The Fall Read Free

wash?’
    I nodded. She left and closed the door. I waited for the sound of a key in a lock, but it didn’t come.  
    I walked back to the window and gazed out onto a large and beautiful yard two storeys down. The maple trees waved red and golden foliage at the evening sun. Old ivy scaled the brick wall below me. An escape route, easily laid out. I began to doubt my sanity.
    The maid returned, laden with a jug of water, a towel, and a small package. She placed everything next to the washstand and looked at me inquiringly. Did I need anything else? I searched my confused mind. ‘Miss Gooding, can you tell me where I am?’
    ‘Why Miss, this is Professor Moriarty’s house,’ she answered, rather puzzled.
    I nodded, instantly feeling sicker. ‘Could you show me my clothes, please?’
    She rushed to a wardrobe that had escaped my notice, despite its size. She opened both doors, revealing several dresses. None of them were mine.
    After she was gone I tottered around in the room, trying to make sense of what I saw. The only thing here that belonged to me was myself. Even my clothes had been taken away. No doubt this had been done on purpose. But why? To deny me any feeling of self-reliance?
      My bare feet sank deep into the heavy rug, the soft wool snug between my toes. Underneath, the floorboards creaked. The bed was large, and its cherry wood frame supported an elaborately embroidered cotton canopy. My golden cage.
    Then I discovered the letter. Night-blue handwriting rolled over the heavy paper.

    Dear Dr Kronberg.  
    I do hope you are feeling better. My apologies for the inconvenience the chloral and this predicament might cause you. I trust that you have noticed the luxury, but I sincerely hope this will not lead you to incorrect assumptions. Any attempts to leave the premises will be futile. The dogs know your scent and will tear you to pieces. My manservant will accompany you wherever you choose to go, except of course in your private room. He reports to me immediately and has my full trust. Should you disappear for but a moment, your father will lose his left hand. A second disappearance will result in the loss of his right hand. A third time will cost him his head. I truly hope this will not spoil your stay in my humble home.  
    Yours, Professor James Moriarty.  
    PS: I am delighted to meet with you tomorrow at supper time.

    The letter sailed back onto the mattress. With thoughts racing through my head and with my heart thumping wildly, I walked back to the wardrobe. The expensive silk dresses were all too large for me. I stepped back and spotted a small wooden box on a chest of drawers. Curious, I turned the key, revealing a collection of earrings, necklaces and rings adorned with pearls, amethysts, and other gems. The feeling that I was being held captive in a tomb slammed the air out of my chest and images of a former captive Moriarty had murdered wrenched the last bit of sanity from my brain. Frantically, I searched for blood stains on the walls or floors, looking for any signs of the identity and number of his victims, or how they had met their ends.  
    When my foot caught on the rug and my head hit the bedpost, I finally came to my senses.
    Sitting on the floor, I held my aching forehead and analysed the few things that I had seen today.  
    The maid with her yellow hair, pulled into a tight bun, crowned by a cap that resembled an embroidered mushroom. If her apparent naiveté was genuine, I could possibly extract information without her noticing.
    I opened my eyes and looked up. The lamp hanging from the ceiling was out of reach. It looked entirely different from any gas lamps I had seen. I pulled up a chair and investigated the contraption. Inside it was a glass sphere shaped like a pear, along with a cable leading from the lamp to a switch next to the door. Electricity!
    Hopeful, I rushed back to the window, trying to find something familiar. Visible were only trees, bushes, lawn, a fence, and more