He was rather thick at the waist, with a roll of abundant bosom, hair dishevelled, and dark rimmed eyes overshadowed by sorrow and a hat. His cheeks reddened in spite of the powder covering them. ‘Thank you. I suppose both of us are at the height of our femininity.’ ‘Progressing age has not dampened your wit.’ I quipped, punctuating with a curtsy. Although he looked like a fifty-year-old housekeeper, he couldn’t be more than ten years my senior. ‘By the way, you smell of mothballs, Holmes.’ It felt good to see him smile and for a moment, no worries were weighing me down. ‘Anna.’ The grit in his voice wiped away all lightness. ‘I have been trying very hard to track down your father. For months now I have been on Moriarty’s heels and that circumstance turns against us now. He is aware of my presence. If I were to get too close to his house so long as you are in it, I fear he would see through my disguise and you may come to harm,’ he said, filled with an odd mix of thrill and frustration.
