PodCastle

* Author : Rebecca Buchanan
* Narrator : Nicola Chapman
* Host : Matt Dovey
* Audio Producer : Devin Martin
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Previously published by Sherlock Holmes and the Occult Detectives 1 (Belanger Press)


Rated PG
The Adventure of the Faerie Coffin: Being the First Morstan and Holmes Occult Detection
by Rebecca Buchanan
 
Dramatis Personae
Miss Mary Morstan — a governess with a secret, fiancée of Dr. John Watson
Mr. Sherlock Holmes — a consulting detective of ruthless logic
Mrs. Edith Fearghasdan — a concerned headmistress
Miss Evelyn Baxter — not a friend of Miss Morstan
Miss Susanna Couper — an opinionated teacher
Ailis, Judith, and Beatrice — students with a shared secret
Miss Maighread MacPherson — a teacher skilled at uncovering secrets
Mrs. MacPherson — her mother
Mrs. Webster — Miss Morstan’s former governess and mentor
Mrs. Forrester — Miss Morstan’s current employer, a supposedly respectable society matron
Dr. John Watson — Mr. Holmes’s flatmate and partner in criminal investigations, Miss Morstan’s fiancé


~ One ~
“Miss Morstan. May I join you?”
I closed my eyes, shutting out the chaos of the rail station. The sounds of whistles, shouts, and carolers were only slightly dulled by the window.
Of course he was here.
I inhaled slowly, feeling the breath fill my chest, spread through my arms and down my legs; an old habit, learned long ago at the feet of one far more skilled than me.
Calmer now, I turned and offered him a smile. “Of course, Mr. Holmes. Please, have a seat.”
He was not dressed in his usual attire. His clothes were not neat; rather, they were stained and wrinkled and slightly too large for his frame. His shoes were scuffed. The glasses that perched on his nose — pink from the cold — subtly changed its length and shape. The threadbare hat did much the same for his head, hiding his thinning hair.
Of course he had altered his appearance. No doubt he had been following me from the moment I left my rooms at Mrs. Forrester’s home. I should never have declined his dinner invitation the previous evening. There had been something in my note — a curious curve to an s, an odd slant to a t, a wrinkle, a stain — that had piqued his curiosity.
And so here he was, right where and when I least wanted him.
How John tolerated it, I failed to understand.
He settled easily into the seat opposite, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. Silent. Still. Waiting.
We stared at one another as the whistle blew loud and piercing, and continued to stare as the train lurched forward, down the track, north, away from London. Only when we reached the outskirts of that great city did he finally speak.
“You are not breaking your engagement with Watson.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
“You have only ever served as a governess in London, therefore you are not paying a sentimental visit to previous charges.”
“Correct.”
“This train is bound for Edinburgh. Your mother’s family hails from that country originally, Deòireach being her surname. You were born and lived with your family in India until you were eight. After your mother’s death, your father sent you to the same boarding school that she had attended. The Frazier Academy. You remained there until you were seventeen, at which point you traveled south to seek respectable employment.