Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess (31 page)

“Are you saying, Amity . . .” ventured Mirabella, “that if Princess Elena chooses Prince Vittorio, he will choose her?”

Amity nodded vehemently.
 
“The prince has already chosen her.
 
He wants no one else.”

“You cheated, Miss Mirabella,” accused Elena, staring at Mirabella. “You
told
the little girl about Prince Vittorio.”
 

“Oh,
no
,” murmured Mirabella, dazed, beginning to wonder if Amity did indeed have a gift.
 
Being a scientist, she had never believed in such things.
 
“But how did you know, Amity?
 
I never said a word.”

Amity looked at Mirabella incredulously, disappointment in her expression.
 
“You mean you don’t remember?”

“Remember
what
?” demanded Mirabella.

“The princess.
 
She is the Sword Princess with the black eyes I told you about!”

“Princess Elena?” Mirabella murmured, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

“The
Sword Princess?
” sighed Jacqueline.
 
“Oh that it is
très
beautiful.
 
Someone should write
a novel about her.”

“Many people will write books about Princess Elena,” added Amity nonchalantly.
 
“If she marries this prince, she will go to meet him in a boat against her mother’s will.
 
But—”

“Oh for goodness sake!” uttered Alexandra.

“But
what
, Miss Amity?” asked Princess Elena, leaning forward, and having lost all traces of boredom from her countenance.
 
Indeed, all eyes were on the nondescript little girl who seemed to fill the entire room.

“But right now you are letting everyone else decide for you, your Highness,” stated Amity.

“Of course,” murmured Princess Elena, fingering her pearl and diamond earrings.
 
“We are taught to obey our parents and to serve our people.
 
What else can I do?”

“Princess Elena, may I ask a question?” asked Gloria, perplexed, her dark brown eyes wide.

“Certainly, child,” replied Princess Elena softly.

“Why can’t you serve—
and
let your heart choose your prince?”

“If I don’t get to choose my own prince, I don’t want to be a princess!” remarked Susan.
 
“I want to be the
Queen
.
 
A Badminton Queen!”

“Sukey is quite the best badminton player in Lady Graham’s,” confided Amity in a whisper.

“In the
world,”
corrected Candice and she motioned wide with her arms.

“I will accept
any
prince who offers for me,” muttered Alexandra, her golden brown eyes determined.

“Et qu’en est-il de Mademoiselle Bethany?
 
Whom shall she wed?” asked Jacqueline, the escalating interest in the room reflected in her eyes.
 
Jacqueline was dressed in quite the most ornate of the gowns:
 
a striped rose satin with purple and rust colored bows and ribbons initiating at the hips and continuing down the train.

“Is boys the only thing you ladies care about?” asked Gloria in her typical direct manner.

“I should say that sums it up nicely,” nodded Mirabella, covering her hand with her mouth to stifle her chuckling.

“What about you, Miss Gloria?” giggled Bethany.
 
“What do you want to do when you grow up?”
 

“
I
want to marry a rich Duke.
 
I don’t care if he lives with me, but I want his money.
 
And I want to have lots and lots of cats!” admitted Gloria.
 
“And
no dogs.”

“You want to be
the cat mistress?”
Susan asked, disbelieving.

“The Cat
Duchess
to you!” retorted Gloria, the feisty brunette looking all of her eleven years and very becoming in pink.
 
The large ruffle along the hem of her dress made it quite convincing that she might one day be a duchess.

Alexandra appeared to laugh for the first time that evening.
 
“We shall live next door to each other,” she offered.

“And I will be your gardener!” added Candice, her copper-colored eyes bright.
 
“And feed your cats.”

“Cats don’t like vegetables,” replied Gloria, indignant.
 
“And
neither do I
.”

“But you like fruit, Miss Gloria hoighty-toity.
 
You
love
strawberries!”

“And you, Miss Amity?
 
What do you wish?
 
To tell the fortunes of rich, spoiled young ladies?” asked Princess Elena.

“I don’t mind,” giggled Amity.
 
“I like art and reading and science.
 
And well everything.
 
But what I really like . . . is to tell stories.”

“I will sew all of Amity’s clothes!” offered Gloria.
 

“And I will cook her food!” stated Candice.

“And I will win badminton matches!” announced Susan.

“But now may we hear whom Mademoiselle Bethany is to wed, s'il vous plaît?” asked Jacqueline impatiently.
 
“Will she marry?”

“Yes,” nodded Amity decisively.
 
“She will marry first, before any of you.”

“Marry first?” Alexandra exclaimed amidst her own laughter.
 
“Impossible!
 
She doesn’t even have a beau—and, anyway, Princess Elena is practically engaged!”

“I certainly will not!”
 
Bethany laughed along with Alexandra.
 
“All the girls are more fashionable than I—and more beautiful—and with better connections.”

“Except for Miss Carnegie,” Alexandra murmured.

“You will marry first, Miss Bethany,” pronounced Amity with finality, shaking her head.
 

“All right then, I shall play along,” Bethany giggled.
 
“Whom shall I marry?”

“A man who hangs about with a lot of men with fancy hairdos will ask for your hand.
 
He prefers the company of men most of the time.”

All of the girls looked at each other, Jacqueline putting her hand over her mouth.

“Until he meets you, that is, Miss Bethany.”

“I see,” murmured Bethany, blushing.
 
“How complimentary that is.”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Amity.
 
“He is
very
handsome.”

“
No doubt,”
murmured Alexandra.

“And you will have
hundreds
of children,” added Amity.

“That dispenses that theory,” Mirabella remarked, releasing her breath.
 
The debutantes responded in an uproarious laughter.

The door to the parlor opened suddenly, causing Mirabella to jump in a way that the laughter did not.

“Girls!
 
You are entirely too noisy!” exclaimed Miss de Beauvais.
 
“It is most disgraceful!
 
I never imagined any girls in my school could behave like this.”

“We are so sorry, Miss de Beauvais,” Bethany stated, bowing her blonde head.
 
“We were merely laughing.”

“Most unacceptable!” stated the proprietress.

“We shall never laugh again,” Princess Elena stated solemnly.

“Good.
 
See to it.”
 
Miss de Beauvais shut the door behind her.

Shhh!” admonished Mirabella.
 
“If we do not exhibit more ladylike behavior Miss de Beauvais will put an end to our good fortunes!”
 
Glancing sideways at Bethany, she added, “And our questionable ones.”
 

“
How
handsome is my husband-to-be?” pressed Bethany in a whispered tone, fully enjoying herself though her confidence in the prediction was clearly shaky at best.
 

“The most handsome man in all of England,” replied Amity in all seriousness.

“Well, he might just do then,” Bethany stated with a shy smile.

“You will be very happy together,” added Amity.
 

“Maybe all my cats will play with all your children,” suggested Gloria to Bethany.

“But what about you girls?” asked Bethany to Amity, suddenly somber.
 
“What will happen to
you
?”

“Something will happen soon,” replied Amity, her expression distant.
 
“We are all floating madly down the big river.”

“The Thames?” Mirabella asked.

“I guess so,” Amity replied.
 
“I don’t know the name, I just see it in my mind.
 
There is a big bridge.
 
We are on a boat with coal, trying to get out of London.
 
I hope we do not make it, or they will surely kill us.”

“Kill us!
 
What are you saying, Amity?
 
You should not scare us so,” admonished Mirabella.

“There is an angel coming to the orphanage,” Amity continued, but her eyes remained sad.

“An
angel,
” murmured Bethany.
 
“Is it Mirabella?”

“No,” Amity shook her head while spreading her arms to encompass all of the young ladies at
Miss deBeauvais’
.
 
“But it is one of you.”

“I think they are
all
angels,” added Susan shyly.

“And a lot of policeman are coming in December.”

“The Christmas party,” Mirabella confided.
 
“They have it every year.”

“And what about Lady Jacqueline?” asked Bethany.
 
“Whom shall she marry?”

“Whoever she wants,” replied Amity, shrugging, which brought another cascade of giggles.

“Oh, this is silly,” remarked Alexandra.

“You are just angry because you want to know your fortune—and are too proud to ask,” stated Princess Elena without emotion.

“Of course not!
 
This is utterly ridiculous.
 
I certainly do not want a husband with a strange hairstyle.
 
I . . .”

“Your father is
mean
,” interrupted Amity, staring at Alexandra.
 
“And very important.
 
You try to impress him by acting powerful like he does.
 
Your mother is not very happy.”

“Oh, that is
sad,”
remarked Susan, all of the orphanage girls turning to look at Alexandra.
 
Though the greatest desire of each of their hearts was to have a family, it was something of a revelation to consider that not every mother and father was worth having.

“Yes, Lady Alexandra is more like us than any of the other ladies here,” Amity nodded sadly.
 
“We don’t have parents and hers are not nice—sometimes she wishes she didn’t have any either.”

“More in common with
you!
 
Well, I never.
 
I’ll have you know that my father is a
duke
, my mother a
duchess,
and they are
exceedingly
happy.
 
Bethany’s father is only a
merchant
and—”

“Shhh!” murmured Jacqueline forcefully.
 
“And will Mademoiselle Alexandra wed?”

“Yes,” replied Amity without hesitation.

“Who?
 
Who?”
 
Alexandra demanded, temporarily ignoring earlier affronts to her person.

“It depends . . .” considered Amity.

“Tell me!
 
Who?” Alexandra took her by the shoulders.

Bethany interfered, taking her hands.
 
“Let her go, Alexi.”

“You will only be happy in marriage if you change.”

“Change
what?”

“Change to not be like your father.
 
His voice is in your head and it torments you.
 
Do not listen to the voice and do not impose it upon yourself or others.
 
It is not kind.”

There was a knock on the door and Miss de Beauvais entered.
 
Her voice was solemn.
 
“The girls’ carriage is here.”

Mirabella rushed to the kitchen while the girls did their curtseys and said their ‘thank you’s, returning with several boxes.

“Here are sandwiches and pastries for later.”
 
She bent and they all hugged and kissed her while waving to the other young ladies present who appeared noticeably disappointed to see them go.

Holmes scrutinized the pound note with the very clear fingerprint on it.
 
In an instant his eyes flew open.
 
“
Bloody hell
. . .”

“What is it Holmes?” asked John Watson, looking up from his desk in their shared flat.
 
Something was terribly wrong.
 

Of the two, John admittedly had the better desk, providing a clear view of Baker Street from the bay window.
 

John Watson chuckled to himself.
 
As in all things, he preferred the light, and Holmes preferred the dark corners.
 
On the opposite end of the same wall was the Great Detective’s desk, a long table for chemical experiments, and bottles of chemicals in a bookcase.
 
On the walls over his flat-mate’s desk were scientific charts and Holmes’ notes—held in place with a jackknife.

“
Damnation
!
 
Where are my notes?”

“Pull the knife out of the wall, Holmes,” John sighed.
 
Some things never change
.

Orderliness was an impossibility.

John had his own room on the third floor, but that room was for sleeping—when he could sleep—the difficulty in slumber being the reason why it was so important to keep work and sleep separate.
 
Still, he was utterly and thoroughly grateful:
 
when he had returned from Afghanistan his life was a living hell, and now he was only in hell during the nighttime hours.