The Secret of the Debutantes

Chapter Three

I should have foreseen that Mrs. Stanhope would not take my victory well. The very next day, when the fog kept us all in, she found me sketching the front of 221 Baker Street, she took action. “I told you not draw such common things,” she snapped impatiently. “And where is the watercolor you promised? Do not tell me that you go back on your word, Miss Norton!”

“It is on the easel,” I answered patiently, nodding to where the object stood by the window where the light was best.

Huffing, Mrs. Stanhope pulled my sketchbook from me, ignoring my cry of protest. “You have an unhealthy obsession, Miss Serena Norton.”

Bristling at the accusation, I lifted my chin. “How so?”

“This fascination with that common detective, Sherlock Holmes,” Mrs. Stanhope clarified swiftly. “I know of those pamphlets of yours. It is beyond absurd that you read them! And it will come to an end. Your parents have charged with educating in subjects a young lady should know, and I will do so to the best of my ability, whether you enjoy the process or not.”

She turned on her heel and stalked across the room with a haughty determination. I saw what her target was in an instant and I sprang up, shoving my chair back. “No!” I protested. “Mrs. Stanhope! Please, no!”

“These pamphlets are nothing for a young lady to be polluting her mind with, and I have borne it long enough!” Mrs. Stanhope declared. She grabbed the few pamphlets that I had left in the schoolroom, having wanted them on hand to consult. “I am shocked your parents have not done anything to stop this. But I shall rise to the task and dispose of these...appalling items!”

With a dismissive gesture, she tossed my treasured monographs, written and given to me by Sherlock Holmes himself, into the fire. I flung myself at the hearth as the flames caught onto the papers. I grabbed the closest item, a fire iron, and knocked the monographs out. Mrs. Stanhope caught my wrist as I moved to put out the flames.

“Let them burn,” she ordered. “You cannot need such information.”

Wrenching my arm free, I glared at her. “They are my personal belongings!” I hissed. I used my skirt to smother the flames, but the papers were scorched black. Destroyed. Tears welled up, but I blinked them back. “You have no right to destroy them! They were a gift to me!”

“Lessons are done for today,” Mrs. Stanhope decided, ignoring me. “You may have the rest of the afternoon to yourself.”

I was left, sitting on my knees on the floor, as she swept out of the room like she was the queen. Resisting the temptation to throw something at the door she'd gone out, I leaned over my destroyed papers. I ran my finger over one blackened edge and watched the paper crumble under my touch. There would be no salvaging any of them.

“Oh, look. Paper ash is different from coal ash,” I remarked to no one in particular, my tone dull. I knocked the monographs back into the fire and sat back. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

Where would I be able replace these? I had studied them, yes, but was by no means certain I would be able to remember every valuable fact that they had contained. And even if I could, they would not hold the same value to me. Mr. Holmes had sent them to me after I had left London, and had been the last I had heard from the famous detective.

My head came up as I realized I had the rest of the monographs in my room, in plain sight on the table by my bed. What would stop Mrs. Stanhope from destroying those as well? I scrambled to my feet, feeling a bit breathless from the tight corset she'd forced me into. I rushed for my room, hoping I would be in time.

They were already gone. This time, I did cry. I hadn't even read a few of them! I sagged onto the floor, covering my face with my hands. And I had been so happy over getting those stupid pastries! I should have known Mrs. Stanhope would find some way of breaking me!