Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Sword Princess by Suzette Hollingsworth Page A

I be allowed to visit my niece—or shall I take these substantially heavy piles of currency with me and place her elsewhere?”
    “Such a fine establishment as this is very expensive to run,” she murmured, eyeing the bills caressingly while shaking her head.  
    He opened his leather bag and placed both stacks of bills within.   “Do pardon me, Miss de Beauvais, but this is too much money to place in my wallet.   It simply won’t fit .   In much the same way I fear my niece will not fit in here.   Though I must say it was a pleasure to meet you.”   He winked at her, rising and reaching for his hat.
    “We can make a slight exception in the case of your dear niece.   Mirabella . . . Carnegie , is it?   Surely your brief familial visits can be arranged so that they don’t disturb the other girls.”   She cleared her throat.   “And certainly charity work is to be commended.”
    Assessing the woman before him, Sherlock was convinced she had no notion of the jewel he was placing in her care—nor cared, outside of the benefit to herself.   If a single hair from Miss Belle’s head is ‘disturbed’ as you put it, you shall regret the day we met, Miss de Beauvais.  
    In point of fact, Miss Hudson was the key to his future, his ticket to solving the case.   His ticket to . . . everything .  
    Miss Mirabella Hudson had done the one thing anyone rarely did—she had surprised him.   Sherlock had no notion of the girl’s usefulness when he hired her, but the fact was that he couldn’t possibly solve this without the hoyden.   She might be rude and boisterous—but she was also essential .   Miss Belle was a spitfire—and an intelligent one at that—a girl who was willing to work beside him and take all the risks he was willing to take.
    And this assignment was his first international case.
    My key to fame.
    Not that he cared about money or fame, but Sherlock cared desperately, frantically about work.   I must have employment.   To be without mental stimulation was anathema to him.   He was a young detective, considered an eccentric, disliked by most, and though he could personally care less about whether or not anyone liked him, he knew very well that his reputation was fragile.   MirabellaHe was on the brink of being termed brilliant—or insane.
    The laughing stock of London.
    Not succeeding could destroy my career.   Above all, he must have an exceptional reputation to have occupation, particularly given his social standing.   Because this was such a high profile assignment, it had the power to make him—or to ruin him.
    Sherlock nodded tersely, and returned the money to the table.   “I’m gratified you can see fit to accommodate us, Miss de Beauvais.”
    “I see no reason why we cannot have a mutually profitable relationship,” she murmured with a smile.
    Without a doubt there was an element of danger inherent to the case—particularly to Miss Hudson.   But his young ward knew of the danger and had chosen to proceed.   Naturally Sherlock hoped she would emerge unscathed—outside the fact that he wished her no harm, he would have to find a new place to live and a new assistant were any harm to come to her.   But most of all, he wished her to succeed .
    “I cannot think of one, Miss de Beauvais.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
8

    “Good morning, Officer.”   Mirabella nodded to a policeman wandering the halls, his silver buttons catching the light which drifted through the floor-to-ceiling Gothic arched windows.
    Mirabella took a deep breath, working up all her nerve.   She dreaded coming here.   For her, it was the saddest place on earth:   18 Charing Cross Road.  
    She glanced up at the sign “ Lady Graham’s Orphan Asylum for the Female Children of Deceased Officers of the Police , est. 1865, 18 Charing Cross Road .”  
    “Miss.”   He tipped his hat to her.   There was always a bobby in Lady Graham’s —visiting the child of a murdered partner or just paying his respects.