Master of the Art of Detection by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Author:Liese Sherwood-Fabre [Sherwood-Fabre, Liese]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Elm Press LLC

THE RETURN OF LADY FRANCES CARFAX

“Are you aware of the old Oriental saying about saving a person’s life?” the Lady Frances Carfax asked.

The woman sat on the edge of the basket chair my friend Sherlock Holmes always reserved for clients, her spine as rigid as a soldier’s at attention. Many of those who sought his assistance would slump forward or recline backward, appearing unable to bear the weight of whatever misfortune had befallen them. The Lady Frances’ breeding, however, ensured her composure didn’t waiver, regardless of life’s vicissitudes.

Holmes had been silent to this point, listening with his fingertips pressed together as she outlined her predicament. Now, he drew in a breath and asked, “You mean the one about the savior having responsibility for the victim for the rest of his or her life?”

“Precisely.” If possible, she pulled herself even straighter in the chair. “You saved my life.” She raised her hand to prevent anyone from protesting the fact. “I know the police were involved, and Dr. Watson here supervised my immediate recovery, but had you not stopped the Shlessingers⁠—”

“You mean Henry Peters and Annie Fraser,” he said, focusing on her over his fingertips.

She glared back at him. “You will excuse me if I find it hard to recall their true names. I only ever knew them as Shlessinger. Even after….” She gulped, the first crack in her self-control, no doubt based on her memory of lying in a coffin with a dead woman. “After everything.”

With a deep breath to re-establish herself, she continued. “The police have been unable to locate the Shle—er, Peters and Fraser—or recover my jewels. Those two thieves have left me nearly penniless. You saved my life then; now, save me from my current existence. My choices are few: throw myself on the mercy of my cousin—the current Earl of Rufton—who doesn’t even answer my letters; move in with my old governess Miss Dobney; or seek some means to support myself on my own.”

After a pause, he stated her true request. “You wish me to find your jewels.”

“It is your responsibility. Your duty. To me. Otherwise, any misfortune that overtakes me will fall on your shoulders.”

I shifted uneasily in my own seat, recalling my friend’s observation about an unmarried woman with means being helpless. The statement, made when he first took the case, now carried even greater insight into a single woman’s fate. With funds, she was almost entirely defenseless against those who would part her from her fortune. Without them, she lacked even the most rudimentary capacity to care for herself.

“What of the pieces recovered from the pawnbrokers? Your bank account?” I asked, hoping she might have sufficient funds to keep her in a very modest lifestyle.

“The pieces were minor and if sold, along with what is left in my bank, I might be able to live in a hotel for perhaps six months, but then….”

She raised her hands, palms up, as if questioning her future.

“You haven’t mentioned the Hon. Philip Green,” he said.

“And I won’t.” Her voice displayed a tinge of disdain toward her former suitor.

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