ACADEMIA
A Fishy Situation The carriage hit a rather large pothole and I was tossed briefly into the air, my backside breaking contact with the cushion. I did not remember the carriage ride being this jolting the first time. It was probably just my nerves. The ride back to the Weatherby house filled me with excitement and anxiety. I twisted my gloves in anticipation when I was not trying to place stray strands of hair back into my bun with twitchy fingers. Part of me hoped Mr. Weatherby would not be home so I could avoid this entire confrontation. I was brought back to my senses with a jerk, my body bobbing with the swaying carriage. At least when on a horse I could gauge the pace and balance myself accordingly. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. How was I to go about this? What would be the best strategy? What would Holmes do? I needed to convince Mr. Weatherby that I was not there to threaten or interrogate him. He had to believe I was on his side. I simply wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened to Princess Catherine, nothing more. If it had been an accident, then I could put the case to rest. The carriage arrived sooner than I had anticipated, and I tumbled out as I planned my next move. After paying the coachman, I turned with trepidation to the front door of the Weatherby house. A breeze blew the smell of fish under my nose, making me pause. I had not noticed the smell yesterday. Maybe it was only when the wind blew in a certain direction. I rang the doorbell, and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the butler Charles opened the door and looked at me with disappointment etched in every inch of his bushy face. "Miss Keaton," he said with chagrin, "we were not expecting to see you again… so soon." His body blocked the door, seemingly to keep me from barging in. "Yes Sir, I am sorry but could I speak with Mr. Weatherby, is he in?" "He is unavailable." "Will he be available any time soon? I assure you, it will only take a moment I …" and at this, I lowered my voice, "I think I know what happened with Princess Catherine, and I have no plans to discuss it with Mrs. Weatherby. That is unless; Mr. Weatherby is unable to speak with me." I tilted my head to the side, indicating my understanding of the situation. Charles hesitated, and then said, "Wait one moment." He closed the door, and I lingered impatiently. The butler reappeared at the door, this time to allow me in with a discrete wave. I entered, and Charles led me down the hallway into Mr. Weatherby's study. The room was paneled with book cases on three walls, the fourth wall held two windows that opened onto the garden. Mr. Weatherby rose when I entered, then gestured for me to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk. I had the feeling not even Mrs. Weatherby entered this room often. "Miss Keaton, Charles tells me you have news about my wife's cat." He sounded reserved, but he had an aura of exasperation about him. I had to make this brief. "Yes Sir. I simply wanted to ask you a question; I know that you were involved with the disappearance of Princess Catherine. What happened to her three days ago?" I said this with as much respect as I could muster, and with no trace of arrogance. The older man sighed, then seemed resolved to his fate as he said, "It was a complete accident. I never meant for any harm to come to her. My wife absolutely loved that cat. We never had any children, you see." "Please Mr. Weatherby, tell me what happened, and I will do everything I can to help you." I meant what I said with absolute sincerity. "I doubt very much there is anything you can do to help. Still, I will tell you what happened. Pardon me a moment." I nodded, and he rose to procure a glass of what I presumed to be brandy from a cupboard behind his desk. He turned to me, "Do you mind if I…?" and he gestured to a cigar he had pulled from a drawer. "Not at all." He nodded, and lit the cigar with a match. Taking a few puffs, he began, "These are my usual cigars. I tried a different type the other day, Tuesday to be exact, but they produced an unusual amount of smoke. My wife has allergies, so I only smoke in my office." He took another puff, and I noticed my nose begin to twitch. I sniffed, and tried to stifle a cough. These cigars seemed to affect me a great deal more than Holmes' pipe tobacco. "The smoke was so bad in fact, that I opened a window to aid in air circulation. Charles was tidying up in here when the cat slithered in between his legs. Neither of us noticed her until she was up on the windowsill. She had never been outside; my wife was adamant about her never going outside. Both Charles and I leapt after her at the same time, but in a moment, she was out the window and into the garden. "The two of us rushed into the garden, and began looking for the cat. We found her up on the second story windowsill. How she even reached it I cannot imagine. I told Charles to fetch the ladder from the carriage house and we used it to try and reach her. Thank heavens my wife was still at luncheon with Mrs. Croft. We would never been able to explain ourselves." He began to pace behind his desk, sipping his brandy in one hand, holding his smoking cigar in the other. "By the time we raised the ladder, the cat had made it up to the third story roof. Charles climbed up to try and grab her, but by then she had disappeared. I could not believe our luck. I knew my wife would be devastated, as well as furious at us both. I was at a complete loss at what to do." He sighed, obviously troubled, "I panicked. Charles and I came up with the idea of a kidnapping. The cat was quite valuable you see. She was a prize-winning purebred. It was not unthinkable that she could be stolen. I did not think my wife would believe it if she had simply disappeared, so we thought of writing a ransom note. I used my left hand to disguise my handwriting." He nodded at Charles, still standing at attention near the door, always at the ready. I could imagine the two men coming together, bent over Mr. Weatherby's desk, terrified of telling Mrs. Weatherby what had happened. "And now you've painted yourselves into a corner, so to speak." "I am afraid so. Do you have any suggestions as to our next plan of action?" "Well," I began, "I can only think of one thing." I paused, not wanting to say what was to come next. "We must find the cat." "How do you propose we do that Miss Keaton, she has been gone for three days! Even if a miracle happened and she was still alive, how on earth would we find her?" He sounded slightly perturbed. "I have a plan." "Does it involve going door to door asking for a large white cat?" Trust Charles to be condescending at a time like this. I was only trying to help them. "It involves gathering data. Is your wife home Mr. Weatherby?" "No, I convinced her to visit Mrs. Croft to get her mind off the entire situation." "Excellent. Then you are still in the clear. I'm going to need you to take me through the events of Tuesday afternoon. From lunch until the time you left the ransom note on the door. Do not leave anything out. And," I added, "if you would be so kind as to give me a sample of the cat's hair, perhaps from a brush or her favorite pillow." Mr. Weatherby looked surprised at my forthrightness, then, as though he had been buoyed by renewed hope, he faintly smiled. "You heard her Charles, let's get to work." The gentlemen took me through the strange series of events and only Charles looked at me as if I had offended him by asking for a ladder to climb up to the roof. I knew any tracks would have been washed away by Wednesday night's rain, but I still wanted to take a look around. Once on the roof, I studied the surrounding terrain. There was a long garden wall that stretched behind the row of houses all the way to the end of the block. In the distance sat a squat warehouse just at the edge of the Thames River, the largest building within a few blocks. As I stood on the roof the smell of fish swept over me again, and I suddenly realized the building must be an indoor fish market. It seemed strange at first that a fish market would be so close to the Weatherby's wealthy residence, but then in London, many different areas seemed to be oddly thrown together. New houses and ancient taverns sat right next to each other. After all, there was a tannery next door to 221 B Baker Street. A thought struck me, but it was a long shot. Once I descended from the roof, we returned to the study. I asked Mr. Weatherby, "Do you happen to know what Princess Catherine's favorite food was?" "I believe it was some sort of fish. Yes, I'm sure of it. I can ask the maid about the specific type." "That won't be necessary. Mr. Weatherby, I believe I know where your cat may be, if she is still alive." "Good heavens, are you certain? If you were able to get her back I would be eternally grateful." "I will do everything in my power to return her to you, if at all possible." "Thank you Miss Keaton. You will of course be compensated. All the more so if you return with the cat in tow. Here," and he handed me a five pound note. I could not believe my eyes. "This is for your trouble thus far. I will give you twice that if you are able to find the cat and bring her home to my wife." The demure, self-effacing young woman in me wanted to immediately refuse him. But then I remembered this was a business transaction. Holmes was paid for his services, why shouldn't I be as well? "Thank you very much sir. Whether I find Princess Catherine or not, you will know by tomorrow. If I am unfortunately unable to find her, I will notify you by post. Mrs. Weatherby does not open your mail does she?" "Certainly not." "Good, then either way, your secret will be safe with me." From the author: REVIEW PLEASE! I hope to get the next chapter up sooner than within the week and reviews would sure help with that. I only need 3 more to get to an even 10. I already have the next chapter all planned out, now I just need to put it down on paper. Any suggestions on things to come?
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