Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess (28 page)

“Miss Carnegie,” began Miss de Beauvais gently but without an air of compromise.
 
Sherlock recognized that air very well.
 
“It is all very well to wish to do charity work, but these girls are here for a single purpose—and unfortunately, you are interfering with that purpose.”

“It is Alexandra, isn’t it?” Mirabella asked.
 

“No, it is the Duke of Glazebury.
 
He is not pleased.”

“As I said, it is Alexandra.”
 
Mirabella tapped her fingers on the desk.
 
“If Lady Alexandra does not wish to participate, why is she simply indisposed on the day?
 
I’m sure she does precisely what she likes at every other second of every other day.
 
Is there any reason for her to ruin it for the rest of us—and the orphans, who so badly need the mere crumbs from our table?”

Sherlock felt the corner of his lip fighting a smile.
 
He was rarely amused—and never so entertained as when in the company of Miss Mirabella Hudson.

“Very inappropriate to gossip about the other young ladies who are not present,” Miss de Beauvais stated with indignity.

“Not nearly as inappropriate as attempting to expel the young ladies one does not personally like,” Sherlock drawled.
 
“Without which we would not be here gossiping.
 
My dear niece would never dream of acting with so little Christian charity.
 
I am surprised that you cater to such self-serving ill will, Miss de Beauvais.”

His amusement was by now entirely dissipated, even more so because Miss Belle had suddenly assumed a strange behavior.

Sherlock stared at her with consternation.
 
Strange even for her
.

He raised his eyebrow in disapproval at his ward, who was fidgeting with the contents of her reticule.
 
Why did she pick this inopportune moment to reorganize her belongings?
 

Uhm-hmmm
.
 
He cleared his throat.
 
His eyes pierced hers and he knew his meaning was clear:
 
the entire case is on the line at this very moment.

Miss Hudson grew more and more agitated, items slipping from her fingers.

Both Sherlock and Miss de Beauvais turned towards her in perplexity, the older woman frowning with even more force than she had previously displayed.
 
“Miss Carnegie?”

Suddenly a pound note flew out of Miss Belle’s purse, landing on Miss de Beauvais desk.

“Miss de Beauvais, would you mind to hand me my note back?” Mirabella asked sweetly.
 

The older woman snatched the note with a bit more force than was necessary in the emotion of the moment, an emotion which Mirabella had quite purposely escalated, Sherlock was certain.
 
An expression of annoyance crossed the proprietress’ face for an instant before it was contained as she stared down the younger woman.
 

Sherlock could not help but chuckle, appreciating Miss Belle’s commentary.
 
Even without the ruse, the clever Miss Belle knew the one thing Miss de Beauvais would be unable to resist touching:
 
currency.

“What is this?” Miss de Beauvais demanded.
 
“There is some type of ink on this!”
 
She threw the note on the table, which Mirabella promptly picked up by the edges even as Miss de Beauvais searched for her handkerchief.
 
His instructions had been to obtain the proprietress’ fingerprint upon his suspicions—and Miss Hudson’s timing was impeccable.
 

“I’m afraid Miss Carnegie is just not working out here,” purred Miss de Beauvais consolingly, turning towards Sherlock as she wiped her hand with her handkerchief.
 
“She is
exceedingly
strongwilled.”

“Exceedingly.
 
In the Carnegie family we don’t consider that a failing.”
 
Sherlock Holmes tapped his fingers on the desk.
 
Taking out his pipe he began to fill it with tobacco.
 
“So the other girls don’t like my niece?”

“Oh, they quite look up to her, Mr. Carnegie.
 
Otherwise, how could she have any influence one way or the other?”

“So you’re saying Miss Carnegie is a bad influence?”

“Precisely.”

“Because she wishes to aid orphans?” Sherlock took a slow leisurely puff on his pipe.
 
He had not been so calm with Miss Hudson, accusing her of botching the mission—and rightly so.
 
She was reckless, following her conscience above all things without thought of the consequences.
 

He might give the girl a hard time for her own good—but let this high flying biddy do so, he would not.

“In a manner of speaking,” Miss de Beauvais added after a long pause.

“What type of finishing school teaches girls to be selfish?
 
I thought the purpose of such training was to produce worthy young ladies.”

“No,” she replied definitively.
 
“The purpose is to produce
marriageable
young ladies.”

“And what type of young man does a selfish, conniving young woman attract?
 
Here I have brought you a jewel and you have attempted to taint her finish.”

“Miss Carnegie has an excellent character without question.
 
She is simply not
a good fit.
 
I think it would be best for all concerned if you found other accommodations for her.”
 
As greedy as she was, Miss de Beauvais did have to care about her reputation; apparently a duke pushing his weight around trumped a wealthy merchant.

“One would have thought that the proprietress would have felt an enormous gratitude toward one who had saved the life of her prize pupil.
 
And a good thing it is that Miss Carnegie exercised her ‘strong will’ as you put it,” Sherlock stated.
 
Why would Miss de Beauvais wish such an asset removed from her midst?

“Oh, you know about that, do you, Mr. Carnegie?”
 
Miss de Beauvais blushed, something Sherlock would have never thought to see.

“Did you think that by removing Miss Carnegie, all this unpleasant business would simply go away?
 
It is quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I did think Miss Carnegie to be the only one of the girls brave enough to spill the beans, so to speak.
 
And it appears I was right.”
 
Miss de Beauvais attempted to hide her dislike of Mirabella, but the eyes never lied.

“Or is it that you don’t wish Princess Elena to be safe?” Sherlock pressed.

“How can you say such a thing, Mr. Carnegie!” she exclaimed, having lost all composure.

“You need to repay your friends, not kick them out the door,” Sherlock mused, taking a puff on his pipe.
 
“What am I to think?”

Miss de Beauvais cleared her throat in an agitated fashion.
 
“I did not wish to bring it up—quite inappropriate—but there is the matter of the . . . the . . .
unmentionables
.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow, glancing at Mirabella.

“She means the corset,” Mirabella remarked.

Miss de Beauvais closed her eyes momentarily, apparently quite distressed.
 
“Do you see what I mean?
 
Most inappropriate conversation!”

“You brought it to our attention, Miss de Beauvais.
 
My niece did not.
 
Since your accusation regarding the matter is your justification for dismissing Miss Carnegie, what choice does she have but to explain the matter?
 
If she says nothing, you dismiss her; if she vindicates herself, you dismiss her on the grounds that it was inappropriate conversation!”

Miss de Beauvais shook her head, appearing most discomfited.

“You see, Uncle Lochlan, the school requirement is to utilize the corset to reduce the waist one inch per month until Miss de Beauvais determines the waist is small enough.
 
We have heard rumor that one girl left this school with a fourteen inch waist.”

“It is no rumor, it is true,” replied Miss de Beauvais with obvious pride.
 
“These type of results set our school apart.”

“No doubt they do,” Sherlock agreed.

“Some of the girls are fainting, none can eat much, some have headaches,” Mirabella continued.
 
She added under her breath, “It is no wonder that Alexandra is a bit ill-tempered.”

“And some experience a sort of euphoria . . .” added Miss de Beauvais.
 
“None have complained to me.”

“Oh, I think they quite like the competition, and the results,” Mirabella continued.
 
“The girls are required to wear the corsets even when they sleep.
 
Being allowed to remove them for bathing, perhaps a few hours a week.”

“And you refused to be subjected to this regimen, Mirabella?” Sherlock asked sternly.

“I did,” Mirabella replied.

“Good,” pronounced Sherlock.
 
“Thus far, Miss de Beauvais, all you have done is point out that my niece is more intelligent than the other girls and not swayed by the admonitions of either you or the group, indicative of an independence which the Carnegies value.”
 

“Independence is well and good among the male population,” Miss de Beauvais replied.
 
“But not the female.”
 

“I beg to differ—independent thought has kept my niece alive, and possibly the other girls as well.
 
Moreover, I must note that Princess Elena is extremely independent, and she will very likely be the queen of Italy in the future.”

Sherlock would have wished to pursue that line of logic when at that moment there was a frantic knock on the door.
 

“I am sorry, Mr. Carnegie, but my mind is made up,” Miss de Beauvais continued, ignoring the interruption.
 
“Our business is concluded.
 
I think it best that Miss Carnegie find another school.”

“Then there is the not so little matter of a refund,” stated Sherlock, puffing on his pipe and appearing as if he were settled in for the afternoon.

“We never refund, particularly if it is determined the young lady is unsuitable.”

Miss de Beauvais frowned at the maid opening the door.
 
“I thought I instructed you—”

“Miss de Beauvais!
 
A representative of—”

A very large dark-skinned man of African-Arabic descent flung the door wide open, strutting in the room.
 
He was wearing a top hat, a maroon silk Ascot cravat, a white pressed shirt, and black tails.

“Mr. Abdul-Majid,” she nodded.
 
“Mr. Carnegie and his niece were just leaving.”

Momentarily the large man turned and bowed to Sherlock, who, in point of fact, was not leaving, before resuming his ferocious gaze upon Miss de Beauvais.
 

Sherlock had to admit that Miss de Beauvais had courage; she did not appear ruffled.

“What is this?” Mr. Abdul-Majid demanded, flapping a piece of paper about.

“I’m sure I don’t know; I can’t see it.
 
But wouldn’t you prefer to discuss it in
private?
 
Mr. Carnegie, I believe our business is concluded.”

Sherlock continued pressing the tobacco into his pipe, feigning disinterest.

“I have a telegram from King Nicholas I of Montenegro
.”

Sherlock glanced at the paper in Mr. Abdul-Majid’s hands with interest.
 
No doubt King Nicholas had received his telegram stating that there were indications that Miss Mirabella was not in good standing with Miss de Beauvais, the same Miss Mirabella who had saved Princess Elena’s life.
 

He reflected with satisfaction that he had surmised correctly when he had first received a summons from Miss de Beauvais.
 
The only possible explanation for such a summons was the removal of Miss Belle from the premises—or the threat of doing so.
 
The tone of Miss de Beauvais’ note had not been congratulatory but ominous.
 

Please come immediately.
 
There is a matter of grave importance to discuss.
 
He did not know the specific transgression committed by Miss Hudson, but she had a way of ruffling feathers, as was often the case with those of a superior intellect.
 
How well he knew that.

Miss de Beauvais’ gaze was now fixated upon Mr. Abdul-Majid, who was pacing wildly about the room.
 
With Miss de Beauvais’ eyes averted, Mirabella slipped the pound note to Sherlock.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Mr. Abdul-Majid.

“The meaning of
what?”
 
At this point she stood.
 
“If you would kindly step into—”

“King Nicholas is in a great state of fury.
 
He says you are antagonizing his daughter’s particular friend.
 
He can hardly believe the report!”

“I wasn’t aware the king’s daughter had a particular friend,” Miss de Beauvais murmured, her face turning ashen grey.
 
She had obviously assumed that Princess Elena had made no mention of the attack to her parents.
 
A reasonably good assumption given the fact that the princess had not been pulled from the school.

Miss de Beauvais glanced at Mirabella who smiled sweetly.
 
Sherlock took a puff on his pipe, gazing attentively at the woman behind the desk.
 

“Princess Elena said nothing to me.
 
But, n-no, Mr. Abdul-Majid, antagonize?
 
It is not precisely like that! ”