Poor Trevor, he’d clung to me and cried when he left, and only my promises to visit him in London over the summer had gotten him to board the carriage with his parents. I planned to use the same promise for myself to get through the next school term. All the same, summer appeared a long way off.
The house seemed quite empty the day after everyone took their leave, and my footsteps’ echo in the corridor on the way to the dining room only reinforced the return of our family’s solitude. As I had regretted my loss of silence and privacy—especially my bedroom—at our guests’ arrival, their departure had created a sort of void in my life.
My thoughts were deep enough that when I entered the dining room, the exclamations of “Surprise!” made me fairly leap in my boots. On the table were my favorite foods and a chocolate cake. Everyone, including Mycroft, was wearing paper hats and a small pile of presents was set next to my plate.
My parents stepped forward, Mother to give me a kiss and Father, a slap on the back. Even Mycroft and Uncle Ernest pumped my hand.
“B-but my birthday’s not until next week,” I said, more than slightly confused as I glanced at those circled about.
“It was your mother’s idea,” Father said, giving a nod in her direction.
She smiled. “Trevor’s actually. He said it was a pity you would be in school for your birthday. He made me promise to give you a party before you left. We wanted to have it while he was here, but your Aunt Iris was in too much of a hurry to get back to London. He did make you this.”
I took the handmade card she held out to me. He’d drawn what I first thought was a dog, but given the long hair on the neck, I determined it was a horse. Lace edged the image—a little too neatly, and so I assumed someone older had helped with that part. The scrawl inside, however, was purely his writing:
Happy birthday, Cousin Sherlock.
Thank you for being my friend.
Your loving cousin,
Trevor
“I’ll write him a thank-you note.” I blinked several times to clear my vision and closed the card.
“Can we eat now?” Mycroft asked. “I’ve been inhaling the aroma of the shepherd’s pie for half an hour while Sherlock took his time coming down to dinner. He’s not the only one who enjoys Cook’s creation.”
Father and Mother both gave him a stern look, but I laughed at his outburst. My brother’s reaction was not only typical for him but would not have been far off from my own in a similar situation. The difference, of course, was he announced it out loud.
After dinner, I opened the presents in the parlor, which included a book, a new penknife, and a new pen to take to school. When I’d thanked everyone, Mrs. Simpson stepped into the parlor.
“Might Master Sherlock come to the kitchen for a moment?” she asked.
I followed her, expecting the servants to perhaps have prepared a similar display for me there. When I found everyone bustling about as always as they cleaned up after our meal, I stopped inside the entrance, unable to determine why, then, I’d been called down there.
Mrs. Simpson pointed to the back door. “She’s waiting for you there.”
I entered the boot closet and found Constance dressed in a coat and shawl. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she held her hands behind her back.
“Constance, why didn’t Mrs. Simpson have you come to the parlor?” I asked, afraid there had been another dispute about her presence among the family.
“I tole her to bring you here,” she said, her cheeks reddening even deeper than from the cold. “I brung you a present.”
She now brought her hands in front. A puppy, a bow around its neck, was cradled in them. The dog had a spaniel’s shaggy coat and floppy ears but a different snout. It snored contentedly in her arms.
I ran a finger between its ears. The fur was like silk. It cracked its eyes open long enough for me to see the deep brown in them before snoozing again. “It’s lovely,” I said.
When I raised my gaze, she smiled at me. I recognized the glint of pride in her eyes and knew she was pleased with my response to her gift. How was I going to reject it without hurting her feelings?
“You know,” I said, picking my words carefully, “I’m going to school in a week.”
“Of course I do, silly.” She shook her head as if I were daft. “I figured I’d keep it for you and have it trained. My papa said Mr. Benson was sayin’ how he needed some new huntin’ dogs. When you come back this summer, he’ll be all ready for you.”
She lifted the puppy to her face and rubbed her cheek against it. “I thought if I gave it to you now, it’d be kind of like me havin’ a part of you here while you was at school.”
I held out my hands, and she handed it over to me. As it curled up in my arms, I smiled at her. “It’s the best birthday present. Ever.”
She studied her shoes a moment and said without lifting her head. “I’ve been harsh with you lately, and I’m sorry.” The next bit came out in a rush, as if she couldn’t stop the emotion that flowed out with it. “I know you’re above me. I’ve always known it. But when I seed all the ladies visitin’ lately, how dif’rent they was from me, I knew we couldn’t be friends forever. That made me sad, but also…mad.”
She raised her head now, her eyes shimmering. “I figured if I was to make you mad too, it wouldn’t hurt so much when you left.”
“I’ll be coming back. It’s not forever.”
She shook her head. “It won’t be the same. It can’t be.”
As much as I wanted to assure her that Eton wouldn’t change me, my recollections of Mycroft following his first year at Eton held me back. While he had never been particularly demonstrative of any emotion other than annoyance, I found him even less tolerant when he returned.
“I will miss you terribly at school. You’re my first true friend outside of my family. That makes you special. No matter what. You need to promise you’ll work on your letters and music.”
“I will.” She stroked the puppy’s head. “I’d better take him back before he messes your clothes.”
“I’ll come by later to see you, and… Does he have a name?”
“Toby,” she said with a broad smile. “He ’sembles my Uncle Toby. Those big eyes.”
I nodded. “Take good care of Toby. I promise to write to both of you.”
“Just don’t use big words.” She lifted the dog from my arms, and it snuggled into hers with a contented sigh. “Toby’s still learnin,’ and he don’t understand them big ones.”
“Nothing more than five letters long,” I said, crossing my chest.
I gazed at Constance. Color rose in her cheeks again, fading the freckles there a little, and she gave me a half-smile in return. “I’m really glad I met you that day you killed the pig. You’ve changed my life.”
“Well, it wasn’t only me—”
“But you were the one that asked your father to bring me back here and give me the boots. Cuz of that, I learned to sing, I got my papa back, and that ole Emily lost her hold on him. I will never forget you or ever stop bein’ grateful. I’m goin’ to learn hard so’s I can make somethin’ of myself.”
“I have no doubt, Constance, that you can do whatever you set your mind to. I—” A steady dripping stopped me in midthought.
“No, Toby. Bad dog,” she said and held the puppy away from her. The direction in which she thrust him, however, gave him perfect aim at my chest. The spot was warm but quickly cooled.
She sucked in her breath, and her face now flamed bright scarlet. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Her panicked face produced a bubble of laughter that burst from my lips, and soon we were both cackling. I wiped a tear from my cheek when we finally subsided. “I’d better go and change before I return to the parlor. What about your clothes?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just return Toby to his mother on the way.”
She pressed her lips to my cheek quickly and stepped outside, the puppy under her coat to protect him from the cold.
I stared at the door for a moment, and my hand drifted to the spot where her lips had touched. Turning on my heel, I headed upstairs to change before someone came searching for me. I felt as if I held a secret that might be guessed should I linger too long at the back door. On my journey to my newly reclaimed bedroom, I considered all the changes this holiday had brought in addition to more public knowledge of Constance’s skills: my uncle’s acquaintance with the daughter of a lost love, the government’s interest in some of his inventions, and Mycroft’s new connections of his own with the government through Colonel Williams. Perhaps changes had occurred at Eton as well?
Regardless, I knew that whatever was sent my way while there, I’d been through worse and survived.
Acknowledgments
Many eyes viewed earlier versions of this manuscript, and I am grateful to all their comments, remarks, and corrections. I would like to especially thank the following: Nancy Alvey, Richard Schmidt, Sally Sugarman, Liz Lipperman, and Claudia Rose. In addition, I received comments from various anonymous reviewers in contests where I entered the manuscript as well as from agents and editors who shared their views on earlier drafts. Finally, a special thanks to Alicia at iProofread and More for her content editing and Gretchen Stetler for her final edits. Any errors that remain are my own.
About the Author
Liese Sherwood-Fabre knew she was destined to write when she got an A+ in the second grade for her story about Dick, Jane, and Sally’s ruined picnic. After obtaining her PhD from Indiana University, she joined the federal government and had the opportunity to work and live internationally for more than fifteen years. After returning to the states, she seriously pursued her writing career. She is currently a member of The Crew of the Barque Lone Star and the Studious Scarlets Society scions and contributes regularly to Sherlockian newsletters across the world. You can follow her upcoming releases and other events by joining her newsletter at: www. liesesherwoodfabre.com
Also by Liese Sherwood-Fabre
Before Sherlock Holmes became the world’s greatest consulting detective, scandal rocked the Holmes family.
Only weeks into his first year at Eton, Sherlock's father calls him and his brother back to Underbyrne, the ancestral estate. The village midwife has been found with a pitchfork in her back in the estate's garden, and Mrs. Holmes has been accused of the murder. Can Sherlock find the true killer in time to save her from the gallows?
Available at all major bookstores.
The Adventure of the Deceased Scholar
Before Sherlock Holmes became the world’s greatest consulting detective, the discovery of two bodies disrupted the 1868 Oxford-Cambridge boat race.
When Mycroft Holmes identifies the body of a drowning victim, the Holmes family is drawn into a scandal that could destroy not only the deceased’s name, but their reputation as well. Sherlock and his family have only a few days before the coroner’s inquest to explain Lord Surminster’s demise. If it is ruled a suicide, his family’s assets will be returned to the Crown, leaving his survivors destitute. Should that happen, the victim’s sister has threatened to drag Mycroft’s good name through the mire as well. Will Sherlock be able determine what happened before more than one family is destroyed?
Available at all major bookstores.
The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes
“[P]repare to delve into a charming set of illustrated guidebooks to Holmes and his 1895 London.”
- Carole Nelson Douglas, Bestselling Author
* * *
This third collection of essays provides additional insights into English life of the late 1800s. During this era, gas and electric lights appeared, the telephone made its debut (although Holmes seemed to prefer the telegram), and the gramophone recorded Sherlock playing his own Stradivarius violin. Holmes enjoyed attending the opera at Covent Garden, reviewing the agony columns, and keeping his own scrap‐ books. Medical issues included yellow fever and diabetes. And murderers included jellyfish, snakes, and the Italian-American import of the Carbonari. In all, twenty-four articles address aspects of everyday Victorian life from the mundane (cardboard) to the singular (the Crown Jewels)—a little something for everyone.
* * *
As an added bonus, Volume Three includes a reprint of Dr. Sherwood-Fabre’s Baker Street Journal article on “Evil Women: The Villainesses of the Canon.”
* * *
Available at all major bookstores.
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 25
