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Authors: Nancy; Springer
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unfastening the carpet-bag from my waist, I changed my mind and reached into my bosom first.
Sherlock demanded, “Enola, what in Heaven’s name—you pop up everywhere. What—”
“One might well say the same thing of you and Mycroft, always and forever in my way. Here.” I dropped a generous length of bandaging on his lap. “Wrap your foot in that. Wait.” I let a little flask of brandy fall on top of the bandaging. “Drink some, for the pain. Then bandage your ankle as tightly as you can. Here are scissors—”
“No, thank you, my penknife will serve. I need nothing more, I assure you.” His light had once again gone out, and I could not see his face, but I heard a tremor of laughter and, dare I say it, a kind of warmth in his voice. “Unless perhaps you have a ladder in your pocket?”
“Indeed I do.” Or at least I had a rope in my carpet-bag, in order to rescue—good heavens, whom should I attempt to save first, my brother or the unfortunate Cecily? I longed to linger with Sherlock, for I felt that, given even a brief acquaintance, I could confide in him as I never could in Mycroft; I wanted to explain to Sherlock why I had run away—because I could not be corseted, either literally or figuratively, into any conventional feminine mould—and I wanted to assure him of my regard, and most especially I wanted to ask him whether he had found any communication from Mum to me when he had gone back to search her rooms at Ferndell. Never again might I have such an opportunity for conversation with my brother, unafraid that he might seize me—yet I could have wept with vexation, for there was no time! Not while Lady Cecily remained in such horrifying difficulties.
Thrusting all other thoughts aside, therefore, I demanded, “Lady Theodora hired you?”
Sherlock blurted, “How on Earth do you know of this matter?”
His unguarded reply confirmed my hope: Lady Theodora opposed the forced marriage of her daughter. “I knew it!” I cried. “I knew she would never—no such loving mother would ever—” But a fearsome thought struck me. “How was she able to approach you?”
“You seem to know all about it,” Sherlock grumbled from the depths of the ha-ha, his breath seething between his teeth as he yanked at the bandaging, binding his hurt foot. “What do you think?”
“I think Sir Eustace has her confined to her chambers. So how did she manage—”
“Draw your own conclusions.”
“Doing so, one must conclude that Sir Eustace has separated mother and daughter, imprisoning the latter here, judging by your presence—”
“And yours.”
“Was something arranged? Is Lady Cecily expecting your visit tonight?”
Crankily he shot back, “Is she expecting yours?”
I pressed my lips together, puffing with exasperation. “Just tell me! Was something arranged?”
Silence for a moment.
Then, “No,” he admitted. “I’ve found no way to communicate with her. Enola—”
“But you’re sure she’s held here.”
“No secret of that. They take her out in the landau for a daily airing.”
“Odd,” I murmured.
“Yes, I also think it odd that they should risk her escape for the sake of show. But perhaps a restraint of some sort, hidden beneath her clothing, binds her to the seat.”
“Perhaps, but why on Earth does she not scream for help?”
Sherlock retorted, “Good heavens, Enola, the unfortunate girl is a baronet’s daughter, not such a hoyden as you.”
Hoyden ? Was that what he called a free-thinking, independent female? As for Cecily, if he thought her meek and mannerly, he did not know her as well as I did.
“My dear brother, I will allow your insult and your ignorance to pass,” I told him pleasantly. “As you are here to free Lady Cecily, evidently, I suggest we join forces, if you will promise me upon your honour not to attempt any infringement upon my liberty.”
“Join—are you out of your minuscule mind ?”
Stung, I shot back, “Am I the one in the ditch
Sherlock demanded, “Enola, what in Heaven’s name—you pop up everywhere. What—”
“One might well say the same thing of you and Mycroft, always and forever in my way. Here.” I dropped a generous length of bandaging on his lap. “Wrap your foot in that. Wait.” I let a little flask of brandy fall on top of the bandaging. “Drink some, for the pain. Then bandage your ankle as tightly as you can. Here are scissors—”
“No, thank you, my penknife will serve. I need nothing more, I assure you.” His light had once again gone out, and I could not see his face, but I heard a tremor of laughter and, dare I say it, a kind of warmth in his voice. “Unless perhaps you have a ladder in your pocket?”
“Indeed I do.” Or at least I had a rope in my carpet-bag, in order to rescue—good heavens, whom should I attempt to save first, my brother or the unfortunate Cecily? I longed to linger with Sherlock, for I felt that, given even a brief acquaintance, I could confide in him as I never could in Mycroft; I wanted to explain to Sherlock why I had run away—because I could not be corseted, either literally or figuratively, into any conventional feminine mould—and I wanted to assure him of my regard, and most especially I wanted to ask him whether he had found any communication from Mum to me when he had gone back to search her rooms at Ferndell. Never again might I have such an opportunity for conversation with my brother, unafraid that he might seize me—yet I could have wept with vexation, for there was no time! Not while Lady Cecily remained in such horrifying difficulties.
Thrusting all other thoughts aside, therefore, I demanded, “Lady Theodora hired you?”
Sherlock blurted, “How on Earth do you know of this matter?”
His unguarded reply confirmed my hope: Lady Theodora opposed the forced marriage of her daughter. “I knew it!” I cried. “I knew she would never—no such loving mother would ever—” But a fearsome thought struck me. “How was she able to approach you?”
“You seem to know all about it,” Sherlock grumbled from the depths of the ha-ha, his breath seething between his teeth as he yanked at the bandaging, binding his hurt foot. “What do you think?”
“I think Sir Eustace has her confined to her chambers. So how did she manage—”
“Draw your own conclusions.”
“Doing so, one must conclude that Sir Eustace has separated mother and daughter, imprisoning the latter here, judging by your presence—”
“And yours.”
“Was something arranged? Is Lady Cecily expecting your visit tonight?”
Crankily he shot back, “Is she expecting yours?”
I pressed my lips together, puffing with exasperation. “Just tell me! Was something arranged?”
Silence for a moment.
Then, “No,” he admitted. “I’ve found no way to communicate with her. Enola—”
“But you’re sure she’s held here.”
“No secret of that. They take her out in the landau for a daily airing.”
“Odd,” I murmured.
“Yes, I also think it odd that they should risk her escape for the sake of show. But perhaps a restraint of some sort, hidden beneath her clothing, binds her to the seat.”
“Perhaps, but why on Earth does she not scream for help?”
Sherlock retorted, “Good heavens, Enola, the unfortunate girl is a baronet’s daughter, not such a hoyden as you.”
Hoyden ? Was that what he called a free-thinking, independent female? As for Cecily, if he thought her meek and mannerly, he did not know her as well as I did.
“My dear brother, I will allow your insult and your ignorance to pass,” I told him pleasantly. “As you are here to free Lady Cecily, evidently, I suggest we join forces, if you will promise me upon your honour not to attempt any infringement upon my liberty.”
“Join—are you out of your minuscule mind ?”
Stung, I shot back, “Am I the one in the ditch
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