Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess

by Suzette Hollingsworth

  Think, useless girl! She could not bear to disappoint those who depended on her any more than she could go on living if Princess Elena’s death were to be laid at her door.

  Sherlock. At this moment which might be her last, she saw her mother’s face, then Aunt Martha’s, and finally that of Sherlock, which pushed the others away. That’s what he would do if he were here, why not in her imagination?

  His was the face which came to her mind and would not leave her. Somehow the image both comforted and strengthened her when she most needed to be brave and to think on her feet.

  I cannot disappoint him. In that moment she realized the depth of her devotion to Sherlock Holmes—or to his work, she didn’t know which.

  Her eyes glued to Princess Elena, Mirabella could see the princess fingering something inside the reticule still wrapped around her wrist. They had all seen the letter from Prince Vittorio carefully folded and placed in the princess’ reticule, but why would Elena be touching the letter at a time like this? As a romantic, superstitious gesture? Or worse, a last ‘good-bye’?

  The gun! Mirabella gasped as she remembered that Princess Elena always carried a gun inside her reticule. As did she, but she had been so stupid as to be separated from her weapon.

  At least the princess was not stupid! The last thing the kidnapper expected was that Elena was fingering her gun even as he held her within his grip!

  And he still has the upper hand: the princess was a good shot, but she was held in a stronghold and she was corseted to the point of immobility. The hooded man had Elena’s wrist firmly clasped with one strong hand. The assailant’s other arm was wrapped around the princesses’ graceful neck, all the while forcefully pulling her to the window.

  And then there was the other man with the large knife.

  Princess Elena’s only advocate was on the floor, her face to the ground.

  Jacqueline, Alexandra, and Bethany were huddled together, shaking, their eyes shut. Mirabella was crawling, inching her way, closer and closer to man who was watching them.

  Elena was almost to the window. In a moment the princess would be gone to them forever.

  Mirabella knew if she made any noise the man in the stocking head might very well throw his knife at her, killing her instantly. She had to trust in Princess Elena’s quick response, though she knew nothing of Elena’s fighting skills. Although Mirabella’s small revolver was in her reticule, she had a knife strapped to her ankle—which she now held firmly in her hand, hidden by layers of ruffles. She had never been so grateful for ornamental fripperies.

  It is a terrible risk. But it might be Princess Elena’s only chance.

  Mirabella had been to the morgue with Sherlock and Dr. Watson, and she had seen horrible, mutilated bodies, victims of human monsters. She couldn’t bear to envision Princess Elena’s face on one of those bodies, all because she had been too afraid to act.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” Suddenly Mirabella began crying and whimpering, hysterical, drawing the attention of both assassins, even as the first was pulling Elena through the window, the second close behind as he backed up across the parlor floor, the large knife in front of his body.

  “Zatvorena joj do! Zaklati stariju ženu pripadnicu!” Shut her up! Slit her throat!

  Both men looked at Mirabella, their attention momentarily abandoning Princess Elena. Mirabella had no idea of the literal translation of their words, but she was fairly certain it was not complimentary from the fact that the stocking-head man moved towards her, swinging his knife.

  She stood to do battle with her small switchblade, backing up as the stocking-headed man approached. In that moment, Princess Elena shot her captor’s leg through the reticule.

  Boom! Boom! The bottom of Elena’s reticule puffed out towards the man who held her, covering his wounded leg in the hot wax of the seal of the House of Savoy, her letter disintegrated.

  “ARGHH!” The hooded man screamed, releasing Elena, who immediately fell to the ground and rolled away. He limped towards her before the realization hit that the noise of the gun—and his own scream—would bring everyone running.

  Stomp! Stomp! Clack! Clack! The sound of someone trying to force the door open, screaming all the while, made the injured man snarl in frustration.

  Princess Elena’s attacker, bleeding, jumped through the window and ran as best he could with an injured leg.

  The stocking-headed man did not retreat, however. He raised the blade over his head, but was unable to find Mirabella’s location as she had by now moved behind the couch, watching the princess all the while. Then he remembered why he was there and turned toward the princess.

  In the meantime, Elena had pulled a bullet from her corset and hurriedly loaded it in her revolver.

  Mirabella scurried to the opposite end of the couch, the three debutantes huddled in the corner, throwing her knife at his heart at the same time Elena fired a second shot at the stocking-headed man. Elena’s shot went high and hit the man in the throat, while Mirabella’s knife landed lower than she expected, the result of too much fear and adrenalin.

  Sherlock was right. I need more practice.

  “AIIEEEE!” He fell back. Completely still. It was difficult to know which lady had exacted the fatal stroke.

  “Is he dead?” Elena whispered, moving towards him.

  “I don’t know, but he shan’t harm us now,” Mirabella whispered, glancing at the window. “But if we don’t stop the other man, there might be another attempt on your life.”

  Without additional words, their eyes glued to each other, Elena pulled a bullet from her bosom beneath her corset and loaded the gun again. Mirabella, who was closer to the window, held out her hands, and Elena placed the gun in Mirabella’s fingers.

  “Cover the body, Princess,” Mirabella commanded in a whisper as she ran to the window with Elena’s gun, promising herself that her pistol would never be far from her again. She took aim at a black brougham carriage speeding down the street. She aimed, fired, and was sure she saw the driver flinch—had she hit his arm? —but the horse almost hit a pedestrian in its speedy escape, so she thought better of firing into the crowd.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! The enormous bodyguards ran down the hall and were now pounding on the door and shouting. "Otvorena vrata! Mi ćemo ubiti ako vam smetati naša Princeza!" “Open the door! We will kill you if you hurt our Princess!”

  “It is too late for that,” Princess Elena murmured.

  Mirabella glanced at the man bleeding onto the oriental carpet and her stomach heaved as her hands shook. Elena yanked at the curtain to cover him.

  I hope it was not me who killed him.

  And yet, what had he intended to do to Princess Elena? And to me. The thought was horrid.

  Mirabella glanced behind the couch. Good, they are all still hidden. If the other ladies saw the dead body, the reality of what had happened would be greater than their appreciation for being saved. As it stood now, she might be able to turn their relief and fear into gratitude, using it to advantage—unless they saw the body. This would no doubt lead to hysteria, the girls would run screaming to their parents, and the school would be closed.

  I will have failed.

  “They might have killed you!” Elena exclaimed with obvious admiration in her eyes for Mirabella, after she had yanked a thick orange curtain from the window and thrown it on the body. “How brave you were, Miss Mirabella.”

  “Not as brave as you, Princess Elena! I had no choice but to cause a distraction,” Mirabella replied, returning the smoking gun to Elena. “You acted as I hoped you would. I must commend you for your calmness in the face of danger.”

  Elena shrugged. “It was them or us, and I did not wish it to be us.”

  The other three young ladies, Bethany, Alexandra, and Jacqueline, were only now emerging from the couch in a stupor, staring at their rescuers with their mouths wide open, appearing to be in a state of shock. They had not yet seen the lump on the rug under the curtain.

  Betha
ny had the presence of mind to open the lock of the door that the body guards might cease breaking it.

  Crash! Nonetheless, one side of the door fell heavily to the carpet, torn from its hinges.

  “You may enter,” stated Princess Elena, but it was a command rather than an option, and only half of the door was left anyway.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  18

  “Entre´ vous, s’il vous plait you meant to say,” admonished Miss de Beauvais, pushing the remaining door aside, which fell apart as she did so. Miss de Beauvais entered before the bodyguards, stepping over the wood splinters in her typical fearless manner.

  “Entre´ vous, s’il vous plait, Miss de Beauvais.” Princess Elena’s gun was unwittingly pointed straight at Miss de Beauvais’ heart as Elena had not yet returned the firearm to her reticule, now torn. Even after being attacked and nearly abducted, her wrists and neck still pink from the pressure, the princess looked quite regal indeed. She might be soft-spoken, but there was no fear in that one.

  “Princess Elena! You have a weapon?” exclaimed Miss de Beauvais, noticeably shaken.

  “I always carry it with me,” replied Elena without apology, attempting to return her gun to her reticule before she recalled that the bottom had been blown out.

  “Most unacceptable!”

  “Thank goodness Princess Elena had a weapon or she might now be abducted—or worse,” Mirabella murmured, motioning to the covered body with her eyes. Miss de Beauvais mouth opened wide for the merest second before she snapped her jaw shut, positioning her body in front of the other three students’ view of the carpet.

  Stop it! Stop it! Mirabella’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking and her teeth began chattering. Heaven help us! I am the most unprofessional operative who ever lived. She felt her eyes watering as the thought occurred to her that she was not able to perform this job.

  “What is wrong, Miss Carnegie? Are you alright?” Bethany put her arm around her. Which was a good development as it temporarily drew the attention of the other two.

  And enabled Mirabella to walk forward. But she couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

  “Get the hartshorn!” Miss de Beauvais commanded as she herded the girls into the adjoining parlor. “Girls, there is nothing in here for you!”

  “Miss Carnegie is crying for all of us,” Bethany stated solemnly. “I don’t know why I’m not crying.”

  “I was so afraid—I almost f-f-failed—” Mirabella took advantage of her body’s reaction to create a distraction. Though she didn’t know if she would be able to stop herself if she wished, she couldn’t seem to stop crying. It might have ended so badly. I was not prepared.

  A picture of Sherlock flashed before her again, but for some reason he was smiling. One of those rare moments when he showed his appreciation of something she said. The twinkle of his eye, the twitching of the corner of his mouth—as if it pained him to smile, which it no doubt did—and his unruly dark curls flying everywhere.

  For all the trouble he gave her, Sherlock believed in her. He had to or he wouldn’t have given her the job. He trusted her. The great Sherlock Holmes trusted her. And she had come very close to proving his trust was utterly misplaced.

  Elena was on Mirabella’s other side as they walked into the adjoining parlor, whispering into her ear. “They spoke in Serbian.”

  Mirabella turned her head towards the princess suddenly, the importance of the information immediately obvious to her, which also had the effect of diverting her from the trauma of their experience.

  That would come later.

  “I wanted to inspire them to speak, and that was accomplished,” Mirabella whispered back. “But why would a Serb wish to hurt you, Princess Elena? You are of Serbian blood.”

  “They may have spoken in Serbian, but it was with a Turkish accent,” Elena murmured to Mirabella so the other girls might not hear. There was a new respect in Princess Elena’s eyes for Mirabella. If the princess approved of her, Mirabella’s place in society was now secure.

  And I only had to kill a man to accomplish it.

  “T-they were after Princess Elena!” Bethany managed to utter, as if realization had just hit. She was now holding Mirabella’s hand, for whose benefit it was difficult to say. “And Mirabella acted all frightened, but she wasn’t really, she—”

  “What happened to ze one who held a knife aimed at us?” Jacqueline asked. “I only heard ze one jump out the window.”

  “There was s-s-something under the curtain, I think,” Alexandra murmured, wringing her hands, her eyes open wide.

  “No! Are you quite serious?” Bethany demanded, her cornflower blue eyes so wide they overtook her face. “Was it a body?”

  “Certainly not!” Miss de Beauvais stated.

  “If it was, I am glad!” Alexandra retorted, regaining her composure. “He tried to hurt us, and he had no business doing so!”

  Jacqueline turned to Princess Elena and gave her a hug. “Mon Dieu! You killed him! Je vous aimez! You saved us, ma belle princesse!”

  “I do not think you were in danger. They wanted me,” replied Princess Elena in a murmur. “And it was Miss Carnegie who saved me. I could not have acted with out her.”

  “Did the one who had Princess Elena get away?” Bethany asked. “Oh, I wish you had shot him, too!” Everyone was hugging everyone else and talking all at once.

  “I did shoot him. I think I may have hit him in the arm,” Mirabella replied. “In which case he may be caught. A horse team is difficult to maneuver with a wounded arm.”

  “Mon Papa—what will he say?” exclaimed Jacqueline.

  “There is no need to tell your parents,” Miss de Beauvais assured them, interrupting their chattering. She raised her chin as she looked at Mirabella, as if she didn’t believe Mirabella could have had anything to do with the rescue. “You girls were in no danger. They were after the princess. And he is dead. They will catch the other one.”

  “Tell my parents! I wouldn’t dream of it! They would remove me immediatement!” replied Jacqueline, beginning to pace the room, and giggling. “Oh mon Dieu! It was so excitement!”

  “Oh, my goodness! Princess Elena shot him!” exclaimed Bethany. “There were two big men—villains with weapons!—and these ladies scared them away! I was never so amazed in my life!”

  Mirabella smiled at Princess Elena. She had no doubt that Elena would not wait for a savior to come to her rescue—she would save herself and everyone else within a ten-mile radius.

  “They had guns! And knives! They could have killed us!” Alexandra began sniffling and dotting her eyes with her handkerchief, when suddenly her expression became determined, as if she had hit upon a new resolution. “I wish I had a gun and I wish the one would come back. How dare he!”

  “They won’t be back, there is no need to plan a military maneuver. Come, sit, dear,” Miss de Beauvais took Alexandra’s hand and led her to the settee. She rang for the maid, commanding, “Bring a hartshorn at once!”

  Mirabella thought it more advantageous to channel Lady Alexandra’s fear into anger rather than placating her. “I wish you might teach them a lesson as well!”

  “Will you . . . teach me to shoot, Miss Carnegie?” Alexandra whispered.

  “Of course I will,” Mirabella replied. Perhaps Alexandra was so mean because, in spite of her prestigious position, she felt powerless—causing her to attempt to bully everyone around her.

  “No you will NOT, Miss Carnegie!” Miss de Beauvais pronounced. “HUSH, Alexandra! You are perfectly safe!”

  “Do you think we are s-s-safe, Miss Carnegie?” Bethany turned to Mirabella, for the first time since their meeting looking to her for advice.

  “Whether or not there will be another attack and whether or not we are safe are two different issues,” Mirabella considered. “Certainly we will be more cautious henceforth!”

  Miss de Beauvais cleared her throat, glaring at Mirabella. “Of course you are safe! And, after this, I will triple t
he security! For goodness sake, where were Princess Elena’s bodyguards?”

  “Outside in front of the building, I presume,” Mirabella murmured. “The attackers entered through the alley window.”

  “Until the villain is caught, how can we know if we are safe or not?” Princess Elena considered.

  “We do not know if these men were working alone or if there are others,” agreed Mirabella. “We do not know if they will try again or if we have frightened them away.”

  Mirabella felt a pang of guilt for threatening the school’s continued existence, knowing that she owed it to Sherlock to assist in catching the culprits. If the school were closed down, the assassins would simply follow Princess Elena to her new location. But Mirabella would not lie about the danger to these girls, they must each decide for themselves.

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Miss de Beauvais.

  “Where were the Italian police, that is what I wish to know,” Princess Elena added in a whisper, suddenly frowning. “And where is Prince Vittorio?”

  “Girls!” Miss de Beauvais spoke in a commanding tone. “If you mention even one word of this to your parents, you will be pulled from the school, and there will be no debutante ball for you.”

  “No debutante ball?” murmured Alexandra, looking up suddenly from her seat on the couch. From the look on her face, apparently this outcome was worse than being killed by deranged murderers. “It’s all I have dreamed of! I’ve waited all my life for this!”

  “No debutante ball,” concluded Miss de Beauvais with emphasis. “My school will be closed down, I will be cast into the street penniless, and it will be another year until you are entered into an acceptable school—if indeed you could find entrance given the scandal—and there will be no presentation to Queen Victoria.”

  “No presentation to the Queen?” repeated Alexandra. “My father would be outraged, and my mother mortified—she might kill me, in fact.”

  If no one else does, Mirabella reflected somberly.

  “Another year,” murmured Bethany, as if it were a lifetime.