by Robyn DeHart
“Citizen Willow, I believe you are the only one,” Charlotte said.
Willow sat as tall as her petite stature would allow. “None of you agree? None of you are the least bit concerned with his behavior?”
Meg and Charlotte shook their heads. Amelia simply sat there hoping she wouldn’t have to answer.
“Amelia?” Willow asked.
So much for attempting neutrality. “I do believe rules are important, but I agree that if he is still accomplishing his job, then perhaps it is not bad that he disregards them from time to time.”
“Time to time?” Her words were slow and precise. “Always.” Willow waved her hand. “Never mind. Evidently it’s my silly obsession. I will keep my letters to myself in the future.” She turned her body away from the desk completely to face them. “Now, what was it you were saying about Inspector Brindley’s research?”
“Oh, Willow, I’ve gone and hurt your feelings. I am truly sorry. It is not a silly obsession. No doubt your letters are helpful for Detective Sterling,” Amelia offered. “And you’re probably correct about the rules. We are merely focusing on the outcome.”
Amelia hated that she couldn’t be more supportive of Willow in this. On one hand, she didn’t want to lie to her friend; on the other, she should be more agreeable. No doubt Colin would agree with Willow on this subject.
“My feelings are perfectly intact. Do not fret over me,” Willow said.
“If you’re positive.”
“Absolutely,” Willow said firmly, then offered a genuine smile.
“Can we go back to something?” Meg asked. “Precisely what are fingerprints?”
Amelia had forgotten she’d only shared with Willow about Colin’s research.
“They’re somewhat difficult to explain without seeing them, but if you’ll hold your hand up, you can see them.” She waited until Charlotte and Meg had done as she’d suggested. “You must look closely, but they are the tiny markings on the tips of your fingers.”
“Oh, I see mine,” Meg said.
“Mine have been there forever, as has the birthmark on my left hip. Precisely what is the significance?” Charlotte asked.
“Colin theorizes that these marks are unique to each of us. He hopes to use that someday in the identification process of criminals.”
“It’s rather brilliant,” Willow said.
“I’m glad you think so. I wanted to share an idea with you and see what you think. Thus far Colin has only collected a few samples of fingerprints. And all of them, save my own”—she put her hand to her chest—”are male. He really wants a more complete sample and would like to have more women, but seeing as he doesn’t come in contact with women often, their fingerprints are difficult to come by. So I thought perhaps he could print each of you,” Amelia said.
“Oh,” Meg said excitedly. “Better than that. We should host a party. Invite our friends. He could take our fingerprints for his research, but they would enjoy it as well—it would be similar to Lady Henderson’s fortune-teller party last fall.” It was always entertaining to watch Meg develop a new idea. Her enthusiasm was palpable.
“Now, that is a brilliant idea,” Charlotte said. “Personally I would love him to take my fingerprints. Precisely how is it done?”
“It’s quite clever, actually. He dabs your finger into a bit of ink, then rolls it across a sheet of parchment. The ink leaves an imprint of all the lines and swirls from your fingertip.”
“Clever indeed. It sounds as if it would be a fabulous party,” Charlotte said.
“All the rage,” Meg added.
“Oh, yes, Amelia, we must plan it straightaway,” Charlotte said.
“But without people having a foreknowledge of inking one’s fingers, why will they agree to come to such a party?” Willow asked. “I would wonder if people would equate it to fortune-tellers without knowing something about it.”
“Willow, you are always so pragmatic—what would we do without you?” Meg asked. “Perhaps we could write up letters explaining it, detailed invitations, so to speak.”
Preparing Colin for a meeting with three women was going to be a challenge. But an entire roomful? Amelia wasn’t so certain he’d agree to that. Colin didn’t seem the sort to enjoy crowds, much less a room full of excitable women.
“Boring,” Charlotte declared. “No one will want to come if they must read a detailed description of the festivities,” she said, and sauntered across the room. “You must entice them. Intrigue them with just enough information that they must come and see for themselves. We must make this an affair that everyone will be clamoring to attend.”
“Why don’t we invite the queen herself, Charlotte?” Willow said dryly.
“Oh, that would be marvelous indeed,” Meg said.
Willow rolled her eyes.
“I believe Willow was being facetious,” Amelia said.
“I only meant that while Charlotte’s idea is certainly exciting, it seems formidable. We are only four women and coming up with the party of the Season seems a bit much. Yes, having a real detective take all of our fingerprints would be vastly interesting, but it’s not as if he’s the real Sherlock Holmes. I’m simply not positive that fingerprints will garner all that much interest. No one knows what they are.”
“That’s it!” Meg jumped to her feet.
Willow shook her head in confusion. “What’s it?”
“Repeat what you just said.”
“What? About fingerprinting not garnering too much interest?”
“No, before that.”
“Sherlock Holmes,” Amelia said quietly.
Meg pointed at her. “Exactly!”
“Exactly what?” Willow said. “I believe I’m still confused.”
Meg walked over to Willow. “You are correct in your estimation that women will more than likely not come for something such as fingerprinting.” She turned to face the rest of them. “But would they come”—she paused and gave them a smile— “for Sherlock Holmes?”
“Meg, we don’t have Sherlock Holmes,” Charlotte pointed out.
She held up a finger. “Ah, but we do. In a sense. Amelia has told us all about the similarities between Inspector Brindley and Holmes—it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for our attendants to imagine him the real thing.”
“A masquerade,” Willow said.
Meg nodded. “Exactly. It will be perfect. And it will be the talk of the town. We’ll have to turn people away at the door.”
It was a good idea, a brilliant idea, but it would not work. It was a shame too, because it sounded fun. “No, we won’t,” Amelia said.
“Don’t be so negative. This will work. We can make it work,” Meg said.
“No, you don’t understand, Meg, we can’t make it work,” Amelia said.
“Why is that?” Charlotte asked.
“Because it is dishonest,” Amelia said.
“It is not so much dishonest as it is persuasion,” Charlotte offered.
“That’s a rather fine distinction,” Willow said.
“We’re offering a bit of an adventure to some of our friends,” Meg said. “That’s not dishonesty. It’s fiction, which is distinctly different. It’s the creation of a world.”
“A false world,” Amelia said.
“But it is no different than Doyle’s stories,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, it is,” Amelia countered.
Meg returned to her chair. “How so?”
“We’d be deceiving everyone at the expense of Inspector Brindley, that’s how,” Amelia explained.
“He does not have to know,” Charlotte said.
“Then we are deceiving him?” Amelia shook her head. “No, we cannot do it this way. We’ll have to decide on something else. If I’ve learned anything about him, it is that he has no tolerance for dishonesty. I cannot knowingly betray him, even for the sake of his research. It’s simply not right.”
Meg fell back into the settee cushions and released a loud and dramatic sigh. �
�You spoil all my fun, Amelia,” she said. “But very well.”
“Thank you.” Amelia smiled. “Now, I’m certain we can come up with another idea. Perhaps not one quite as clever, but one that will not make me feel a complete liar.”
“We should do as Meg first suggested and send a letter—or rather an invitation. Use clever wording, and we’ll have everyone eager to attend,” Willow said.
“Absolutely,” Charlotte piped in. “My suggestion—be evasive and secretive with your wording. Give them a tiny bit and pique their curiosity. That will get them here.”
“It is settled, then. We shall pick an appropriate time and date, and I will work on the invitations,” Meg said.
Charlotte nodded in agreement. “Meg, Willow, and I will take care of everything. You’re awfully busy with the investigation,” she told Amelia.
“Are you quite certain? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“No, it’s not burden,” Meg said. “It will be fun. And it will give me something to do rather than wander around Father’s factory and get myself into trouble.”
Chapter Ten
“He felt so clever and so sure of himself that he imagined no one could touch him.” ~The Adventure of the Retired Colourman
Amelia knocked, but didn’t have to wait as long as she had on her previous visits to Colin’s office. He swung open the door and gave her a controlled smile.
“Hello,” he said.
“Good afternoon. Were you expecting someone? Or were you on your way out?”
“Neither.” He stepped to the side to admit her entrance.
She didn’t even have to talk her way in this time. “I see. I came because I found these journals.” She tapped the bag resting at her hip. “I thought we could peruse them and see if we can find anything of interest. I couldn’t think of any additional names from the previous list, but to be honest, I can’t precisely remember everyone I included. I hoped we could review it together and I could mark the other collectors. Perhaps that will help nudge my memory if I missed any collectors.”
He nodded.
She followed him up the stairs, then watched as he went to his desk and immediately retrieved the list. It would have taken her a few looks to locate something. Admittedly, she was not as tidy as he was. Her room wasn’t exactly a mess, but she didn’t always place things in precisely the same spot as she had the previous time. She suspected that wasn’t the case with Colin.
“Here we go,” he said. He handed her the list along with a pencil. “Why don’t you put a mark next to the collectors’ names and we can discuss them?”
“Very well.”
“Might I take a look at those journals you found?” he asked.
“Of course. I’m such a ninny sometimes.” She leaned forward and handed him the journals.
“Do you know that you smell of strawberries?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I believe it is your hair. It smells of strawberries.”
“Ah, it’s the rinse I use. It is made of fruit extracts.” She put her hand to her hair. “Is it offensive?”
“On the contrary. I find it smells rather nice. It suits you.”
“Thank you.”
He looked away then, and flipped open the first journal.
She watched him a moment more before turning to the list and scanning for familiar names.
It was nice, she realized. The two of them sitting together, silently working on their own things. And for a moment it felt as if that were the way the world was supposed to be. She and Colin together, living their lives, side by side. She ventured a glance in his direction and found him studying the journal intently.
“Colin?” she said.
“Hmmm?”
“I’ve been thinking about your research.”
He glanced up above the journal. “My research?” He set the journal aside. “Indeed. And what are your thoughts?”
“You’ve been so busy with my case, you have not had time to work on it. Correct?”
He nodded. “That is true.”
She made some nonsensical marks on the border of the paper. Why was she so nervous presenting this idea to him? The worst he could do was politely decline.
“And you have had a problem finding participants to take their fingerprints.”
“Indeed.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Amelia, where are you going with this?”
“Well, I only thought—that is the girls and I were discussing this very thing ...” She straightened in her chair, trying to sit taller. “We thought it might be fun to have a party for you.”
“A party?” He frowned. “I can’t say that I’m much for parties.” He shook his head. “I don’t fancy crowds.”
She had known he would say that. “Well, it would be a different sort of party.”
“In what way?”
“We thought we could invite some of our friends, and you could fingerprint them. After the party you’d have a rather large collection of women’s fingerprints to use for your research.”
“And you thought of this?”
“The girls and I.” She couldn’t decipher from his reaction if he thought this was a good idea or not.
“And you believe people will come simply so that I may take their fingerprints?”
“We discussed that as well. We have two plans to make this a success. Secrecy and exclusivity. The wording on the invitations will be evasive. Ladies do love a good mystery but they especially love to be included in something that is perceived as exclusive. So we’re not inviting everyone.”
“You’re deliberately going to exclude some of your friends?”
“Acquaintances is more the thing. And yes. It seems rude, I realize, but in actuality it’s not. It is done all the time. Especially for events that are to be all the rage.”
“And you suspect this will create a rage?”
“Absolutely. You’re going to be a huge success.”
“I’m not an entertainer, Amelia. I only want a large enough sample to work from for my research.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I understand that. You will not have to do anything save arrive and do your work. You will obviously need to bring your own supplies, as I’m not certain I have the sort of ink you would need.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know, though. I’m not exactly the friendly sort.”
“All the better. The women will adore you because you’re mysterious and aloof.”
He frowned. “Women are peculiar. Present company excluded, you understand.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you. Well, we’ve scheduled the party for Thursday afternoon. You come, and we’ll take care of the rest.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Amelia,” he said.
“Of course it is. You needn’t worry about a thing. You’ll be fine. I promise. This is for your research. Don’t you need additional samples?”
“Yes, of course I do. I shall be there,” he said.
“Let us plan our visits to the other collectors,” Amelia suggested.
“Very well. Shall we start with the woman? Lady Hasbeck, is that her name?”
“Yes.”
“She should be our first visit, since we know she is another collector of Egyptian antiquities.”
“Excellent,” Amelia said. “And what of Mr. Quincy?”
“I’ll get to him in a moment. After Lady Hasbeck, we shall visit your father’s club,” Colin said. “While not all the collectors are interested in the same artifacts, chances are they have contacts all over town and one might provide some helpful information.”
“Oh, very good. And then?”
“And then,” he said, “we pay Mr. Quincy, our phantom buyer, a visit.”
“We are not to send him a post first?” Amelia inquired.
“No. It is not necessary. If he is not home, we can send him a post.”
Amelia nodded. “It sounds like a good plan indeed.”
They were p
artners. Amelia smiled. She tried to bury it, but the hope that their partnership would outlive this case kept creeping into her heart. She knew it wouldn’t happen. Colin did not want a Watson. He was accepting her help in this case because she was paying him. When this case ended, so too would her career as an investigator.
She’d have to rely on her writing to get her through. At least this work had given her the opportunity to experience some things to write about. She’d done enough to realize that Willow was probably right—you didn’t have to experience something to write about it. You need only experience life and the rest you could create.
“Shall I bring a carriage around for you tomorrow?” Colin asked.
“Yes, that would be nice.” He seemed to be in good spirits. Perhaps now was a good time to approach him about the two of them having an affair. She eyed him carefully, then opened her mouth to speak.
“Do you suppose Lady Hasbeck will have any information for us?” he asked before she could say a word.
Perhaps now was not the best time. She might need to wait a bit, see if she could catch him when he wasn’t so intent on the case.
“Well, she’s a well-connected woman, so perhaps. She’s quite influential in town, you know. Her late husband left her a fortune, which she spends on her antiquities.”
“Ah. Rich, influential women, my favorite kind,” he said with a smile.
She giggled. “You actually made a joke!” Amelia said.
He looked over at her and raised one eyebrow. “I do have a sense of humor,” he said dryly.
“I know. And I’m glad to see you still know how to use it.”
“Will you leave these journals with me? I don’t expect to find anything, but I want to look through them carefully.”
“Yes, of course.” She stood to leave. “Colin, I want you to know that whatever happens, this has been the best time of my life. I know working with me wasn’t your preference, but you’ve been so kind and patient with me, and I wanted to say thank you.”
A light blush crept up his cheeks. He turned his face. “You’re welcome. Your skill with people has been helpful.”
That stopped her. She wanted to ask for more clarification about what he meant precisely, but figured it was best left alone. No doubt it had been difficult for him to admit. But it meant so much to her that he believe she was skilled in some area.
