Chronicles of the Lost Years

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~ Details ~

~ Outline ~

~ Reviews ~

~ Excerpt ~

~ Author’s Note ~

~ Also of Interest ~

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Details

HISTORICAL MYSTERY/{Historical Romantic Suspense in deep disguise}

What happened to Sherlock Holmes in the three years Dr. Watson thought he was dead, and the truth about the mysterious woman in his life, Elizabeth Sigerson.

Winner of the Sherlock Holmes Society of Western Australia’s Best Pastiche Award.

This is the first book in the series.  The Case of the Reluctant Agent is the second.

Out of print.  Some copies can be obtained via second-hand sources.

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Outline

When Sherlock Holmes was at the peak of his success he disappeared, abruptly, for three years. Dr. Watson believed him to be dead. No-one knows what happened to him in those years…until now.

Watson takes up his pen one last time to describe in a private memoir the true tale of Holmes’ adventures during his three-year absence from Baker Street, and provides a fictional explanation for many of the mysteries and inaccuracies found with the Sherlock Holmes collection of stories and novels.

The answers come in the shape of a woman – Elizabeth Sigerson. Elizabeth is independent, practical, a crack shot with a pistol, and definitely not a woman of her time. Elizabeth is embroiled in Holmes’ life at a time when Holmes is building his scheme to expose Moriarty. She can more than hold her own against Holmes’ abilities, but she has a secret that Holmes is compelled to solve.

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Reviews

Christmas would hardly be itself without a good pastiche for Sherlockians. This one, yet another account of the Great Hiatus when Holmes hid out from the infamous Moriarty (and while Conan Doyle hid out from Holmes), is better than most. Cooper-Posey attempts to account for the change in Watson/Conan Doyle’s writing style once Holmes returns, and does a mighty good job. She also inserts a terrific woman into Holmes’s life, Elizabeth Sigerson, who matches Holmes deduction for deduction.

Margaret Cannon for The Globe and Mail

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Cooper-Posey does a masterful job of recreating the style of Doyle in this vivid, exciting tale. If you enjoy Dianne Day’s Fremont Jones stories, you’re going to love the adventures of Elizabeth Sigerson… oh yes, and of Sherlock Holmes as well!

Toby Bromberg for Romantic Times Magazine

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Excerpt

Accordingly, he appeared on my doorstep in the late afternoon, looking tired and much used, yet with the same keen look in his eyes that I remembered from whenever he was on the scent of another mystery. I questioned him at the time concerning his health, and confessed my curiosity over his doings in Europe, but apart from hinting heavily about the gravity of his deeds, he would say nothing more.

“It is all settled now, Watson. And in four days it will be over. I wish to forget it for now and enjoy myself with this lighter, more unusual mystery.”

At seven o’clock we descended the stairs to my consulting room, and I pushed the door open to enter, only to fall back in confusion. I held onto the doorknob, preventing Holmes from following me into the room.“Miss Sigerson,” I said, both in greeting to her and a warning to Holmes.

“Doctor.” She stood. “I suppose I must apologize for waiting in your room, but it is late, and I preferred not to wait in the street.”

“Yes, of course. That is quite all right.” I was unsure of whether to enter and close the door, and risk exposing Holmes, or to back out on some pretence. I had been caught completely by surprise. All the investigative tasks Holmes had coached me to complete during the interview fled my mind.

Miss Sigerson studied me carefully with her candid green eyes, and I saw her glance thoughtfully at the door. Then she put her head to one side. “Doctor Watson, you have asked me here under a falsehood.”

I stared at her blankly.

She shook her head. “Never mind. I will see to it myself.” She moved to the door, stepped around me and into the corridor. I saw Holmes straighten from his resting place against the wall. “Mr. Holmes, why don’t you come inside?” she asked him. “It is cold out here.”

“Miss Sigerson.” He walked into the room, and patted my shoulder. “Never mind, Watson.”

Elizabeth looked at me kindly. “Your face gave you away, Doctor Watson. Do you ever play whist?”

Holmes sat against the edge of my desk. “Yes, and he loses—quite badly.” He studied Elizabeth. “Red hair, trim, neat….”

Elizabeth allowed him time to scrutinize her properly. She held out her hands. “My sleeves, Mr. Holmes. You find a woman’s sleeves most revealing, I believe.”

He leaned forward to examine them. “Thank you,” he said gravely. “Why did you not want me to see you?”

“I believed you to be in Europe.”

Holmes examined her face closely. “You are not denying you consulted Watson as a means of regaining your clothes?”

“I had genuine reason for seeking a doctor. I merely combined the two. Are you prepared to return my clothes to me? They are very difficult to replace. Understanding seamstresses are hard to find.”

Holmes smiled. “Yes, I sympathize. You may have them back. They are in my rooms, at Baker Street.”

“Thank you.” She turned to pick up her gloves.

“Where is the knife that cut them now?” Holmes asked, addressing her back.

Elizabeth slowly turned back to face him. Her face was quite still. “I beg your pardon?”

“The knife. It was a knife that caused that very neat tear. Through so many layers, too. Aimed right here—” and he touched his breast pocket. “Whoever was wielding it was in deadly earnest. I was wondering what became of the knife. It wasn’t with the clothes.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. The clothes were not torn when I left them.”

Holmes straightened from his slouch. “Of all the very small mistakes you have made, that is the most telling. To me, a man trained in the observation of minutiae, the complete absence of such details about your person shouts of secret purpose.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “This is what I feared,” she confessed. “That if we ever met face to face you would detect my covert motivations.”

“There is no need to fear me if your intentions are good,” Holmes replied. “Covert or overt. But you must explain, now, these discrepancies.”

Elizabeth visibly wavered.

“Come, Miss Sigerson, explain. I have about me at this very moment some of the most dangerous, desperate criminals of the century. I cannot afford to play loosely with even the slightest of suspicions. Tell me.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot. Please believe me when I say I wish I could. I have nothing to do with these criminals you fear, and would clear myself if I could. My intentions were benign. I have nothing but deep admiration and respect for your abilities, as reported by Doctor Watson.”

“Yes, that is clear by the length you went to avoid my scrutiny.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I want my clothes back. That is my chief aim. I believed you to be in Europe and thought it would be an ideal time to approach Doctor Watson, establish contact, and eventually ask his help in reclaiming them, thus staying out of your way and creating the minimum of disturbance.”

“That was most considerate of you,” Holmes replied dryly. “It must have dismayed you to learn the police had asked me to examine the clothes when they found them.”

“Considerably, at first, but then I realized that they would have appealed to you sooner or later. It was inevitable. I knew they would find no answers.”

“Yes, you made quite certain of that. However, you fear I might, and that is why you want them back.”

“I blame myself entirely for this mess. At the time I was dazed and sick and not thinking clearly. I should have destroyed them utterly.” She finished quietly, almost to herself, “It is a mistake I won’t make again.”

Holmes frowned. “The person whom you were hiding from, they are no longer a threat?”

“I have solved that problem,” she replied.

Holmes walked up and down the room once, thinking. “If you would care to accompany us, Miss Sigerson, you can collect your clothes now.”

“And then?”

“And then you are free to go.”

“I would believe that only when you replace the safety catch on the revolver you are holding in your pocket,” Elizabeth replied.

Holmes glanced at her sharply, then with a short amused laugh he pulled out the revolver and ostentatiously replaced the safety catch before dropping it back in his pocket. “Come Watson, let us collect Miss Sigerson’s cherished possessions.”

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Author’s Note

Of all the books I have published to date, Chronicles is unique. It was written purely for my own interest (card-carrying Sherlockians are strangely obsessed creatures at the best of times). This was many years before fanfic became a generally accepted term. The book evolved over the years into a serious undertaking, and the plot and characters grew along with it. Every year or so I would read through the story and think “this is really quite good” and wonder if I should try to do something with it. Eventually, I decided that yes, I would like to share this story with others — it had merit.

Turnstone Press in Manitoba agreed with me, and so the first publication took place. When reviewers who mauled the book (yes, there’s always bad reviews — even Stephen King gets them) looked down their noses and described Chronicles as “self-indulgent,” I had to laugh, because that’s exactly why the book was written.

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Also of Interest

Sherlock Holmes Had a Secret Lover? An article discussing the romantic <?> side of the great detective, and my complete inability to stay away from writing romances even when I’m not actually writing them.

My publisher speaks occassionally of issuing this book in ebook format.  Please stay tuned.

Out of print.  Some copies can be obtained via second-hand sources.

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