Charlotte pushed open the door of 221B Baker Street.
At that moment, Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the sofa, knitting a scarf while flipping through a fashion magazine, humming a tuneless little melody under her breath.
"Oh, Charlotte, you're back."
Mrs. Hudson set down the magazine in her hands and came over with a smile.
"What are you doing?" Charlotte asked.
"Me? I'm knitting a scarf—for you," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. "It should be ready to wear by tomorrow or the day after, so you won't need to go out and buy one."
Hearing this, Charlotte looked at the ball of yarn on the chair, and then at that fashion magazine, and for a moment didn't know what to say.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
"You're welcome, dear." Mrs. Hudson shook her head with a smile. "Oh, that's right—I baked some biscuits. Would you like some?"
"No... actually, never mind, I'll take a few. I could do with a bit of sugar anyway." Charlotte didn't refuse.
After that, Mrs. Hudson filled a plate to the brim with cookies for her, watching as Charlotte headed back to her own room.
Only then did she settle back into her chair and resume her needlework.
The swinging of the clock on the wall echoed softly through the quiet room, like a monotonous, hypnotic lullaby.
After who knows how long, when the last rays of the setting sun slanted through the window and washed the entire room in a warm shade of orange, that familiar sound of the door opening finally drifted up from downstairs.
Russell pushed open the door, and the first thing he saw was Mrs. Hudson sitting in the living room, knitting a scarf.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson."
He walked over to her side, casually picked up a biscuit, and tossed it into his mouth.
"What made you decide to knit a scarf today?"
"It's for Charlotte," Mrs. Hudson said, then let out a slightly helpless sigh.
"Russell."
"Hm?"
"I've got a task for you." Mrs. Hudson set down her needlework and turned to look at Russell.
"Go ahead," Russell nodded, then picked up another biscuit.
"When you have some free time, take Charlotte to buy a few decent pieces of clothing," Mrs. Hudson said.
"That wardrobe of hers—it's nothing but nightgowns, one after another. She doesn't even own a single thick coat. How can that possibly do?"
"Doesn't she have that trench coat?" Russell mumbled indistinctly.
"Can you even count that thing as proper clothing?" Mrs. Hudson shot him an exasperated look.
"This morning, when she went out, she nearly gave me a fit. If I hadn't stopped her, she'd have walked out the door in that flimsy trench coat."
"So, what did you have her wear?" Russell's curiosity was piqued.
"Your clothes."
Mrs. Hudson said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I noticed you two are about the same build, so I went into your room and grabbed one. And I'll say this—it fit her quite nicely."
Hearing that, Russell's chewing came to a slight pause.
"Mine?"
"What's the matter? If you mind, then—"
"No, no, I don't mind at all." Russell waved a hand.
"It's just a couple of pieces of clothing—she can have them, for all I care. I only wanted to ask: did she go into my room?"
"No, she didn't. I was the one who went in to fetch it," Mrs. Hudson said, then gave Russell a knowing, been-there look.
"Don't worry. You teenage boys always have a few little secrets of your own—I understand that much."
"In a certain sense... you're actually quite right." Russell nodded, letting out a breath of relief.
He'd have to find some time to hide his gear away.
His room wasn't exactly secure anymore. He'd have to see whether there were any nifty little gadgets around that could modify the Phantom Thief outfit into nano-armor.
The whole cosplaying-Iron-Man angle, that is.
He wiped his hands and then continued, "As for taking her shopping for clothes—let me find some time for it. I might not have much to spare lately."
"That's fine, just handle it as you see fit. But it'd be best to do it soon."
As Mrs. Hudson spoke, she glanced out the window.
"It's been getting colder and colder lately. Put it off any longer and it'll practically be Christmas."
"Understood," Russell replied. Then, carrying the plate of biscuits—now only half full—he headed upstairs.
Charlotte was still curled up in that broad armchair, an account ledger in her hands, reading with rapt attention.
Russell's clothes were still on her at that moment, and she showed no apparent intention of taking them off.
At the sound of the door opening, Charlotte lifted her head and looked over at Russell.
When she noticed his gaze land on the clothes she was wearing, her body stiffened for a brief instant.
"This is... Mrs. Hudson told me to wear it for now," she explained, a little awkwardly.
"I had to go to Fleet Street, and she absolutely refused to let me leave in that trench coat."
"Understandable." Russell nodded slightly and set the biscuits in his hand casually down on the table.
"If you'd asked me to go out in that trench coat in weather like this, I wouldn't have been able to stand it either. Only, I never expected Mrs. Hudson to pick out an outfit like that for you..."
He paused, his gaze lingering for a moment on the slightly oversized black coat and gray sweater she wore, before finally offering a fair assessment.
"Not bad. It suits you rather well."
"Is that so," Charlotte moved her eyes away from his face, pretending to refocus on the ledger in her hands.
"Your taste is finally online for once."
"If you like it, then it's yours," Russell said, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her, picking up a biscuit.
"Mrs. Hudson wants me to take you to buy a few new things when I'm free, so you're not stuck wearing that trench coat all winter. Convenient timing—I need to buy some new clothes myself."
"Buying more?" Charlotte arched an eyebrow.
"Mm, it is nearly winter, after all." Russell nodded. "Buy a few new ones, and then I'll have an excuse to mail the old ones back."
Hearing this, the girl gave him a meaningful look but said nothing, quietly withdrawing her gaze.
The two of them chatted on like that, a word here and a word there, and Russell took the opportunity to share what he'd seen and heard at school that day with Charlotte.
Charlotte, in turn, told Russell about the intelligence she'd gathered on Fleet Street, as well as the existence of those two ledgers.
"So," Russell said, summing up after she'd finished.
"The one spreading word to Fleet Street was Hannigan's servant?"
"In all likelihood it's the one I called in for questioning at the time," Charlotte said. "Though, honestly, that part isn't all that important."
As she spoke, she gave the ledger in her hand a little wave.
"This is the truly important thing."
"Hannigan's ledger." Russell recognized what it was at a single glance.
"Mm," Charlotte nodded slightly. "If we're going to start our investigation from his personal connections, then working through the list of names in here is the most efficient place to begin."
"So have you ruled people out?"
"More or less." Charlotte nodded. "Did Mary say when she'd be running the report in the paper?"
"Let me think—if she goes to The Guardian tomorrow, then it'll be printed the day after," Russell said. "Friday."
"Then there's no rush; we still have a day," Charlotte said. "A day is more than enough time for me to go through everyone on the ledger one by one."
She paused, then, as if something had occurred to her, added in a casual tone, "Oh, right—once we've found the killer, come with me to The Times."
"What are we going to The Times for?" Russell asked, puzzled. "You planning to sell the information to them?"
"If you want to pry their mouths open, you've got to give up something in return, right?" Charlotte answered.
"The editor-in-chief of The Times made a deal with me."
"What? Selling them the firsthand scoop?"
"That's only one part of it," Charlotte said. "Beyond that, we also have to take part in an interview."
"We? An interview?" Russell knitted his brows. "You're sure?"
"Mm."
Charlotte nodded firmly.
"Henry Scott said so himself."
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