A Study in Silks

Evelina swallowed an ache. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Figuring out a code?”

“Cipher. There’s a difference.”

Imogen rolled her eyes skyward. “Deciphering a letter, then.”

“It’s not just that. There will be other things. There might be magic involved.”

“Piffle. Don’t try and keep me out of this. You need my expertise.”

Evelina blinked.

“Don’t look so shocked! I’m not useless.” Imogen held up the bag. “I know my silks, and there is only one place this could possibly come from. A little shop in the West End. Whoever made this bag had to have purchased it there, and recently. It’s this year’s pattern. Check the fashion gazette if you doubt me.”

A bolt of pleasure scattered her misgivings. Evelina threw her arms around her friend. “You are a genius! Only you would notice that.”

“Probably, and only because I’ve looked at a thousand samples while picking out my wardrobe for the Season.” Imogen murmured into her ear. “We can investigate and go shopping all at the same time. Isn’t Papa always promoting efficiency?”

Evelina winced, wondering once more about Lord B’s possible secrets. The magic on the bag was nothing like that on the automatons, but why was she encountering it at all? Where had the poor maid been, and on whose business?

They were interrupted by Dora, who came bustling across the lawn at a trot. “Miss Cooper, you must come at once!” The maid stopped a few feet away, puffing.

“What’s happened now?” Alarmed, Evelina quickly put the silk bag, note, and envelope back with her needlework. The last thing I need is yet one more ball in the air. Juggling was never my talent.

The maid lowered her voice to a sepulchral whisper. “Your grandmother is here.”

Imogen cast Evelina a sorrowful glance. “Oh, dear.”

Bugger! I don’t have time to appease her on top of everything else. Evelina rose, smoothing the skirt of her pale blue dress. She would have felt better if her embroidery bag contained a revolver. She was grateful to the woman who had taken her from poverty to a life of gentility. Nevertheless, Grandmamma was the probably the reason her uncles had never married. She’d no doubt frightened the poor dears into permanent celibacy.

Evelina trailed Dora from the garden, feeling vaguely like a convict en route to execution. All the beauty of the morning, from the sunlit leaves to the bright spring flowers, faded to grays as her mind focused on the prospect of speaking with her grandmamma. Where’s a good tumbril when you need it?

Not surprisingly, Evelina’s family difficulties were a legacy of her parents. Evelina’s father had run away from Ploughman’s circus as a child. He’d risen through the ranks by unequaled bravery and good luck, won an officer’s title, convinced her mother to elope, and then got himself shot in Ethiopia less than a year later. He’d left Marianne Cooper, nee Holmes, penniless and pregnant with their daughter.

Marianne’s parents, with a sense of wounded privilege, cast her off without ever telling Sherlock and his elder brother, Mycroft, of her return. Thus Marianne was forced to find refuge with her husband’s people, who proved much kinder than her own. But that had all happened long before Grandmamma Holmes had fetched Evelina and tried to turn her into a lady.

Not that the older woman was confident of success. The expectation that Evelina would also fall from grace—an event no doubt attended with all the aplomb and inevitability of cold gravy plopping from a spoon—was sufficiently acute that there were days when Evelina wanted to oblige and get it over with.

She took a deep breath on entering the house, reminding herself how grateful she was for everything her grandmamma had done for her. Really.

Evelina took an extra minute to go up to her room and make sure her hair and dress were beyond reproach. She paused in front of the mirror a moment, finding the proper expression for a meek and obedient granddaughter. Then she descended the stairs again, pausing to look at the longcase clock. The dial that showed the weather showed a smiling sun. It was more optimistic than she was.

As if aware it was being watched, the clock bonged and spit a card out of a slot. Evelina grabbed it before it fell to the floor. She turned it and tried to read the message embossed on the card. The letters were familiar, but the words they made were gibberish. It was a great pity—for all the clock’s clever beauty, there was definitely something wrong with the workings. She set the card on the window ledge and continued down the stairs.

All the curtains of the morning room were drawn, casting the usually sunny space into an early twilight. Yes, Grandmother Holmes was a traveling storm cloud, plunging all into darkness and consternation. Light faded furniture, after all, so no one with any sense opened the curtains on a bright day. And, of course, poor Lady Bancroft had knuckled under.

Swathed in heavy black silk, Grandmamma sat in the largest and most comfortable chair. Though well into her seventies, her tall, spare frame was still ramrod straight. Her only ornaments were a mourning brooch woven of human hair pinned to the high collar of her bodice, and a jet comb skewering her smoke-colored coiffure.

Evelina stood in the bull’s-eye of the patterned carpet, clasping her hands in front of her. With some anxiety, she noted that they were alone. Her grandmother wanted her all to herself.

A light fluttering occupied her stomach, as if she had swallowed a moth. “How pleasant to see you, madam. An unexpected pleasure, to be sure.”

Mrs. Holmes set down her cup and saucer with a clatter. “Don’t be pert. Lord Bancroft summoned me. I understand he found you prodding a dead body last night.”

He must have telegraphed at once, to have summoned the old lady so quickly. “I was merely attempting to see who it was,” Evelina protested, keeping her voice mild.

“Disgusting. Utterly unfeminine curiosity.”

“My intent was to be helpful.”

“I despair on a daily basis that you will end up like Marianne.”

How anyone could equate eloping with examining the deceased escaped Evelina, but then again she’d never been married. “I’m sorry if I caused anyone concern. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“No. Fortunately, murdered servants are in short supply.”

Her grandmother looked her up and down with eyes as dark and hard as the jet beads on her comb. Despite her ferocity, she looked tired from the journey. She was getting frail, Evelina realized with a pang.

The old lady plowed on. “But I do believe it is time to think of your future, as this visit is clearly not being spent with finding a husband in mind.”

Evelina made a noise of protest. “There was only the one corpse.”

Her grandmother slashed the air with one bony hand. “Tut.”

“I shall work hard to please you better, Grandmamma. I always do.”

“Pretty words are better with pretty deeds. I’d rather not think of my granddaughter putting herself in harm’s way. You never know what might come of interfering with such vulgar affairs.”

That sounded close enough to concern that Evelina experienced a moment of surprise. “Indeed, madam.”

“But enough about the dead bodies. I have other things to speak of.” Her grandmother pointed to a chair, as if accusing it of something. “Sit down and have tea.”

Evelina poured from the Wedgewood pot, first remembering to refill her grandmother’s cup and offer the plate of biscuits. If nothing else, no one could fault her manners.

Her grandmother pulled out her lorgnette, the eyepiece springing open so that she could examine the sweets through powerful lenses. She tutted at the macaroons, then pushed a tiny gold button to select a bird’s nest cake with strawberry jam in the center. The automatic plate lifted it in silver tongs and deposited it neatly on Grandmamma’s saucer.

Evelina lowered herself to the embroidered fauteuil, maneuvering her bustle with great care. A slice of light fell impudently across the carpet, as if thumbing its nose at the dictum against sun and air. Evelina thought quickly, wondering how to proceed. Perhaps it would be best to put the whole notion of marriage into the grave as soon as possible. She respected her grandmother enough to be honest.