat along with us. I signaled to them to keep rowing. “Don’t be afraid. He won’t do anything to you.”
I waved to Mr. Nelson, trying to make him understand that I was fine and that he didn’t need to worry about me. “I’ll be back soon!” I yelled, waving a white handkerchief. “Everything’s all right!”
“Let’s hope so,” Lupin whispered, giving the worried butler a long look. “He’s very big and very angry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, continuing to wave to Mr. Nelson, who was now running along the beach trying to keep up. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know how to swim!”
“And if you’re wrong?” my new friends both asked together.
I shrugged and grinned. They continued to dip the oars into the calm water of the Atlantic, a little faster now.
After we’d rounded the promontory, Mr. Nelson gave up the chase. He stood there for a while, as still as a statue, with one foot up on a rock and the sun shining off his head. Then he turned and went back the way he came.
We rowed between the two islands that I’d seen from up on the walls. Sherlock and Lupin told me that when the tide went out, you could reach them via a stone walkway that was now just below the surface of the sea.
“I just hope he doesn’t think we’ve kidnapped you,” Lupin repeated several times. “You wanted to run away?”
I shrugged. “Yes, but don’t worry. When I get home, I’ll just get the usual lecture from my mother.”
“The usual?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted a little freedom!” I said, then laughed. “What’s so weird about that?”
“Well, it’s not really normal for a girl to get in trouble a lot,” he said.
“I’ve always been like this,” I said, feeling my chest tighten. “I’m used to getting scolded.”
I looked around. We were past the first island and were now rounding the second. Almost hidden among the bushes was a building. I pointed it out to my new friends. “What’s that?” I asked.
“A fort,” answered Lupin. “There’s nothing there but a French flag flapping in the wind.”
The boys rowed on. The sun was scorching, so I put a hand in the water to enjoy its coolness flowing over me. I looked at the handful of houses built among the trees and rocks, and the even fewer people on the beach. Back then, it wasn’t popular to go the beach. Gentlemen preferred ladies with pale, white skin.
As I scanned the jagged coastline I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To Ashcroft Manor,” said Lupin.
“Are the Ashcrofts friends of yours?” I asked.
He shook his head and pointed with his chin. “It’s an old, deserted mansion, right at the end of the beach. The road there is covered in brambles. They say that the only thing that’s there now is the ghost of old man Ashcroft.”
“Which is utter nonsense,” Sherlock said sharply.
I smiled. Lupin was obviously trying to weave an air of mystery around Ashcroft Manor. But Sherlock was trying just as hard to unravel it.
“An old, deserted mansion,” I repeated. “Sounds interesting.”
“It isn’t,” Sherlock said tersely. “Empty rooms with dust everywhere. Nothing to see.”
Lupin dug his elbow into Sherlock’s side. “Don’t listen to him,” Lupin said. “It’s a really cool place. It’s kind of become our secret hideout.”
“Your secret hideout?” I asked.
“When we want to get away from trouble, we go there,” Lupin said.
“And what trouble do you have to get away from?” I asked, full of curiosity.
Lupin didn’t answer right away. While I was waiting for him to speak, I started to think that Sherlock and Lupin looked like brothers, even though they weren’t. They exchanged glances like they were trying to work out which secrets to share and which ones to keep to themselves. And there did seem to be something incredibly interesting about what they wanted to hide from me. I wanted to understand what they were saying with their eyes and wanted to know the reason they weren’t telling me things. I felt like a thief struggling with a complicated lock to some treasure chest.
“Well, you know, trouble,” mumbled Lupin. “But it’s not like we get into really bad trouble.”
“Just the usual,” Sherlock added.
“Such as?” I asked.
“His brother and sister, for instance,” Lupin said.
“You have a brother and sister?” I asked Sherlock.
He nodded with a sideways smile. “An older brother and a younger sister. And both of them make me wish I were an only child.”
“How about you?” I asked Lupin.
“I am an only child,” he said. He threw his hands in the air, letting go of his oar and then grabbing it again with the speed of a magician. “But my family is crazy.”
Sherlock chuckled. “You can say t
hat again.”
“So, when you can’t take it anymore,” I said, “you take the boat out here?”
“That’s right,” said Lupin.
The thought of two strong boys escaping to their secret mansion together made me chuckle. “And when you’re there,” I asked, “what do you do?”
“Well, for starters there are lots of rooms to explore,” said Lupin. “Old Ashcroft’s study, the cellar, and the attic . . .”
“That’s right, there are lots of rooms. And all of them empty.” Sherlock said wryly, earning himself another elbow in the ribs from his friend. “I admit, it’s not the most exciting place in the world.”
“So, why do you go there if it’s so boring?” I asked Sherlock.
Sherlock grinned. “It’s one of the only places I can read in peace,” he said.
I looked at Sherlock’s long, thin arms as he rowed. Lupin’s arms were bigger and had smooth muscles. Sherlock’s skin was pale, while Lupin had a farmer’s suntan. When Sherlock moved, he looked rigid, as if he didn’t have any joints to his bones. But when Lupin moved, he looked like a nimble wildcat. It was hard to imagine two more different-looking boys.
At the end of a sweeping curve of the island, the beach was swallowed up by lush vegetation. The roof of an old house suddenly emerged at the end of the strip of land, surrounded by low trees, grass, and boulders.
“Welcome to Ashcroft Manor,” Sherlock mumbled, lifting his oar.
Chapter 4
DO YOU PLAY?
The old mansion stood back from the beach on top of a rocky slope. It was made of wood, with a flat black roof and huge windows that overlooked the sea. On the beach next to the manor were round boulders that looked like huge toys a giant had left behind.
We pulled the boat up onto the beach near a narrow path that led to the house across a jungle of weeds that used to be a front lawn.
Once we got closer, I could see how rundown the mansion really was. Overgrown plants and trees looked like they were attacking the house from behind. There was a veranda overlooking the sea, but it was piled high with pieces of broken furniture and assorted junk. The shutters on the top floor were nailed closed, and the roof was damaged in several spots. The paint was peeling off the walls.
It was all a terrible shame, seeing what would have been a beautiful house in such disarray. But there was also something vaguely disturbing about the mansion. It was bathed in sunlight and just a stone’s throw from the sea, but it somehow seemed wrapped in a gray cloud that it had created all by itself, like a shadow that seeped out from the inside.
No one said anything, but none of us moved to go inside. We sat on the shell-encrusted rocks and watched the sea and the coastline, which trailed away toward the promontory and the two islands.
“Where’s your house?” Lupin eventually asked.
I gestured vaguely toward the pointed roofs of the town. “Over there.”
“Yes, but does it have an address?” Lupin asked.
“I don’t remember,” I said. Then I laughed. I hadn’t even thought about it when I opened the gate at the back of the garden. “Actually, I have no idea where my house is!”
“So, how will you get back?” Sherlock asked.
“I don’t think it will be too difficult,” I said. “It’s a two-level house, like this one, with a small garden, and a gate that opens onto a lane that leads to the town.”
“Can you see the sea?” Sherlock asked.
I thought for a while before answering, “Yes.”
They both continued asking me questions until, little by little, they were able to figure out where my new summer home was. It was very close to where Sherlock lived. That explained why we’d found ourselves up on the same section of the walls looking for a little peace and quiet.
We talked for a long time that afternoon, as you do when you meet someone new and interesting. Time flies and you end up chatting about everything as if the day has no end. I listened to my new friends and learned a lot about them.
Perhaps in my memories I’m exaggerating the number of things we spoke about that long afternoon. One thing I do remember perfectly clearly, though, is that when we got back into the boat and rowed back to the harbor we were all very tired. I even tried rowing for a while to give Sherlock a break, but we just started going in circles. No one talked. Instead, we just listened to the waves and watched the sun as it sank slowly below the horizon.
We climbed up onto the pier as the evening shadows were growing long. Lupin quickly secured his boat to the pier. Lupin stood for a few seconds in front of me before saying goodbye. He was probably wondering if it would be all right to kiss me on the cheek, like you do with relatives. I can still remember him blushing and then trying to hide his handsome face in the shadows.
“Um . . . see you tomorrow?” he said finally. I nodded and smiled.
Since we’d just discovered we were almost neighbors, Sherlock and I walked home together. He walked a little ahead of me and rather quickly. There was something anxious about his brisk pace, as if he were in a hurry to get home.
“Sherlock? Is everything all right?” I asked him, catching up to him.
He pulled out a watch attached to a belt loop by a silver chain and checked the time. “I’ve got to get home before my mother comes back from bridge.”
“Do you play cards?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered with a sigh. “But I don’t particularly like card games. My mother, on the other hand, was playing bridge with her friends before anyone else in town had even heard of the game. They play almost every day. And if when she gets back everything isn’t neat and tidy . . .” Sherlock trailed off. He seemed so embarrassed that I realized that he was hiding something else from me: He had to go home because he had to do the cooking for everyone. I pretended I hadn’t seen his embarrassment and said something stupid to change the subject. From the smile that appeared on his face, I realized he was grateful.
We walked for about ten minutes, following a low stone wall. Sherlock eventually stopped outside a clean, modest-looking house that was just a few blocks from mine. “Do you know how to get home?” he asked.
I said I did. I recognized a few things along the street. “See you tomorrow, Sherlock.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said before rushing off.
I thought about my two new friends as I walked home. When I reached the garden gate, I pushed it open. It squeaked loudly.
The second he saw me, Mr. Nelson’s baritone voice roared, “Miss Adler!” His whole face seemed to be twitching. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out. “We’d barely arrived! Two strangers — probably thugs, the both of them! The dangerous sea, away for hours and hours . . . You didn’t give your mother a second thought! We were all so worried! Where did you go and what were you doing?!”
I didn’t even bother to argue as he laid out all the things I’d done wrong — all of them were indisputable and unquestionable. I tossed my hands in the air, surrendering. Then I went to my room without pleading for mercy. But just before I went in, I looked at Mr. Nelson and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I closed the door behind me and waited for Mr. Nelson to lock the door from outside like he always did when I got in trouble.
I heard the key turning in the lock. “You will stay in your room until your mother says you can come out,” he said.
I went to investigate my bathroom. When I went in, I couldn’t help but smile — Mr. Nelson might have locked me in my room, but before he did, he’d brought me up a basin of hot water and clean towels.
“Thank you, Mr. Nelson,” I murmured.
I looked in the mirror. I was sunburned and my hair had been tumbled about by the wind. But my eyes were sparkling with happiness.
* * *
Later that evening, as I lay in bed smelling the beautiful dinner they were eating downstairs, the word “strange
rs” kept reaching my ears. My mother had said it at least a dozen times during dinnr as she interrogated Mr. Nelson about my reckless behavior, which had apparently ruined her entire day. She loved to tell anyone who would listen how disobedient, uncontrollable, and immature I was, and today was no exception. Judging by how much she was carrying on and on about all the things I’d done wrong that afternoon, she was likely rehearsing what she’d later present to my father as evidence for punishment when he came to visit.
“Strangers,” my mother said again to Mr. Nelson.
She’s wrong, I thought. I gazed out my window at the stars in the indigo sky. Lupin and Sherlock aren’t strangers. It was like we’d been friends forever. As if we were all old friends who’d been reunited after a long, long time apart.
Chapter 5
THE CASTAWAY
The next day, I ran to the front of the Holmes’ house. Their garden was neat and tidy. The front door was closed, as were the shutters. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Maybe no one’s home, I thought.
“Sherlock!” I called. “Sherlock? Are you home?” Finally, I heard noise from inside. Someone moved a chair, then something made of glass fell to the floor. Then I heard a muffled curse.
A shutter on the first floor opened. In the dark frame of the window, the rugged face of a young man appeared. He looked to be about twenty. His hair was slicked back, his eyes were round, and he had a blank gaze on his face. “Is it market day?” he grumbled at me. “What have you got for us? Melons? Vegetables? Shellfish? Something else?”
Feeling irritated, I took a step back. I wasn’t annoyed because he’d mistaken me for a grocer’s girl, but because he was speaking without even bothering to look at me. “I believe you have made a mistake, my Lord,” I answered with just the right amount of coldness. “I am a friend of William Sherlock Holmes, Esquire. Is he available, please?”
“A friend!?” exclaimed the young man. “Now there’s a surprise. William!” he shouted back into the house. “William! Hurry up!”
Visibly out of breath, Sherlock appeared at the front door. “William!” the young man continued to call. “William! Where have you gone?”
