Read Online Jewel of the Thames (A Portia Adams Adventure) by Angela Misri - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Misri
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the fashion faux pas at a recent ball they had all attended. “We’ll have a little debate on it Monday morning, so I expect you to be experts in it.”
The professor was of medium build with a small chin, a long gray-blond handlebar moustache, pale blue eyes covered by thick spectacles, and was probably five foot seven in height. Today he wore a bright green tie under his homemade vest, though his trousers were from his police uniform.
His gaze landed on me, his eyes lighting up, and my heart sank even before he said, “You might want to stop by Miss Adams’ home if you are looking for inspiration — after all, I hear her grandfather filled bookshelves with notes on evidence and cases. I am sure Miss Adams wouldn’t mind at all.”
I winced as I looked around the room at the stony faces now directed my way.
Miss Wellesley, one of the most popular girls in the school, at least according to her own repeated declarations, put up her hand.
“ Yes, Miss Wellesley?” Archer said.
“ Oh, professor, I just wanted to say that,” she feigned hesitation here, her dyed red curls framing her face in the latest short style seen on Hollywood starlets. I looked around at her friends, who were covering their grins with their hands as she spoke. “My mother doesn’t feel comfortable with me attending a home without any sort of parents or even chaperones around. I mean, Miss Adams is living alone in that … flat, after all.”
She turned her sly green eyes my way, and I rolled my own, not even trying to hide my annoyance. The purse she carried around showed signs of repair while the leather strap was not the original, meaning that she had owned this very expensive purse for longer than the season it was in style. Her hair was dyed with a cheaper solution than was found in beauty salons, as evidenced by the lingering smell of henna and the stains I sometimes saw on her fingernails from doing the job herself. All of this told me that for someone who acted high and mighty, her family fortune was not what it once had been, and certainly not at the level of the girls who followed her around hanging on her every word.
Archer looked taken aback by her statement, but he said nothing as she gave me a dismissive wave and led her pack of followers out of the classroom. Archer turned toward me, and I just nodded at him, gathering up my things as well. Professor Archer was also Chief Inspector Archer at Scotland Yard, and he was one of my biggest supporters at the college through his admiration for both Watson and Holmes. I knew he didn’t mean to further alienate me by pointing me out, but he seemed to do so at least once a week.
Regardless of my continued social pariah status, I loved everything else about attending classes and absorbed knowledge like a veritable sponge. The class on the basics of real estate law and the class on the intricacies of legal communication and jargon fascinated me equally, but by far my favorite class was the one about historical cases brought before real judges and real juries. The various trials of author Oscar Wilde, the romantic back story to the trial of the mutinous crew of the Veronica; case after case I ingested like a half-starved vagrant invited to a buffet. I would come home every night with homework, and when I finished it, I would dive back into the cases of my grandfather. It was like my days were filled with theory and my nights with history and reality.
Employing inductive and deductive reasoning was second nature to me, just a few steps beyond my natural observant nature. It was a combination of observation and knowledge that allowed a ‘leap’ of logic … Mr. Holmes had the uncanny ability to make the leap sooner than those around him.
A degree in law could only be bolstered by a powerful investigative mind, and I was determined that I would not squander this opportunity handed down to me from my very genes through John Watson. What better way to develop myself in this field than
The professor was of medium build with a small chin, a long gray-blond handlebar moustache, pale blue eyes covered by thick spectacles, and was probably five foot seven in height. Today he wore a bright green tie under his homemade vest, though his trousers were from his police uniform.
His gaze landed on me, his eyes lighting up, and my heart sank even before he said, “You might want to stop by Miss Adams’ home if you are looking for inspiration — after all, I hear her grandfather filled bookshelves with notes on evidence and cases. I am sure Miss Adams wouldn’t mind at all.”
I winced as I looked around the room at the stony faces now directed my way.
Miss Wellesley, one of the most popular girls in the school, at least according to her own repeated declarations, put up her hand.
“ Yes, Miss Wellesley?” Archer said.
“ Oh, professor, I just wanted to say that,” she feigned hesitation here, her dyed red curls framing her face in the latest short style seen on Hollywood starlets. I looked around at her friends, who were covering their grins with their hands as she spoke. “My mother doesn’t feel comfortable with me attending a home without any sort of parents or even chaperones around. I mean, Miss Adams is living alone in that … flat, after all.”
She turned her sly green eyes my way, and I rolled my own, not even trying to hide my annoyance. The purse she carried around showed signs of repair while the leather strap was not the original, meaning that she had owned this very expensive purse for longer than the season it was in style. Her hair was dyed with a cheaper solution than was found in beauty salons, as evidenced by the lingering smell of henna and the stains I sometimes saw on her fingernails from doing the job herself. All of this told me that for someone who acted high and mighty, her family fortune was not what it once had been, and certainly not at the level of the girls who followed her around hanging on her every word.
Archer looked taken aback by her statement, but he said nothing as she gave me a dismissive wave and led her pack of followers out of the classroom. Archer turned toward me, and I just nodded at him, gathering up my things as well. Professor Archer was also Chief Inspector Archer at Scotland Yard, and he was one of my biggest supporters at the college through his admiration for both Watson and Holmes. I knew he didn’t mean to further alienate me by pointing me out, but he seemed to do so at least once a week.
Regardless of my continued social pariah status, I loved everything else about attending classes and absorbed knowledge like a veritable sponge. The class on the basics of real estate law and the class on the intricacies of legal communication and jargon fascinated me equally, but by far my favorite class was the one about historical cases brought before real judges and real juries. The various trials of author Oscar Wilde, the romantic back story to the trial of the mutinous crew of the Veronica; case after case I ingested like a half-starved vagrant invited to a buffet. I would come home every night with homework, and when I finished it, I would dive back into the cases of my grandfather. It was like my days were filled with theory and my nights with history and reality.
Employing inductive and deductive reasoning was second nature to me, just a few steps beyond my natural observant nature. It was a combination of observation and knowledge that allowed a ‘leap’ of logic … Mr. Holmes had the uncanny ability to make the leap sooner than those around him.
A degree in law could only be bolstered by a powerful investigative mind, and I was determined that I would not squander this opportunity handed down to me from my very genes through John Watson. What better way to develop myself in this field than
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