In Memory of Elizabeth--GMD

In Memory of Elizabeth
A Great Mouse Detective Fanfic
by Ethel Grimes

Disclaimer:  The Great Mouse Detective and Main Characters are copyrighted by The Walt Disney Co. and the Estate of  Eve Titus.  In Memory of Elizabeth and its characters are copyrighted 1999 by Ethel M. Grimes.  Please do not use this story or its characters in any manner without the express written permission of the author.  

Artwork for Chapter 1 courtesy and copyright of LePipsqueak.  Please respect her copyright, too.

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Part I


Late one autumn evening, Basil the mouse detective sat leafing through his case book. It was something he did quite often, since he enjoyed reminiscing about his past crime-solving exploits. And, as usual, he was sitting in his big red leather chair before a cozy fire, with some hot tea near at hand. But this time, none of that was cheering Basil up in the least, and he wasn't concentrating on his case book at all. Instead, he was fretting and fussing because his friend and associate Dr. David Q. Dawson was late coming home.

It had been more than a year since the Flaversham case and Basil's final confrontation with his arch-enemy, Professor Ratigan.   After several other fascinating cases that had followed, things had begun to quiet down---at least for a while.

During the course of their detective work, Dr. Dawson had become acquainted with one Ophelia Berkshire, a widowed mouse around his age, and he had been spending quite a lot of time with her lately. Even though he had assured Basil that neither their partnership nor their work was threatened, Dawson's late-life romancing sometimes proved a bit irritating to the detective...especially if the good doctor returned quite late.

And this night was no different; he finally came in at half-past eleven, slipping in through the door with a sheepish glance around the room, hoping Basil had gone to bed. To his dismay, Basil hadn't--he was in his robe, slumped up in his chair with his eyes shut, playing his violin with a more melancholy expression than usual.

Dr. Dawson shut the front door very softly, and walked across the floor as quietly as possible, in the vain hope that Basil wouldn't notice---though, knowing the mouse detective's keen senses, it was a vain hope indeed.

"Do you know what time it is?" Basil said sternly, without opening his eyes or stirring from his violin.

Dawson nearly jumped out of his shoes. "Don't tell me you were waiting up for me, Basil," he teased pleasantly. "You're as bad as my mum used to be..."

"That's not funny. And this is the third time in a week you've gotten back late, Dawson." Basil put down his violin and folded his arms, frowning at his friend. "What if we'd been on a case this evening?"

Dawson sighed patiently. "Now, Basil, you know you can always depend on me. I admit, I should have given more notice about where I'd be, and I will from now on."

"Please do," declared the detective, as he stood up and put his violin back on its shelf.

But Dawson was somewhat annoyed at Basil's attitude, which seemed more sullen and gloomy than usual. What's bothering him tonight? he brooded, as he hung up his hat and coat, then sat in another big chair across from the detective's.

"I say, Basil," he said testily, "you needn't be so cross with me, nor so overbearing, either. After all, I'm not a child---in fact, I'm nearly old enough to be your father."

Basil almost looked as if he'd been slapped, since he wasn't used to such a stern tone from the normally meek Dawson.

"Well, I know that," he replied, somewhat defensively. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, old chap. I know how fond you are of the Widow Berkshire." Then, with sudden concern, he added, "If I may ask, Doctor, are you—serious about her?"

"I might be," Dawson retorted. "And supposing I am?"

With no change of expression, but with more concern, Basil replied that it was quite all right. "All I ask is that it not interfere with our work in any way..."

He picked up his case book and laid it carefully on the mantel, next to his collection of mementos from past cases. Dawson watched him, shaking his head wearily.

"Listen, Basil," he said pointedly, "I quite understand how important our detective work is. But I have a life outside of that, and I think that's just as important. As for you," he added, "forgive me, Basil, but one would think you were married to your profession!"

It was a most innocent remark; but to Dawson's surprise, Basil stiffened painfully, as though a dagger had been thrust between his shoulders. He stood staring at the mantel, yet he didn't seem to be seeing anything---except a vision, perhaps.

"What's wrong?" asked Dawson, alarmed at Basil's reaction.

"Oh---nothing, nothing..." Basil answered, turning quickly to the doctor with a stiff smile; yet Dawson couldn't fail to notice the sad and hurt expression in his friend's eyes.

"Why, I'm sorry..." stammered Dawson. "I didn't mean anything by that..."

Basil put on a surprised face. "Why, of course you didn't, old friend!" he answered mildly. "Please excuse me, Dawson...it's quite late, and I'm rather tired---I'm sure you are, too. And, uh---give my best to your lady friend the next time you see her." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, goodnight..."

He quickly walked into his bedroom and closed the door, as Dawson watched curiously. The doctor then retired to his own room, wondering what on earth to make of it all...

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Early the next morning, Mrs. Judson was setting the table for breakfast, when Basil came into the dining room. He had just been in the garden clipping the smallest, daintiest rosebuds he could find, a job that might otherwise have been the housekeeper's. But Basil always insisted on gathering the roses himself. Mrs. Judson went about her work, but watched sadly out of the corner of her eye as the detective gently tied a blue ribbon around the variously coloured buds.

"You're going out there now, Mr. Basil?" she asked softly. "Won't you stay and eat a little first?"

Basil glanced up from his roses, then sighed. "No...I'm not very hungry right now, Mrs. Judson. However, I should be back in time for tea.

"Oh, by the way," Basil continued, with a rather embarrassed look on his face, "try to keep Dawson here today. I fear I was rather short with him last night, and an apology is quite in order..."

He then picked up his violin and quietly walked out, as the housekeeper watched him pityingly.

Poor soul, she mused. This won't be an easy day for him...

She had just set a plate of currant scones on the table when Dr. Dawson trudged meekly into the dining room and sat down, looking around for his friend.

"Mr. Basil's gone out for a while, Doctor," Mrs. Judson said, smiling. "He'll be back later."

Dawson glumly stirred sugar and milk in his tea. "I say, he really must be upset with me..."

"It's not your fault, Dr. Dawson," the housekeeper assured him. "I heard you two talking last night. He'd been moody all evening anyway."

Dawson sipped his tea thoughtfully. "He's not jealous of my time with Ophelia, is he?" he asked in sudden concern. "If that's it, he needn't worry about 'losing' me---as a friend or a partner!

"And Basil seemed so unhappy before he went to bed. That remark I made about him being 'married' to his work was quite innocent, I thought. I was rather miffed at him, but I didn't mean to hurt him..."

"I know you meant no harm, Dr. Dawson. Mr. Basil knows that, too."

"Is he all right, Mrs. Judson? He's not ill or anything, is he?"

"No, he's fine." Mrs. Judson fumbled at her starched white apron, sighing heavily. "Believe me, Doctor, Mr. Basil's behaviour has nothing to do with you, nor the Widow Berkshire. It's something that goes much further back, long before you and Mr. Basil met for the first time..."

The good doctor wondered at the look on the housekeeper's face as she spoke---it was as if Basil's melancholy mood had been contagious. In fact, her expression was much like Basil‘s: that same look of pained sadness, which seemed to hint at some tragedy not yet forgotten.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Judson?" Dawson asked gently. "And where has Basil gone to, if I may ask?"

"To the heather moors nearby," Mrs. Judson answered, gazing plaintively off in space. "He's taking some roses out there...to her."

"A girl?"

The housekeeper went quickly back to Basil's room, returning with a small photograph, elegantly framed in silver, which she handed to Dawson. The photo showed Basil seated close to an attractive young lady mouse who wore a flowered hat and white dress. The two were smiling and holding hands; as surprising as that was to Dr. Dawson, it was the girl's face that especially held his attention. Her eyes shone brightly, and there was a sweet and gentle expression on her face.

"A face like an angel's," breathed Dawson, forgetting himself in the rapture of the moment. Then he noticed something tucked into a corner of the picture frame...a small red rosebud, dried but carefully preserved, and tied with a blue ribbon.

"Her name was Elizabeth...Elizabeth Starling," Mrs. Judson said brokenly. "The only woman that Mr. Basil ever allowed himself to love...or ever will, perhaps."

Dr. Dawson raised startled eyes to meet hers, which were filling with tears.  He wondered at her behaviour---although she certainly cared about her employer (despite her impatience with him at times), this time her manner was motherly and tender. Truly, it was a time for strange moods...

"You see, Doctor," she explained slowly, "it may not seem so now, but once there was a time when there was love and romance in Mr. Basil's life...a time when something mattered more to him than his work." Staring wistfully down at the photograph, she continued, "It's a story that I've never told a living soul...but if you'd care to hear it, Dr. Dawson, I think you deserve to."

"Yes," the doctor replied eagerly. "Do sit down, Mrs. Judson...and please tell me your story!"

And as he listened to the incredible tale, Dawson sat awestruck, realizing that he had never really known Basil of Baker Street.

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"It was raining one night, six years ago," the housekeeper began. "Mr. Basil had been out investigating a case, and was returning home..."

From what had been a frustrating night of work, as it had turned out; Basil had once more been trailing his old enemy, Professor Ratigan, but what he'd thought had been good clues had only led nowhere. He'd managed to get a ride home under a carriage; but it had proved a mixed blessing, for poor Basil got splashed with water and mud all the way. Cold, wet, tired and disgusted, the mouse detective was now looking forward to a warm fire and some hot tea.

"Curse this weather!" he snapped when Mrs. Judson let him in. He noticed, however, that his housekeeper seemed preoccupied...

"Kindly watch your language, Mr. Basil!" she whispered sternly. "There is a lady in the house..."

Basil gave her a puzzled and amused look. "Well, I know that, Mrs. Judson," he replied, smiling. "I've always thought you a well-bred sort..."

The housekeeper wasn't amused. "There's another woman here, in the parlor, Mr. Basil."

"Well, if she wants my help, she's picked the wrong night to be in trouble," Basil declared crossly. "My deductive reasoning isn’t very dependable right now, especially in this dratted rain!"

"She didn't come to see you, sir. I was returning from visiting a neighbor earlier, and found the poor creature wandering down the street. She was cold and tired, and most ready to faint. So I brought her here to warm herself up and rest--- I hope you don't mind, Mr. Basil."

Basil shrugged. "Why should I mind? Just as long as she makes no trouble." He went over to the fireplace to get warm, saying that he would have his tea in his room, but Mrs. Judson only stood clearing her throat.

"But what's the matter?" asked Basil. "I say, Mrs. Judson, you're in quite an odd mood tonight..."

"Perhaps you'd like to meet the young lady, sir...and have your tea with her," she hinted, smiling.

The detective glanced back at her with a suspicious frown. Mrs. Judson was always trying to introduce him to some "sweet young thing", never minding that Basil insisted on remaining a bachelor.

"Mrs. Judson, how many times must I ask you---" he began.

"Just humour an old woman, Mr. Basil---for once!" the housekeeper begged.

Basil sighed disgustedly. "All right," he said, as he slipped on his dressing gown. "But don't get your hopes up."

Urged relentlessly by his housekeeper, Basil walked reluctantly into his parlor to find a lady mouse lying on a couch. She was turned away and had wrapped her blue tartan scarf around herself, as if to hide as well as keep warm. Basil couldn't see her face at first, but could tell by her breathing that she was asleep.

He shrugged. "No point in waking her up," he said cheerfully, as he strolled back to his living room. "I guess that lets me off the hook. Oh, must you?" he complained, as Mrs. Judson went over to the girl and shook her gently.

"She's likely hungry," insisted the housekeeper, "so I'm waking her up to have her tea---with you."

The detective grunted impatiently, and listened with his back turned as Mrs. Judson roused their strange guest.

"I've got some tea ready, dear," she said kindly. "Won't you have some now?"

"Thank you kindly, mum," answered a soft, sweet voice, which didn't escape Basil's notice. He could hear her turn over as the housekeeper went up to pick on him next.

"Now get in there, Mr. Basil," hissed Mrs. Judson, "and smile. Make her feel she's welcome!"

Raising a martyred glance to the ceiling, Basil smiled weakly as he trudged back into the parlor.

There, he saw a face that would haunt his soul forever.

The young lady was still half asleep, and gazed dreamily up at him with her sad and pretty white face, and her eyes that were soft and brown. Suddenly, she gave a startled gasp and quickly raised up. Basil, concerned now at what the girl might have thought, put on his best company manners.

"Don't be frightened, Miss," he said kindly. "I didn't mean to stare at you. I'm quite harmless, I assure you!"

Mrs. Judson took it from there.

"This is Mr. Basil, my employer," she told the woman. "Mr. Basil---Miss Elizabeth Starling, your guest for tea."

Elizabeth smiled timidly, and put out a delicate white hand to the detective, who took it gently and helped raise her up.

"Thank you kindly, sir," she said shyly. "I hope I'm being no trouble to you."

"Oh, no...of course not, Miss...Miss Starling," Basil stammered. "Come in and sit by the fire---it's wretchedly cold out there tonight."

He led Elizabeth into the living room, and helped her to a chair by the hearth, which sat close by his own (it would be the same one, in fact, that Dawson would use years later).

As Basil seated himself, Mrs. Judson, smiling wisely, brought in some tea and cheese crumpets---adding some berry trifle that she had hastily put together for the occasion. Basil gave her a dubious glance, wondering if she hadn't planned the whole thing somehow.

Yet he spoke pleasantly with Miss Starling as they enjoyed their tea together. However, he noticed that her replies, while friendly, were brief and reserved. Ever ready to play the detective, he couldn't resist observing his lady guest with his usual deductive reasoning...

Miss Starling has obviously traveled a long distance, judging from the wear marks on her shoes, and how tired she is. She's not exactly well off, but hardly low class---she's very well mannered. And she's not from London, but with a distinct Yorkshire accent, though she's lived in London long enough to have softened it a good deal...

And how long since she's had a meal, poor child? he thought with sympathy, as he watched Elizabeth eat---she was trying to be ladylike about it, yet she was obviously famished. There was something else that she couldn't hide from the detective either, a certain haunted look in her lovely eyes...

She's frightened. Something's happened in her past, whether distant or immediate, that she's trying to run from. Something---or someone---must be after her.

But he knew this was not the time to press questions on Elizabeth. She would tell him her troubles, if she chose to, in good time.

"So what brings you to Baker Street, Miss Starling?" he asked cheerfully.

Elizabeth looked startled at first. "Oh...well, I'm...looking for a place to stay. I've just moved out of another neighborhood." She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Would you know of a room to let anywhere, Mr. Basil?"

"There's a Mrs. Flaherty up the street," Mrs. Judson put in, "she's got an empty flat, I understand. She's a friend of mine, and I'll help you get a room there, if you like."

"Thank you, mum. You're most kind..." Elizabeth turned shyly to Basil. "And thank you, Mr. Basil, for letting me share this nice meal with you. It's done me a world of good..." Her glance happened to fall upon the mantel, then suddenly, she gasped and raised up quickly, her eyes dilating in fright. Then she turned and stared at Basil with sudden suspicion and fear.

"But what's wrong, Miss Starling?" Basil asked in alarm. Yet he had followed the girl's frozen stare to where the picture of Professor Ratigan was sitting.

"Oh...nothing---nothing," Elizabeth replied tremulously. "I---I'll be going. Never mind the flat, Mrs. Judson---" She turned to leave, then stiffened as Basil kindly laid his hand upon her frail shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, in a gentler voice. "There's nothing for you to be afraid of here, Miss Starling. You're among friends..."

Elizabeth turned to look at him again, that same expression of mistrust in her eyes, and pointed nervously to the picture. "That---that person," she asked in a low voice. "Who is he?"

"That, Miss Starling, is Professor Ratigan. He's long been an enemy of mine." He turned the photo around. "Ugly sort of fellow, isn't he? I don't blame you for being alarmed...he's like the devil incarnate, I'd say.

"Miss Starling, I don't exactly know what's you're afraid of at this moment. But whatever it is, I'll do my best to help you." He delicately took Elizabeth's trembling hands in his. "You see, my dear, Mrs. Judson and I may be the only friends you have right now. Believe me when I tell you that you can trust me..."

As he said this, his soft green eyes gazed into the frightened brown eyes of Elizabeth. After a few moments, she began to calm down. Then, with sudden awe, she realized whose presence Fate had led her into...

"You're Basil of Baker Street," she replied, almost reverently. "I've heard so much about you. Now I think I can trust you..."


End Part I