A Study in Silks

“He isn’t the first who tried.” Her uncle gave a wry smile. “And your Niccolo is a bright young man with absolutely no legal method for betterment open to him. How is he ever to win your hand?”

All the dammed-up tears inside her started to fall. “I love them both. I ruined their lives.”

“That is rather a dramatic assertion, and a rather egotistical one. I will grant you love is rarely convenient. I’m told that’s part of its charm.” With a vaguely disgusted look, Holmes produced a pocket handkerchief and passed it over.

Evelina sniffed, and there was nothing dainty about it. “I thought for a moment, right when I was being presented, that somehow my future would be guaranteed. That wasn’t true.”

“That’s why I never approved of the presentation scheme. It wasn’t my idea, you know.”

She blinked at him. “It wasn’t?”

“It was Keating’s, and a waste of time. Empty ceremony was never going to contribute one iota to your ultimate happiness. You and I are sadly alike.”

She had nothing to say to that.

Holmes waved a dismissive hand. “Perhaps by the time you graduate from your women’s college, Tobias will be a steam baron in his own right and Niccolo will rule the criminal underworld. Then we can reassess your future plans.”

“You aren’t going to turn them over to Inspector Lestrade?”

“Heavens, no. This is far too interesting. Now go to bed.”

Evelina obeyed, moving toward the stairs slowly. Mrs. Hudson stopped her on the stairs, handing her an envelope.

“This just came for you, Miss Cooper. A grim-looking gentleman he was, but he was nicely dressed. He just left it, and said he would call some other time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Evelina took the letter, and continued on.

Exhaustion dragged at her feet, and she was infinitely glad to see the small, tidy room the landlady had prepared for her. Mouse and Bird were chasing each other over the dressing table in a complicated game of tag, bickering as they scampered over the soap and towels her hostess had left out. They had both volunteered to go with her to her grandmother’s. Earth devas rarely traveled, and they were eager to see a new part of the world.

She took a closer look at the envelope. It was fine cream paper addressed in a bold, sweeping hand. Miss Evelina Cooper. The red wax seal was marked with a plain circle. Curious to see who had sent it—she’d only been at Baker Street for a half hour, so who knew she was there?—she broke the wax and unfolded the note. It was dated that day.

Miss Cooper,

The Divine gave birth to Wisdom and gave Her the name Helen. He sent Her to comfort His creatures, and give them succor in their ignorance and pain. She dwells in the body of woman, the perfect soul incarnate in beauty. I have sought Her for millenia, even attempted to make Her with my own hands. Have I finally found Her in you?

As I suspected, your natural talents are unsurpassed. There will come a time when you want answers, when the mysteries shall be mysteries no more. Then I shall find you and teach you the vast universe of what there is to do and know and imagine, my luminous Evelina.

Dr. Symeon Magnus

She dropped the note back to the dressing table as if it were red-hot. “Impossible,” she said aloud. He was dead. Nick had seen him die.

“What is it?”

Evelina whirled around. Imogen was in the doorway, a plaintive look on her face.

Evelina was suddenly disoriented. “How did you get here?”

“For you, I climbed out a window and caught a cab. I’m not helpless, you know. You left without saying good-bye.” Imogen’s gaze went to the paper in her hand. “What’s impossible?”

Wordlessly, she handed over the note. Imogen read, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes got wider and wider. “Dear Lord in Heaven. How is it possible he lived?”

“There are all kinds of death magic, and he’s a sorcerer. Or this is just a vicious joke.”

Without warning, Imogen flung her arms around Evelina in a fierce embrace. “Oh, don’t go.”

Evelina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back another wave of tears. “I have to.”

Imogen held her tight, her shoulders starting to shake with grief. “You’ll leave me behind.”

Evelina swallowed hard. “No I won’t. I stick like tar, you’ll see.”

Then Imogen started to cry in earnest, her words crumbling at the edges. “If you go, that means we’re at the end. My parents will marry me off to someone horrible and you’ll go to school and I’ll never see you. I’ve already lost one sister. My family is going mad. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Evelina buried her face in Imogen’s golden hair, hurting for her friend. Hurting for herself.

A young woman had been seduced and killed, and the killers still roamed free. The two young men she loved had proven innocent of that crime, but were guilty nonetheless—and she had played a part in their fall. And now the dead were sending her letters, tempting her more than she cared to say. Evelina might have been dismissed from Hilliard House, but she wasn’t walking away from anything.

“This isn’t the end,” she whispered to Imogen. “Not by a long shot.”

Excerpt from A Study in Darkness

The door to 221B Baker Street opened and a body hurtled over the threshold, causing Evelina Cooper to skitter backward. The body landed with a wheeze on the hot sidewalk, arms and legs sprawling.

In her haste to back up, Evelina stepped into the street itself and narrowly avoided collision with a speeding steam cycle. With a silent curse, she caught her balance against the wrought-iron post of a gaslight, wondering what sort of a mood her uncle was in. Projectile clients were never a good sign.

The man on the sidewalk moaned. One hand groped awkwardly, as if seeking any solid object to cling to, and fastened on her right foot in its gray kid boot. As the only weapon Evelina had was her parasol, she swiped at the importunate fingers, delivering a smart tap with the furl of pale pink silk.

“Sir, unhand my toes.” She frowned. That hadn’t sounded quite right.

The man didn’t move, instead emitting another groan. She studied him for a moment, the August sun warm against her shoulders. His limbs appeared to bend in the usual places and no blood was pooling around the prone body, but he lay perfectly still. Delicately, she pushed his fingers away with the ivory tip of her parasol and wondered whether she should send for Dr. Watson. The good doctor had married and moved out of Baker Street, but he always came at once when her uncle required his services—which seemed to be with disturbing regularity.

Evelina’s shoulders hunched. Passers-by were giving her strange looks. As she looked up, a lady with a perambulator crossed the street, obviously avoiding the strange tableau.

“Spare him no sympathy, niece of mine, he is but refuse tossed into the gutter.” The voice came from the doorway. Evelina turned to see Sherlock Holmes glowering out at them. Tall and spare, his black-suited form was an exclamation point in the doorway. The long, lean lines of his face pulled into a frown. He jerked his chin toward the sprawling form. “That individual is engaged in a perfidious plot. I suggest you step away from him at once. Quickly.”

They hadn’t seen each other for months, and one might have expected a hello or a polite enquiry about one’s health—but Evelina knew better than to expect social niceties from Holmes when there was a villain adorning the front walk. “A plot to what end?”

“Come inside and I’ll give you the details.”

“What about him?”

“I’ll call a street sweeper,” Holmes said mordantly.

Evelina caught a glimpse of movement from the fallen man, but her attention didn’t stay on him. Suddenly