The Whistle of Revenge

Published by: eXtasy Books

ISBN :978-1-4874-4250-7

Page :91

Word Count :87942

Publication Date :2024-12-27

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : The Whistle of Revenge (epub) , The Whistle of Revenge (mobi) , The Whistle of Revenge (pdf) , The Whistle of Revenge (prc)

Category : Historical Romance , Romantic Suspense and Mystery , What's New

Product Code: 978-1-4874-4250-7

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Sometimes, our deepest fear is not the darkness but the light that blinds.

If you loved Conan Doyle’s, The Hound of the Baskerville, prepare to be enthralled by KD Sherrinford’s captivating follow-up, The Whistle of Revenge.
The deadly antagonist, Jack Stapleton, makes a spectacular return to the city of Milan in pursuit of his old nemesis, the celebrated Detective Sherlock Holmes.
Adopting the enigmatic persona of Janus, a vengeful Stapleton, along with the Italian mafia, wreak havoc on the Italian horse racing fraternity and fledgling car manufacturing industry, and kidnapping Holmes’s beloved son as part of their evil and well-executed master plan—Operation Whistle.
Will Holmes, Irene Adler, and their trusted ally, Inspector Romano, crack the code, rescue the boy, and unmask the deadly Janus?
Set against the backdrop of modern Milan, mind games and misdeeds of the highest order play out as the story reaches its thrilling and memorable conclusion.

The year 1906 started with so much promise. A few weeks earlier, Sherlock and I took a long-overdue vacation at an idyllic villa in Venice overlooking the Adriatic Sea. Surprisingly, Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft, extended the invitation.

The house belonged to an old acquaintance, Derek Hamilton, who worked alongside Mycroft in Westminster and used the villa as a holiday home. Mr Hamilton was away on business with the Foreign Office for the best part of a year and enquired if Mycroft wanted to use the place while he was away.

Mycroft politely declined the invitation, blaming work pressures, but he said he had friends in Italy who would likely enjoy a break. It was a lovely, thoughtful gesture, but I suspected Mycroft was still trying to make amends for his machinations eleven years earlier in Fiesole, which forced Sherlock and me apart for over four years. However, after a reconciliation at Christmas in 1904 at our farm on the Sussex Downs, relations significantly improved. That was also when Mycroft first met his niece and nephew, Nicco and Charlotte.

I felt excited when Sherlock accepted Mycroft’s offer to use the villa. We deliberated over taking the children, but as my husband pointed out, Nicco had important upcoming exams. So we left them in the capable hands of our trusted staff members, including their governess, Hildegard, whom the children adored and held in the highest regard.

That was how I found myself on the first Friday in May, setting out on my train journey from Milano Centrale on a perfect spring morning.

Sitting next to the window, I looked out at the changing landscape. The passing trees and distant localities shimmered in the glow of the morning sun against the backdrop of the vast Tuscan sky as the train gradually picked up speed.

I closed my eyes momentarily as the rhythmic tugging and hissing filled the air with bittersweet memories of nostalgia. It brought back poignant memories of a trip to Manhattan with my late father, Alfred, when I was eight. It was the first time I’d ever travelled on a train.

My father died in 1895, just a few months before Nicco was born. Unfortunately, he never got to see his grandchildren, although he left a canny proviso in his will. Touched by his kindness, I was determined to make my father’s memory count. I set up a trust fund to honour him. The Alfred Adler Foundation was a charity and bursary that nurtured the skills and talents of musicians and singers from disadvantaged backgrounds and offered financial assistance.

Over the years, the foundation had helped countless performing arts members realise their dreams. My father helped shape the person I am today. He encouraged my love of music and taught me how to play the piano, supporting my love of opera. He was such a kind, generous, and thoughtful soul, possessing qualities I could only aspire to emulate.

*

Three hours later, I arrived at Venezia Santa Lucia train station to find my husband’s familiar sight waiting for me on the platform. Sherlock was attired in an ulster and cap, holding his valise in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

I waved and smiled as those penetrating grey eyes fixed on me and gazed back with such warmth and affection. I walked towards my husband, the porter following close behind. I shook with delight as Sherlock wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. He kissed me gently on the lips, pushing the hair away from my face as I drank in his manly scent and the faint aroma of his cologne. Then he broke off our embrace, quickly summoning the porter to take care of our luggage as though nothing had happened between us.

We took the ferry from Santa Lucia to San Zaccaria, hiring a gondolier to take us on the last leg of our journey to Chioggia, known as Little Venice. It was a picturesque fishing town with colourful houses, narrow streets, and a bustling market. We could only get to the town by boat from San Zaccaria or Fusina, and to be away from the madding crowd suited Sherlock and me just fine.

We considered using the vaporetto to complete our journey, which Sherlock reasoned would have been much quicker. But I persuaded him that travelling by gondola would be far more adventurous and romantic. After checking with the gondolier to see if our luggage would fit, Sherlock agreed to my request. The gondolier was a diminutive, wiry fellow named Adamo with an engaging smile and a cheerful disposition. He navigated the boat effortlessly through the waterway of The Grand Canal, winding through the heart of the city, lined with historic palaces, churches and bridges, making it a picturesque route.

Finally, he docked outside our destination, located in its private and secluded setting. It was a quaint Venetian villa with Rigoletto charm that would be our home for the next two weeks. Adamo jumped out of the boat and took my hand to disembark before helping Sherlock carry our luggage into the villa. After receiving a handsome tip, the gondolier doffed his brightly coloured straw hat and waved goodbye before proceeding with his journey.

The house was bright, airy, and well-appointed. It offered a good-sized galley kitchen with a larder to its rear, fully stocked with bread, cheese, antipasto, olives, fresh fruit, sweetbreads, and biscotti. Jugs of fresh milk, homemade lemonade, sugar, tea, and coffee were all at our disposal. There was a welcome note from a lady identifying as Mariette waiting for us on the worktop. Mariette told us she would serve as our maid during our stay. We should expect her to come in daily to change the bedding and bring fresh towels.