Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess (30 page)

“Certainly.
 
The best way to make a child want something badly is to deny it to the child.”

“Hmmm,” Mirabella considered.
 
“Do you think Prince Amadeo might have hired the Turks?”

“Anyone might have.
 
It would be the wise thing to do to draw attention away from the actual perpetrator.”
 

“Did the Turkish man who died belong to any political groups?” she asked.
 
She very deliberately avoided saying
the Turkish man I killed
.
 
Although maybe it was Princess Elena who dealt the final blow.

“Ah, I am so glad we finally come to this question,” Sherlock stated, a smile forming on his lips.

“And the answer?”
 
She was sounding more and more like him every day.

 
“We have not, as yet, identified any affiliations.
 
We have taken the next step and are investigating the Turkish groups who might wish the marriage to not take place.
 
And we are delving deeper into the identity of the assailants, as you suggest, Miss Belle.
 
It is possible, as you say, that they were hired by another party in order to diffuse the identity of the true party behind the attack.”
 

She looked away, stifling a sob.

 
“What is it Miss Belle?” Sherlock asked gently.

She did not answer, afraid that if she spoke she would break into tears.
 
That would never do with Sherlock Holmes.

“If the man had not come after your friend, you never would have hurt him,” Sherlock stated, returning her right hand to his.
 
“He chose his path, which determined yours.”

“We do not know what he suffered to become so horrible,” she managed.
 
“In his mind, he might have been fighting for his country, just as Britain fights for more territory.”

“But we can only deal with behaviors, not motivations.
 
There are people out there who will hurt you if they can, Miss Hudson.
 
One is entitled to defend oneself from attack,” he added resolutely, tightening his hold on her hand.
 
“And to protect those one loves.”

“I hope you can c-catch these men,” she muttered, retrieving her hand and collecting her reticule that she might return inside where it was warm, despite not having been dismissed.
 
She turned to look over her shoulder as she walked to the door.
 
“And that this is not just an amusing p-parlor game, Mr. Holmes.
 
I do not wish to be the b-body in the parlor.”

“I am never amused, Miss Belle,” he replied softly.
 

But his eyes said otherwise.

The four little girls dressed in their Sunday best walked into the green, orange and maroon parlor as if they were entering the Taj Mahal.
 
Their faces were scrubbed, their hair neatly arranged, and their shoes polished—and their eyes were lit like an electrical storm in July.

“Oh,
look
, Amity, flowers and candles!” whispered Susan to her sister, bending over in her blue gingham church-going dress, now faded from age.
 
“And
curtains
on the windows!”

“Look at the silver dishes!” exclaimed Candice in a serviceable brown plaid dress, her eyes wide, pointing to the silver-tiered tray filled with cookies, bite-size sandwiches, and pastries.

“It’s called a
tea service
,
”
whispered Gloria, smoothing her pink frock self-consciously even though she was the most stylishly dressed of all the little girls—her dress sporting a full ruffle at the hem.
 
She even wore a matching hat and cape!

“Miss Bella, you and the other ladies are so
beautiful!”
sighed Amity, which was met with sighs of agreement from all the little girls.
 

“Thank you, dear,” Mirabella replied, and indeed, she did feel very smart in her pencil-slim silhouette of a wispy, ivory chiffon which suited her hourglass figure.
 
“And doesn’t that brown velvet bow look perfect in your beautiful red hair?”
 

In truth the velvet bow did much to improve the plain brown dress Candice wore.

Miss de Beauvais’
wards watched the little girls tenderly, somewhat in mutual awe, offering refreshments to them first as they had been taught since childhood, and engaging in polite conversation.
 
All seated, the older girls began to pour the tea and serve their guests.
 
There was some awkwardness in alighting on topics of conversation as one could not inquire after the little girls’ parents, their wardrobes, their travels or excursions, their upcoming country parties, or their marriage prospects.
 

Kicking their feet suspended above the chairs, the little girls very politely asked for sugar, stirred their tea, and slowly lifted the china floral pattern to their lips, so terrified of breaking something clearly more valuable than themselves.

It was late fall, so a vast selection of fresh fruit was not available.
 
The apples and canned cherries were the most popular of the lavish selection, with the pastries a close second, but the girls attempted not to eat too quickly.
 

“Please do eat your sandwiches first, girls,” suggested Mirabella.
 
“They are quite small and will not deter your appetite for the pastries, I assure you.”

“Am I to understand that you are quite a good singer, Miss Susan?” Bethany asked.
 

“Oh, I do love to sing,” replied Susan modestly, her pale blue eyes looking particularly large against her white skin and simple frock.
 
“But I don’t know if I am very
good.”

“Oh, she
is,”
added Gloria, her dimples showing.
 
“The most beautiful thing you ever heard.”

“Yes,” agreed Amity, placing her hands on her cheeks.
 
“She sounds like a bird.”

“Not a rooster or a peacock, though,” explained Candice.
 
“Like a . . . a . . .”

“. . .
Nightingale,”
added Gloria.
 

“Oh,
no!
” argued Susan.
 
“That is Jenny Bend.”

“I think you mean Jenny
Lind
,” Bethany giggled, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes perfectly accented by cream lace and an ice blue princess gown.

“I think the common wren has quite the prettiest sound,” considered Susan.
 
“Prettier than the swan or even the nightingale.”

“Quite true,” added Mirabella.
 
“I have observed that often those who are less showy on the outside often harbor something special on the inside.”
 

“Oh, I know,” agreed Amity.
 
“Everyone talks about the dove, but it sounds like
Bow-Coo
to me.”

“Pour quoi, that
is
le sound,” considered Jacqueline, smiling and covering her mouth.

“And some birds are so high-pitched, they sound shrieking, like
ZZZreeee
,”offered Susan in almost perfect pitch.

“Or
tseep tseep
,” added Candice, her red hair bobbing.

Mirabella cleared her throat.

“Well, they
do
Miss Bella,” Susan exclaimed.
 
“I know because I
listen.
”

Alexandra’s eyes opened wide as if she were unaccustomed and surprised by the topic, but there was a softness to her expression which Mirabella had not seen before.

“Indeed you do.
 
You are quite the most observant group of students I believe I have ever had.”

“After tea, would you like to sing while I play the piano, Miss Susan?” Bethany asked leaning forward, suppressing a giggle.

Susan nodded aggressively.

“Oh, that is the most expert handiwork I have ever seen,” Gloria observed, remarking on Alexandra’s handkerchief.
 
“Is it imported
from France
?”

“Thank you, oh no,” Alexandra replied, her expression of superiority returned. “I designed it myself.”

Gloria stared up at her in awe.
 
“You could be a Parisian
modiste
, you are so good!”

“A
modiste?
” Alexandra replied in alarm, her golden brown eyes suddenly aflame at the insult to her station.
 
“Most certainly I could not!”

“Do not be humble, Lady Alexandra, you
could
!” Gloria added.

“Amity can tell your fortunes,” Susan suggested.

“Are you quite serious?” asked Mirabella.

“Yes, she’s good at it,” nodded Gloria.
 
“She predicts things which happen all the time.”

There was a general giggle among the entire party.
 
“Oh, why not?
 
That would be fun.
 
What do you need?
 
Veils?
 
Candle-light?”

“Orange juice,” replied Amity.
 
“I would love a glass of orange juice.”

“You know, I would too,” agreed Elena.
 
“I get quite tired of English tea.”

“
Moi aussi
. I love a glass of jus d'orange,” admitted Jacqueline.
 
“So rafraîchissant
.”
 

After the staff had been notified and a round of orange juice procured, along with another pot of tea for the older girls, all the ladies arranged themselves in the parlor on the comfortable couches for a concert by Susan and Bethany to be followed by their séance of sorts.

“Who shall we start with?” asked Mirabella, looking about her to see the debutantes as quiet and stiff as befitted their station.
 
“All right then,
I
shall go first.”
 

Mirabella felt surprisingly confident today—probably because she was wearing quite the most beautiful dress she had ever worn in her life:
 
she felt as if she were almost floating in the ivory chiffon, a bustle cascading from her hips to the floor and forming a train.
 
She wore a fitted peach satin vest over the ivory chiffon.
 

“There are two men sweet on Miss Bella,” Amity announced, breaking through her reverie.
 
In a room of youthful beauties, suddenly all eyes were on the mousy little girl with honey-toned hair and large brown eyes.

“
Two
men?” exclaimed the girls in unison.

“I had observed it to be more in the neighborhood of six.”
 
Bethany giggled, rolling her eyes.

“Mademoiselle Mirabella she is
very
greedy!” smiled Jacqueline, looking very French indeed as her dark brown eyes danced.

“And sly,” admonished Alexandra, smart in a red-trimmed beige silk gown with a square neckline and a profusion of lace at the bodice and sleeves.

“And
wise,”
added Bethany, winking at Mirabella.

“Is it true, Miss Mirabella?” asked Elena, her countenance anything but serene.

“Why,
yes
. . . in a manner of speaking.”
 
She smiled, blushing.
 
“But not like
that
.”

“No,” Amity disagreed while quietly shaking her head.
 
“It is
like
that.”

“That’s enough of that.
 
Let us move forward,” Mirabella blushed profusely.

“And Miss Mirabella will imagine something—and it will become real,” Amity added.
 
“Something very big.”

“Something
real
from the
imagination!”
exclaimed Susan.

My invention.
 
My dream.
 

Oh, she didn’t believe this nonsense; she couldn’t even scrape together enough money to go to university, how would she ever invent something as well?
   

“Who would like to go next?” asked Mirabella.

“I shall go next,” stated Princess Elena, sounding much like a royal pronouncement.
 
Indeed she looked very regal covered from head-to-toe in white lace.

“There is a prince who loves her,” stated Amity.

The little girls squealed.
 
If a prince was the dream of the well-to-do who had everything, he must certainly mean a great deal more to little girls with no one to protect them and no means of caring for themselves.
 

“We
all
knew that!” chuckled Alexandra.

Jacqueline, Bethany, Mirabella, and the princess herself turned towards Alexandra simultaneously and frowned.
 

“
What
?
 
Why do you stare at me?
 
We did know that!” exclaimed Alexandra.
 
“I’m sure all of London does.”

“I never told Amity,” Mirabella interjected.
 
“Or any of the girls for that matter.”

“Will Princess Elena marry Prince Victor Emmanuel?” asked Jacqueline, winking at Amity.

“I don’t know.”
 
Amity shrugged.

“You see?” laughed Alexandra, her elegant golden brown coiffure bobbing.
 
“She doesn’t know.
 
This is
ridiculous
.”

“Eh bien go to your room, Alexandra.
 
No personne is making you to stay,” retorted Jacqueline.

“Oh, I hope you don’t go, Lady Alexandra,” begged Gloria.

“Amity, what did you mean,
I don’t know
?” asked Mirabella, unable to hide her interest though she had to agree with Alexandra, for once, in thinking this a bit foolish.

“The princess will decide what she wants to do,” replied Amity firmly.

“What do you mean?” Alexandra demanded.
 
“I’m sure the prince has more to say to it!”

“No.”
 
Amity shook her head.
 
“He doesn’t.”