The Schoolgirl Affair (A Sherlock Holmes and Serena Norton Story #3)

Chapter Eight

Art class, however, had finished for the week. My plan had to be put aside until the following week. Between my studies and checking every painting for some clue, I hardly had any free time. Even on Saturday, I had my music lessons with Signori Bianchi in the morning, when he scolded me for not practicing as I ought to have done.

However, nearly a week after the incident, I approached the church with a very reluctant Abby. It took some sneaking on my part to get past the vigilant sexton. Though I had convinced her to come, no amount of cajoling would get Abby up the steps. In the end, though, I managed to find my way up to where Alice Wood had fallen from.

"Why did she come all the way up here?" I wondered as I moved around the church bell. It was out of the way and not easy to get to. "Was she meeting someone? If so, why would they choose to meet in a place so difficult to reach? And during a time when the church would be full. To avoid attention? To be able to get in easily?"

Though I had expected as much, I was still disappointed to find little in the way of evidence or clues. to my disappointment. I could see where several people had already been there because their footprints had left a mess on the floor. The cleric obviously didn't have a maid or any manservant to clean up here. Or perhaps he couldn't pay anyone enough to do so.

It was near the ledge where I finally found something noteworthy: a scuff. Like someone's shoe or boot had scraped against the stones. It was an odd angle, though.

Putting my foot next to the scuff, I tried to make a similar mark. My first attempt was going on my tiptoes to lean over the edge but left no mark. I contorted myself every which way, trying to find the right angle and pressure for my boot to leave some kind of scuff.

Just when I was about to give up, feeling that my boots might be different from the kind that left the scuff, I tried one last attempt. As I did not have anyone to drag me, I feigned as though I were being dragged to the edge. The edge of my boot left a black mark that appeared on the stone next to the first one.

"Interesting."

Not that any of the constables would think anything of it. And Mr. Holmes would be able to read more about it than I possibly could. All I could guess was that someone had been dragged.

The only logical assumption to make—and how Mr. Holmes would dislike assuming—was that the person dragged was Alice Wood? She had screamed before she had come plummeting down to the ground. Why hadn't I remembered that sooner? She could have been attacked and then dragged to the ledge where she was thrown over. But why? Who would have been threatened by a housemaid?

Thoughtfully, I straightened up and leaned over to look down. The distance to the ground made my head spin and I clutched the ledge with my gloved hands. Everyone walking on the pavement looked small. I wondered if any of them could see me. If so, had anyone seen Alice before she died?

When I peered a little closer, I thought I recognized Mr. Kennedy just down the street. What was he doing here? He worked with someone important to the government, I knew that much, but what could have possibly been so important he would come here?

Was he connected in some way to Alice's death and whatever she had been involved in? I immediately dismissed that idea from my mind. It would have been far too coincidental.

Knowing Abby would be nervous if I took much longer, I hurried down and rejoined her. As we exited the church, we ran into Constable Miller. He barely glanced at us, so intent was he on his task. He, no doubt, would have been suspicious of what we were doing if he'd seen us.

"Did you find anything?" Abby asked.

"Nothing solid enough to have anything other than suppositions," I said and then described what I had seen.