Just six weeks after the events of The Devil at Prayers, Emily Watson is settling into her new home at 221B Baker Street. Although she is enthralled by the cases brought to Holmes, and completely smitten with Andrew Lynch, she is haunted by the conclusion to the Ivanov case.
When Holmes receives a letter from a girl whose brother has disappeared, Emily is struck with the sense that she has heard Nicole Camberwell’s name before. When they arrive in the North Yorkshire town of Rosedale Abbey, Emily recognises Nicole from the Dmitri Koval crime scene. With the discovery of Simon Camberwell’s body, the group is thrown into a thick plot tied to the nearby lead mines and local superstition.
This instalment of For Queen and Country brings light to a previously unchronicled case once mentioned by Doctor Watson: the Camberwell poisoning case, which was solved by winding up the dead man’s watch.
The game is afoot in this atmospheric story full of inner turmoil, chilling implications, and a darker shadow around every corner.
Just six weeks after the events of The Devil at Prayers, Emily Watson is settling into her new home at 221B Baker Street. Although she is enthralled by the cases brought to Holmes, and completely smitten with Andrew Lynch, she is haunted by the conclusion to the Ivanov case.
When Holmes receives a letter from a girl whose brother has disappeared, Emily is struck with the sense that she has heard Nicole Camberwell’s name before. When they arrive in the North Yorkshire town of Rosedale Abbey, Emily recognises Nicole from the Dmitri Koval crime scene. With the discovery of Simon Camberwell’s body, the group is thrown into a thick plot tied to the nearby lead mines and local superstition.
This instalment of For Queen and Country brings light to a previously unchronicled case once mentioned by Doctor Watson: the Camberwell poisoning case, which was solved by winding up the dead man’s watch.
The game is afoot in this atmospheric story full of inner turmoil, chilling implications, and a darker shadow around every corner.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
– Robert Herrick
‘No. Palm up, like this.’ Andrew took my fist and flipped it around. ‘See that flip movement? You’re going to do that midway through the punch. There’s a lot more force if the impact isn’t made with your thumb on the inside.’
‘Doesn’t that slow it down if I switch positions in the air?’
He unwrapped the brace around his shoulder and shook out his arm. ‘Sometimes a small break in velocity will hit heavier when you’re already close to the target.’
I frowned as he massaged his shoulder. ‘Are you sure you’re fit to be using that arm?’
‘Of course, Doctor Watson said on Monday I could do without the sling.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t say you could teach a girl to fight quite yet.’
Andrew tied the brace again and shot me a devilish grin. ‘No, but I don’t see him doing it. Now, try it again. Aim for the side of my throat, I can’t guard it.’ He took his stance and put his arms up in front of his face.
‘No, I’ll knock you out!’
Andrew slumped his shoulders. ‘You’re not knocking me out, you’d be knocking out someone trying to hurt you.’
I exhaled steadily. ‘Right, got it.’
I threw my first punch to his left side. When he moved both arms to block it, I swung my other fist sideways, just under his jaw on the right side, flipping it upside down before it made contact.
‘Perfect,’ Andrew smiled. ‘Now try some of those kicks.’
I groaned. ‘You didn’t say we were practising those today!’
‘No, I didn’t, but you shouldn’t rule anything out.’
‘Oh, I see, another patented Lynch lesson,’ I quipped wryly, reaching for the box of safety pins I’d left on the corner shelf to pin up my skirts.
‘Not today,’ Andrew warned. ‘I let you use pins the first few times, but when a man springs on you in a dark alley, you won’t have time to pause and pin up your hems.’
I took a breath and willed my feet not to get tangled in metres of cloth.
Andrew picked up the straw-stuffed sack he’d been using as a shield for me to hit.
Suddenly, a key turned in the lock of the records room.
Andrew froze and put a finger to his lips. I turned in the direction of the door slowly, trying not to let my heels make any noise in the echo-prone room.
We both released a breath when we heard Holmes’ chatter and Lestrade’s weary sigh. The slightly limping footsteps behind them must have been John.
‘Of course he’s not active again, don’t be ridiculous!’ Holmes said with a high laugh. ‘But I’m comparing his victims for a monograph. Access to the file is, of course, imperative. Let’s see, it should be back here…’
His voice trailed off as he rounded the corner. I heard a stumble from behind as Lestrade almost crashed into him.
He cocked his head to the side assessing the sack Andrew held, the cloth wrapped tightly around his still healing shoulder, and the bruise forming on one of my knuckles from where I’d swung at his jaw, tripped, and hit the edge of a shelf.
‘Watson,’ Holmes said calmly, ‘I do believe Mr Lynch is jeopardising the recovery of his tendons.’
John came around the corner then, with Lestrade peering over his shoulder in confusion.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ the doctor demanded.
‘Really, sir, I’m not being reckless. I have it wrapped, see? And I’m being gentle and stretching it regularly! Besides, I’m not throwing any punches here!’
The good, but irritated, doctor held up a finger, pointing from him to me. ‘Not you. Why are you and Lynch in a secret, hidden corner of the archives room throwing punches? Is he teaching you to fight?’
I shrugged. ‘Neither of you had offered.’
‘Clearly, we did not think it was necessary.’
‘Well, whether you want me getting into trouble, I’m still going to. After the incident at the docks, and… everything that followed, Andrew thought I should know.’
My brother sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘Let’s see it,’ Holmes interjected, crossing his arms.
‘You really trust him to teach her?’ John scoffed.
‘Watson, he saved her life during the Ivanov raid.’
‘And endangered it in the first place!’
‘Which is wholly irrelevant now. Let’s see what you’ve been working on for the past six weeks.’
I met Andrew’s eyes, silently asking if we should try the first arranged pattern of moves he’d been helping me memorise. He nodded, and we both took up our stances.
We swung and dodged each other’s advances. When Andrew moved to attack from the side, I pivoted and let my feet carry me backwards to compensate. I blocked and ducked under his punches, twirled under his arm, aimed a kick at his left kidney.
Lestrade and John were doing their best to look unmoved. Holmes, on the other hand, was truly passive, watching our every move critically. After we finished, he stepped forward.
‘Andrew, your form is good, but I have a couple of pointers. Emily, you’re still shaky – we’ll work on that. When you backstepped, you did it as though you didn’t know what was behind you.’
‘What if I don’t?’
‘Your opponent doesn’t need to know that. A woman who can fight will surprise him momentarily. But a woman who knows she can fight is an entirely different enemy.’ He turned to Andrew. ‘Stance.’
He obediently put his weight on one foot, raising his fists.
Holmes jabbed at his underarms and the side of his ribcage. ‘Your elbows are too high up, this entire area – arguably the most critical – is still wide open. Elbows down, fists up. There you are. Shoulders forward a little, protect your jugular. That’s it.’ He turned back to me. ‘Now, face me.’
‘What?’
‘Get into position, I want you to face me. I won’t hurt you, but I want you to try and hurt me as much as you can.’
‘Holmes, I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Emily, this isn’t in any way a slight against you, but I seriously doubt I have anything to fear here.’
I sighed and copied Andrew’s adjusted stance. ‘Now the neck isn’t free.’
‘No, it is not. Be prepared for an opponent who has boxed before.’
John rolled his eyes and elbowed Holmes aside. ‘Or who has been in the military. Boxing’s all patterns and clean fights. There are no clean fights on the battlefield.’
I looked him up and down. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Whatever you can. It’s time to stop thinking and act.’
‘But I should be—’
As I began talking, my brother, doctor and army veteran, pinned me to the wall within a second. He held one arm across my throat, with his other hand pressed a thumb over a pressure point in my shoulder hard enough to show his strength.
‘Should you be practising your calculation? You can already do that, you’re a Watson. Stop second guessing yourself. Someone who wants to inflict harm won’t wait for you to be ready. You must be ready for him. Now try to slip out.’
I tried to slide down, but his arm tightened against my neck.
‘Wrong. Slide down and you’re unconscious; depending on his grip, he could easily break your neck.’
I grabbed for his other hand, to wrench him away. He caught it and completely immobilised me.
‘Wrong again. He already has you in a corner. Any move he can see you starting to make will cost you the fight. Maybe your life. What should you do? What should you always do when you’re fighting against a man?’
Hesitantly, I eased a knee upwards to almost touch him.
He released me. ‘Exactly. Now why were you so slow there?’
‘Because you’re my brother.’
‘I’m a doctor and a soldier. I can drop a man to his knees with a thumb on his wrist, choke him unconscious in five seconds, or snap his neck even faster.’
‘If I’m to be fighting dirty, then teach me how.’
John chuckled. ‘All in time.’
Lestrade was removing the box Holmes was seeking from a shelf in the corner. ‘That explains the thumps Sergeant Wilcox heard.’ He coughed as dislodged dust floated thick in the air. ‘Poor fellow was starting to think we had a ghost.’
Holmes snorted. ‘A ghost in the records room? How droll. Come, Watson, I require my Boswell.’
As the trio walked back towards the door, John paused, turning to Andrew. ‘Do be careful with that shoulder. Oh, and Lynch? Thank you.’
‘Watson! The game is afoot! Or, well, the research!’ Holmes called through the stacks.
With a meaningful look at me and a grateful smile to Andrew, my brother turned and jogged to meet his friend.
As we heard the door creak open and shut in the distance, Andrew raised the sack again and braced himself. ‘Well, that was something. Right roundhouse.’
I followed his instructions, trying to get the hang of not tripping.
‘Good. Again.’
This novel breaks with the more well known pairing of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Emily, Watson's sister, is a key sidekick in Ella Lawhorn's tightly written narrative where a hunt for a killer takes a deep dive into conspiracy to exact pay back for the sketchy financial deals of the Camberwells of Rosedale Abbey in North Yorkshire.
The investigators want to find out who killed Simon Camberwell, son of mine owner, Oliver Camberwell. The allegedly popular young man was found poisoned in the woods after a night out with school friends from Eton. Nicole, Simon's sister, refuses to allow the disappearance of her brother to go unchallenged. Her letter to Holmes outlines the incident's background. "He merely never returned," she wrote, "nor have we seen or heard from any of his friends since that night."
The novel mixes mystery, suspense, and emotional depth, as it showcases the struggles of its main characters against a backdrop of lies, danger and intrigue. At the same time, Emily wrestles with the nightmares of her stepfather's murder and the infamous Professor Moriarity's kidnap of her sister, Ariana. The author dramatizes the depth of the young woman's hurt and confusion in Emily's use of cutting to cope.
It was like a bee sting, many of which I had experienced as a young girl in the countryside around Thorndon Hall. But somehow, it still felt good. I couldn’t explain why drawing blood suddenly felt so good. It managed to make the hollow inside me hurt a little less, for a little while. At the same time, it was worse, a painful reminder of what I’d endured and the secrets that I was still keeping.
The best type of hero is one that is wounded. Many authors have Sherlock's response in superhuman pursuit of perfection in the use of a ten percent solution of cocaine to calm his restless mind between cases. The demons that rage in this tale of deceit and intrigue move readers along at a pace that begs them to ask , "What's going to happen now?" Once the terrible secret behind the murders of Oliver and Simon Camberwell and several others connected with them and the Camberwell mine's final disposition are revealed, many readers will say, "Wow!"