Love never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter VIII ~ Finishing School

   After an evening in which my sleep was oppressed by the struggle caused by the events of the previous day, so sudden and revealing, hitting me like a storm upon the parched earth in the summer drought, I ran madly through the next day. The work distracted me from the tormenting thoughts, the children kept me focused and calmed the turmoil that threatened to escape. 

   On the second day that passed, a Sunday morning, I took care of the rehearsals for the show that was going to take place that evening. Everything was ready in the function hall so familiar to me, festively decorated with reddish flowers and pearl ribbons. I was to perform a romance accompanied by an orchestra, and my only emotions were related to the high notes I had to hit. 

   However, the only thing I can think about is the kiss I rejected. It was almost noon when I returned home. As I was getting off the haggled carriage, I notice someone coming out of the yard of my house. I hurry and run nose to nose with the one that crosses my mind every moment. 

   -Sherlock? 

   -Elizabeth, I was looking for you, he says without the formality of a greeting. 

   A thrill of anticipation fills me and I involuntarily transport myself to that evening when he was much closer to me than I could have imagined. 

   -Did something happen to Enola? is the first thing that comes to my mind. 

   -Mycroft found her, he answers. He took her to that school. 

   -Well, I'm glad she's safe at least. Are you sure there's nothing you can do to change your brother's mind? 

   -I was thinking of visiting Enola and I wanted to ask you if you wanted to join me, he says. 

   -Normal! I rush. When exactly? 

   -I would propose now, if you have nothing better to do, of course. 

   -Is that school far? 

   -Not quite, not exactly. An hour's carriage ride outside London. 

   I quickly calculate the possibilities in my mind. It was nearly eleven, and if we left now, we'd be back by three. 

   -I think that Enola misses me, I say, then I follow him to the finishing school.

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   The carriage ride was marked by a lingering silence from both. I spent most of it wringing my fingers and staring out the window, terrified of the memory of that evening, while Sherlock hid most of the time behind his newspaper. 

   Miss Harrison's school didn't seem like a welcoming place at all. Everything looked gloomy and repulsive, and the girls' black dresses gave the impression of a convent rather than a place of education. 

   Sherlock offers me his arm and we move on, greeted by Mycroft's old squeeze, who I hoped I'd never meet again. She stares at me shooting arrows and I do nothing but smile defiantly. 

   -Mr. Holmes, she greeted Sherlock politely. And you, I don't think I remembered your name... 

   -Chatham, I affirm. Miss Chatham. 

   -Exactly! How can I help you? 

   -I would like to see my sister, if possible, Miss Harrison. 

   -Certainly, she will lead you to my office. I'll be right back with the young lady, she says, motioning to a student to show us the way. 

   Sherlock and I venture into the educator's office, and I analyze every atypical nook and cranny, each defining her by mere appearance.