Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess

by Suzette Hollingsworth

  “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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  27

  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 lad
ies 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.”

  “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 everyth
ing. 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.”