The Red Rover Society

by Allison Osborne

  Joe stepped out of the shed and took one last look around the entranceway. A cigarette butt stuck in a tuft of dead grass near the fallen door, and he crouched to get a better look. On the very end was faded lipstick, a neutral colour, not bright red like Irene’s, or dark like Madame Jeannie’s.

  Beyond that, was a long blonde hair pressed into the mud, as if it laid on the ground for a good while, getting rained on and sinking deeper into the wet ground.

  “Irene!” Joe called, and she was at his side in an instant. He pointed out the hair and the cigarette butt, and Irene was on them like a hound on a scent.

  “This hair seems to match the one I pulled from under Barry’s jacket,” she observed. “These must belong to the woman with the black fur coat.”

  “A lover?” Joe suggested. “Or accomplice?”

  Irene shook her head. “I did not see any evidence of a partner-in-crime in the flats, and Molly would not have fallen for Barry so wholly if there had been someone else.”

  “Then, who is she?”

  Irene got a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Perhaps she is the one Barry claimed would turn me inside out.”

  Joe groaned. “I hope not. You make enough enemies in your day-to-day life, and you do not need another one.”

  Irene ruffled Joe’s hair and stood. “Good find, Joe. See, you doubt yourself too often. Come, let’s go back to Baker Street.”

  Chapter IX

  A Letter of Immense Intrigue

  Irene wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned against Miss Hudson’s dining table. The large, shining white refrigerator looked out of place in the landlady’s dated kitchen, but Miss Hudson seemed not to care in the least. She let out another squeal of delight as Joe adjusted the refrigerator, wiggling it an inch to the right and tucking it into the corner.

  Miss Hudson patted the appliance like it was a new pet. “You two shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

  “It was nothing, Miss Hudson,” Irene said with a grin. “We managed to get a good deal on it from Mr. Beauchamp. Plus, it serves us just as well as it serves you, as I assume you’ve been working on replicating those cake recipes.”

  Miss Hudson waved her off. “Oh, I know that. But still, this seems too much. You don’t need to concern yourself with what I do down here.”

  She spoke sheepishly, and that stirred a bit of frustration in Irene. Did Miss Hudson not know how valuable she was? Perhaps Irene wasn’t the best communicator when it came to conveying such feelings, but the landlady was simply invaluable.

  “Miss Hudson,” Irene began in a stern but kind voice. “I know that I do not state this enough, but you are a treasure, and without you, we would be simply lost.” Irene softened her voice and gave the landlady the most sincere smile she could. “I would be lost.”

  Tears sprang up in Miss Hudson’s eyes, and she threw her arms around Irene and squeezed. Irene accepted the hug hesitantly and made eye contact with Joe. He had a soft smile on his face, and Miss Hudson must’ve suddenly noticed his absence because she looked at him.

  “You too,” she said, waving him over. As soon as he was within reach, she pulled him into the hug as well.

  “Now that I think about it,” Irene mumbled. “We should’ve saved the refrigerator for Christmas.”

  Miss Hudson released them and swatted Irene’s shoulder. “Both of you get out of here while I sort this beast out. I’ll need to purchase more food!”

  Irene and Joe left Miss Hudson’s flat and headed upstairs to their own sitting area. Joe peered out the window.

  “Oh good,” he said. “The rain has held off.”

  “Planning a walk later?” Irene asked, dragging her knitting basket over to the couch.

  “Sarah and I are going to dinner. I suppose I better get washed up.”

  Irene watched him exit the flat and heard him thump upstairs to his bedroom. She looked at her pile of yarn and her small washcloth-sized blanket, knitting needles stuck in the middle, and she sighed. Miss Hudson still tried to encourage her to knit, but she failed at every stitch. She did need a distraction though, or she’d dwell too much on this uneasy panicked feeling creeping from her stomach into her chest. She grabbed the fantasy novel Joe had finished earlier this morning, and she curled up on the couch, cracking the spine.

  By the time she made it to the part where the wise old man had offered the reluctant homebody an adventure of a lifetime, she had sighed heavily and tossed the book back onto Joe’s chair. While the story had been enjoyable and distracting, she couldn’t help but feel like the man in the book, just wanting to smoke his pipe and stay home while the world moved on around him, reluctant for any kind of change in his life. She thought of all the people in London moving forward and having dinners and making new friends and starting new careers.

  Not that she wanted any more friends or a new career, but she needed to do something to force herself to feel happy again. A part of her felt guilty for wanting to feel comfortable and safe at home. Cases made her feel elated enough, but they were fleeting and few and far between. She wanted to feel better at her core, but she had no idea how to do that.

  The door opened, and Joe walked in. He was dressed in his lovely blue suit, and his hair was combed, though his tie was crooked and his trouser legs were of different lengths. Irene instantly knew that her friend was nervous, and she chewed the inside of her lip in an attempt to figure out why.

  “I wish you wouldn’t feel so nervous.” She was never good at comforting people, and this scenario was no different, but she hoped the attempt would somehow calm Joe.

  “I like Sarah,” he said, noticing his uneven trousers and stooping to fix them. “I am worried that if I make a fool of myself, she will stop liking me.”

  Irene swallowed past the sour feeling in her stomach, and she straightened Joe’s tie. “She will adore you if she doesn’t already.”

  “You think so?”

  She paused her hands on his tie. “You are intelligent, clever, sweet, and make me laugh, so I’m sure you will have no trouble making her laugh. You are quite a catch, as Miss Hudson would say, and Sarah should consider herself lucky to have found you.”

  Irene tugged on the knot again, attempting to figure out how Joe had tied it so crooked. Mostly, she fidgeted to ignore the worry stirring inside her. Joe stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say. Finally, a smile came across his face.

  “Thank you, Irene,” he said, voice soft.

  Irene stepped away from him, shrugging off the solemn mood that she didn’t quite know what to do with. “I can always come with you if you’d like. Keep you from doing or saying something foolish.”

  She gave him a cheeky grin, and he shook his head.

  “No, thank you,” he replied, flashing his own smile at her. “I feel like you and I would end up getting ourselves in trouble, and the night would be over fast. I promise that next week you and I will go to dinner or the cinema.”

  She walked to the small table by the door, a grin still on her face, but it felt forced like she was wearing a mask. She’d played up her emotions before and often, but she’d never put on this facade when dealing with Joe. She always thought that she wore her feelings on her face plain as day, but she didn’t want him to know how sombre she felt tonight, because he would offer to stay and keep her company, and as much as she wanted that, she knew that would be mean and selfish. She grabbed the keys to her uncle’s automobile and held them out to Joe.

  “It has plenty of petrol,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t take the car. It’s a nice night, so we will walk or find a taxi.”

  “Oh, Joe,” she sighed. “Don’t be a fool. This car belonged to Uncle John, and he’d chide me to hell and back for not insisting you take it tonight.”

  He hesitated for a moment before taking the keys from her. She watched him with interest as he took a look in the small mirror by the door, pushing a stubborn piece of hair into place. He made eye contact with her through the mirr
or and stuck his tongue out before returning to his hair.

  She thought of her Uncle John and how often he checked his own reflection, always proud of his appearance. He’d lift her up to that same mirror and make faces to her before her father would whisk them both out the door to another adventure.

  “Uncle John would’ve liked you,” she added, voice catching. “And you would’ve surely liked him. I really wish you could’ve met him.”

  A hard lump formed in her throat and hurt when she swallowed. She suddenly felt foolish for even bringing the subject to light, especially when Joe was on his way out the door.

  Joe turned to her and opened his mouth to say something, closed his lips, then tried again. “Irene, I can stay if–”

  “No,” she said, a little harsher than she meant to. “Do not use me as an excuse not to go out and have fun tonight. I shall be fine. I am always fine.”

  He strode forward anyway and wrapped her in a hug. She pressed her face into his chest, smelling the cologne and clean suit. She held on a little longer than she usually would, some deep part of her reminding herself that if Joe was going on a date, then their close contact would have to end, to some extent. She doubted Sarah, as sweet as she seemed, would be fine with Irene and Joe’s constant hugging and hand-holding, though Irene knew it was purely platonic between them.

  She gave a hard squeeze, and Joe gave one back before she released him. “You’re going to be late.”

  He nodded, and she swore that he was thinking all the same thoughts as she just had. He tossed her one last look over his shoulder before heading out the door.

  Irene stood in the sitting area for a moment, listening to Joe walk down all seventeen steps of 221B and leave through the front door.

  She wandered to the window and stared out the glass, down to the street below. Streetlights lit up Baker Street and cast a spotlight over the Vauxhall. Joe unlocked the automobile and paused before opening the door and looked up at the window. Irene could just make out a smile on his face in the streetlight, and he waved up at her. She waved back, then he climbed into the car and started the engine. She watched him for another minute as the car pulled away from the curb and rolled down the street.

  * * * * *

  A little over an hour later, Miss Hudson brought evening tea and the afternoon mail, setting everything on the dining table. She bid Irene a goodnight, then retired to her own flat. Irene wandered to the table and lazily made a cuppa, unsure of what to do to pass the time until Joe returned home. She poked through the mail, discarding two advertisements before coming to a letter addressed to her, and she stared at the envelope. She wasn’t expecting any message and trepidation stirred in her belly.

  It couldn’t be from the nurse that took care of her father, for Miss Hudson would’ve surely mentioned that.

  Irene opened the envelope carefully and slipped the neatly folded letter out.

  The paper was expensive, and when Irene gently opened the letter, she instantly recognized the ink as one from a costly pen.

  Trepidation turned to excitement as she read the contents of the letter:

  Miss Holmes,

  You are a tenacious one and quite hard to shake. Since we first met, you’ve interfered with my plans on three separate occasions and caused me great frustration. While intellectually sparring with you is tempting, I must encourage you to stay out of my way in the future, for if we meet, only one of us shall walk away the victor, and I plan on claiming that title.

  A.B.

  Irene reread the letter, then twice more after that. Who was A.B.? When had they met?

  Her heart raced as she stared at the letters, something clicking in her mind. She’d seen this writing before, but where? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to visualize all the different penmanships that she’d come across recently. Words swirled around inside her mind, and she began narrowing them down until she remembered that the word matching this writing hadn’t been in English.

  “Verrater,” she gasped and flew from her chair right to her investigation board. She flipped it over to the case with the American pin, heart beating so loud it thudded in her ears.

  She didn’t have a photo of the writing on the brick wall from her case back in June, but she could picture it perfectly.

  And this writing matched it.

  The blonde woman with the hidden accent who’d collected the pin from her. The pin with the co-ordinates for a place in New York. When Irene and Joe had interviewed a man whose daughter had been murdered by this woman, he spoke of his daughter being recruited because of her mathematics skills. Had this woman recruited Mr. Barry, the thief, to work this elaborate plan? The blonde hair Joe had found at the red cottage matched what Irene remembered of the woman, and the neighbour had mentioned her great height. What other schemes had this woman concocted, and who else had she recruited to do her bidding?

  Irene rushed to the window as if the woman were standing on the other side of the street, watching her. When the road was bare of any suspicious activity, Irene studied the letter again. What other occasions had Irene been a nuisance to this woman? What was this woman doing interfering in the lives of Londoners, and who else had she meddled with?

  Irene’s hot breath steamed up the glass as all these unanswered questions swirled around her mind.

  “The game is certainly afoot,” she declared before spinning back to face the room, rejuvenated and restless.

  She’d known that this case had marked the beginning of some new era in her life. Still, she hadn’t realized it would bring her completely new emotions that she didn’t know how to deal with, or instigate a rousing letter from a potential enemy, perhaps one who would meet her intellectual level and provide her with another challenge. Between this intriguing letter and everyone around her excited for the holidays, she was utterly delighted and scared beyond belief at what Christmas and New Years at 221B Baker Street would bring.

  The End

  Holmes & Co. will return in:

  The Detective's Nemesis

  Irene and Joe's previous cases come to a head when Mr. Cullen of British Intelligence pays a visit to Baker Street. He tasks the pair with scoping out the wedding of the son of one of the biggest companies in London to ensure no harm comes to him during the upcoming ceremony. Mr. Cullen is worried that the mystery woman with the A.B. initials Irene has been unknowingly playing tag with will disrupt the wedding and cause undue trauma to this innocent family. As Irene and Joe dig further into the bride and groom though, they discover secrets that the happy couple would prefer to keep quiet, and reasons for someone wanting each of them out of the picture—for good.

  With meddling, often come trouble, and it isn't long before Irene and Joe are deep in a twisted web of lies and deception that they struggle to escape. Tension runs high between the pair and puts them in grave danger while threatening to disrupt the friendship they've worked so hard to build.

  About The Author

  Allison Osborne

  Allison lives in Ontario, Canada with her son, their West Highland terrier, and an overwhelming amount of vintage trinkets. She attended the University of Western Ontario for creative writing, and when her mind isn't wandering through 1940s England, she is busily working at a vet clinic.