After reconciling with my brothers in the summer of 1889, I spent a pleasant August with Reginald the collie, visiting Ferndell, my family home in the countryside. Furthermore, after returning to London and to my very safe, though somewhat Spartan room at the Women's Professional Club, I bought a wonderful new dress, apricot with slightly puffed shoulders and a tight pleated skirt, which disguised me as no one other than my thin self! Finally, and to my good fortune, the "hourglass figure" ceased to be in fashion – just at the moment when I no longer needed bust enhancers and hip transformers to hide from Sherlock and Mycroft! I eagerly awaited seeing them again as the authentic Enola Holmes.

But days turned into a week, and then a fortnight; August became September, but I had no news from them. My spirits sank. Once again, I found myself very alone, as seems to be my fate – even my name, Enola, if spelled backwards in English, means "alone." I wanted to buy a hat to match the apricot dress, but even the thought of this pleasant errand failed to rouse me from inertia. So, one sunny afternoon, when I could have gone around the shops, I was dawdling in the club lounge when a maid brought me a note on a brass tray. "The gentleman said he will wait for your reply, miss." You see, dear reader, men were not allowed to pass through the door of the Women's Club.