Miss Adler withdrew a small metallic object from her voluminous skirts and offered it to Miss Stoker. Even from my position across the table, I recognized it as a Royal Medallion, a token that is bestowed upon someone who has found favor with a member of the royal family. My father was in the possession of several of the peach- pit-sized spheres, each engraved with the seal of the individual who’d given it. If one pushed on it a certain way and released its hidden lever, the contraption snapped open to display the name of the bearer and a full seal and signature of the royal.
In this case, it was clear who had given the token, for Her Royal Highness could only refer to the Princess of Wales, the wife of Prince Edward, Her Majesty the Queen’s daughter-in-law. Princess Alexandra had requested Miss Adler’s assistance.
Miss Adler looked at us with a sober expression. “Miss Holmes. Miss Stoker. There are many young men your age who are called into the service of their country. Who risk life and limb for their queen, their countrymen, and the Empire. Tonight, I ask, on behalf of Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales: will you do what no other young women are called to do, and place your lives and honor at the feet of your country?”
Miss Holmes
In Which Our Heroines Accept an Intriguing Invitation
“Yes.” I should have thought about it more carefully—the risks, the dangers, the commitment. But I was feeling impetuous, spurred by my infatuation with Irene Adler and my desire to do something other than rattle about my empty house or sit in my mother’s vacant chambers, and read book after book and study experiment after experiment in the laboratory. I wanted to put my knowledge and deductive abilities to the test in something real.
“Yes, I am willing,” I said again.
Miss Adler was offering me a way to prove that, despite my gender, I was a Holmes in more than mere name and the size of my nose.
At the same moment as my response, Miss Stoker said, “Certainly I will. The Stokers have long been in service to the Crown.”
A light of relief and determination came snapping into Miss Adler’s dark eyes. “Thank you. Her Royal Highness shall be more than pleased. But I must warn you that your service to the princess—and by extension to His Royal Highness Prince Edward—must be a secret from the very start.” Miss Adler looked at us both. “Are you willing to keep this arrangement a secret, even to your death?”
I nodded regally and peeked at my companion for her reaction. Miss Stoker nodded as well. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She didn’t look like the sort of girl who could keep a secret.
“Very well. Perhaps you are wondering how I came to be employed by the British Museum as keeper of the antiquities.” Miss Adler’s eyes twinkled with humor as she met my gaze. “You may be aware of my reputation as a singer throughout Europe. But what you cannot know is that I used my travels as an entertainer to obscure my other work for both the American and British governments.
“After some recent events, including my brief marriage to Mr. Godfrey Norton, I’ve chosen to retire from the stage. Since then, I have been engaged by the director of this great institution”—here she indicated the walls around us—“to catalogue and study the large number of antiquities that were acquired from Egypt in the fifties and sixties. But in reality, I am here at the request of the princess and am serving her in a variety of ways. The two of you are well suited to one of the problems currently of concern to Her Royal Highness.
“But before I tell you any more, perhaps I should further acquaint you with one another, for you shall be working together very closely.”
I detected a faint sniff from Miss Stoker, but resisted the urge to look over. Miss Adler nodded to my companion. “Miss Evaline Stoker, granddaughter of the famous Yancy Gardella Stoker, great-grandniece of Victoria Gardella—both vampire hunters of excellent repute.”
I was familiar with Miss Stoker’s family, whose legacy of vampire hunters from Italy had been written about in an old, rare book called The Venators. Mr. Starcasset’s book detailed the story of her ancestors and how they were given the responsibility and skills to keep the world safe from the blood-feeding demons. Her elder brother, Bram, happened to be an acquaintance of my uncle’s, and I understood Mr. Stoker was writing a novel about a vampire named Count Dracula.
“Vampires are nearly extinct,” Miss Stoker noted. “My great-great-aunt Victoria and her husband killed off most of them more than sixty-five years ago, in the twenties. That has left me and other chosen members of my family with little to do in recent years.”
“You will find plenty to do in service to the princess, even if it doesn’t involve slaying vampires,” said our hostess. “Now, you’ve already met Miss Alvermina Holmes. Niece of the famous Sherlock and daughter of the indispensable Sir Mycroft Holmes.”
“I’m familiar with your uncle, of course,” said Miss Stoker. “But I know nothing of your father.”
“Uncle Sherlock claims Mycroft is even more brilliant than he and would be his greatest competitor should my father ever bestir himself to action. But he refuses to go out in public or to social events. He is never found anywhere but at his office or his club, even sometimes neglecting to come home to sleep.”
That was in part the reason my mother had left us. The other reasons were best ignored, even by someone as practical as myself.
“Mina is just as brilliant at observation and deduction as her uncle and father,” said Miss Adler. I was relieved she’d used the shorter version of my name, for, in the tradition of the Holmes family, my given one is ridiculous. Even Mother couldn’t convince my father to give me an unassuming name like Jane or Charity, and instead I was encumbered with the hideous appellation Alvermina.
Miss Adler continued, “I am certain you understand why the princess and I chose the two of you for this . . . well, shall we call it a secret society? But let me be clear—your invitation is not only due to your families’ loyalty and service to the Crown. It’s also because of who you are, and the talents and skills you have.”
“Of course,” I said. “As young members of ‘the weaker sex,’ we would be dismissed as flighty and unintelligent. Never mind that males our age go to war and fight for our country. Women haven’t even the right to vote. Our brains are hardly acknowledged—let alone our brawn.”
I glanced at Miss Stoker. According to The Venators, the vampire hunters of her family were endowed with superior physical strength and unnatural speed. I wondered if it was true. She certainly didn’t appear dangerous. “Thus we two would be considered incapable of doing anything important, of being any sort of threat. In addition, I am an excellent candidate for secretive undertakings because I am fairly independent and”—I hesitated, then forged on—“somewhat reclusive.”
I saw wariness in Miss Stoker’s expression and a twinkle of humor in Miss Adler’s, so I finished my thoughts. “In other words, we’re both relatively solitary individuals who haven’t many other obligations of family or friends who might ask questions or be potential recipients of our secrets. We’re eccentric wallflowers.”
“It might be true for you, Miss Holmes,” Miss Stoker said, “that your social obligations are few and far between, but that’s not the case for me. I have a stack of notecards and invitations overflowing the platter in the front hall of Grantworth House.”
My chest felt tight, for I had just enumerated my shortcomings and pointed out my shameful lack of social invitations, and Miss Stoker had done just the opposite. It was difficult to make me feel inadequate, but her pointed comment bruised my feelings more than I cared to admit. Things might have been different if Mother were here to usher me through the intricacies of Society, but she was not.
Despite my discomfiture, I continued, “The number of invitations and obligations aside, Miss Stoker, I suspect you’d rather be doing something other than attending parties or dances. You might have obligations, but perhaps you would prefer not to have to accept them.”
She closed her mouth rather sharply, and I recognized her tacit agreement. It was obvious through her demeanor and tones that she had an underlying need to prove herself worthy of her family legacy.
Perhaps we had more in common than I realized.
“You are quite correct, Mina,” Miss Adler said. “Now, shall we move on? Are either of you acquainted with Miss Lilly Corteville?”
