Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess (21 page)

“Against all better judgment, yes I am.”

“And you will do whatever is necessary?” Sherlock pressed, clearly not convinced.
 
And for good reason.

“I will.
 
It is very difficult, however.”
 
She sighed.
 
“If I could succeed by force of will, I could manage, but it isn’t like that.”

“Explain,” Sherlock commanded.

“The other girls . . . they don’t accept me.”

 
“Ah.”
 
Sherlock shook his head in disapproval.
 
“I told you to get the glass lenses, Miss Hudson.
 
It is to be expected.”

She tapped her finger on her cheek, appearing to consider his evaluation.  “I won’t be doing so at this time.
 
However . . . I
am
interested in the chains.  Of what were they made? 
What were you
wearing
at the time, Sherlock
?
”

“Mr. Holmes, if you please.”
 
Sherlock raised a single eyebrow at her.  “We return her to the finishing school with not a moment to lose.”

“Holmes,” Dr. Watson admonished.  “I still say this is too dangerous.  If anything should happen—”

“Nothing will happen, Watson,” Sherlock assured him.  “I have thought it through.”

“The world does not always follow the structured order of your thoughts, Sherlock.”

“Are you ill, Watson?”

“Two words, Sherlock:  Irene.  Adler.”

“Everyone is entitled to one mistake.  Now take this situation:  there is our man and the king’s men.  The finishing school is a veritable tomb—no one is allowed in or out.  Miss Hudson has been trained by us—the very best—and shows a great deal of natural ability in all the necessary areas:  strength, reflexes, courage, and intelligence.  No, I can anticipate no problems.”

“I suppose it is better to have her under our watchful eyes—than sneaking about behind us.”

“John Watson, I would never sneak about!”

Both men turned and looked at her in disbelief, raising their eyebrows in unison.

“Do you already have a beau, Miss Carnegie?” Bethany asked, suspicion making her eyes twinkle.

“Oh, no!”
 
Mirabella felt herself blush.
 

“See her color!
 
There is someone, I know it!” exclaimed Jacqueline, leaning forward.
 
“I thought you showed no interest in ze boys!”

“Certainly I am not adverse to handsome young men!”
 
A picture of the exquisite Dr. John Watson entered her mind, placing him here in the parlor before her, the candlelight reflecting off his blonde-streaked hair and sparkling smile.
 

“Get back to work, Miss Belle!”
 
A picture of Sherlock imposed upon her lovely daydream, splitting it into pieces, with only John’s turquoise eyes left on a broken piece of glittering glass, now scattered on the floor.
 
Sherlock flexed his arms, revealing his muscles even as his eyes penetrated her vision.

 
How foolish I am!
 
But even she, in her silly, infatuated state, was
nothing
in foolish obsession compared to the ladies of high society.
 
Too much time on their hands and not enough constructive occupation, in her opinion.
 

Or perhaps it is because no young man in high society would have me
.
 
So naturally such a romance would not engage my imagination as it is not an option for me
.

And this was why she did not belong to this social circle nor did she fit in.
 
All the young ladies outside of herself, without exception, had the immediate goal of marriage.
 
This mutual goal was critical to being accepted among the girls.
 
Second, and equally as important,
one must love to gossip
.
 

Clank!
 
Mirabella heard an odd sound in the garden and moved to the window, carrying her embroidery with her.

“How can you have lived this long and not know anything about society, Miss Carnegie?” Alexandra asked.

“What?” Mirabella asked, her eyes glued to the window, lost in thought.
 
“Oh, I don’t know, it’s a mystery.”

“Miss Mirabella has other interests—and talents,” remarked Princess Elena.
 
Her voice was almost a whisper, but her piercing black eyes were fiercely resolute, shockingly exotic against luminescent skin.
 
“She does not need society and frivolous young men.”

For herself, Mirabella wasn’t even certain Princess Elena liked her—or if the princess merely tolerated her.
 

No one.
 
She saw no one in the yard.
 
She glanced in the direction of her reticule, which held her small revolver, where she had been sitting.
 
But instead of returning to her seat, she sat by the street side window, glancing out occasionally.

Where are the bodyguards?
 
Somewhere in the interior hallway, no doubt.
 
And Sherlock’s man?
 
That fellow was almost invisible, just like her employer.

“Such as?” laughed Alexandra, smiling at Elena.
 
Everyone seemed to like the princess, despite her quiet demeanor and strikingly unusual looks.
 
“I’m sure I’ve never seen Miss Carnegie do anything but read!”

“Quite so,” agreed Mirabella, continuing painstakingly on the cross-stitch.
 
“I do nothing else but read.”

Outside of criminal investigation, working in the most advanced laboratory in all of London, volunteering at an orphanage, and trailing the greatest detective the world has ever known.
 

“You must avez quite ze most boring life imaginer, Miss Carnegie,” remarked Jacqueline.
 

“Indeed I do,” Mirabella sighed.

“Reading, it bores me to ze tears.”
 

“And what have you read Lady Jacqueline?” asked Mirabella, genuinely curious.

“What avez I read?
 
Grammar, ze text books—and le
Français
, of course.”

“That would bore me to tears as well!” smiled Mirabella, genuinely amused.
 
Her curiosity overcame her as it was wont to do, despite her better judgment.
 
“Don’t you enjoy novels of romance and intrigue, Lady Jacqueline?”
 

“
Romance
?” Jacqueline looked at Mirabella blankly, but with some amount of interest.
 
Though well-born, Lady Jacqueline was not talentless:
 
she was the best seamstress among them, even enjoyed cooking much to her mother’s consternation, and had a flair for decorating.
 
This French miss would make some lucky man very happy if she could but expand her world a bit.

“Yes, novels about romance
.
 
Why, pray tell, are we all here in this finishing school?” demanded Mirabella, moving forward in her seat and setting her embroidery aside with great pleasure.

“To become ze proper demoiselles
bien sûr
,” replied Jacqueline.

“I would expect you to be the last person to ask why we are here, Miss Carnegie,” Alexandra stated.
 
“I have seen you attempt to cut your meat without sending your dinner flying.”

“Hee!
 
Hee!”
 
Even Bethany could not help giggling at Alexandria’s remark—which, of course, was all true.
 
“Do forgive my laughter, Miss Carnegie, but the book almost smashed Princess Elena’s toe when it fell off your head—”

The person I am here to protect!
 
As for the meat, that was unfair:
 
if the cook had been better at his job, it would not have happened.
 
She herself could cook a far more tender filet.
 
But that she could not reveal.

“Neigh!
 
Neigh!”
 
Mirabella looked up to see a carriage stopping outside their front door.
 
There was a groom with the carriage—no one else—and he wore a large hat and a scarf around his neck which hid his face.
 
Very odd.
 
It’s not that cold outside.

“Why?” insisted Mirabella. “Why do we wish to become proper young ladies?
 
To what end?”

“Why not?” giggled Bethany, always becoming despite her unfashionable liveliness.
 

“W-why?” repeated Jacqueline.
 
“Parce que c’est la
thing to do
!”

“Because it is our duty to our parents and our country,” replied Princess Elena definitively, her expression both dignified and resolute, approaching haughtiness.

Remember that expression, it could prove useful
, Mirabella made a mental note.

“You say the most entertaining things, Miss Carnegie!” exclaimed Alexandra, but she looked far from amused.
 
“
Why
do we become proper young ladies?
 
You may lie, but I shall not.
 
To marry well
, of course.”
 

“Precisely so,” nodded Mirabella.

“Knock!
 
Knock!”
 
Miss de Beauvais entered, handing a letter to Elena as she smiled sweetly and curtsied, the seal of the letter briefly visible.
 
“For you, Princess.”

“Thank you,” Princess Elena murmured.
 

Miss de Beauvais exited as quickly as she had entered, closing the parlor door behind her.
 
But all the other eyes in the room were now focused on Princess Elena, if they hadn’t been before.
 
Still, no one uttered a sound as they all knew it was impolite to inquire—and as they had no desire to discuss anything else.

Alexandra’s gaze caressed the letter now in Elena’s hand with no small amount of envy, and all other eyes followed, the thoughts unspoken but known to all.

The letter, only just delivered, was sealed with a wax imprint of the royal seal of Italy.
 
The group sat very close together, so it was not difficult to discern, particularly since the Italian seal had, by now, been memorized by everyone in the room.
 
The princess received just such a letter
every
day
, taking it to her room to read in private.
 

Only today there were
two
letters, both with the royal seal, and Princess Elena was now opening this second letter.
 
The silence was almost unbearable.

Suddenly Princess Elena gasped, placing her hand in front of her mouth.

“What is it?” Alexandra asked, the only one of the ladies with the courage—or the absence of manners, as the case may be—to ask.
 
“Pray tell us.
 
We hate to see you dismayed!

We hate to be left in the dark is the truth of the matter
, Mirabella reflected.
 
But she, too, was anxious to learn the contents of the letter.

“It is from Vittorio’s mother.”
 
Elena’s eyes were watering, something none of them ever thought to see.

Mirabella asked quietly, “Is it bad news?”
 

“No,” Elena shook her head, tucking the letter into her reticule.
 
“Queen Margherita says she hopes very much that Vittorio will marry me.”

“Are you quite serious?” Mirabella exclaimed, adding in a whisper, “I had always assumed she didn’t approve.”

“Myself as well,” Elena replied.
 

And Queen consort Margherita, Princess of Savoy, had never met Princess Elena.
 
Could it be a ruse?
 
Mirabella glanced at the visibly shaken princess.
 
Clearly Elena didn’t think so.

Alexandra sighed.
 
“I would so love to marry a prince.”

“If marriage is a subject of interest to you—indeed, your singular reason for existence—why should you not entertain yourself with books of romance?” continued Mirabella.
 
“What do you think, Lady Jacqueline?”

“Je ne sais pas,” murmured Jacqueline, sighing wistfully as she eyed the reticule, now holding the royal letter.
 
I don’t know.

“Lady Jacqueline, have you read
Pride and Prejudice
by Jane Austen?” Mirabella asked.
 
“It is delightful.”

“
Lady Audley’s Secret
by Mary Elizabeth Braddon is perfectly sinful,” added Bethany in her typical theatrical manner as if revealing a great secret.
 
“
I loved it.”

“Personally I love the Gothic novels,” agreed Mirabella, “such as
The Mysteries of Udolpho
by Lady Radcliffe.”

“Gothic?” Elena looked up.
 

“Yes, very dark.
 
Lots of mystery.
 
Murder.”
 

“I love murder.”
 
Princess Elena’s eyes flew wide open, the words escaping from a head-to-toe vision in white lace.
 
Further accenting her dark words were her ebony eyes and glossy raven-black hair.
 

Everyone gasped and Lady Jacqueline covered her mouth with her hand, giggling most becomingly.
 
Even her giggle was in French.

Mirabella smiled to herself.
 
Although she could not take the credit, this aspect of her job was being accomplished:
 
socially, the princess was making progress.
 
Rather than answering in one to two-word statements, Princess Elena now utilized entire sentences.
 
Rarely more than one, but an entire sentence, nonetheless.
 
This in only three weeks’ time.