By now a crowd had gathered in the churhyard. The November wind whistled all aroud them. The churchbell tolled in the distance. As the coffin was lowered into the ground, they all leaned in to catch one last glimpse of the polished mahogany box, a cross carved into the lid.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," murmered the priest. He raised his hand, and the gravediggers began to fill the hole in. Even the closest relatives were too shocked to cry. Only one question penetrated the minds of everyone present there- Why would someone want to murder and innocent little girl?


She sat curled up in the velvet lined armchair, as if hiding from some invisible force. Which, in a way, she was. She checked the clock. One minute to six. Her heart rate soared. She reached for her pocket. She told herself no, but she cold not resist. She pulled out the letter. It read,


At exactly six o'clock on Thursday 9th November 1891, the world as you know it will end. Enjoy your last day alive.
Anon.

She regretted reading the letter now. It had only made her worse. She didn't believe in the supernatural. Most of the time. All that was left to do now was wait. The clock chimed six.
She sat upright, hardly daring to breathe. The waiting itself seemed to be killing her. On the sixth chime, she felt a spasm grip her chest. With a cry, she fell to the floor. Blinding, searing pain ripped through her body. She screamed. For a moment, she was sure she heard laughter. Then it all went black.


He screamed as the pain seared through his body. He knew he had a weak heart, but he had always thought that if death would come calling for him, it would be quick. But this was like no pain he had ever experienced before. Gripping the bars of his cell, he cried for help. But no one came. He was going to die, and there waas nothing anyone could do. After one last excruciating spasm of pain, he slumped on the floor, seeing and feeling nothing. He was no more.


The nurserymaid had heard the screams five minutes before, but she had paid no attention to them. That child screamed at everything. Although, it had been slightly strange the way that the screams had just stopped suddenly, not dying away as they had so often had before.
She supposed she should go and check on the child. Not that it would make any difference. Making her way along the long, twisting corridors of the mansion, she came to the door of the child's room. Taking the key out of her pocket, she inserted it into the lock. She had locked the girl in her room to show her some disapline. It wasn't like the parents showed her any. Manners and disapline, that was what that child needed, the nurserymaid thought to herself. Manners and disapline. She opened the door.
There lay the child, sprawled across her bed, her golden ringlets spread out under her head. She lay still, unmoving. Dead. The maid screamed.
She ran from the room, out of the house, and onto the moor. She had to get out. The child was dead. Nothing else could have entered her room. She was the only one with the key. It was impossible! At least, it was impossible for a being of this world...


He knocked on the door of the small, slated cottage situated on the South Penine moors of Yorkshire. The door was split into two halves, like that of a stable. The top half opened a crack, then shut. Then the whole door opened, revealing a tall, slim woman with long, auburn curls swept back from her face. Her eyes were violet, and heavily framed with thick, black eyelashes. She could not be more than twenty five.
Over her off white coloured shirt, she wore a pair of beige overalls, both crusted with grease. In her hand she carried a spanner. He wondered what a young woman could possibly want with such an object. And wearing trousers?! It was all very unladylike! Yet underneath the grimy, inferior clothes she wore, she appeared sophisticated and radient.
Her eyes looked him up and down, thouroughly noticing his appearence. From his shock of black hair, dark eyes and flashing smile, right down to his black patent well polished shoes, she missed nothing. He smiled at her in his charming manner.
"Miss DeLeon," he said, taking her hand. May I call you Katriona?"
"Miss DeLeon will do just fine," she replied curtly, opening the door wider and gesturing that he come inside.
As soon as he stepped through the threshold, he gasped at the number of objects that cluttered the room. From globes marking out the position of the British Empire to exquisite pieces of cloth draped over aeroplane engines, this room had it all. Particularly aeorplane engines, it seemed.
Katriona DeLeon stared at him intently with her piercing violet eyes. "Would you care for refreshment? Tea, cake perhaps?"
"Thank you, Miss DeLeon, could I possibly have a coffee? You see, I despise tea."
"Oh, yes, of course."
She turned, and walked through a door into what he assumed was a kitchen. He sat down on one of two sofas in a corner of a room, a coffee table in between. He heard a kettle whistling. A moment later, she returned with two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands. Sitting down on the sofa opposite him, she passed him his coffee whilst sipping her own. Her eyes neaver left his face.
"So," he said, "Before we get down to buisness, what exactly do you do, aside from being a detective?" She set her mug down.
"I am an inventor, of sorts," she replied. "You see these piles of junk around me? Well, I collect them all from various places, ans store them here untill I come up with an idea. You see, I have quite an incredible knack, I believe, for dreaming up a device that will save someone out there a lot of time and energy. For example, only recently did I sell someone a device that fetched me quite a tidy sum. The money lasts me out till my next case. Usually," she added quieter.
"How much money, precisely?"
"I'd rather not say. Now, back to buisness! Why have you come here today?"
"I have a case for you."
"A case, you say?" Katriona DeLeon leaned forward, her chin resting in her hands. "Most engaging." She sat for a moment, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly, she sprang up, and walked over to a wardrobe across the other side of the room. She opened the door, and brought out an ornate wooden box, covered in dust. She blew on the top of it, and moved back to the sofa. As she opened the box, he quickly leaned over to see what was inside.
The box was filled to the brim with notebooks, all bearing titles like, "The Delila Cook Case", or "The Toby Lodge Inquisition". She pulled out a blank notebook, and opened it.
"My Casebooks," she announced. "The Dectective side of my occupation has become rather sparse recently, and I've neglected my poor notebooks." She hugged it to her chest. Then, she set the notebook on her lap, took an inky fountin pen out of her pocket, and laid it on the paper.
"Firstly, your name?"
"Arthur Strand."
"Purpose of visit?"
"Murder."
"Of whom, may I ask?"
"Natalie Letitia Deanswood."
"Place of death?"
"The Grand Hotel, London."
"Date of death?"
"Thursday 9th November."
"Time of death?"
"Exactly six o'clock.
"Thank you. Now this is the most important question, so I will ask you to answer in as much detail as possible. What, as far as you can tell, was the method of death?"
"Well, this is the problem, Miss DeLeon, we don't atually know. It appears she just... Dropped down dead."
"I see. Well, Mr Strand,if there's nothing more you can tell me, then would you mind leaving? I don't mean to be rude, but you have given me a lot to think about. Would you mind if I came down to London on the train tomorrow? To see the scene of the crime."
"Yes, of course. Goodbye Miss DeLeon. Thank you for your time." Arthur Strand lifted his top hat, and waklked out the door. Katriona DeLeon smiled to herself. However it progressed from here, life was about to get a lot more interesting...


Later that day, Katriona sat in her armchair, lost on thought. This case would without a doubt be tricky, but stimulating. A person dropping down dead? She had several theories. Althpugh, she had not nearly as many as some of her previous cases. Katriona knew from past experience that it was a huge mistake to theorise before she had data. Inevitably she would begin to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. Even so... Yes, this case was going to be stimulating.
A few hours later, Katriona's trance was broken by a loud banging on her door. She stood up, to go and answer it, but before she got the chance the door flew open, and banged against the wall noisily. There stood a stout old lady about the age of thirty with thinning brown hair peeking out from under her mop cap. A nurserymaid?. She didn't look too pleased.
"Well, you took your time to find,"she said in a sarcastic voice. Her accent stated very strongly that she was from Yorkshire. "What is the point of setting up a detective agency on a moor where no one can possibly find it?! I know these moors like the back of my hand, yet I was over them a day and a night looking for you!"
There was a point. If anyone came looking for her to try and harm her, then they would not expect a young girl of twenty three living in a farmhouse cottage in Yorkshire to be running a practically world class detective agency. That was what she told herself. That and the fact she was atually quite sentimental, and was fond of her dear Yorkshire cottage. She had all sorts of clients here, but this one seemed like one of the more difficult ones.
"Madam," she said, trying to calm her down, "I am so sorry for your inconvinence. What seems to be the problem?"
"Don't you sweet talk me, Miss DeLeon, this is not the time. We need to get straight to the point here!" Oh dear. So she did mind.
"Why have you come to me then?"
"I'm here to report a murder, Miss DeLeon."
"A murder? Oh, most fascinating..."
"Miss DeLeon, please remember, this is not a parlour game! This is serious!"
"Quite, quite. Just a moment." She reached down to pick up her note book from where she had left it on the coffee table.
"Your name?"
"Ellen Court.
"Victim?"
"Her name was Emmiline Davis. I was her nurserymaid. She was just a child of six!"
"I see. Date of death?"
"Thursday 9th November. Yesterday."
"Place of death?"
"Blackhurst Manor. Not too far from here."
"How did it seem like she had died?"
"You won't believe this, Miss DeLeon, but it seems like she just dropped down dead."
Katriona DeLeon looked up from her notebook. At what time was this?"
"Exactly six o'clock last night."
Katriona's eyes widened. Both the murders had been committed at exactly the same time.


The next day dawned bright and early. Arthur Strand had arranged for a cab to pick her up at one o'clock to take her down to Haworth train station, to take her down to London. Katriona DeLeon intended to investigate the Grand Hotel, especially the room in which Natalie Deanswood died. She had apparently been on a trip down to London, at some kind of cocktail party.
However, before she journed down to London, Katriona wanted to visit Blackhurst manor, where little Emmiline Davis had lived. She was convinced there was a connection between these two somewhat subtle murders. That is, if they were murders at all. She suspected they were. If this was a riddle with no soloution, she may as well turn to the supernatural. And that was something Katriona DeLeon had sworn she would never do.
It was a suprisingly nice day for November, so Katriona had decided to walk down to Blackhurst Manor. It wasn't far. Just a stroll down a few of Yorkshire's country lanes and turn left. She approached a collossal, grey building, casting shadows of the sun's beautiful light across the lawn. Not the sort of place you'd expect a child to be raised in. This must be Blackhurst Manor. As she approached, she found the door wide open, and a police carriage outside. She knocked and entered.
No one was in the hall. Katriona listened intently. Footsteps seemed to be coming from the floor above. Walking over to the ebony staircase, a persian rug draped over it, she climbed.
At the top of the stairs was a long corridor, with at least a dozen doors surrounding it. The third door on the left was open, so she walked inside.
This seemed to be the little girl Emmilene's room. The walls were lined with ornate wallpaper, and beautiful wine coloured curtains were draped over the windows.It was filled with many China dolls, stuffed animals, and even a rocking horse. This child ovbiously had very rich parents. That is, at least, HAD had very rich parents.
Four people, aside from Katriona, stood in the room. One was Ellen Court, one appeared to be a cook, the other a chambermaid. The fourth was a man, but he was standing with his back to her at the window, so she was unable to see his face. Noticing her arrival, Ellen Court turned, and spoke loudly, disrupting the blanket of silence which had befallen the room.
"Oh, Miss DeLeon," she said, causing everyone else apart from the man at the window to turn and stare. "We wern't expecting you." she walked over to her, and in doing so, Katriona saw that behind her on the bed lay the body. She was a beautiful little girl, with ringlets about her head like a halo.
"Thank you for coming," said Ellen Court, "And also I apologise for being so blunt and crude with you yesterday. I was in a slight state of shock, as I'm sure you can understand. The rest of the servants and I have hardly been able to leave the room, thinking of our poor little mistress just lying there!" She gestured towards the bed. "Thank you so much for coming."
"That's fine, Ms Court," replied Katriona. She was ideed warming to Ellen. But please call me Katriona. May I examine the body?"
"Yes of course, er, Katriona. If we are to be on friendly terms, you must call me Ellen. Let me introduce you to the other two servants. This is Winifred Hilton, the familie's cook, and Betty Morstan, the chambermaid. We shall leave you to get on with your investigation." With that they all turned on their heels and and walked out the room. Katriona waas left alone with alone with no one save the body of Emmilene Davis and the silent man.
She walked over to the body. Emmilene Davis was unblemished- her perfect snow white skin unmarked by any wound or piercing of the skin. Katriona was just about to inspect her pinefore dress when she heard a murmer come from the other side of the room.
"So, Katriona DeLeon, do you think this is a riddle you can solve?" enquired the cold, ironic voice. Katriona looked up.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" she asked. "If you don't mind, Miss DeLeon will do just fine."
Her companion smirked, then turned. Those grey eyes, together with that silver streaked black hair, she would know those features anywhere."
"Timothy Smythe," she said. He smiled coldly.
"Well, Miss DeLeon, I'm suprised that a young woman such as yourself could still be chasing after such dangerous criminals. If you had't already been captured or killed, I would have thought something like embroidery was more your'e subject."
Katriona sighed inwardly. Timothy Smythe was by far the most testing person she had ever met. He was a fellow detective, somewhat past his prime, but far too proud to admit it. It had been one of his later cases, and one of her earlier ones, when everyone had just been left completely baffled, and she had just strolled in there and, to everyone's amazement, solved it. As far as she could remember it, it had atually been quite easy. But not for Timothy Smythe, his pride had never been the same again. And her refused to let her forget it.
"Thank you, Mr Smythe, but I think I shall devise my own hobbies and intrests, if you don't mind," she replied coldly. "I have tried my hand at embroidery, but I would not count it as one of my main skills."
Smythe said nothing. Katriona was sure it was because there was no retort that he could say. She smiled to herself. One-nil to Katriona DeLeon. At that moment Ellen Court, the cook and the chambermaid returned with with a balding man about fifty.
"Katriona," said Ellen, "This is Doctor Henning. He checked over Emmilene's body after we found her."
"Miss DeLeon, I can confirm that when I checked Emmilene Davis, I found nothing wrong with her medically. There is, it seems, no cause for her death. What can we do?"
Katriona DeLeon turned to Ellen. "where are the girls parents?" Ellen shuffled from foot to foot, and looked a bit sheepish.
"Well, we don't know, Katriona. The father is away in India on a buisness trip, and the mother is down in London at some kind of party. We cannot contact the father, but we have sent a telegram down to London. We have had no reply."
"Well?" said Timothy Smythe.
"Well?"
"Giving in yet?"
She turned to Smythe, her eyes hard as ice.
"No, atually. Give me a chance, Mr Smythe. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have another crime scene to visit." And with that she turned, and strode out the door, leaving Smythe, the Doctor, and all the housemaids gaping.


The four wheeler carriage trundled through the busy streets of London. Kariona sat inside it, feeling somwhat uncomfortable. The lack of cases had kept her away from cities, somewhat lost in her own world, and this was a complete contrast to the moors of Yorkshire which she called her home.
The carriage came to a halt outside a huge, imposing building. The words THE GRAND HOTEL were written in gold across the entrance. Arthur Strand was leaning on a silver topped cane next to the door, and at the sight of Katriona's carriage drawing up he stepped over and opened the door. Quite the gentleman.
"Miss DeLeon," he gteeted her. "How are you? Come, I will show you the scene of the crime."
He led her through the doors, up the staircase, along several corridors untill the came to a big mahogany door. Arthur Strand knocked, and led her through.
Several policeman and hotel staff stood around the body of a tall, slim woman with chocolate brown hair cascading down to her mid back. Katriona walked over and knelt down next to her. Natalie Deanswood had no wounds or blemishes on her. Just the same as Emmilene Davis. Katriona stood up and walked over to an armchair which stood at the other side of the room. Apparently, Natalie Deanswood had been found in a crumpled heap on the floor in frount of this very armchair. Katriona circled the piece of furniture, hoping something would jump out and stare her in the face. Which, quite often, with her amount of skills, it did.
Just behind the armchair a reddish brown powder discoloured the floor. Katriona knelt down, ran her index finger through the discolouration, brought her hand to her face, and blew on her finger. Hmm. The reddish brown stuff was a powder. Interesting.
"Miss DeLeon?" called Arthur Strand.
"Yes?"
"We found this next to the body." He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket. Katriona took it from him, and read.
"At exactly six o'clock on Thursday 9th November 1891, the world as you know it will end. Enjoy your last day alive. Anon." She passed it back to him. "Well, the world certainly ended for her, God rest her soul. At least, now we have a firm grasp of the obvious."
"And what is that?"
"These murders were no accident."
"Murders?"
She fixed her eyes on him. "On the day of Natalie's death at the exact same time a six year old girl was found dead in a manor house in Yorkshire. She too had died of no apparent cause. This is no coincidence. These two murders are connected." She was silent for a few moments, as if allowing for her point to sink in.
"By the way, what is your relation to Natalie Deanswood?" she asked.
"She was an, ah, friend." Arthur Syrand looked embarassed. "She was married also."
"I see. What is her husband's name, and where is he then?"
"He is on a buisness trip in India, and his name is Peter Davis." Davis? Buisness trip in India? It was all beginning to snap into place.
"But her name was Natalie Deanswood. Was that her maiden name?"
"Yes. Her real name was atually Natalie Davis. She preferred her maiden name."
"Katriona turned and ran from the room. Arthur turned and followed her.
"Miss DeLeon, where are you going?" Katriona turned.
"Back to Yorkshire," she replied. "There's someone I need to see."


Arthur Strand had insisted on returning to Yorkshire with Katriona, for what reason even she herself coudn't quite put her finger on. So there they were, traversing up the drive to Blackhurst manor. Katriona had her eyes fixed on a certain spot of the carriage wall, her face grim, whilst Arthur Strand was staring out of the window, amazed. He had proably never laid his eyes on a more melancholy sight than Blackhurst manor.
In the past few days the weather had changed considerably, as is often the custom of British weather, becoming a lot more typical of November. The leaves had just left the trees, and the place looked dead. How perfectly it matched the events.
The carriage drew to a halt outside the entrance. Katriona opened the door, jumped out, and ran into the house, closely followed by Arthur Strand. She ran up the stairs to Emmilene's nursery, calling for Ellen Court.
"Ellen, Ellen!" she cried, flying through the door. Ellen turned, her eyes wide. She caught Katriona's arms just before she flew into her. Katriona lifted her head at Ellen, panting heaily, her hair unruly. She calmed.
"Ellen Court! I have a very important question for you, one worth travelling for a couple of days up from London to ask you in person. It will determine the direction of this case, so please try to answer in as much detail as possible."
"Fire away, Katriona," she answered, sounding worried.
"What are the names of Emmilene Davis' parents?" ased Katriona. She stared at Ellen intently the way she so often did, the room quiet.
"Peter and Natalie Davis." answered Ellen carefully. "Why?"
Katriona sank down onto a chair. This was beginning to get too much. Natalie Deanswood was Emmilene Davis' mother.
"Emmilene's mother, Natalie, was found dead in her hotel room after her party, with no apparent cause attached, just like her daughter. She died at the exact same instant."
"Good Lord!" cried Ellen, her hand flying to her mouth. It was only then when Katriona had fully recovered that she decided to ask where Emmilene's body was.
"Where is the child's body now?" she asked.
"It's been sent to Leeds mortuary, Katriona. It's the nearest major mortuary. That was yesterday. The body was beginning to smell. Iv'e arranged for one of the pathologists there to wire you when they have any results."
"That was thoughtful. Thank you."
At that moment footsteps approached, and Arthur Stand arrived at the door.
"There you are, Miss DeLeon, I've been looking everywhere for you! I lost you on the stairs you ran so fast. What is going on?"
"And who is this?" enquired Ellen Court.
"Ellen Court, Arthur Stand. Arthur Strand, Ellen Court. Can we press on?" said Katriona tiredly.
"Who is he?" ased Ellen suspiciously.
"Arthur Strand was a friend of Natalie Davis, Ellen. Mr Strand, Ellen was the nurserymaid of the late Emmilene Davis, the murdered girl. Natalie's child."
"Ah, that explains a lot. Delighted to meet you", he said, flashing Ellen a dashing smile. She flushed.
"Is there still no sign of Peter Davis?" said Katriona.
"No", replied Ellen. "His buisness trip is not due back untill... Dear God! It's today!"
"Hang on... Everyone, quiet for a minute!" said Arthur Strand. "Listen! That sounds like horses!" They all rushed to the window.
"Yes, that's the master's carriage all right, said Ellen. Arthur grinned at Katriona.
"What a coincedence," he smiled. Katriona glared back at him. Ellen began to panic.
"What shall I say?!" she siad, worried.
"Leave it to me," said Katriona. "I've delt with situations like this before. Although not exactly on this scale," she murmered mor quietly to herself. They could hear the carriage drawing up to the open door. Tension grew as the footsteps advanced up the stairs. At last,a figure appeared in the doorway. A young man, with blond hair and a matching moustache. Peter Davis.
"What the hell is going on?" he askedf. "Ellen, I expect better! The door wide open, and... Who are these people, and where are Emmilene and Natalie?"
"Sir," Katriona stepped forward. "I am Detective Katriona DeLeon, and I regret to inform you that your wife and daughter have been murdered."
"What?!" cried Davis. "No! It can't be! Natalie! My poor Emmilene!" He turned deathly pale. Seeing he was about to faint, Katriona guided him to a chair. Peter Davis stared at Arthur Strand.
"And who are you?" he asked.
"I am Arthur Strand. I was a friend of your wife's."
"Oh, were you?" he answered. "How come she's never mentioned you?"
"Please, Gentleman, now is not the time!" pleaded Ellen.
"How is it they died?" asked Peter Davis.
"We're still trying to figure that out," replied Katriona. "Look, I have to go home. I have a lot playing on my mind, riddles begging to be solved. I need to shut them up. Besides, I think you need some time to let this tragic infomation sink in, Mr Davis. Good evening to you."
"Wait!" said Arthur Strand. "Where am I to sleep?! I can't go back to London tonight, even if I wanted to!" Katriona rolled her eyes.
"I suppose you can stay with me for a night," she said.
Bidding them all goodnight, Katriona turned, with Arthur Strand on her heels, and stalked out the door.


Katriona walked along the South Penine moors back to her house. The sun was just setting, the sky blood red over the barren yet beautiful landscape. Arthur Strand walked next to her, seeming intent on being involved in her case.
"So, have you worked out how the Davises died?"
"I have a good idea." replied Katriona.
"Really?! You sound a lot like Sherlock Holmes! Surely you have read Dr. Watson and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's memoirs in the Strand magazine?" enquired Arthur.
"Oh yes, I have." Katriona smiled. "I think we're quite alike, atually, I just don't brag or mention my deductions so much. I'm quieter, in that sense."
"I see. I am sure that the day you meet Sherlock Holmes will be the day the Great Detective meets his match."
"You flatter me too much." They walked for a bit in silence. Eventurely Arthur Strand spoke, trying to fill the gap in the conversation.
"So... Are you from Yorkshire?"
"Yes", Katriona replied. "Born and bred. Are you a Londoner then?"
"I am indeed," said Arthur Strand. "I would love to live in Yorkshire though. It's a beautiful county."
"That is true." Katriona smiled. Arthur Strand took a deep breath.
"Miss DeLeon... I... When this case is over,I don't want to go back to London." Katriona turned to face him. "You have introduced me to the world of crime solving, and I don't want to go back to everyday life."
"What is everday life, exactly?" asked Katriona.
"I'm an accountant," he replied. Katriona smiled to herself. Of course, you could hardly get more everyday than having that as a job.
"Listen, Miss DeLeon, I could get a place nearby, and I'm sure I could find an extra job in some town like Haworth and Keighly."
Katriona turned to him, puzzled. "Mr Strand, what exactly are you tring to say?" Arthur Strand took another deep breath, looking embarrassed.
"Would you consider... Taking me on as your assistant? An apprentice, if you like. I'll try and assit you as much as I can."
Katriona frowned at him. Gradually her glare disappeared, and her face was lit up by a smile.
"Well, if we are to be collegues, we need to go by our first names." She held out her hand towards Strand. "Arthur, call me Katriona."


The next day, Katriona DeLeon sat in her armchair, reading the Strand magazine. The previous night's conversation had wetted her appetite once again for the detective stories which reminded her so much of her own life. She glanced across the room, over to the sofa where Arthur Strand slept. He had not yet awoke, and he lay there, snoring away to his heart's content. Katriona smiled. What an idiot he looked! There was a knock at the door. She opened it.
"Telegram for you ma'am," said the boy.
"Thank you kindly," said Katriona, pressing the shilling into the boy's palm. With a delighted snile on his face, the boy scampered off. Katriona unfoled the telegram. It read,

HAVE RESULTS FROM POST MORTEM TESTS OF EMMILENE AN NATALIE DAVIS. I AM TRAVELLING UP FROM THE LEEDS MORTUARY TO TELL YOU.
TOMAS CONNELLY
PATHOLOGIST
SCOTLAND YARD


Katriona smiled. She and Tomas Connelly went back a long way, in man more was than one. The were old aquaintances, if you like, but he always acted so formal towards her. She sat down again in her chair, and waited for him.
An hour and a half later, the Pathologist arrived. Stepping through the door, Tomas Connelly ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, and unsuccessfully tried to straighten his shirt after the wild wind he has enountered on his way to the cottage.
"Good afternoon, Miss Deleon," he said. "I have the results of the Post Mortem tests."
"Do tell, Tomas," Katriona replied.
"Well, I pierced Natalie Davis' skin, and- Miss DeLeon, what is that man doing on your couch?!" Katriona turned. Arthur Strand had just stirred from where he lay, and he sat there gazing at her, puzzled.
"Em, Katriona, what's going on?"
"Nothing, Arthur," she replied. "You overslept, and Tomas here was just about to tell me the ruaults of your friend Natalie Davis' Post Mortem tests."
She put extra emphasis on the "friend", just in case Tomas Connelly had got the wrong idea. Unfortunately, he had. He stood there, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Who is he?" Tomas asked. Not that he was any of his buisness anyway. Katriona sighed inwardly.
"This is Arthur Strand, my assistant. He has come up from London, and needed a place to stay, so I loaned him the use of my couch."
"Miss DeLeon, do you think this is wise?" asked Tomas with a slight smirk. "I mean, so many people could take it the wrong way, if you see what I mean."
"Look, you leave her alone!" said Arthur Strand, angered. "This is her house, and as far as I am aware she can, within reason, do what she wants in it. You're a pathologist. Stick to your job."
"Anyway!" cried Katriona. "Why don't you both sit down on the sofas, and Tomas can continue with his narrative." They did as she said.
"As I was saying," said Tomas, "I pierced Natalie Davis' skin, to check for any abnormalties, and a strange black liquid trickled out. I tried the same with little Emmilene Davis, and the exact same thing happened. We have come to the conclusion that some chemical invaded the bloodstream and converted the blood cells to more of itself."
"Like a cancer," Arthur chimed in.
"Similar," said Katriona, "Only instead of multiplying, it coverts. A poison. I thought as much."
"Indeed," replied Tomas Connelly. Katriona turned to him.
"Thank you, Tomas, that's all I need to know. Good day to you."
Tomas walked to the door, then turned, his mouth open, a if he was about to say something. He didn't. Turning, he walked out the cottage, leaving Katriona and Arthur in a peaceful silence.


Katriona decided to take the news down to Blackhurst manor to reveal the results of the post mortem tests. She knocked on the door, and Ellen opened it.
"Hello Katriona! Please, come in."
"Thank you Ellen." She followed Ellen into the kitchen. She offered her a seat at a big wooden table.
"Tea, coffee, Katriona?" asked Ellen.
"No thank you, I'm fine," she replied.
"So why have you come?" asked Ellen, sitting down opposite her.
"I wish to speak to Peter Davis. The post mortem results for his wife and child have arrived."
"The master will be down shortly," said Ellen. "He's in his study. I think he's still coming to terms with the deaths."
"It's only natural," Katriona agreed. They both lapsed into silence. Katriona tried to think of something, anything to say. It was Ellen who spoke.
"You know, I saw a man walking across the moors. He wasn't local."
"Oh, really?" said Katriona, intrested.
"Yes. He had white blonde hair, I recall."
"Ah, said Katriona, "That was Tomas, the pathologist."
Ellen turned. "You know him?" Katriona didn't answer, pretending to be interested in a hare strung up on the celing.
"Katriona?" said Ellen, "Do you know him?"
"Yes, yes, I know him!" snapped Katriona, blushing. Ellen smiled. "Hmm?" Katriona looked down, clearly embarrassed.
"Lets just say it didn't last long." Ellen laughed, then realised Katriona did not find it amusing, and stopped. Once again the silence took over.
"So, Ellen, what about you?" asked Katriona. "Are you married?"
"I'm engaged, atually," she replied rather proudly.
"Oh, to whom?" said Katriona, sounding suprised. She had known all along, just by seeing her engagement ring, of course.
"His name is Charlie Tenant. Atually, he said he might drop by."
At that precise moment, a knock sounded at the back door. Ellen sighed. "Speak of the devil." She opened the door, and there stood a scruffy, unkempt man with light brown hair and a stubbly moustache, a grin on his dirty face.
"Katriona, this is my fiance, Charlie," said Ellen. She walked over to him, and he looped his arm around her waist.
"Hello, Katriona," he said, taking her hand.
"Good afternoon, Charlie. Your'e a bricklayer, aren't you?"
"Ellen told ou that, didn't she?" Charlie said.
"No," smile Katriona. "I saw your knees, elbows and hands were covered in a reddish powder which I could only assume to be brickdust."
"It also seems so simple now!"
"Indeed."
At that moment Peter Davis walked into the kitchen, his eyes rimmed with red. He had obviously been crying.
"Ellen, get back to work," he said. "And Charlie, I did not invite you to enter my premesis. Good day to you." He turned to Katriona.
"Hello, Miss DeLeon. What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, Mr Davis," Katriona replied. I have the results of the Post Mortem tests."
"Ah. I see. You'd better come up to my study with me then."
She followed him out of the kitchen, `up several flights of stairs, along a corridor, and through a door. The room was cluttered, but not not as badly as her own cottage. Peter Davis closed the door.
"So, Miss DeLeon, how did they die?" Katriona took a deep breath.
"It was poison. Somehow the poison acted a while later, which holds many advantages for the murderer."
"Ideed." He sighed. Neither of them spoke. Katriona felt an immense sense of smpathy for him. Losing his wife and child at the same time must have been an awful shock. Her thoughts were suddenly interupted by sudden banging, crashing and yelling sounds coming from the floor below. The dynamics increased. They were coming up the stairs. Peter Davis looked at Katriona, confused.
The door flew open. There stood Timothy Smythe, glaring in the direction of Davis. Half a dozen policemen stood behind him.
"Mr Peter Davis?" Smythe said.
"Yes?" he snapped.
"I arrest you for the murder of Natalie and Emmilene Davis, your wife and child," he said. Smythe turned to the Police officers behind him, and jerked his head in Davis' direction. "Well, take him away, then."
The Policemen advanced towards him, one of them producing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He locked them in place over Davis' wrists, and led him, kicking and screaming, from the room. The other police officers followed, untill only Katriona and Timothy Smythe were left in the room. Katriona turned to him, her eyes blazing.
"What are you doing?! I know for a fact it was not him!"
Smythe looked at her smugly. "Who else would it have been?"
"As detectives, it's our job to find out!"
"Ah, Kat. Back to your embroidery, eh? Leave me to the glory," he replied. With that he turned, and walked from the room.
Katriona stood glaring at nothing in particular, wondering what to do. She would find the real murderer. She had to. The only question was, who was it?


The next morning Katriona stirred in her bed, a sense of happiness washing over her. Then she remembered the previous night's events, and crashed back down to earth. She should not be happy till she found the murderer, whatever the cost.
Her chain of thoughts were shattered at the sound of banging, crashing and the shouts of, "MISS DELEON!" coming from outside. She flew out of bed, tied her kimono around her waist, and raced downstairs.
At the door was a police officer, his face red. He had obviously ran a long way to find her.
"Miss DeLeon, Timothy Smythe sent me. It's about Peter Davis. He's dead, ma'am.
Arthur Strand joined her at the door. "Katriona, what's happing today?" Katriona ignored him.
"Were there no wounds on him at all?"
"No ma'am."
"Poison." Katriona ran a hand through her curls. "It's happened again. The whole family. The magical three." She sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
"Miss DeLeon, I must return to my base. We're having a crackdown on security."
"If you must. Good day," Katriona said, and, after closing the door, slowly walked back to her armchair. Arthur sat next to her. She sat with her head in her hands. This case was becoming more baffling by the second.


Katriona hadn't moved from her armchair for several hours. Nothing made sense. Then, all of a sudden, it clicked. She sat upright. No. It was unlikely. But she had eliminated all other possibilities. She sprang from her chair, and grabbed her coat and hat.
"Katriona?" asked Arthur Strand, confused as to where she was going. Katriona left the house to go to Haworth, to make a few telegrams. An hour later she returned, and sat down in her chair, resuming the sat position she had sat in before. All that was left to do now was wait.


Not too much later a small crowd of people gathered at the door. Timothy Smythe, with a few policeman, Ellen Court, and her fiance Charlie Tenant all stood there, waiting to be allowed in. Katriona DeLeon opened the door. "Welcome, all of you. Please, come in," she said.
She had pulled the sofas and chairs in the room into a semicircle shape, Arthur Strand sitting in the middle armchair. Everyone else filed in and sat down where they could. Katriona stood in front of all of them.
"I have called you all here today," she started, "Bacause I have solved this baffling case." Murmers and whispers sped around the room.
"I have called these police officers too," Katriona continued, "Because I know the murderer is in this room." She turned to each of their faces. "May I invite you all to draw your minds back to three weeks ago, when the Davis family were still alive. Now, we know their deaths were the result of poison, and what a poison it was! From an anchient Persian fruit, I belive. It is ground down into a paste, and when consumed by the victim, acts a month later. The poison enters the bloodstream through the gut wall, and converts the bloodcells into more toxin, but instead of multiplying, converting. It takes a month for the entire bloodstream to be consumed. But, before I carry on, I have a question. Ellen Court, are you sure you have never met Arthur Strand before?"
Ellen drew a quick breath in before replying, "No, never Katriona. Never in my life."
"Really? And what would you say if I told you that he worked for your fiance?"
Ellen turned to Charlie, an expression of horror on her face. "He's a bricklayer!"
"No, he's not. Fake occupation," smiled Katriona.
"He took me to his work!"
"No. Fake building site. May I ask if that was about a week ago?"
"It was!"
"Right. Do you want to know what his real job is?"
"What?!"
"I'm an occasional assassin," said Charlie Tenant. "Fine. I'll come clean. But let me begin at the beginning.
My real name is Charles Davis. At the age of twenty five I met a woman. Her name was Natalie Deanswood, and I loved her deeply. I asked for her hand, and she agreed, but I could tell that in her heart she was young and uncertain. Then you met my brother. You know him. Peter Davis. She decided she loved him better. Natalie broke off the engagemant and eloped with him. My heart has never mended.
For ten years I plotted my revenge. Occasionally I would hear stories of the Davised, and how wonderful their lives were. Their grand house. Their lovely jobs. Their beautiful daughter. I swore they would all suffer.
And yes, I earned my living by occasional assassination. It was my way of surviving. Then I met Arthur here," he said, gesturing across the room.
"I lured him in with promises of power and wealth. Then I went to Blackhurst Manor, and found Ellen.
"I wooed her with promises of a long and happy marriage. She, of course, belived me." He turned to Ellen. "I'm sorry. I never loved you. I needed a weak target, and you were the only one in my line of view." He turned back to Katriona. "Yes, you were right. The poison as from Persia. I blackmailed Ellen saying that she did not love me if she did not do as I say, and I bid her to coat the mother and daughter's food in this paste. I also knew that the longer I left the ground up fruit, the longer it would take to consume a body, so I purposely left my brother's dose mature longer before making Ellen poison him. That way, if I timed it perfectly, he would hopefully be arrested for the murders of his wife nd child, and if not, he would die anyway.
Two days before the date of Natlie's death, I showed Ellen the fake building site, just to kill any suspicions she might have. After that I traveled down to London to the Grand Hotel was Natalie was staying. I scribbled note, left it on her armchair, and hid behind it. I was that desparate to watch her die. She had been my main target. How you knew, Katriona DeLeon, that I had been to a building site on that day is beyond me."
"You left brick dust on the floor beside the armchair where you knelt." Katriona replied.
"I see. So, I sent Arthur to alert you about her death, hoping you would arrest the wrong person. I underestimated you. My plans failed.
Katriona smiled. "Mr Smythe, will you do the honours? Don't forget Ellen, too."
"Charles Davis, I'm arreating you for the murders of Peter, Natalie and Emmilene Davis!" cried Timothy Smythe.
Katriona glanced around. There was somrthing wrong. Arthur Strand, the second accomplice! He had escaped! She ran out of the door, and onto the moors. Luckily, Katriona was fairly athletic, and she raced after Strand.
"Arthur Strand! Stop!" she yelled. He turned.
"It was a shame you were on the wrong side," she continued. "You seemed like quite a gentleman."
"No, Katriona, it's a shame you had to meddle so much. You seemed like quite a sweet girl, really."
Quicker than the human eye could follow, he whipped a pistol out from under his cloak.
"I've told you before, Miss Deleon will do just fin-"
Pain seared through her as the bullet hit her just beneath her ribcage. It all went black.


Timothy Smythe approached the bed where Katriona DeLeon lay. The nurses bustled around, attending to the other patients. He had been told her condition was stable, but she needed to rest. All the same, he wanted to speak to her. He laid a hand on her arm.
"Katriona?" Timothy Smythe said softly. She opened her eyes.
"Listen, I am so so sorry. You were right all along, and if I had not been blinded by arrogance, maybe it would not had led to this. Can you ever forgive me?"
Katriona smiled.
"What is it?" Smythe asked.
Her reply was very faint. "I always knew embroidery was never my strong point."


AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD
I really hope you enjoyed my first book, Intoxication. There are a few points that I have included in this tale which may puzzle or interest you, so I have decided to write down those ones of note. Firstly,


THE SETTING
Welcome to Yorkshire of 1891, Katriona DeLeon's world. I chose for Katriona to be from Yorkshire because I love it so much. I only truly feel at home when I'm in Yorkshire.
So, firstly, a little bit of infomationa on the area, just in case you're interested. (PTO)





England is split up into many different areas called counties. Yorkshire is the biggest county in England. (On this map it's quite near the top, highlighted in red.) In fact, it's so big it's split into three parts- North Yorkshire, West Yorkshire and Humberside. Katriona lives in West Yorkshire, on the South Penine moors. This is a flat, barren area which also spans into the neighboring county, Lancashire. The nearest town to her is Haworth, the home of Bronte sisters some fourty years before. I can assure you, it is the magical place. Here is a picture...





You can just see the moors in the background, the setting of Emily Bronte's wuthering heights. This is Katriona's home, the one place where she is truly in her element. She LOVES it there.





Here is a picture. I'm not sure if this is the area of the moors which is in Yorkshire or Lancashire, but it has a ery wild and beautiful quality.
The nearest city is Leeds, where I live. That's about fourty five minutes away in a car.




Leeds is amazing. It's quite a recent city, having only really been around since medieval times. I know it doesn't sound that that recnt, but believe me, compared to York, a city in North Yorkshire, which has been around since Viking and Roman times, it's nothing. Katriona may visit York at some point. There's a beautiful area called the Shambles. It's very mysterious.



Here is yet another visual. I love it there. I'm certain Katriona will too.


SHERLOCK HOLMES
You may have remembered that about halfway through the book when Katriona is walking along the moor with Arthur Strand, he mentions Sherlock Holmes and how Katriona should meet him. At the same time he also mentions Arthur Conan Doyle. Confusing. I know. The best way for me to explain how it is possible in Katriona's world for Holmes to be real and his creator to also be real, is to say that Watson, Holmes' biographer, goes to the Strand magazine (where the Sherlock Holmes stories are to be published) and tells them about this amazing detective with exceptional deeductive powers. Conan Doyle, who works for the Strand, decided to work together with Watson to publish Holmes and Watson's incredible adventures. I hope this clears up any confusion!
I know if this is the case Katriona could find it possible to meet Sherlock Holmes, but it won't happen. That would be just cheesy. Besides, it would probably end in a stand off between them, and I expect Katriona would lose. She isn't developed enough as a detective yet. :)


THE COVER PHOTO
Yes, I know it is slightly irrelevant. It's a manga picture that looks nothing like the Katriona DeLeon I described. Well, truth be told, when I first set out to write this, I was stuck for a cover idea. Then I found that image, and stuck it on. If I find a better one, I will use it.


THE FIRST IDEA
This whole thing started at my school, when we did a topic on the detective genre. We saw a few detective films, and I decided this was something I was really interested in. We had a smaall challenge to create a detective of our own as a lesson starter, and I thought of this young woman called Katriona DeLeon. The first time Arthur Strand meets Katriona is the edited version of the paragraph that we had to write about 'our detective'. We also had to write about our detective comihng face to face with the murderer. I had intended for Katriona to have a stand off with her 'arch enemy', but it changed into Katriona being shot by her new assisstant. Thus, Katriona DeLeon was born.
I decided to carry the idea on at home, and was planning to write a novel on the idea of this plot. The strange prologue at the beginning when you read about Emmilene, Natalie and peter Davis dying is exactly the same as what I wrote in my novel draft.
For the end of topic assessment we had to write a dtective story. Challenging! So this was my story. I got a really good grade at the end of it, and I decided to share it with the world.


THE REAL KATRIONA DELEON
Well, I don't atually know anyone who runs around Yorkshire looking for clues and getting shot. I guess you could say her personality is similar to that of Sherlock Holmes. I intended for her to have a dry sense of humour, a bit like Sherlock Holmes, and to be quite exceptional in her deductive reasoning.
The name came from a book I read by Louis Sachar, called small steps. There was a famous pop star in it called Kaira DeLeon. It s definately stealing the name, I know how similar they are, but I thought it sounded so sophisticated and would suit her perfectly.


ACCURACY
OK, I am aware that a lot of the facts in this book are not accurate. I mean, I know it takes about four hours in a car to get from Yorkshire to London, but in a horse and carriage?! It would take about four days in 1891. Even going down on the trains would take about a day and a half, I've calculated. An besides, a lot of the historical facts were'nt accurate either. Truth is, although it fascinates me, I'm no expert in daily Victorian life, or the speed and velosity of hansom carriages. I will try and be more accurate in the next book, though. :)


FURTHER READING
Hmm. If youv'e enjoyed this, what other books could you find entertaining? Sherlock Holmes. That's what inspired me to write this, so there must be something similar in them. They are amazing pieces of literiture, and well worth a read. Admitidly, they are quite difficult, but I've read just about all of them, and have found that the last colloection of stories, The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes, is a lot easier to read. It was brought out around 1927, so the language is not as complicated as that when Conan Doyle in Victorian times. Happy Reading! :)


ACNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are many people I want to thank, as without them I would not have been able to write this...

My parents, for their encouragements and the amazing patience they had for all the times I begged to use the laptop, and all the obscure questions I asked about the position of various places in Yorkshire, and the time it would take to travel using Victorian methods of transportation.

My little brother, for his intrest, and the fact he was inspired so much as to start to write his own mystery story. Well done, kiddo.

My fabulous Uncle, for all his encouragement on that time he came to visit us.

The Cardinal Heenan High School English department, for deciding to have a detective topic.

My English teacher, for giving my story such a good grade. I'd made so many mistakes too!

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (yet again!) for his inspiring stories.

My friends, who mostly bothered to show some intrest when I told them.

And finally everyone on this amazing site who bothered to read this story and comment on it. I have always dreamed of publishing a novel since I have been small, and to acheive this at thirteen has made me feel so happy. I only realised recently, however, that there's no point in having a book published unless there are people out there who atually find it interesting, and you are those people. Getting comments on my story from different people all over the world atually maked me feel quite emotional. Thank you.


TILL NEXT TIME...
And yes, there will be a next time. I have a good idea already as to the plot of Katriona DeLeon's second mystery, but there are a few points I have to prfect before I finally pick up my pen and put it to paper. The next one I have decided to write all as one and then publish it, as there is a slight chance the plot may change entirely halfway through my writing. Anyway, till we next meet, goobye, and thank you once again for reading.
RedKiteXx :)

Imprint

Publication Date: 03-28-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
This book is dedicated to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the world famous detective Sherlock Holmes, my inspiration for Katriona DeLeon. It is also for everyone who likes reading Conan Doyle's timeless stories. Long may people continue to enjoy them!