Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess Read Free Page B
Author: Suzette Hollingsworth
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violent attack upon her person.
And they said this was the good part of London.
Who was the deranged man before her to criticize her appearance anyway? His ivory silk ascot tie was stained—with blood, no less! His clothing was mismatched, and though well tailored, wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he had neither slept nor bathed in the prior week. Certainly he had not had a haircut in a month, and it might have been that long since he had combed his hair. His face was fighting a beard, which was not successful in camouflaging various scars which appeared to be of recent attainment.
Sherlock Holmes might be a genius, but he didn’t have any business correcting anyone with a pulse on proper grooming. In point of fact, there were those among the only recently deceased presenting a better appearance than the man before her.
“Have you never had anything go wrong in your laboratory, Mr. Holmes?” she demanded, her indignation rising. “Before you answer, recall that my aunt has lived in the same building with you for some time.”
“ Impertinence.” Once again a smile seemed to be tugging at his lips, but again was quickly subdued, unable to win the battle. “What I have or haven’t done is none of your business, young lady; it’s my home and I can do as I please. And it goes without saying that if you are running experiments in someone else’s laboratory, you shouldn’t be. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. B-but how did you know I am a relative of Mrs. Hudson’s? Technically I am her late husband’s niece and I bear her no resemblance.”
“You smell the same.”
“ I beg your pardon?!?”
“Same laundry soap, I would imagine.” He rose from the stool and began to circle the room, weaving in and out of the dining table in front of the fire, stepping on the bear skin hearth rug, and moving to glance out the bay window facing Baker Street.
“No doubt the same soap which is used to clean your clothing, Mr. Holmes.”
“Let me assure you, Miss Hudson, you and I do not smell the same,” he murmured before turning to face her. “Well, then. I have no objection to a thinking person—in fact I prefer it, but it must be tempered with discipline and obedience—until you have your own laboratory which you may destroy at will. As I am convinced you someday shall.”
“So m-may . . . I have the position?” she asked hopefully. Sherlock Holmes was young to his field, he had solved a few very difficult cases which Scotland Yard couldn’t solve—she knew from her Aunt Martha—and he had already invented a scientific test for hemoglobin in blood, enabling the police to determine categorically if a stain was, in fact, blood or an old stain resembling blood.
This man before her, as unlikable as he was, was destined for greatness. Mirabella knew this as surely as she knew she was a country girl from Dumfries in Scotland. She could learn so much from him while saving to go to university. “It is the greatest wish of my heart. I am a true student of science, you know, and you are positively brilliant, Mr. Holmes.”
“Very true.”
“To merely be in your presence . . .”
“But should I like to be in your presence?” He moved to stoke the fire, his eyes averted from her. “That is the relevant question my girl. What I should like is to forget you are here and to find my work completed. I am of the opinion that you cannot manage it.”
“Oh, but I can. You shall never find a harder worker, Mr. Holmes.”
“Can you fix a cup of tea, young lady? Or will you argue about what is and isn’t your job as Mrs. Hudson is always prone to do? It is quite clear to me that you are far too curious and intelligent for your own good.”
“Oh, no. I mean yes , I make a very nice cup of tea.”
“Then to it.”
Scurrying to the kitchen, Mirabella hurriedly moved to light the wood
And they said this was the good part of London.
Who was the deranged man before her to criticize her appearance anyway? His ivory silk ascot tie was stained—with blood, no less! His clothing was mismatched, and though well tailored, wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he had neither slept nor bathed in the prior week. Certainly he had not had a haircut in a month, and it might have been that long since he had combed his hair. His face was fighting a beard, which was not successful in camouflaging various scars which appeared to be of recent attainment.
Sherlock Holmes might be a genius, but he didn’t have any business correcting anyone with a pulse on proper grooming. In point of fact, there were those among the only recently deceased presenting a better appearance than the man before her.
“Have you never had anything go wrong in your laboratory, Mr. Holmes?” she demanded, her indignation rising. “Before you answer, recall that my aunt has lived in the same building with you for some time.”
“ Impertinence.” Once again a smile seemed to be tugging at his lips, but again was quickly subdued, unable to win the battle. “What I have or haven’t done is none of your business, young lady; it’s my home and I can do as I please. And it goes without saying that if you are running experiments in someone else’s laboratory, you shouldn’t be. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. B-but how did you know I am a relative of Mrs. Hudson’s? Technically I am her late husband’s niece and I bear her no resemblance.”
“You smell the same.”
“ I beg your pardon?!?”
“Same laundry soap, I would imagine.” He rose from the stool and began to circle the room, weaving in and out of the dining table in front of the fire, stepping on the bear skin hearth rug, and moving to glance out the bay window facing Baker Street.
“No doubt the same soap which is used to clean your clothing, Mr. Holmes.”
“Let me assure you, Miss Hudson, you and I do not smell the same,” he murmured before turning to face her. “Well, then. I have no objection to a thinking person—in fact I prefer it, but it must be tempered with discipline and obedience—until you have your own laboratory which you may destroy at will. As I am convinced you someday shall.”
“So m-may . . . I have the position?” she asked hopefully. Sherlock Holmes was young to his field, he had solved a few very difficult cases which Scotland Yard couldn’t solve—she knew from her Aunt Martha—and he had already invented a scientific test for hemoglobin in blood, enabling the police to determine categorically if a stain was, in fact, blood or an old stain resembling blood.
This man before her, as unlikable as he was, was destined for greatness. Mirabella knew this as surely as she knew she was a country girl from Dumfries in Scotland. She could learn so much from him while saving to go to university. “It is the greatest wish of my heart. I am a true student of science, you know, and you are positively brilliant, Mr. Holmes.”
“Very true.”
“To merely be in your presence . . .”
“But should I like to be in your presence?” He moved to stoke the fire, his eyes averted from her. “That is the relevant question my girl. What I should like is to forget you are here and to find my work completed. I am of the opinion that you cannot manage it.”
“Oh, but I can. You shall never find a harder worker, Mr. Holmes.”
“Can you fix a cup of tea, young lady? Or will you argue about what is and isn’t your job as Mrs. Hudson is always prone to do? It is quite clear to me that you are far too curious and intelligent for your own good.”
“Oh, no. I mean yes , I make a very nice cup of tea.”
“Then to it.”
Scurrying to the kitchen, Mirabella hurriedly moved to light the wood