The Secret of the Debutantes

Chapter Eight

Several days passed with no word from Holmes, and I was not taking the delay patiently. With no governess, I was left to my own devices. With a maid in tow, I set out to explore London as I hadn't had a chance before. I visited the British Museum and then Madame Tussauds Waxworks, resisting the opportunity to visit 221 Baker Street afterward.

Twice, I accompanied my parents to one of my mother's private performances. Thankfully, gowns that were not so restricting or tight were delivered, and I could breathe as I observed the gathered guests. I did not see any strange fan movements, to my disappointment. I did learn the names of the young ladies I'd observed previously.

I even became better acquainted with two of them, Miss Agatha Willoughby and Miss Lydia Ferris. They both regarded me with some suspicion when I brought up flower sketches.

For a buttercup sketch had been slipped under the front door at Briony Lodge. A warning. Then, a black rose had been left on the steps. A double warning. Was I really viewed as the threat in this? An impossibly amusing, yet sobering, thought!

And then, when I was returning from one of my daily expeditions, I learned that Mr. Holmes had been there and that a plan was in place. I was a bit disappointed that I was to have no major role in the matter, but accepted my instructions with as much equanimity as I could summon. At least I was not being kept out entirely!

Thus, a week after I had first dressed to be seen in polite society, I found myself once again dressing with just as much care as I had taken then. A charming gown of green satin made me look like an adult. A gold locket, a gift from Father, hung at my throat. White gloves encased my hands and arms up to my elbows. My fan was on my wrist, and I felt prepared for battle.

Mr Mycroft Holmes, the elder brother to Sherlock Holmes, had put it about, somehow, that Lord Wetherby once again held documents of national importance. It was in Lord Wetherby's house that the trap was in place.

From my father's description, every servant had been examined carefully. Every detail had been approved by both Mr. Holmes. My mother was to perform and hold everyone's attention. My father and several others would join Mr. Sherlock Holmes in hiding to catch our thief. Lord Wetherby was the only one of his family to know of the plot.

Everything was as it should have been, which ought to have warned me that something was about to go wrong. I walked the edge of the room, smiling and acting the role of a charming young lady. I spotted a familiar face and went to it. “Well, Mr. Kennedy,” I remarked. “I would never have taken you for a music lover.”

The young man gave a start as he looked at me. “Well, if it isn't the independent Miss Norton,” he said. “Have I risen in your estimation?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“My father had always sung the praises of Irene Adler, if you will pardon the pun,” Quentin Kennedy said, turning his attention to the other guests. “She is quite famous since Dr. Watson published A Scandal in Bohemia.”

I bit back a smile. Lord Wetherby caught my eye in nodded. It was time for the concert to begin. Excusing myself, I went to find the star of the evening. “Mother,” I called, knocking on the door. She had a room where she prepared for her performance. She was always very serious about it. “Mother, they want to know if you are ready to begin.”

There was no answer. “Mother?” I called again, uneasily testing the doorknob. It was locked. “Mother, its Serena. Please let me in. Or answer me.”

Still, no response.

Becoming more and more worried, I put my shoulder against the door and put all my weight against it. “Mother!” I called. I spotted a maid. “Excuse me! Can you find a key for this door, please?”

Nodding, the maid hurried on. I continued to call for Mother, hoping she would answer. It was several minutes before the housekeeper came hurrying up to the door, riffling through her many keys. I barely let her unlock the door before I pushed her aside. “Mother, are you well?” I asked, rushing into the room. “Mother!”

My mother was sprawled on the floor. I threw myself down next to her. “Mother!” I exclaimed, grabbing her hands in mine. I felt some relief at seeing her chest rise and fall. I rubbed her hands. “Mother, please wake up!”

“Here are smelling salts,” the housekeeper said, kneeling down. She waved the vial under Mother's nose.

With a groan, Mother stirred. She pulled a hand free and raised it to her head. “What is the time?” she asked, opening her eyes. “I-I must get to my place. Delay will only warn-.”

I knew exactly what she getting at. If she were to not begin her performance, the villain would know something was amiss and our trap would fail. So, who had done this to her in the first place? I shook the thought away. I would dwell on it later. “You are not well enough to sing now,” I told her as I helped her sit up.

“They are relying on me,” Mother responded, flinching.

We could not fail them! Which left only one option for us. “Please stay with her,” I requested, looking to the housekeeper. “I will give you some time to recover, Mother. Do not worry.”

Rising, I hurried out, ignoring Mother's protest. I would have to take her place for the opening song.

~*~

I told Lord Wetherby all was in place and as he called for everyone's attention, I took up position by the piano. The man there gave me a strange look as I informed him of the change in songs. I did not have Mother’s range or experience, and chose a song that I had always enjoyed singing. I'd never sung in front of an audience before and could only hope I could pull it off creditably.

As the intro was played, I scanned the audience. Miss Wetherby's face was furious. I filed that fact away to be dealt with when I could focus. Taking a deep breath I began to sing the ten year old song that was still favored by many, After the Ball by Charles K. Harris. Perhaps it was more suited to end a musical display, but it was the best I knew.

Surprise filtered through audience that soon settled into rapt silence the further into the song I went. I saw very little movement, and the only person to leave was Miss Wetherby. I hoped she would stay out of the way of the trap being strung.

All too soon, I let the last note fade into nothing. Lowering my head, I made a low curtsey, trying to get my breath back gracefully. There was applause, and then Mother was beside me. “Well done, Serena,” she whispered. She nudged me away from the piano, taking my place. She flicked her hand in a signal and Shubert's Ave Maria began, more to what the audience had been expected.

I gasped for breathe as I reached the empty hallway. I remembered Miss Wetherby and decided I needed to find the girl before she could cause any mischief because there was no point in watching an audience that was watching Mother. Taking a deep breath, I set off.