Flynn's Christmas: A Sherlock and Lucy Short Story by Anna Elliott & Charles Veley

Author:Anna Elliott & Charles Veley [Elliott, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2018-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Becky was making better time than he was. Flynn hustled himself along after her as best he could with his sore knee, jostling through the shoppers and trying not to fall.

It was all clear to him. Mrs. Rigsby had picked up the satchel at the train station, dressed as a fat man. A fat man, because she had her skirt bunched up under her coat, along with her carpetbag. In front of the arcade shop, she had looked inside to see that there were no other shoppers and maybe that the lady clerk wasn’t watching. Then she had gone inside, probably pulling off the black beard and flattening the top hat with a quick move, while letting her skirts down at the same time she pulled out the carpetbag. Beard, hat, and satchel had gone into the carpetbag. Then she had bought something from the lady clerk and had it wrapped in brown paper. The wool cap had been in her coat pocket, and she’d put it on before leaving the shop.

If they could get to the end of the arcade in time to see the cab number, he could let Mr. Holmes know. At least they would be able to ask the cabman where he’d taken his fare.

But by the time Flynn had reached the end of the arcade, the cab was no longer in sight.

Becky turned to him, breathing hard and clenching her hands in frustration. She didn’t like failing any more than he did. “We lost her!”

Flynn shook his head. “Maybe not.”

At the end of the arcade, another cab was pulling up to let out a passenger. Flynn waved to get the driver’s attention.

The man’s dubious look faded when Flynn showed him the half-crown, the one Mr. Holmes had given each of them for train fare. The driver asked, “Where to?”

Flynn had a moment’s hesitation. Then he told the driver the address of old Shaw’s building in Whitechapel.

Becky got into the cab first, then barely waited for Flynn to sit down before she started in with questions.

“I don’t understand. Who is that woman? How do you know the address where she might be heading?”

Flynn’s stomach knotted up. He’d always avoided letting Becky—or anyone else for that matter—know how he lived when he wasn’t on a job for Mr. Holmes. The thought of how she’d look—maybe disgusted, or even worse, pitying—when she saw old Shaw’s building was like nails dragged on a chalkboard inside his mind. But the thought of disappointing Mr. Holmes was worse.

Flynn looked out the window as the cab started to roll, avoiding Becky’s gaze. “Her name is Mrs. Rigsby. She rents a room in the same building as me and the lads. Makes a living minding other people’s babies for them.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “And you’re sure she’s going back there now?”

“Pretty sure.” It was true, of course, that Mrs. Rigsby might have been going anywhere with the money she had in the satchel. “Remember the padlock old Shaw put on the door to our room?”

Becky nodded, looking like she’d put the pieces together, too.

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