Elementary, brothers: Izvestia publishes an exclusive excerpt from the book "Disappeared without a Trace"

Even before Sherlock Holmes became a symbol of deduction, his unexpected double, the lady detective Loveday Brooke, created by Catherine Louise Pirkis, had already appeared in Victorian England. Contemporaries called her character "Holmes in a skirt," and the writer was a supporter of the ideas of Arthur Conan Doyle and a fierce defender of animals. Pirkis' debut novel "Disappeared without a Trace" is being published in Russian for the first time, translated by Alexandra Glebovskaya. On the eve of the premiere, Izvestia publishes an exclusive fragment of the book.

Catherine Louise Pirkis, "Disappeared without a Trace" (fragment)

A reward of 200 pounds has been announced. Amy, the only daughter of Stephen Warden, Esq., of Tall Elms Manor, Harleyford, has disappeared from her parents' home. Age: 17 years old. Height: 5 feet. Her eyes and hair are dark, her face is elongated, her nose, mouth and chin are small, her arms and legs are unusually small; she is dressed in a blue silk walking suit, a felt hat with a wide brim and a blue ostrich feather. Jewelry: a gold butterfly—shaped brooch and matching earrings; on the middle finger of the left hand, an antique ruby ring - a large stone framed by eight small diamonds, in a buckle-shaped frame, with the motto on the buckle: Sans espoir je meurs. The young lady was last seen on the morning of August 14, walking out of the park towards the Dunwich highway. With any information, contact Inspector Smith at Dunwich Police Station, who is authorized to pay the above-mentioned reward to the person who returns the young lady to the bosom of the family; it is possible to pay in installments according to the value of the information provided.

The above advertisement appeared on a fine summer morning on the wall of the Dunwich police Station, as well as on all the main buildings of this crowded industrial town.

Even the busiest businessmen took the time to look up from their business deals and read it, wondering how it could happen that a young girl under the watchful eye of her family (and so it was with Miss Warden), well known to neighbors and surrounded by relatives, friends and servants, disappeared in broad daylight, and without a trace.

Harleyford was about five miles from Dunwich, and Mr. Warden's house was about three miles from the nearest railway station. There was a very busy road leading from the estate to the market town of Dunwich. Around ten o'clock in the morning on August 14th, local villagers noticed how a young lady came out on this road — she even exchanged a few words with them. Since then, no one has seen or heard from her, as if — as the inhabitants of the town gossiped with a Leicestershire accent — "the earth opened up and swallowed her up": no trace.

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Wealthy merchants and well-to-do farmers shuddered reading this announcement. The young lady, according to her habit, went for a walk on a fine summer day, nodded and smiled at the neighbors, wished them good morning, walked on, and — what a fright! "she was never seen or heard from again. And who can feel safe after that? The neighbors sighed, shuddered, remembered their young daughters who had stayed at home, and walked on, reflecting on this strange event as they went.

Photo: TASS/dpa/picture-alliance/Robert Michael

Mr. and Mrs. Worden were constantly receiving visitors; they listened to the story of how the parents were waiting for their daughter, first for breakfast, then for lunch, then for dinner, how they sent workers to comb the neighborhood, how they felt all the reservoirs with bagels, how messengers were sent to all the hospitals, how they questioned and asked all the railway employees if she had appeared they have a young woman at the station, how they racked their brains trying to imagine at least one reason that could make their daughter leave her home, and how now, after two weeks of fruitless waiting, they ruefully clasped their hands and prayed for at least some news, even the most terrible.

—A riddle of riddles,— old Lady Nugent said to her young companion, "they were driving along the very highway where poor Amy was last seen, and the old lady kept peering into the hedges, as if hoping to see some footprints there. — If the poor girl had any love troubles, then it would be clearer: young fools of seventeen happen to commit stupidities at the instigation of dishonest men. But everyone knows that she could make the best match in the whole county. Young Lord Hardcastle worships her, and he's so picky and picky; and Frank Varley, the rector's son, who has ten thousand a year, is crazy about her.

"That's right, madam,— the companion nodded. —Besides, it's well known that Mr. and Mrs. Worden would never oppose her will." Ah! She's always been a flirt, back in high school. These rich, smart young women, to whom all roads are open in life, often lose their way and run away with some groom or footman. Believe me, madam.…

—Matthews, don't be silly," the dowager interrupted her, "especially about something you don't understand anything about. It has already become clear that, apart from Miss Warden, no one has disappeared here, either in the immediate vicinity or in the distant ones. Yes, this young lady could be lively and mischievous in dealing with her peers, but with her background and upbringing, she would never allow herself to be familiar with those below her in position. No, she's no more capable of that than I am," Lady Nugent added, giving Matthews a disparaging look. "Tell George to drive past the police station," she ordered, pulling the shoelace. "I want to know what the ad says."

Photo: Global Look Press/Rota

As the venerable lady's carriage makes its way through the crowd of onlookers gathered at the entrance to the police station, two more people read the lines of the announcement — both of their faces are pale and worried. Blond, powerfully built Frank Varley, the rebellious son of the abbot, is the best horseman, runner and rower in the county, the first ringleader of all pranks, all reckless adventures (nevertheless, at balls and receptions they flirt with him more diligently than with the richest lord and the most promising bachelor baronet), the joy and pride of his mother and the source of constant the worries and fears of the father.

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He reads and frowns more and more.

—God knows, it's not right! He mutters through clenched teeth. "The night before at the ball, she squeezed my hand for a single moment under a large oleander tree and called me her Frank; but then, because she was such a flirt, she told me that she only meant that I was just like her brother, because I had done her so much good. Are we going to sit back and watch a girl like that get taken away from us? Well, no way!

After that, he uttered in a full voice, loudly sucking in air.:

— God knows, I will go around the whole earth to the last corner, I will search both sea and land, I will search day and night, and I will not rest until I find her alive or dead.

Photo: TASS/Sergey Bobylev

"You're right! another voice exclaimed very close by, and Lord Hardcastle turned a worried, bloodless face with thin, chiseled features to Varley (his friends from racing and boat racing called him sissy Hardcastle because of his extraordinary refinement and aristocratic discrimination). — You're right, there's something fishy here, and we have to figure it out. We used to be rivals, but now we have to join forces.

He held out a thin white hand to Varley, who squeezed it in a firm, strong squeeze.

— I'm ready to repeat your words: I will go around the whole earth to the last corner, I will search both sea and land, I will search day and night, and I will not rest until I find her alive or dead.