The Case of the Season

Chapter Thirteen

The next day, Robin dressed more practically. The cotton frock she'd brought with her was worn, but still in good shape, and the yellow flowers decorating it were pretty.

When Sherlock arrived, Robin raised her eyebrow. He was wearing his gray suit with a blue silk vest decorated in an outdated brocade pattern.

"Where'd you get that?" she wondered.

He sighed. "I purchased it several years ago at my mother's insistence. I've just never worn it."

She shook her head. "Well, now you see where ignoring the advice of women gets you, Sherlock Holmes."

"Indeed," he agreed. "So now I am relying on the intelligence of another to solve a mystery I have come up short on. See how much I have evolved since then?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled, taking his arm. "Lead the way."

He escorted her through the London streets to Miss Beverley's home. "She lives with her father and her aunt," Sherlock explained on the way. "Her mother died in childbirth three years ago. Apparently, her mother was quite modern, but her aunt is strict and traditional. The family appears to be wealthier than they are, hence their desire for her to marry this season."

"Not a very surprising story," Robin observed as he knocked.

They were let inside. Lord Beverley was very pleased to see the world's greatest detective again. He was, as it turned out, not so pleased to meet his new colleague.

"A woman?" he sneered in open derision. "I don't possibly see how a woman will help you locate my daughter, Mr. Holmes."

"Women understand women, sir," Sherlock replied shortly. "It is likely Miss Ballard will see something the rest of us missed."

Robin decided to set the tone for their further interactions immediately, before the man became a real problem. "Tell me, sir, what was Miss Beverley's education?"

"She was educated as any proper girl should be," he insisted, sounding offended. "She knows how to sing, play the pianoforte, paint, sew, and dance."

"Very good," Robin answered blithely. "What about history? Languages? Novels?"

"What use would a girl have for history and languages?" Lord Beverley sputtered.

"And novels are vile," a woman's voice intoned from across the room.

"Miss Beverley's aunt," Sherlock murmured. "Lady Catherine Norris."

Lady Norris' cane clicked as she walked over to join them. "Cecilia's mother was fond of novels. Perhaps if she had paid more attention to her duties instead, she would still be with us."

Robin's mouth twisted in distaste. Sherlock knew she would have something to say about that particular comment later, but for now, she held her tongue.

"Cecilia was not allowed to read them," Lady Norris continued.

"Thank you," Robin told her. "That is useful information. Did she spend most of her time in her room?"

"When she wasn't sitting with the family, yes." Lady Norris eyed Robin coldly, looking her up and down. "A woman is incapable of solving mysteries. And you should not be wandering about with a man who is clearly not your family, Miss Ballard."

"Mr. Holmes and I are to be married at the end of the season, Lady Norris," Robin informed her calmly. "I assure you nothing untoward is taking place. May we see Miss Beverley's room, please?"

"Yes, yes. Anne can take you. Goodness knows she's not doing anything else these days." Lord Beverley waved them off. "We'll be in the study if you require anything. Come, Lady Norris."