The Happy Family Facade

by Allison Osborne

  “Oh, for goodness sake!” Lestrade grabbed Irene’s hat off of her head. A curl fell out of the pin, bouncing to her cheek. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way down here, pulled me off of what I was doing, just to try to fool me.”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “Fooling you was simply a happy perk.”

  “We are so sorry,” Joe groaned, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. Lestrade waved them off with an exasperated expression.

  “That disguise is very well done,” he sighed. “Are you simply practising, or–” He cut himself off and shook his head. “I don’t wish to know.”

  “Yes, you do,” Irene teased.

  “I don’t,” he promised. “Because then I will want to get involved and I simply do not have time for that today. So, tell me what you need as quickly as possible so I can help you and get back to work.”

  “We need your camera, Eddy,” Irene said, taking the pins from her hair.

  “I do not have a camera,” Lestrade raised a brow, confused.

  “You folks have several-”

  “Oh, you want Scotland Yard’s camera,” he mused. “Absolutely not. Why don’t you purchase your own?”

  “I haven’t done enough research to know which one is decent yet, so yours will have to do.”

  “I can’t give you one of our cameras,” he protested. “Especially when whatever you’re doing isn’t even a police matter.”

  She looked at Joe, a determined pout on her lips. Lestrade looked at him as well, raising a brow and waiting for some assistance.

  Joe sighed and looked between his two friends. Obviously, Irene needed the camera, or she wouldn’t have been asking, but he understood Lestrade trepidation.

  “I will take responsibility for the camera,” he said, trying to ease the inspector’s mind. “As soon as we finish this case, I will personally deliver it to you.”

  Lestrade hesitated, then stuck his hand out. “Deal.”

  He left and within five minutes returned with a camera bag. He set it on the table and took the small device out. He popped out the front flap and the shutter extended.

  “It’s already loaded with film,” he said. “I didn’t give you many extra rolls so be mindful of-”

  Irene brought the camera to her face and snapped a picture of Lestrade.

  “Jolly good,” he exclaimed, words dripping in sarcasm. “I’m glad I lent that to you.”

  Irene gently tucked the camera back in its bag. “Thank you, Eddy. This shall be very helpful to us while we solve this particular mystery.”

  “This case you’re on,” Lestrade began hesitantly. “Is it dangerous?

  “No,” she said simply, slinging the camera bag over her shoulder. Lestrade clearly didn’t believe her, so he looked at Joe for another answer.

  “I don’t believe so,” Joe said. “But if it turns dangerous we will call for help.”

  Lestrade let out his signature nervous sigh that came about whenever he dealt with the two of them on a case. “Good luck, and be careful.”

  * * * * *

  Irene danced all over the pavement, camera pointed at everything, Joe cringing with each step.

  “Irene, please,” he said. “We cannot lose or wreck that camera.”

  “I won’t,” she said, fiddling with the shutter speed. Others on the pavement stared at them as they meandered down Baker Street, taking in Irene’s boyish appearance as her brown curly hair bounced around her shoulders. A group of women whispered and let out a small gasp as she nearly ran into them while looking down at the camera.

  Month by month, Baker Street became busier as people settled back into the city, and businesses took hold again. The end of the war was more than a year past, and London was rebuilding quickly, but the city had a long way to go before every piece of rubble was gone, and the streets were free from scaffolding and machinery clearing the remnants of the bombs.

  “Can you at least put the strap around your neck?” Joe asked as Irene fumbled with the camera. “To ease some of my stress.”

  Irene huffed, slumping her shoulders, but tugged the strap over her neck, shooting a pointed look at Joe.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Thunder rolled overhead, and a cool breeze picked up. Rain wasn’t forecast for today, but the constant damp weather threatened to drop buckets of water on them, despite what the weatherman said.

  As Joe and Irene reached the door of 221B, a clip-clopping of hooves sounded through the loud traffic noise. The hansom cab came to a stop beside them, large wheels bumping the curb. The driver sat high atop the seat and called down to them.

  “Hello, Doctor!”

  “How’s business?” Joe asked with a smile on his face. He barely heard the man’s answer as his attention immediately fell on the gorgeous chestnut mare pulling the cab.

  He felt the habitual ball of anxiety curdle in his stomach, but he chased it away. Since spending their entire last case around horses, and divulging his war story to Irene, the usual panic-inducing feeling that crept into his chest had stayed away.

  He patted the mare’s neck as an automobile roared past, causing the horse to snort in response.

  “Not much room for me on these roads lately,” the driver said with a frown. “Gonna put her in the barn for the winter soon. You’re more than welcome to visit her.”

  “I will do just that,” Joe promised. “I’d be glad to examine her, as well, should she ever need it.”

  From above them, a window screeched open, and Miss Hudson’s Scottish brogue shouted down to the street.

  “You two best get up here,” she called from the second story window, white hair blowing in the frigid breeze. “A Miss Flagner has rung you three times this morning already and has just phoned again. She sounds rather desperate.”

  She then noticed the driver and gave him a sheepish smile. He tipped his hat at her, and Joe caught a boyish grin sprout on his face.

  Joe gave the mare one last pat, then followed Irene through the door.

  They hurried up the stairs and into the flat. Irene grabbed the phone from Miss Hudson, pressing it to her ear. Miss Hudson tsk’d at her outfit before leaving the room, and Joe shut the door behind her. He tucked in beside Irene, pressing his own ear to the other side of the receiver to hear the phone call.

  “Irene speaking.”

  “Miss Holmes?” Miss Flagner spoke in urgent, hushed tones. “You two better get here quick. I did as you asked, and the cooker is quite broken, but Mr. Johnston is insisting that he and Hughie can fix it. I told him you would arrive quickly and were the cheapest in the city.”

  “We will leave immediately,” Irene declared, before ending the call and turning to the door, opening it in a flurry. “Miss Hudson!”

  Joe changed his shoes to heavy work boots as the landlady huffed up the stairs. Irene beckoned her inside the flat, and Miss Hudson scowled at the command before rushing past Irene.

  “Whatever is the matter?” she demanded. “And why are you two dressed like workers?”

  “We are workers,” Irene said, pulling a pile of pins from her pocket. She held them out to Miss Hudson as Joe squeezed past them, grabbing two leather bags full of various tools to make them appear like they knew what they were doing.

  “Tell me what you know of the Johnstons,” Irene said, pinning her hair up.

  Joe dropped the bags at the top of the stairs and paused to listen to Miss Hudson’s answer.

  “Mr. Albert Johnston?” she questioned. Irene’s nod promoted her to continue. “A big to-do used to be made about them. Can’t quite recall how many are in the family, but it must be quite a large lot with the money they take in. They are very generous with their funds, however. Do a lot of charity work and from what I’ve heard, are the picture-perfect family and sweet as pie. They used to have an annual picnic in the park. Early thirties, it was. I don’t think you or your father ever went, as you’d moved out to the farm by then.”

  “Nothing of note that y
ou can recall?” Irene asked, sticking the last pin in her hair. “Nothing to be concerned about?”

  Miss Hudson looked at both Irene and Joe, hands on her hips. “What have you two gotten yourselves in to?”

  “Nothing, Miss Hudson.” Irene offered a reassuring smile, though it wasn’t convincing.

  Miss Hudson scowled. “Off with you, then. I thought you looked like your father before, but with this disguise, you could be his twin from his younger days.”

  Irene kept the smile on her face but didn’t respond to Miss Hudson’s comment. She just gave the landlady a kiss on the cheek and made her way down the hall. Joe had yet to see an actual photograph of Sherlock Holmes, as Irene had no personal photos around the flat and he had yet to pick up a novel of stories with illustrations of the famous detective, so he took Miss Hudson’s word.

  “Goodbye Miss Hudson,” Joe said. “We shall be home for supper.”

  He grabbed their bags and went down the stairs behind Irene, leaving Miss Hudson mumbling something about troublemakers.

  Chapter III

  The Door in the Cupboard

  The Johnston estate sat on a lovely piece of land just outside of London. A brick wall surrounded the property, and a large front lawn full of flowers and foliage flanked the cobblestone laneway that twisted up to the courtyard. Unfortunately, the house appeared to have taken quite a beating during the war. Half of the estate was bombed out and crumbling, and the part that remained seemed to hang on by sheer hope alone.

  A converted carriage-house was tucked beside the main house, and four automobiles sat outside, pristine and luxurious and in contrast with the well-worn estate.

  Joe parked the '37 Vauxhall behind the collection of cars and Irene climbed out immediately. The front door opened and Miss Flagner hurried to greet them. She hesitated, but Irene walked up to her and stuck out her hand.

  “It is us,” she assured Chloe. “Do not worry.”

  “Miss Holmes,” Chloe whispered, looking at them both. “What a marvellous disguise. And you, Doctor, I am stunned. Come in, I’ll show you right to the kitchen.”

  Irene glanced at the front entrance, taking note of the bushes of roses lining the house, trimmed for the season.

  The grand foyer was sparsely decorated with a few tables holding statues of soldiers and horses, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floors. Bare nails dotted the faded green-striped wallpaper where pictures used to hang and a bouquet of roses sat on a cabinet at the foot of the large curving staircase that presumably led to the bedrooms on the high second floor. Another bouquet of the same roses was assembled in a black vase a little further down the hall.

  They passed the dining room and stepped down into the large kitchen.

  Multiple newer appliances sat next to older counters and tables, and a sizeable off-white refrigerator was tucked into the corner. Two cookers, one bigger than the other but both the same pale red and white, sat side by side. The larger of the two had the door off, various tools laying in front of it.

  This kitchen had been well-used and smells of old meals and wood and coal from appliances through the years seeped into the wood.

  Chloe shut the door behind them and drew a handful of papers from her skirt pocket. She fanned them out on the large worn wooden counter in the middle of the room.

  “This is as much as I could manage,” she said. “This is a rough floor plan, and this is a list of everyone who resides in the house and their day-to-day routines. There isn’t much because despite what people think of this family, they are quite reserved.”

  “Does Mr. Johnston drive all four automobiles in the laneway?” Irene asked.

  “No.” Chloe shook her head. “Each of the family has their own car, but the fourth one is strange. It never moves, no one uses it, and I cannot figure out who it belongs to. I’ve even asked but am never given a clear answer.”

  Irene gathered the papers. “I must look around the house, even just the smallest glimpse. Can you keep the family occupied at all?”

  Chloe took a long breath, thinking. “I could possibly get everyone out to the garden at some point. Mr. Johnston was overjoyed when I said I would marry Hughie and insisted we have the wedding here at the house before the weather turns foul.”

  “Use that,” Irene urged. “The longer they are out there, the more time I will have to investigate.”

  “I will do my best, Miss Holmes.” She wiped her palms on her skirt. “Good luck.”

  She then hurried out of the kitchen, pumps clipping against the polished tile.

  Irene grabbed Joe’s wrist, speaking quickly before someone else entered the kitchen. “You must do all the talking. I have not been able to make a convincing male voice yet.”

  Joe paled. “All the talking? How will I know which things to say? Which questions to ask?”

  She grinned at him and patted his scruffy cheek. “You are more clever than you think you are. You’ll be able to do it! Don’t worry.”

  As if on cue, the kitchen door opened and Hughie walked in.

  He was on the shorter side of average, and Irene did a sweep of his clothes. Each piece was expensive and new, pressed and neatly tucked. His hair was cropped and combed to the side, and he appeared every part the soldier he’d been in the war.

  “I was going to take a look at the cooker myself,” he admitted. “But you two got here quick.”

  Neither Irene nor Joe said anything for a long moment, then Joe presumably remembered he was supposed to talk.

  “Not a bother. We’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

  Hughie nodded and wandered to the broken cooker, tapping it with his toe.

  He was stalling. Irene had no idea why, but he wasn’t interested in the cooker, or what they would do to fix it, he just didn’t want to go back into the house with his family.

  She nudged Joe, encouraging him to ask some questions while Hughie hung around. Joe widened his eyes at her in a look of helplessness. Irene pointed at him, then at Hughie’s back, trying to convey a plan with her eyes.

  “So, um,” Joe started. “Miss Flagner says you two are getting married.”

  Irene cringed. That may have been too forward a question.

  With his back still to them, Hughie sighed, shoulders slumping. He must’ve realized his mistake and straightened, turning to them.

  “I am,” he replied with a practised smile. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

  The door opened, and Chloe popped her head in. “Oh, Hughie, there you are. We’re taking a walk in the garden while the sun is out for a brief moment to see where to set up the wedding party.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  Chloe threw a quick look to Irene and Irene offered a curt nod. There was the window she needed to search the house.

  “Excuse me,” Hughie said to them. He left quickly, shutting the door behind him.

  “Even I could tell that’s a man who doesn’t want to marry,” Joe said.

  “Start on that cooker,” Irene ordered. “Take every bit apart. I’m taking the camera and going into the house.”

  “Be careful,” Joe said. “These people may seem nice, but we have no idea if they are criminals or not, or what you may find.”

  “I am always careful, Joe,” she said with a cheeky smile.

  Joe sighed and shook his head, crouching next to the cooker.

  Irene grabbed the camera from a pouch in their large work bag. She’d only taken two pictures and had plenty of film left for her first round through the house.

  She then opened the kitchen door quietly, peering out of the room. The hallway was empty, with no maid or Johnston in sight. Satisfied, she slipped out, shutting the door behind her.

  She made her way down the small corridor to the dining room. Her work boots made stealth a little tricky as they thudded with each step and she ended up walking on her toes to keep the sound muffled. As she approached the dining room, she heard soft humming and silverware shuffling about, prom
pting her to crouch and peek carefully around the corner, breathing slow, trying to control the adrenaline rushing through her.

  The maid walked around the large dining table, setting out places, apron swishing against the table, lost in her own world. Irene waited, still crouched until the maid’s back was turned, before rushing across the doorway towards the main hallway.

  She came to the front foyer and looked out of the large front window beside the doors. Mr. and Mrs. Johnston walked side by side in the middle of the front garden. Behind them, Chloe walked with Hughie, pointing out various things here and there.

  The maid’s humming grew louder, and Irene ran. She sprinted up the broad staircase, the tips of her toes tapping each stair as she went, in an attempt to keep the sound as quiet as possible.

  She made it to the top step and pivoted around the bannister, dropping to the floor behind the railing. The maid crossed the bottom of the stairs, heading to the far side of the house and Irene’s racing heart slowed.

  Irene continued her journey, starting down the long upper hallway. The carpet was worn but obviously expensive and she tried to pick out individual footprints without luck.

  She passed by a few extra bedrooms, the doors open and holding nothing of interest for her yet. Next, she found Chloe’s bedroom unlocked and did a quick sweep. No secret doors or evidence of foul play–not that she expected any, but confirmation was always crucial.

  Her next target was the end of the hallway, to the sealed attic door in the ceiling, and to the master bedroom that laid beyond it.

  Irene reached the attic door and studied the floor beneath it. There were very faint ladder marks but the wear pattern in the carpet over the shallow divots told her that this door hadn’t been used in a long while. The attic door itself was quite large, but all the edges were mortared and sealed shut. She snapped a picture of the door before moving on.

  Mr. and Mrs. Johnston’s room resided behind the large double doors at the end of the hall. Surprisingly, the doors were unlocked, and Irene slipped into the room with ease.

  The layout of the room caught her off guard. It was quite substantial but was decorated as if entirely separate rooms. Two beds sat close to each other, but not touching. Bedside tables flanked the sleeping arrangements, and large dressers sat on either end. Irene knew immediately which side belonged to whom.