Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess (16 page)

Mirabella knew very well that she was fortunate to be living in such luxury; at home the bar of soap was closely guarded, bought in exchange for a choice piece of meat.
 

And here she had her own room and her own wash basin!
 
She glanced at the tin of Yardley of London talcum powder, a gift from her aunt, which she powdered herself with after her wash.
 
She was the most fortunate girl in the world to have been taken under her aunt Martha’s wing.

Looking at the sparkling jewels being held out before her, Mirabella reflected that she had previously considered her own wash basin and bar of soap to be the supreme indulgence.

“Diamonds?” she murmured, not realizing she was speaking out loud.
 
“This is too much!”

“I do naw have much use for them, my bonnie lassie.
 
I ne’re wear such finery.”
 
Martha Hudson insisted, “You must take them, dear Mirabella.
 
It is only a loan, so it is.”

“Oh, my!” Mirabella exclaimed, her eyes fixated on the sparkling stones, but still unable to take the expensive jewels into her hands.
 

With her toe, Mirabella pushed the slop pail filled with the dirty water until the metal pail was hidden underneath her dresser, somehow offensive with such beautiful ornaments as these in the same room!
 

This day had started so normally—well, as normal as any day could be when one lived in the same building with Sherlock Holmes, who had commanded her to present herself in her new wardrobe the first thing this morning for his approval (for her
first detective assignment
!)
 
Between Aunt Martha and herself frantically sewing every evening, along with some of the garments being farmed out, her outfits were almost completed to their satisfaction.

Whether or not Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be satisfied was another matter altogether, however.
 
She had been training in the fighting arts for several weeks, and he was, characteristically, not pleased with her progress.
 
Sherlock and John would continue in her training even after she was in
Miss de Beauvais’
on Sundays—her only “day of rest”.

“Take them, my dear,” the elder woman insisted.

Mirabella was afraid her legs would buckle underneath her as her eyes fixated on the glistening jewels.
 
“Oh, I couldn’t, Aunt Martha!
 
What if anything should happen to them?
 
I should have to jump off the London Bridge in shame!”

She started to feel dizzy.
 
In truth, the last few weeks had been such a whirlwind.
 
All her bones and muscles ached from the strenuous exercise.
 
Even her brain ached.
 
She was too tired to feel even the slightest nervousness over what was to come.
 

“You’re alright, my gurl,”
 
Aunt Martha smiled, placing the jewels on the dresser in the velvet case and ran her hands along Mirabella’s hips, smoothing down the young woman’s drawers with an approving eye.
 
“Turned out very nicely didn’t they, m’dear?
 
A very fine cotton.
 
I likes the lace below the knees.
 
Even the most elegant young lady in that school you’re going to havne go’ anythin’ nicer.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure of that!” Mirabella exclaimed, adding with a giggle.
 
“I never thought to have lace on my drawers!”

After bathing, of course, Mirabella had put on her cotton chemise and her drawers.
 
Thereafter her corset had gone over her chemise, pushing up her bosom and straightening her posture.
 
She resisted the impulse to tie the stays more tightly than usual to appear even slimmer in the outfit she would be showing Sherlock.
 
What difference would an inch make?
 
And regardless of Sherlock’s opinion of her wardrobe, her beautiful outfit wouldn’t stop Sherlock from assigning her hard labor!
 
She would naturally change into another dress but wouldn’t have time to adjust her corset.
 

In general, Mirabella didn’t tie the stays too tightly as she would be working all day—some days even scrubbing floors and transporting coal and wood.
 
Reducing the waistline with an overtight corset was for the idle wealthy, not for the working classes.
 
But no self-respecting girl would be without one under her garments.
 

Attached to her corset were her garters:
 
Mirabella had learned after an unfortunate—and humiliating!—mishap to be certain her garters were secure and could hold up her stockings.

And what beautiful stockings they were.
 
This was her greatest pleasure of all the items she had been required to obtain.

“But where—where did you get this beautiful jewelry, Aunt Martha?”
 
Mirabella looked up into her aunt’s twinkling green eyes as she hesitantly took the precious jewels into her hands, making every effort to keep from dropping them with her shaking hands.

“A gift from me husband after one of his naval successes.
 
They apprehended a pirate vessel, so it is.
 
The jewels—they’re o’ the first water, if I do say so meself.”

“Do you think . . . do you think they are
stolen
?” Mirabella asked, gasping.

“Aye, I hope so!
 
What a fine story.”
 
Martha smiled, her green eyes twinkling.

Oh heavens!
 
That’s all I need is to be in that fancy finishing school and for someone there to recognize the family jewels.

“You know, lassie,” Aunt Martha continued, clearly unconcerned that her jewelry might belong to someone else.
 
Her husband gave them to her, therefore they were hers.
 
“It is almost unheard of for a common born man like your uncle Robert to become an officer in the navy—which is reserved for the younger sons of earls and dukes and the like, there it be—he has to be someone special, as was me Robert.”
 
She paused, her lip quivering as her eyes softened.
 
“There was Captain James Cook ‘afore him, rose up through the ranks as well.
 
And then, when me Robert retired, he became a seafarin’ merchant, and a success he was at that as well, so it is.”

“This building—in Baker Street—is that how you came by this as well?” Mirabella asked with some hesitation as it was truly none of her business.
 
But it was so unusual that anyone of the working classes would have any property, particularly a property in such a prestigious part of town.
 
And how strange to think that they might be living off the spoils of pirates!

“Oh, no!”
 
Aunt Martha laughed in her lilting way.
 
“It is mine fair and square, so it is.
 
Until such a day as Sherlock ‘Olmes blows it up.”

“But how . . . a woman . . .”

“I actually kept house for a Mr. and Mrs. Haversham for many years, who died without heirs.”
 
She smiled.
 
“Mr. Haversham left it to me.”

“Oh, my!” Mirabella gasped in surprise.
 
“A woman with her own property!”

“I took prestigious good care of them for many years.
 
And as to that,” Aunt Martha put her arm around her niece, “Never let anyone tell you what you can’t do, lassie.
 
You shall go to university if that’s what you wish.”
 
There was a determined twinkle in her eye.
 
“You’re the smartest gurl I ever met.
 
I know this is true, so I do.”

“Thank you, Aunt Martha,” Mirabella hugged her aunt back.

“Anyways, the jewels, they was won in a fair fight.
 
And here—”
 
Aunt Martha moved to her jewelry chest.
 
“You must take this wee trinket too.”
 
She held out a pearl necklace with matching earrings, bracelet, and broach.
 

“What a lovely luster the pearls have,” Mirabella murmured.

“The diamonds o’ course you should wear to evening events, lassie.
 
These will work for even the opera.”

“I should say so!”
 
Mirabella set the amethysts and diamonds back into the velvet case.
 
She fingered her gold cross, swallowing hard.
 
“I still say my own jewelry shall suffice.”

“Oh, the lovely gold cross will do very well for day wear.
 
It shows a humility and devotion which is very becoming in a gur-rl.”
 
Mrs. Hudson rolled her ‘r’ with the Scottish brogue that was so becoming to the ear and must have enchanted Jonathan Hudson so many years ago, along with her then red hair and green eyes.
 
She added definitively, “But the pearls for evening dinners, and the diamonds for balls and the opera, so it is.”

“Oh, my goodness, I’ve never even been to the opera.”
 
Mirabella giggled.
 
“Do you really think I shall be going, Aunt Martha?
 
To an actual ball?
 
I’ve only ever been to a barn dance.”

Martha nodded with approval, before her expression grew stern.
 
“I do naw know what that ‘Olmes is up to, but the fact is that you’ll be goin’ into a place for debutantes, and I shan’t be havin’ anyone lookin’ down on me dear niece.”

“But I don’t have to put on airs for anyone, Aunt Martha.”

“Auch, but I think you do, lassie.
 
That’s precisely what all this is for, isn’t it?”
 
Aunt Martha winked at her.
 

I’m between the Devil and the deep blue sea
. . .
 
Sherlock Holmes was in a rare state:
 
he was utterly astounded.
 
Involuntarily he stood from his wing-backed rose damask armchair, his long cherry-wood pipe dangling from his lips.

On the previous evening he had instructed Miss Belle to show him, ultimately for his acceptance or refusal, the wardrobe for her new assignment.

She had kept him waiting this morning for an unacceptably lengthy amount of time—so long, in fact, that Watson had actually grown impatient and left to do their grocery shopping.

Finally, Miss Belle arrived from her downstairs room wearing one of her new gowns.
 
If one could call the arrangement of silk and gauze held together with thread a “gown”.
 
It might better be described as a
costume
.

“What in God’s name is this abomination to fashion . . . ?”
 
He caught his cherry-wood pipe with his right hand in the split second before it fell out of his mouth.

If he hadn’t been feeling agitated before Miss Belle’s arrival, he certainly did now.

Perched on the tip of Miss Belle’s nose were little round
purple-tinted
glasses ornamented with wrought-iron curlicues!
 
She peered over the glasses, teasing him with those gorgeous brown eyes framed by lush lashes.

Not that he cared about the feminine wiles—he had sworn off women prior to and after Irene Adler—it was simply a point of scientific interest that Miss Hudson had developed them overnight.

Nothing more.

But he felt himself to be quite unhinged.
 
Why should he be anything but utterly confident in the ultimate success of his plan?
 
It was time for Miss Belle to enter
Miss de Beauvais’ School for Distinguished Young Ladies
.
 
They had completed Miss Belle’s training in the fighting arts, which was surely sufficient for her purposes.

What if she isn’t ready?
 
He hadn’t expected to be this worried about her safety.
 
He
had trained her after all.
 

“Do you refer to my glasses, Mr. Holmes?”
 
She pouted, showing her pink lips to advantage while she tapped the rim of the strange metal configurement perched on her nose.

Miss Belle never wore make-up!
 
He observed that her lips and cheeks were rose-toned, which was also her scent.
 

“So you have bathed, Miss Hudson, I see . . .” he muttered, moving to lean against the fireplace rather than returning to his chair, as he wished to take in the full effect.
 
“No wonder it took so long for you to arrive this morning.
 
I shall expect you to be more prompt when you are on my time in future.”

She frowned at him, putting one hand on her hip, which only served to exaggerate her curviness, something which needed no accentuation.
 
He glanced out the window onto Baker Street momentarily.

“Do you have no reply, Miss Hudson?”
 
He loosened the tie around his neck as he beheld her.

Mirabella rolled her eyes at him.
 
The audacity!
 
Lifting her chin in a manner which was actually quite . . .
enticing
. . . she stated, “I do not, Mr. Holmes.”

“I expect to be answered when I address you, Miss Hudson,” he commanded.

Instead of answering him, she turned around ninety degrees and looked over her shoulder at him, winking her eye!
 
“There is your answer, Mr. Holmes.
 
But the question is—does the Great Detective know how to interpret it?”

Where has all this come from?
 
As he had initially suspected, this indecorous outfit was the work of the Devil.
 

His eyes scanned the ensemble in question with aggravation.
 
She wore laced black leather boots with just enough heel to be stylish but not ridiculous.
 
Her muted dusty purple skirt in a crinkled India weave (more grey than purple) had a large flounce at the bottom – but the skirt was short – barely covering her ankles!
 
Most alluring.
 
Of course, the boots covered her ankles, but the shape of her leg was clearly alluded to . . .