Intoxication by RedKite (early readers .txt) 📖

/> "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