CHAPTER 1: DURING THE ROUTINE STROLL, HOW DID SHERLINE ENTER THE CENTURY CASE OF WHITECHAPEL?

The morning of a last day in August just like any other day, I was still strolling on the familiar streets of London and recalled the age of thirteen when I ran down the new Trafalgar Square, the cruel East End, the peaceful Coventry Garden, and that place which was full of interesting things on the southern bank of the Thames. Those places I had met, had undergone when I was yet fourteen years old; and that was where lived a darker, more intriguing and deceptive London. Until now, I still hadn't known why my adolescence years was so "complicated".

When I was passing through Trafalgar Square, I saw a child begging for coins from passers-by, far out there also had a few children, probably from the same gang, and an urchin whom I did know before; then in my head pictured the "familiar" images of a dark period in 1870. Whomever once, was or being homeless, pickpockets and thieves that lived in squalid corners around Trafalgar Square all knew Tom, "the Cardinal" - with his "church" spreading across a fifth of London with the "priests" were professional thieves and pickpockets. He, to be specific, was not a criminal, just because it was his gang's only means of subsistence... but in my own opinion, he was a master of pickpocket, the urchins in his gang might be probably just like him. A few years ago there was a rumour amongst the criminals said that "the Cardinal of Trafalgar" had died, in an accident. No, it was just nothing more than a hoax. The previous year, it was not him that helped me when I was unjustly sentenced to death? He helped me because of one simple reason: He owed me that I once saved his "church", both financially and politically.

I would not go on telling stories of the past, as while I was recalling the memories, I bumped into a passenger. Not once, but twice! Okay, now that was a shame, to myself...

I was walking around Hyde Park, my favourite place to stroll after a few hours I wasted in Trafalgar Square had contributed to nearly two accidents with the passengers because my head went to the past while my feet was walking in the present... I didn't know why I just went on remembering those old things? Honestly, I could not forget... If only I could go back to those times?... Why not? Maybe one day travelling through time could be no longer a dream! It probably would come true, an invention of history, but I was pretty not sure it would be done in the near future; I could never wait... Maybe I would not be surprised if someone whom I did not know cam  out of nowhere and exclaimed: "Hello, a good day, Sherly!". Especially if that person looked "vaguely" like me. A lot of very strange things in life, were really hard to explain... I would better forget them...

Well, I was digressing, again! I did not know why but I just "go to a certain subject, then accidentally go to another subject...", all the time. I must say that I was walking in Hyde Park, right? Not "walking in far away ages", right? Bad habits die hard. I often mentioned problems just right the way a worm did, went to this part, turned to the other side of other part and forget the original problem. Oh no no, when I was working, I would not be like that! Moreover, it seemed a job was coming to me. Just in all of a sudden... surprisingly... and by somehow it was weird.

- Mademoiselle! There are news from Scotland Yard! Of Inspector Claramenthe Lestrade!

That was the telegraph-delivering child who was also a half-French, he often had to work hard because of the telegraphs from Scotland Yard. Maybe I should give him more than the usual two pennies, right? But only this time.

- A good morning. Should I pay you six pennies rather than two, as I think that the coming case is perhaps interesting?

- It's indeed, Mademoiselle! If it's truly interesting, will you pay me as you promised? It's a great case!

- A great case... How about I pay a shilling for you to have some candies?

- Excellente!

- And an ancient pistole? I'm not sure it from the reign of King Louis the thirteenth or fourteenth... but I'm sure it worth a fortune.

- Excellente! Mother and little sisters will be so happy!

- Well, Rémy. A great case! Six pennies plus a shilling and a "treasure" that worth more than forty pounds, all yours!

- Finish delivering all of these telegraphs and we will have a nice breakfast, not gruel as usual. Mademoiselle Sherline is the best after Maman!

He fled with his "fortune". I spent a considerable amount for a honourable case of my lifetime, did I not? For the French-British brother and sisters whose first letters in their names put together made the word REIMS. Right, the brother and his sisters, all five names: Rémy, Éleonore, Isabelle, Madeleine and Stephanie. They were as interesting as the case that I was into. Reims, that was the reason why I spoke French more than English when I was little...

Okay, I was born in France. British-descent, wait, German also. I was once proud of my heritage, being an aristocrat, and being a part of the oldest German-descent family. Later in life I would be so regretted that I would wish not to be born a quarter-German. Even just a quarter could cause me to lament that fact for the rest of my life.

The telegraph... Inspector Claramenthe... East End... Whitechapel... Murder?! Interestingly, the amount I paid for that telegraph was really worth it. A murder in the night in an alley in Whitechapel, no suspects, no evidences, no traces... it stimulated my curiosity. I would give up this routine stroll and catch a coach to East End to examine the scene. Now, what were we waiting for!

Wait... when I left the house... I just brought with me an ancient pistole coin which I was not sure where it came from that found in-the-closet, two shillings and eighteen pennies in my purse... With a shilling and twelve pennies, were they enough for a ride from West London to East London? I remembered the time when I solved my first cases ever in my life, included one which happened at East End, in order to get there ... one, I would board Scotland Yard's coach; two, I would run; three, I would pay on my own for a ride. It seemed cost a shilling plus eight pennies... for a ride from Kensington to Scotland Yard (some charioteers did really know how to earn more per ride, especially the ones who worked around the wealthy Kensington...). Also, from this Hyde Park to East End might cost approximately two shillings ... Well, run for my business! However... from Hyde Park to East End, by foot... I did not want to mention it again...

Oh, wait! And uninvited opportunity... Harriette! She was on the route! She always arrived the last, although she was a forensic. Nobody cared, as it was Clara's habit: evidences the first, forensic the last.

- Harriette, Harriette! Let me go along!

It seemed she did not hear me, however the charioteer did. But, it was futile if only the charioteer heard. I called her again and again while trying to catch up the coach:

- Harriette! Let me go along! Do you hear me? Let me go along!

She still did not hear. Usually, I was really calm, but once I got into a great case, there was no way I would give up. Not having patience to wait anymore, I drew out the Colt... and the carriage's window shattered...! O dear! It was supposed to be shot rather than to be thrown, was it—not?

The charioteer stopped by the side of the road, frantically called:

- Mrs Smitheford, are you okay?

Harriette opened the door, took off the hat and answered:

- Everything is fine, sir. Only the broken window.

She held my Colt, looked at it, mumbled, then looked around and shouted:

- Who in this London would throw a revolver right into Scotland Yard's carriage's window? Who on earth did this beside Sherline Holmes? Vixey! Where are you, the genius nerd? You aimed so perfect but sadly it missed!

I stood next to her and she did not know. Great! Why did she always like that? Oddly, indeed! The only thing I knew was I was not a phantom.

- It missed, really? I do not think so. It almost stamped your foot, did it not?

I whispered to her ear. She surprised and shouted: "O my goodness!". Passengers then stopped to watch.

- There's nothing to see! Mind your business! - They looked at Harriette, curiously and she urged - Go, quick!

Yes, people were leaving. Harriette after being freaked and blushed, returned onto the carriage, her hand was still holding my Colt. Quietly, I followed, boarded the carriage... and sat opposite her.

- Holy Mother Mary!

Harriette was surprised the second time and while being panicked, she intendedly threw my Colt at me. Fortunately, I defended myself just in time. I held her right wrist by one hand while flipping my hat up, revealed my face and kept her silent to avoid the risk of being misunderstood; it was rather annoying when the hat sometimes just flipped down my face and made me more like something mysterious than... an ordinary person. It was right that she panicked.

- It is me, it is Vixey, not a devil nor phantom.

Then I let go Harriette's hand and let her say.

- Vixey? Is that really Vixey?

- Then who on earth has just thrown a revolver into Scotland Yard's carriage and shattered the window?

- It almost stamped my foot!

- Simply saying, it did not miss!

- If this Colt wasn't thrown, if it was shot, then it wouldn't have missed my head...

- Touché, Harriette! Sometimes you do say something which is definitely bright!

We went on our trip for awhile, Harriette occasionally looked out of the window while I trying to retrieve back my Colt. She held it so tight, what should I do?

- Harriette, shall you give me back my Colt?

- Which would you exchange?

Yes, the first time she asked me for something to exchange. What in fact did she want?

- You act unusually childish to-day, Vixey. Because of the new case, isn't it? It ain't something as serious as you think. Psycho murderers in Whitechapel ain't rare, you know. This case seemingly easygoing, that was Lady Clara said.

- For a "small" case caused by a maniacal murderer, it took me a whole pistole? My goodness, no way. And yes, right, why I threw my precious Colt rather than shoot?

- I found your weakness, Mademo-selle. That's the case which made you like you just came from nowhere!

I smiled for a moment and replied:

- Me too. And let me ask you a question: are both of your parents British?

- Not really. My father is of Viking descent and my mother has Ireland heritage... but I'm still more pure-British than you!

I silenced for a few minutes. Now I knew why her features were so unique, and, was she mocking me of my heritage again?

- Return me my revolver, shall you?

- Okay, Mademo-selle. That's enough for some jokes. And—not many ladies carry a revolver around, I see.

- I will not say I have a little Derringer under my petticoat, it was in fact pure discomfort in many aspects to possess one. You cannot find where it is when time calls and the moment you are having afternoon tea— Talking about a torn petticoat...!

Suddenly I stopped, as another thought came in, not related at all to the former.

- Harriette Smitheford, Smitheford is your maiden name, or the surname of someone a fortunate gentleman? I remember in the past your name was something known as "Harriette Copporet"...

- My husband, Peter Smitheford.

- Really? - I laughed, - I never saw his face in Scotland Yard, but... we arrived, Madame Smitheford... - and pointed at the crowd - you told me this case is small but the eighteen-year-experience of my career told me it would not be small at all.

Out there, not so far, Clara was waving her arm to call us. Harriette returned my Colt back and grabbed her briefcase to begin her usual duty. I also checked my coat pockets. Where were my gloves...? Well, here they were, and... it was time for what I did best.