Chapter One: Miss Hannah Brooke
"You've been an actress for most of your life," I said as I poured some tea into a rounded cup for our guest. "You parents got you started early, playing minor roles for children and you eventually moved your way up until you've reached a great peak in your career: playing Ophelia in the production of Hamlet in Hyde Park."
"Mr. Holmes!" cried Ms. Brooke, taking her cup of tea in her hand. "How on earth could you know? I have heard that you just recently moved to London!" I smirked and held up yesterday's paper. It was open to an inner page with a column about the stage-less performance in the park. Her face flushed.
"The press seems quite fond of you, Ms. Brooke. It says here," I turned the paper toward me, "that your troupe is full of young people like yourself, traveling all over the country, performing in parks like our lovely Hyde Park. It also says that last night was to be your first performance of Shakespeare's Hamlet." I scanned the article, trying to find anything remarkable about the play at all that would cause her to come to me. "But what of your friend David McGuiness?" I glanced up, and to my surprise, I saw the woman's eyes full of tears.
"That's why I've come here, Mr. Holmes. You see, David and I were engaged." He presented her left and, and a shining golden ring set with a diamond sparkled on her ring finger. I took her hand and admired the gem closely.
"You use the past tense when referring to it," I told her, setting her hand back in her lap. "Why is that? Did something happen to sour your relationship?" Her face flushed again, and she shook her head quickly.
"Oh no, Mr. Holmes, nothing like that. David and I were very much in love. After the shows, he would take me to dinner, and we would laugh over the smallest things. No, it wasn't that our relationship changed. Maybe," she said, reaching for a tissue to dab at her eyes with, "I should start at the beginning."
"Tell me everything, for even the slightest detail may prove the most important," I told the woman, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands in my lap. I could see Watson, sitting to my left, take up his pencil, ready to write down anything to woman had to say. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Richardson hobbled into the front room and his eyes rested upon the beautiful woman sitting across from me. A smile leapt over his craggy features.
"Well, young Holmes," Richardson said, turning to me. "It seems you're quite the charmer, bringing such a fine young lady under our roof within the week!" This time I felt the blood rush to my own cheeks, and I shot up out of my seat.
"No, no, Mr. Richardson, it's not what it seems! I- I-"
"Mr. Holmes is advising me on a problem," Ms. Brooke said with a smile, "just as his advertisement suggested. 'Jack Holmes, private detective.' I assure you that I'm not here for the reason you suspect." Richardson's smile did not leave his face.
"If you say so, young lady. I'll leave you three to your business. But Holmes," he said, giving me a sharp eye, "don't expect many a happy greeting if you have all types of rogues roaming about our flat." With that, the man left us, and I sank back down into my chair. Ms. Brooke's previously melancholy face was seized by a wide smile.
"He seems charming," she suggested. I rolled my eyes.
"He is a fine man, but he is as stubborn and obstinate as a mule at times." I sighed and cracked my neck slightly. "Anyway, you were about to tell me from the beginning, I believe." She nodded.
"Yes, of course. David. You see, Mr. Holmes, we had just come from a successful run of Romeo and Juliet in Wales, and we were going to have an encore presentation in London, but David wanted to try something new. Romeo and Juliet had always been our fallback piece, for we all have the play memorized front to back to front again and we've been getting rather good at it. But I think that David was getting rather bored of playing Benvolio while Gerald had the role of Romeo opposite me. This was before David and I were engaged, mind you. It was on our return journey to London when he proposed. I-" she paused, wiping her eyes tenderly. "We practiced until our hearts and lungs had all but burst. David was finally to play the title role, after all his years of waiting.
"David and I worked together for hours on end, fine tuning Hamlet's soliloquy late into the night. It was his pride and joy, that soliloquy. One night, just before we were to turn in, he took my hand and recited Romeo's pledge of love to Juliet, slipping his ring on my finger. I couldn't say no, Mr. Holmes. I love him. After that night, he practiced more and more, saying his lines with more bravado than he had ever shown. He told me night after night that this would be the play to make his career. Every time he ran through the soliloquy, his eyes would mist over, so much of his heart was in it. I didn't think that there would be a dry eye present when we presented it.
"We arrived in London three days ago and we did nothing but practice and eat between acts. Yesterday's weather was perfect for the presentation, and the play was perfect as well, all up to the Third Act. I remember seeing David just after the second act had ended, and wishing him the best of luck and a kiss. He promised to-" her face clouded, and one great tear rolled down her cheek. "He promised that he would make me proud. We began the first scene of the third act, and all was going well, until I was left alone, waiting for Hamlet to enter and deliver his soliloquy. I waited for five full minutes, standing alone and solitary in front of all those eyes, waiting for my beloved David to come and give his dearest soliloquy. He never came," Hannah Brooke cried, throwing her face into her hands, "he never came, he never came!" The silence was punctuated by her quiet sobbing. I held my hand to my chin in thought.
'Inquire as to why Mr. McGuiness is not at war,' Holmes suggested. I nodded.
"Ms. Brooke, if I may be so bold as to ask, why was Mr. McGuiness not at war? He was of the age, am I correct?"
"Yes, David is 25. He stays at home because he is the last man in his family. All of his sisters would be alone, for their father died in that terrible First World War, along with their grandfather and uncles. David is all they have in the world, for all four are still only children. They travel with our troupe, and David, along with most of the troupe, provides for them."
'Ask her about the feelings of the troupe toward our Hamlet,' Holmes told me.
"Were there any people within the troupe who felt ill will toward Mr. McGuiness?" I asked. Ms. Brooke shook her head.
"No, David is well liked. Most of the women, especially his youngest sister Alice, were in tears when the news of his disappearance spread through the troupe. They sent Gerald, his best friend, to Scotland Yard, and I happened to notice your advertisement in the paper this morning. I thought that maybe you could help us. Please Mr. Holmes," she clutched her hands together and wrung them nervously. "I need to find my David." I patted her hand reassuringly.
"Do not worry, my dear. I believe we have all of the information we need. First, I have something for you to do for me."
"Anything!" she cried, rising to her feet. I followed in suit.
"You must round up all of those in your troupe for me. I must see all of them at one time. No excuses, I must see them all, even the children. Tell them to congregate at the exact location where Hamlet took place. Then you must return here and take us to them. Does that sound reasonable?" I asked. She nodded.
"Yes, it sounds wonderful. Oh, I cannot thank you enough for helping us, Mr. Holmes! I know that you'll find my David!" She grabbed my hand and shook it firmly, her grip tight and painful. I winced, but she failed to notice as she walked briskly through the door, muttering all of the locations at which she could find her friends. Watson stood from his own chair and stuck his pencil over his ear again, as he used to. Looking at his notes, he tried to surmise the outcome of the mystery.
"Perhaps he forgot his lines and ran off before he could embarrass himself?" His bright brown eyes flashed up to mine, and I shook my head.
"According to Ms. Brooke, Mr. McGuiness put his life and soul into portraying Hamlet. I do not think that he could simply up and forget possibly the most famous lines of the entire play. No, I don't think that he skipped off on his own. If he did just escape from the play, he would have reported back to his friends and sisters. A man with four young girls to care for doesn't just leave without any further notice, let alone a fiancee. Watson, what do you say to breakfast?" His head cocked to one side, an eyebrow raising in disbelief.
"What about the case?" he asked. I smirked, taking my wallet from my back pocket and counting my money slowly and carefully. Probably enough to feed Watson and myself downtown.
"For one thing, the troupe of travelers is most likely spread over all of London in search of their Hamlet. Secondly, I need a good walk in the morning to jog my brain into thinking. Thirdly, I am starving and Mr. Richardson is far too fond of prunes for my liking. Come on, Watson. It's my treat." His lips pulled into a thin line, as if contemplating, and then he shrugged and pocketed his notebook.
"If it will take that long to find all of the players, then I suppose that it wouldn't hurt to slip out for a bite to eat." I clapped my friend on the back.
"That's the spirit, Watson," I told him as I walked toward the door. Suddenly, I remembered Mr. Richardson. "Wait at the postbox for me. I need to speak with Richardson." I dashed back inside and knocked upon the door to Mr. Richardson's room.
"I'm decent, come in," he muttered. I opened the door and stepped inside to see our caretaker scrawling a letter to someone in his strangely flowery hand. He turned his head to me and smiled. "What was the young lady's problem, young Holmes?"
"Her fiancee has gone missing, and she has asked me to find him for her." I sat upon Richardson's bed and pretended to be tying my shoes.
"It's quite an easy case compared to what you've dealt with before, isn't it?" He asked, going back to his letter. I shrugged.
"A missing person is a welcome reprieve from putting 27-year-old mysteries to rest. But I think it is not quite as simple as it seems. While Ms. Brooke rounds up the members of our troupe, Watson and I have decided to sneak out for a bit of breakfast, if that is all right with you." Richardson stood, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ankle bullet wound. Before I knew what had happened, he whipped out his wallet and placed thirty pounds in my hands.
"That ought to be enough," he said as he patted my shoulder.
"Mr. Richardson, you don't have to-"
"I've told you that you can call me Neville." He shook his head sadly, and looked back to me. "Jack... Can I call you Jack...?"
"S-sure," I said, still feeling a twinge of pain at the sound of someone other than my father or Holmes calling me by my first name.
"Jack, you've only known me for about a week, right?"
"Right."
"So you're probably wondering why I'm being so damned nice to you and your friend Watson."
"Maybe a little."
"Truth is, you two saved my life back at the Ostendorf Inn. I'm not the kind of man to let that go un-rewarded. Any time you kids need money, just come to me. I want you to be able to do what you want, so you don't have to come to me for permission. Don't think of me like I'm your father or anything. Just a friend. Got that?" A smile crept over my face.
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Jack?" he called, as I was about to leave his room.
"Hm?"
"If... If something was to happen to me, for any reason at all, I'd want you two to have everything."
"You shouldn't talk like that," I said, my eyebrows furrowing.
"Just in case," Richardson told me as he sat back down at his desk. "Just in case." Staring back into the room for only and instant, I turned on my heel and dashed back outside to meet Watson for our stroll downtown.
"You've been an actress for most of your life," I said as I poured some tea into a rounded cup for our guest. "You parents got you started early, playing minor roles for children and you eventually moved your way up until you've reached a great peak in your career: playing Ophelia in the production of Hamlet in Hyde Park."
"Mr. Holmes!" cried Ms. Brooke, taking her cup of tea in her hand. "How on earth could you know? I have heard that you just recently moved to London!" I smirked and held up yesterday's paper. It was open to an inner page with a column about the stage-less performance in the park. Her face flushed.
"The press seems quite fond of you, Ms. Brooke. It says here," I turned the paper toward me, "that your troupe is full of young people like yourself, traveling all over the country, performing in parks like our lovely Hyde Park. It also says that last night was to be your first performance of Shakespeare's Hamlet." I scanned the article, trying to find anything remarkable about the play at all that would cause her to come to me. "But what of your friend David McGuiness?" I glanced up, and to my surprise, I saw the woman's eyes full of tears.
"That's why I've come here, Mr. Holmes. You see, David and I were engaged." He presented her left and, and a shining golden ring set with a diamond sparkled on her ring finger. I took her hand and admired the gem closely.
"You use the past tense when referring to it," I told her, setting her hand back in her lap. "Why is that? Did something happen to sour your relationship?" Her face flushed again, and she shook her head quickly.
"Oh no, Mr. Holmes, nothing like that. David and I were very much in love. After the shows, he would take me to dinner, and we would laugh over the smallest things. No, it wasn't that our relationship changed. Maybe," she said, reaching for a tissue to dab at her eyes with, "I should start at the beginning."
"Tell me everything, for even the slightest detail may prove the most important," I told the woman, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands in my lap. I could see Watson, sitting to my left, take up his pencil, ready to write down anything to woman had to say. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Richardson hobbled into the front room and his eyes rested upon the beautiful woman sitting across from me. A smile leapt over his craggy features.
"Well, young Holmes," Richardson said, turning to me. "It seems you're quite the charmer, bringing such a fine young lady under our roof within the week!" This time I felt the blood rush to my own cheeks, and I shot up out of my seat.
"No, no, Mr. Richardson, it's not what it seems! I- I-"
"Mr. Holmes is advising me on a problem," Ms. Brooke said with a smile, "just as his advertisement suggested. 'Jack Holmes, private detective.' I assure you that I'm not here for the reason you suspect." Richardson's smile did not leave his face.
"If you say so, young lady. I'll leave you three to your business. But Holmes," he said, giving me a sharp eye, "don't expect many a happy greeting if you have all types of rogues roaming about our flat." With that, the man left us, and I sank back down into my chair. Ms. Brooke's previously melancholy face was seized by a wide smile.
"He seems charming," she suggested. I rolled my eyes.
"He is a fine man, but he is as stubborn and obstinate as a mule at times." I sighed and cracked my neck slightly. "Anyway, you were about to tell me from the beginning, I believe." She nodded.
"Yes, of course. David. You see, Mr. Holmes, we had just come from a successful run of Romeo and Juliet in Wales, and we were going to have an encore presentation in London, but David wanted to try something new. Romeo and Juliet had always been our fallback piece, for we all have the play memorized front to back to front again and we've been getting rather good at it. But I think that David was getting rather bored of playing Benvolio while Gerald had the role of Romeo opposite me. This was before David and I were engaged, mind you. It was on our return journey to London when he proposed. I-" she paused, wiping her eyes tenderly. "We practiced until our hearts and lungs had all but burst. David was finally to play the title role, after all his years of waiting.
"David and I worked together for hours on end, fine tuning Hamlet's soliloquy late into the night. It was his pride and joy, that soliloquy. One night, just before we were to turn in, he took my hand and recited Romeo's pledge of love to Juliet, slipping his ring on my finger. I couldn't say no, Mr. Holmes. I love him. After that night, he practiced more and more, saying his lines with more bravado than he had ever shown. He told me night after night that this would be the play to make his career. Every time he ran through the soliloquy, his eyes would mist over, so much of his heart was in it. I didn't think that there would be a dry eye present when we presented it.
"We arrived in London three days ago and we did nothing but practice and eat between acts. Yesterday's weather was perfect for the presentation, and the play was perfect as well, all up to the Third Act. I remember seeing David just after the second act had ended, and wishing him the best of luck and a kiss. He promised to-" her face clouded, and one great tear rolled down her cheek. "He promised that he would make me proud. We began the first scene of the third act, and all was going well, until I was left alone, waiting for Hamlet to enter and deliver his soliloquy. I waited for five full minutes, standing alone and solitary in front of all those eyes, waiting for my beloved David to come and give his dearest soliloquy. He never came," Hannah Brooke cried, throwing her face into her hands, "he never came, he never came!" The silence was punctuated by her quiet sobbing. I held my hand to my chin in thought.
'Inquire as to why Mr. McGuiness is not at war,' Holmes suggested. I nodded.
"Ms. Brooke, if I may be so bold as to ask, why was Mr. McGuiness not at war? He was of the age, am I correct?"
"Yes, David is 25. He stays at home because he is the last man in his family. All of his sisters would be alone, for their father died in that terrible First World War, along with their grandfather and uncles. David is all they have in the world, for all four are still only children. They travel with our troupe, and David, along with most of the troupe, provides for them."
'Ask her about the feelings of the troupe toward our Hamlet,' Holmes told me.
"Were there any people within the troupe who felt ill will toward Mr. McGuiness?" I asked. Ms. Brooke shook her head.
"No, David is well liked. Most of the women, especially his youngest sister Alice, were in tears when the news of his disappearance spread through the troupe. They sent Gerald, his best friend, to Scotland Yard, and I happened to notice your advertisement in the paper this morning. I thought that maybe you could help us. Please Mr. Holmes," she clutched her hands together and wrung them nervously. "I need to find my David." I patted her hand reassuringly.
"Do not worry, my dear. I believe we have all of the information we need. First, I have something for you to do for me."
"Anything!" she cried, rising to her feet. I followed in suit.
"You must round up all of those in your troupe for me. I must see all of them at one time. No excuses, I must see them all, even the children. Tell them to congregate at the exact location where Hamlet took place. Then you must return here and take us to them. Does that sound reasonable?" I asked. She nodded.
"Yes, it sounds wonderful. Oh, I cannot thank you enough for helping us, Mr. Holmes! I know that you'll find my David!" She grabbed my hand and shook it firmly, her grip tight and painful. I winced, but she failed to notice as she walked briskly through the door, muttering all of the locations at which she could find her friends. Watson stood from his own chair and stuck his pencil over his ear again, as he used to. Looking at his notes, he tried to surmise the outcome of the mystery.
"Perhaps he forgot his lines and ran off before he could embarrass himself?" His bright brown eyes flashed up to mine, and I shook my head.
"According to Ms. Brooke, Mr. McGuiness put his life and soul into portraying Hamlet. I do not think that he could simply up and forget possibly the most famous lines of the entire play. No, I don't think that he skipped off on his own. If he did just escape from the play, he would have reported back to his friends and sisters. A man with four young girls to care for doesn't just leave without any further notice, let alone a fiancee. Watson, what do you say to breakfast?" His head cocked to one side, an eyebrow raising in disbelief.
"What about the case?" he asked. I smirked, taking my wallet from my back pocket and counting my money slowly and carefully. Probably enough to feed Watson and myself downtown.
"For one thing, the troupe of travelers is most likely spread over all of London in search of their Hamlet. Secondly, I need a good walk in the morning to jog my brain into thinking. Thirdly, I am starving and Mr. Richardson is far too fond of prunes for my liking. Come on, Watson. It's my treat." His lips pulled into a thin line, as if contemplating, and then he shrugged and pocketed his notebook.
"If it will take that long to find all of the players, then I suppose that it wouldn't hurt to slip out for a bite to eat." I clapped my friend on the back.
"That's the spirit, Watson," I told him as I walked toward the door. Suddenly, I remembered Mr. Richardson. "Wait at the postbox for me. I need to speak with Richardson." I dashed back inside and knocked upon the door to Mr. Richardson's room.
"I'm decent, come in," he muttered. I opened the door and stepped inside to see our caretaker scrawling a letter to someone in his strangely flowery hand. He turned his head to me and smiled. "What was the young lady's problem, young Holmes?"
"Her fiancee has gone missing, and she has asked me to find him for her." I sat upon Richardson's bed and pretended to be tying my shoes.
"It's quite an easy case compared to what you've dealt with before, isn't it?" He asked, going back to his letter. I shrugged.
"A missing person is a welcome reprieve from putting 27-year-old mysteries to rest. But I think it is not quite as simple as it seems. While Ms. Brooke rounds up the members of our troupe, Watson and I have decided to sneak out for a bit of breakfast, if that is all right with you." Richardson stood, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ankle bullet wound. Before I knew what had happened, he whipped out his wallet and placed thirty pounds in my hands.
"That ought to be enough," he said as he patted my shoulder.
"Mr. Richardson, you don't have to-"
"I've told you that you can call me Neville." He shook his head sadly, and looked back to me. "Jack... Can I call you Jack...?"
"S-sure," I said, still feeling a twinge of pain at the sound of someone other than my father or Holmes calling me by my first name.
"Jack, you've only known me for about a week, right?"
"Right."
"So you're probably wondering why I'm being so damned nice to you and your friend Watson."
"Maybe a little."
"Truth is, you two saved my life back at the Ostendorf Inn. I'm not the kind of man to let that go un-rewarded. Any time you kids need money, just come to me. I want you to be able to do what you want, so you don't have to come to me for permission. Don't think of me like I'm your father or anything. Just a friend. Got that?" A smile crept over my face.
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Jack?" he called, as I was about to leave his room.
"Hm?"
"If... If something was to happen to me, for any reason at all, I'd want you two to have everything."
"You shouldn't talk like that," I said, my eyebrows furrowing.
"Just in case," Richardson told me as he sat back down at his desk. "Just in case." Staring back into the room for only and instant, I turned on my heel and dashed back outside to meet Watson for our stroll downtown.