Chapter Eleven

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"Perhaps you would be good enough to explain what has you hiding as a maid in London?" Mr. Holmes said, his tone kind. When I looked up, there was a hint of sympathy in his gray eyes. Did he guess where my thoughts had led?

I cleared my throat. "Yes, of course. Just over a week ago—" Had it been so long ago? "Two gentlemen I did not know intercepted me returning to school from my music lesson. They informed me they were there to take me to my parents. They had a typed letter, presumably signed by my...father."

No. No stumbling. Until I knew better, Godfrey Norton was my father. He had always been my father. He had raised me, and really that was all that mattered. I forced myself to continue, "Miss Hunter—my headmistress—found this situation just as odd as I did."

Mr. Holmes flicked his hand up. "What, precisely, did you find so odd? That your father had sent these men for you?"

Oh, right. "Forgive me. I skipped a detail." I took a deep breath and reorganized my thoughts. "The gentlemen encountered me on the street. They insisted I was to go away with them immediately. They said the train would depart soon and there was no time to argue. They offered me no message or explanation, merely insisting my father had sent them for me."

"You refused to go with them."

"Yes. If my father would send anyone for me, it would be someone I know. Such as Mrs. Leigh, our housekeeper. When I questioned them about why Mrs. Leigh hadn't come, all they would say was that she couldn't."

Dr. Watson looked up from the notes he was taking. "Mrs. Leigh?" he repeated.

The corner of Mr. Holmes' mouth quirked up. "Perhaps not the most clever name to take on," he said.

My cheeks heated up. "Probably not," I admitted with chagrin. "I confess I did not put enough thought into my false name."

"Continue."

"I was afraid they might try to physically compel me to go to the train station, but the local constable saw us. It was only then that the men, Braxton and Keene—Keene was the man who found me this morning—said they had a letter from my father for Miss Hunter. So the constable escorted us to the school where Miss Hunter took us into her office."

"And these two men —Braxton and Keene, you said?—what did they look like."

I gave as succinct and accurate a description as I could. "Did they have an accent?" Mr. Holmes then asked.

"Very slight, but I couldn't place it. It sounded almost German at times, but not exactly." Other languages were not something that came easily to me, something Signori Bianchi said was a flaw I would have to correct if I was to continue as a singer.

He nodded as though I had merely confirmed something. "Please continue. Were you allowed to see the letter?"

"Yes. Once Miss Hunter had finished reading it, she handed it to me. It was typed, which I found odd. The signature looked like my father's, but I'm afraid I couldn't swear to it. And I don't have it with me anymore."

"Was Mr. Norton in the habit of typing letters to Miss Hunter?"

"I don't know." I felt foolish admitting such. "She didn't say and I didn't think to ask."

"But she did think the letter was sufficient to send you off with the men?"

"She worried that there was something not right, but didn't think she could refuse them. The constable would have taken their word if Braxton and Keene had gone to him with the letter. She told me to keep my wits about me and to let her know what happened. Before we departed, she warned the men that she had a specific message for me to send once we had arrived at our destination."

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