The two-story brick school building that had once been home to a titled family was already alight from within. It was close to dinnertime and I could smell beef stew when we entered the front door. Miss Wilson, my deportment teacher, hurried towards us. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" she asked, her eyes flicking between the four of us.
"Is Miss Hunter available?" I asked, speaking before anyone else had a chance. I gestured to the two strangers. "These two...gentlemen have a letter for her. They claim to have come to take me away."
Braxton shot a glance at me, as though he'd noticed my hesitation at calling him a gentleman., which I ignored. I was certain that the more people who knew what they were up to, legitimate or not, the better.
The woman's left eyebrow went up, and she looked at the constable. "I only came along to make sure they all arrived with no problems," Constable Higgins said, taking a step back. "Miss Hunter may call on my services if there is any problem."
"What seems to be the problem, Miss Wilson?" Miss Hunter's voice came from the staircase. She came down the steps slowly, her manner unhurried. "Miss Norton. Constable. I trust there has been no unfortunate incident?"
"No, ma'am," I said immediately. "These two men say they have come to take me home, that my parents sent them."
Braxton removed his hat and made the slightest of bows. "Ma'am, we have a letter from Mr. Norton, detailing his wishes on the matter." He drew a sealed envelope from his pocket and held it out. "We don't have much time before our train departs, so if we could resolve this quickly, it would be much appreciated."
Miss Hunter took the envelope from him. "I will take as much time as is necessary before I turn over one of my pupils to strangers," she said, her tone cold. "Let us go to my office. Thank you for your assistance, Constable. I shall send someone for you if there is a need."
Constable Higgins tipped his hat and withdrew. Since I hadn't been dismissed, I trailed behind the gentlemen as they followed the headmistress. It was only a few steps down a hallway to Miss Hunter's office. She stood to the side to allow Braxton and Keene to enter first.
When I continued to follow, she caught my arm and held me back. "Do you know these men at all? Even by just sight?" she asked in a low voice. "Are they associates who work with or for your father, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. I've never seen them before, not even a glimpse. I don't recall my father ever mentioning their names." I hesitated and then added, "They do not seem like men my father would associate with by choice."
"In what way?" Miss Hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.
Would she understand me? "They do not seem at ease in their suits, fine though they may be," I said, voicing the main trait that had me uneasy. "I know I should not judge, but I don't think they liked me questioning them."
"Hmm. That could be just the usual male attitude." Miss Hunter released me and strode to her desk. She gestured at the pair of chairs opposite. "Please be seated, gentlemen, while I read the letter."
Both men sat, and I remained standing off to the side. Miss Hunter broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It was silent in the room as her eyes moved across the words. A slight frown creased her forehead and her fingers began to tap the back of the paper.
There was something she didn't like about that letter.
Braxton cleared his throat after a long minute. "As you can see, ma'am—"
With a lift of her hand, Miss Hunter cut him off. She kept her eyes on the letter. Finally, after another long minute, she lifted her gaze. "Aida, I think you should read this," she said, holding it out to me.
Bursting with curiosity, I stepped closer to take it from her. It was typed, much like I'd seen Papa's business papers. The signature at the bottom was barely decipherable but it looked like his. The contents spoke of a family emergency and requested Miss Hunter release my care to Braxton and Keene until the crisis had been resolved.
Why? The last two letters from my mother may have been odd, with random information I didn't know why I needed to know, but she hadn't hinted at any trouble.
"What kind of family emergency has occurred?" Miss Hunter asked as I tried to make sense of the odd letter.
"We were not informed of the details," Keene said with no little impatience. "All we were told was to come get the girl. Ma'am, I believe we mentioned that we were short on time—"
All of my parents' correspondence to me had only ever been written by hand. I didn't think my father had ever had letters to Miss Hunter typed in this way before. Why would he do so now? Had he needed to dictate the letter to someone who typed it? Why?
"And are you associates of Mr. Norton's?" Miss Hunter asked, her tone calm.
"You could say that, yes," Braxton said swiftly. He held out his hand. "I trust all is in order? Unless you refuse to cooperate with Mr. Norton's instruction...?"
"This is highly irregular," Miss Hunter said, her tone shifting to contain the authority I was accustomed to hearing from her. "Why did the Nortons not send a telegram to warn us of your arrival? It is late, and in the middle of the week! Miss Norton's studies will be woefully disrupted."
Braxton shrugged his shoulders, still holding his hand out. "Emergency, ma'am. They never seem to happen according to a person's timetable."
"Yes. So you've said." Miss Hunter drummed her fingers, her eyes narrowed. "Why is it you did not come to me first? Surely you see how suspicious it is for two men to approach a young girl on the street."
The men shifted in their seats. "We were on our way here," Keene said, his eyes darting to the side. "But when we saw her, we recognized her from the description we were given." After a moment, Braxton gave a concurring nod. "We didn't mean to cause any worry or concern. Time is short."
"So you continue to say." Miss Hunter shook her head. "Well, the letter's intent seems straightforward, though this whole matter seems a bit havey-cavey." She turned towards me. "Aida, go to your room and pack your bags."
I folded the unhelpful letter, ignoring Braxton's hand some more. "How long will I be gone?" I asked. "A week? Longer? Will I be back for this semester? How much should I pack in my bag?"
Miss Hunter raised her eyebrow at the men, who shrugged. How helpful. My headmistress rose from her seat. "Gentlemen, if you will be so kind as to wait in the hall, I will assist Aida and get her ready all the quicker."
The headmistress put her hand on my shoulder and steered me out the door. "I don't really have to go with them, do I?" I asked as soon as the door swung closed. "I don't trust them."
"Nor do I," Miss Hunter said, her tone regretful. She urged me to keep walking. "I can see no way around it, Aida. The signature appears to be genuine, similar to what I have seen on other letters. I would never expect this sort of thing from your father, though. I could insist on a verifying telegram from your parents, but that could take time.
"And time is the one thing they are not allowing," I said, understanding her point immediately. "Could you not insist on it?"
She shook her head, worry in her eyes. "I fear not. They could go to Constable Higgins with the letter and claim I am holding you against your father's wishes."
And any objection we might have about the letter's validity would only be ignored or brushed aside as female hysterics. "I suppose even if we were to wait for a telegram, we can have no guarantee it would come from my father," I said with a frown.
My words did nothing to ease the anxiety written on Miss Hunter's face. "I'm afraid you're right," she said quietly. "I don't like this but I can see no alternative than to let you go."
Disappointed, I nodded in agreement. We were both silent as we continued walking. "I wonder..." I began to say, searching for the right words.
"What?" Miss Hunter asked quickly.
"Well, in her last letters, Mum included details that were...odd," I said. "She made sure to mention that she and Papa have a bank account at the Bank of England. She also said she has put away our important family documents and hopes I will find them if I need them. And oddest of all, she says that if she hasn't sent it to me by her next letter, I am to find the first Sherlock Holmes short story."
Miss Hunter frowned. "Those are strange things to tell you. What story is she referring to?"
"I think A Scandal in Bohemia. She and Papa told me it was too mature for me and that I needed to wait for it." There had been several times I'd wanted to ask my best friend if she had it but had resisted so far. What was so scandalous in it that my parents didn't want me to read it?
We reached my room. "There you are, Aida!" Abigail Carter, with whom I shared the space, exclaimed as soon as I entered. In her hand was what had to be the latest edition of The Strand magazine. Her enthusiasm vanished and confusion set in when she saw Miss Hunter behind me. "Oh. Miss Hunter. Is something wrong?"
No doubt what she really meant was "What did Aida do wrong this time?" I left our headmistress to explain that I was leaving for an undetermined length of time. From beneath my bed, I pulled out my reliable carpetbag and set it on my bed. I gathered what I thought to be essential items: a change of clothes with necessary accessories, letters from my parents, the knife Papa had given me when I first left for school.
Into my reticule, I put my mother's letters and what was left of my quarterly allowance. I could only be thankful I hadn't spent too much on pastries from the local bakery. While not a great sum, it would be enough to see me through any emergency. I hoped.
The last item—well, items— I picked up from my bedside table was the set of hatpins my mother had gifted me the previous year. The trio was eight inches long, made from silver with blue paste jewels on the end. Each tip came to a sharp point, but didn't look as frightening as one might think.
A lady could have no better weapon at hand, my mother had said when she'd shown me how one could be pulled from a hat and used to ward off an attacker. It was also her advice that it was better to act than to regret not doing so.
Maybe I wouldn't need them, but I would rather have them ready to use than to need them and not have even one ner at hand.
"But when will she be back?" Abby asked, her tone distressed. She glanced at me, her eyes widening at my packed bag. "The semester isn't even over!"
Abby, my closest thing to a best friend, looked close to tears. "I'll be back," I said, stepping closer. I grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I promise. After all, you have the latest Sherlock Holmes story, do you not?"
She nodded. "I purchased it this afternoon. I thought we could read it tonight. Why do you have to leave so suddenly?"
"Miss Carter, I've already told you this is a family emergency," Miss Hunter said, her tone sharp with impatience. "We know nothing more than that. Say your goodbyes and let Miss Norton be on her way. You should be going down to the dining room now."
There was nothing more to be said. I embraced Abby, who would be lost without me. Her nature was shy and it took patience to draw her out. She and I shared a love for Sherlock Holmes' mysteries, which few others in the school did.
Bag in hand and hat secured to my head, I left the room. It had taken all of ten minutes.
"Miss Norton, Aida," Miss Hunter said in a low voice. In the middle of the hallway, she caught my arm and halted me as she had done earlier. "If things are not right, not as they seem, you must promise me you will get help as soon as you can."
Surprised, I hesitated. "You mean from Scotland Yard? A constable?"
She pursed her lips for a moment and then shook her head. "No. I mean if things are...unusual. If you fear you are in danger or your parents are. Something is not right with this situation, but I am powerless. I know you are an avid reader of Dr. Watson's tales about Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You will find no better advisor than him and he will help you better than I could."
My jaw dropped. Abby and I had speculated about whether Miss Violet Hunter, our headmistress, was the same Miss Hunter who had sought out Mr. Holmes in one of the older Strand stories we had found: The Adventure of the Copper Beeches. I'd never dreamed it would be true!
"I promise. I'll do as you say," I said, realizing she was waiting for my response. Would Mr. Holmes take a case from a young lady only fourteen years old? Perhaps, if the situation was, as Miss Hunter had termed it, unusual.
With a nod, Miss Hunter strode ahead and took the lead. In the hall, Braxton and Keen were waiting with impatience. They both were tapping a foot, their arms folded across their chests. I had apparently not been fast enough for them.
Well, they would just have to resign themselves to the fact that I didn't want to go with them and I wasn't afraid of making it known.
"Miss Norton will telegram me when she has arrived safely," Miss Hunter announced when she reached the last step. Her tone brooked no argument. "Be assured, she alone knows the correct terms to allay my worries. If I do not hear from her, I will be notifying Scotland Yard that she has been kidnapped. I hope we understand each other."
What? We hadn't discussed any such thing. What terms would I have to use?
My two escorts exchanged startled looks. "Of course, Miss Huner," Braxton said, his tone respectful. He reached out a hand for my bag. "Now, we really must be going."
I looked over my shoulder just before the door closed. The last I saw of Miss Hunter, she had her arms wrapped around her waist, a worried frown on her face..
****
There was a train waiting at the station. Braxton didn't even pause, but he hurried me across the mostly empty platform. It was almost as though they didn't want me to see where we were going. But one thing I saw clearly as we reached the train: it was going north, not south to Lynbrook.
"Where are we going?" I asked as Braxton took the seat next to me. I wouldn't mention the discrepancy in direction. Yet.
"To your parents," Keene said over the seat that divided us. "My dear young lady, leave this to us to be concerned with. You are a child. We will get you where you need to be safely and that is all you need to know."
"Keene," Braxton said sharply. "The girl is worried, naturally. The least we can do is ease her mind and answer her questions." Although, as soon as he had finished speaking, he eyed me with apprehension.
Well, he'd offered. "Are my parents ill?"
"They are not."
That gave me a small bit of relief. "So, where are they?"
"Visiting friends." Braxton said the words but Keene sent a sharp look at the man.
"Which friends?" I tried to think of which friends I knew of to the north. Maybe the Wilsons? Mum occasionally sang in large houses, though not as often as she had once done. In her last letter, she hadn't mentioned any such plan. I doubted she would agree to a last-minute, impromptu engagement.
"Friends of your parents."
Papa's work as a barrister sometimes took him to clients' houses. Mum accompanied him now and again; still, I was informed when these trips happened. And I doubted any clients were actual friends. Maybe a client had required complete secrecy? Had a risis necessitated a sudden journey and then my parents befell trouble?
But what trouble? Speculation, all of it, and it did me no good. I eyed my two escorts, wondering what—if any— information I would be able to get from them in the course of our travels.
"I hope a doctor is attending my parents," I said as the train car jolted. I folded my hands in my lap.
"Why?" Braxton asked, glancing over.
"An emergency usually means an injury, if it is not an illness, doesn't it? In such cases, a doctor is generally welcome, even needed."
"Rest assured, your parents have everything they could possibly need at the moment. And soon you will be with them. That will help matters greatly." Braxton leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, giving the impression he was done answering questions. So much for reassuring me.
His words hadn't eased my mind at all. In fact, my thoughts were racing, trying to work out what was happening. The train began to pick up speed. "What message are you to send to your headmistress?" Keene asked, twisting around in his seat.
Was he asking merely because he was curious, or did he want to know for a more sinister reason? "Oh, I am not supposed to say," I said, widening my eyes. "It's a secret between myself and Miss Hunter. I gave my word I would not tell anyone."
Beside me, Braxton opened his eyes. "But we won't tell anyone," he said, his tone wheedling. "And what if we arrive and you are too tired to compose the message? You wouldn't want to worry Miss Hunter by making her wait longer than necessary for the telegram, would you?"
My unease grew. It was clear their intentions were not what they had stated. They wanted the message so that they could send it to allay any suspicion Miss Hunter may have.
Since Miss Hunter hadn't actually given me a code or specific words to put in my message, I could tell them anything at all. They wouldn't know any better. "Oh," I said, shifting my voice an octave higher. I hunched my shoulders, making myself smaller. "She wouldn't worry, would she?"
It grated on my nerves to sound so immature and vulnerable. But Mum had once told me there were some men who expected no better from a female, and it was sometimes to a lady's benefit to pretend. Pretending had been a favorite pastime when I was a child and I liked to think I was good at it.
"She would worry," Braxton said, leaning forward. "And she has so many other things to be concerned with. You wouldn't want to add to that, would you?"
They were well-spoken kidnappers, I'll give them that. What did that mean?
"All I promised was to say I was safe," I blurted out. I clapped my hand over my mouth with a gasp. "Oh! I shouldn't have said it! I know I wouldn't be too tired to send the message. Miss Hunter will be so disappointed I broke my promise."
Overly dramatic, and Mum would have taken me to task for taking such an exaggerated route instead of a more subtle approach.
"We won't tell," Keene said. There was satisfaction in his voice and a cocky smile on his face. He turned to face forward once again. "Why don't you get some sleep? It will be a long trip."
Resisting the urge to ask more questions, if only to annoy them, I turned my gaze to the passing countryside. It was too dark to make out any details, but it allowed me to think. Long trip, indeed! I had every intention of parting ways with these two as soon as I could do so.
Miss Hunter was a clever, intelligent woman. Mr. Holmes had even acknowledged it in the published story. There must have been something she had told me that had another meaning.
I knew the story of the Copper Beeches. Abby had actually found an old original copy of The Strand magazine in her grandmother's library. I knew how Miss Violet Hunter had approached Mr. Holmes for advice on whether she should accept a strange position as a governess as it came with odd provisos.
After she accepted the position, Miss Hunter encountered strange circumstances and requested the detective to come. Of course, Mr. Holmes deduced the solution to the mystery and Miss Hunter came to be the headmistress I knew now.
What from that story could I use to alert Miss Hunter to the true state of affairs? I drummed my fingers against the window, trying to think. Unexpectedly, a large hand came over mine and silenced me.
"Enough," Braxton said sternly. "Get some sleep."
Narrowing my eyes, and very much not liking him touching me, I folded my hands in my lap once again. "I'm not tired."
"You will be. We're not going to be getting off the train for some time," Braxton said. No doubt he meant his tone to be kind, but it was exactly the opposite. "There's no need for you to remain awake."
"I think I will anyway."
He didn't remark on my change of behavior. "Have it your way. We'll see how long you last." He crossed his arms.
No doubt, if he knew that I was seeking a way to escape him, he probably wouldn't look so relaxed. I stared out the window again. Was there a specific detail in the story I could use as a code? Something only someone acquainted with the story would recognize, and would not make sense to anyone else.
Of course! Miss Hunter's hair! In the story, she cut her chestnut hair before she took the position of governess, and once she was there, she found an identical length of hair. It had been one of the clues that had prompted her to send for Mr. Holmes.
If I mentioned I had found my chestnut hair, surely Miss Hunter would understand the situation was not as it had been presented to us. I could only do so, though, once I could send a message.
I glanced over at Braxton. He was not paying any attention to me. Instead, his focus was on a newspaper. The morning edition of The Times. Had they been in London before they came to get me?
In any event, I just had to get away from them and take myself home. From there, I would be able to find out what was really going on.