Kindle Edition Download to your Nook (eBook) Barnes & Noble.com Liese Sherwood-Fabre Category:  Mystery/Suspense Publisher: Little Elm Press ISBN-10:  1952408911 Type: Fiction Pages: 342 Copyright: June 30, 2020 ISBN-13: 9781952408915 Price: $4.99 (eBook) The game begins! The village midwife has been found with a pitchfork in her back in the estate's garden, and Mrs. Holmes has been accused of the murder. Can Sherlock find the true killer in time to save her from the gallows? Before Sherlock Holmes became the world’s greatest consulting detective... Scandal rocked the Holmes family. A cache of documents has been recently discovered detailing, in Sherlock's own hand, his early forays into criminal investigation. With The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife, the game begins as Sherlock faces his first case. Only weeks into his first year at Eton, Sherlock's father calls him and his brother back to Underbyrne, the ancestral estate. The village midwife has been found with a pitchfork in her back in the estate's garden, and Mrs. Holmes has been accused of the murder. Can Sherlock find the true killer in time to save her from the gallows? Excerpt They told me the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, and I knew I should have been honored to be at the institution; but at age thirteen, I hated it. The whole bloody place. I remained only because my parents’ disappointment would have been too great a disgrace to bear. My aversion culminated about a month after my arrival when I was forced into a boxing match on the school’s verdant side lawn. I had just landed a blow to Charles Fitzsimmons’s nose, causing blood to pour from both nostrils, when the boys crowding around us parted. One of the six-form prefects joined us in the circle’s center. After glancing first at Fitzsimmons, he said to me, “Sherlock Holmes, you’re wanted in the Head Master’s office. Come along.” Even though I’d been at the school only a few weeks, I knew no one was called to the director’s office unless something was terribly wrong. I hesitated, blinking at the young man in his stiff collar and black suit. He flapped his arms to mark his impatience at my delay and spun about on his heel, marching toward the college’s main building. I gulped, gathered my things, and followed him at a pace that left me puffing to keep up. I had no idea what caused such a summons. If it had been the fight, surely Charles would have accompanied me. I hadn’t experienced any controversies in any of my classes, even with my mathematics instructor. True, earlier in the day I’d corrected him, but surely it made sense to point out his mistake? For the most part, the masters seemed pleased with my answers when they called on me. I did have problems, however, with most of my classmates—Charles Fitzsimmons was just one example. Except he was the one who’d called me out. Surely, that couldn’t be the basis of this summons? Once inside, my sight adjusted slowly to the dark, cool interior, and I could distinguish the stern-faced portraits of past college administrators, masters, and students lining the hallway. As I passed them, I could feel their judgmental stares bearing down on me, and so I focused on the prefect’s back, glancing neither right nor left at these long-dead critics. A cold sweat beaded on my upper lip as I felt certain something very grave had occurred, with me at the center of the catastrophe. Reaching the Head Master’s office, I found myself unable to work the door’s latch, and with an exasperated sigh, the prefect opened it for me and left me to enter on a pair of rather shaky knees. My agitation deepened when I entered and found the director examining a letter with my father’s seal clearly visible. He glanced up from the paper with the same severe expression I’d observed in his predecessors’ portraits. Dismissing his appraisal, I concentrated on the details I gathered from the missive in his hand. Taking a position on an expansive oriental carpet in front of his massive wooden desk, I drew in my breath and asked, “What happened to my mother?” “How did you know this involves your mother?” he asked, pulling back his chin. “The letter. That’s my father’s seal.” My words gathered speed as I continued. “It doesn’t bear a black border, which means at least at this point no death is involved. My father’s hand is steady enough to write, so he must be well, that leaves only some problem with my mother.” The man raised his eyebrows at my response, then glanced at the letter in his hand before tossing it onto the desk’s polished surface. “As you have surmised, a problem at home requires your return. Your father has requested that we arrange for you and your things to be sent to the rail station. Your brother will be arriving from Oxford to accompany you the rest of the way.” My heart squeezed in my chest, dread rushing through my body. Home. Underbyrne, the family estate. And not just for a short visit. Packing all my things meant I was leaving for the remainder of the term. Something terribly wrong had happened. Grievous enough to pull Mycroft out of his third year of studies at Oxford. Blood whooshed in my ears, and I barely heard what followed. “I’ve already requested Mrs. Whittlespoon to assist you in your packing.” Head Master turned his attention to the rest of the mail on his desk. He glanced up to add, “She’ll be in your room already.” “Thank you, sir. Good day, sir.” I recovered enough to respond to his statement, but not to ask the reason behind Father’s directive. With a wave of his hand, I was dismissed before I could inquire. As I closed the door behind me, I heard him mutter, “As much a prig as his brother.” For a moment, I considered opening the door and requesting more information about his assessment as well as what else my father had provided in his letter, but social convention restrained me from questioning an elder—and the Head Master at that. I was left to ponder my unspoken concerns as I returned to my chamber. By the time I arrived at my room, my trunk had already been brought down from storage, and Mrs. Whittlespoon, the house dame, was placing my belongings in it. “There you are, dearie.” She pointed to a set of clothing on my bed. “You go change into your traveling clothes while I finish this up.” I paused, considering for a moment to ask her what she knew of the events surrounding my departure, but she had turned her attention to the drawer with my undergarments. Having lost the opportunity for the moment, I retrieved the clothes and carried them to the bathing facilities. Since the Head Master was not forthcoming, and Mrs. Whittlespoon might have only limited knowledge, my best hope for additional information as to what had occurred with Mother would be Mycroft—if he was in the mood to share. Knowing my brother, he might not be inclined to discuss this or any other matter on the journey home. He’d been overjoyed to return to university after the summer’s break and pulling him out would definitely sour his mood. Mrs. Whittlespoon turned to me when I re-entered the room and placed both her hands on my shoulders for a moment to scrutinize my appearance. “You look a right proper young gentleman.” She smoothed out the sleeves of my coat. “You go on down to the carriage, now. I’ll finish up here and have Jarvis take the trunk down to the carriage. I assume you’ll want to carry that yourself.” She waved her hand at my violin case lying on the bed. A wave of guilt swept over me. At my mother’s insistence, I’d begun lessons two years before and developed some skill on the instrument. Since entering Eton I hadn’t found the time to practice as promised. How could I report such a failure to her? I swallowed as my next thought rose, unbidden. Assuming, of course, she was in a position to ask—or understand—my answer.

Goodreads: Sally Sugarman, editor "Groans, Cries and Bleatings"
This is a book once I started, I couldn't put down even though I had other obligations. The relationship between Mycroft and Sherlock was perfect. Their similarities and differences, the competition and the developing respect and affection were shown through their interactions.. Sherlock is thirteen years old and at Eton while Mycroft is at Oxford. Not only were their ages conveyed clearly, but the time period was recreated convincingly. These people lived in a specific time and culture and were affected by it so that one could see how their individuality and their place in their social and historical time interacted. The character of Constance I was marvelous. She was of a different class but as smart as the Holmes boys in her way. She was poor and a thief but also an individual of integrity and caring. I imagined her growing up and giving Irene Adler a run for the money. Constance has the makings of The Woman. Sherlock's parents were also perfectly delineated. The complexity of their relationship in terms of the period and their individual personalities worked well on its own and also how it influenced Sherlock. I wondered about one particular character because I suspected him almost immediately, but then I thought the story wasn't really a whodunit as much as it was showing us how Holmes became who he became. I was in the time, the place and the people every minute. The author writes so well and so convincingly. I think all the research she has done for her non-fiction articles has made that period a place where she lives comfortably and made it possible for others to join her there. Having read various accounts of the young Holmes for younger and older readers, this is the best of them all in the richness of the characters, not only giving Sherlock greater depth, but also bringing to life the others around him.

Goodreads: Rosemary Reeve
I loved this book!

Liese Sherwood-Fabre has given us an origin story for Sherlock Holmes – or “Sherry,” as his mother calls him. And what a great story she tells. Sherlock is summoned home from his miserable first year at Eton because his mother has been accused of murdering the village midwife. His mother turns to teenage Sherlock for help in freeing her from gaol. She knows that Mycroft, though brilliant, is too theoretical.

As Sherlock collects evidence and interviews witnesses, we see him develop his deductive reasoning. The motifs of the soon-to-be-great detective come into focus. There’s the explanation for the magnifying glass. There’s the deerstalker cap. There’s the poignant backstory for the violin. There’s the grisly and dramatic inquest, in which someone else – of course – takes the credit for Sherlock’s ingenuity. In very exciting scenes, there are the bees.

Making this even richer are the relationships within the Holmes family, the delicately described social and physical environment, and Sherlock’s first love interest, Constance, a resourceful and admirable village girl and pickpocket. Young Sherlock seems like a real teenager – intelligent, awkward, worried, unsure, sensitive, and brave.

I am looking forward to the next book!

Net Galley: Leyla J.
Enjoyed this book, was very creative how the young Sherlock's early life was depicted to fit some of the trait his later personality. The mystery, whilst very entertaining was a little predictable, but the adventures getting to the end were rather exciting. Good depiction of the era also
All in all the good book which I could not put down.