A Study in Sable by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page B

putting you children in deadly peril never got the opportunity to do that again with anyone, child or adult.”
    All four of them fixed their gazes on Beatrice, who just shrugged. It was clear she wasn’t going to say anything more about it, so although Nan was curious, she decided that she wasn’t
that
curious.
It’s enough to know that nobody else fell victim to him.
And when she told them, it would satisfy Selim and Karamjit, who were still brooding over the incident.
    Mary Watson immediately, and tactfully, changed the subject to the crowd that had been around Beatrice when they had first arrived at the tearoom. “I didn’t recognize any of them,” she said, tilting her head at Beatrice in invitation to say something about them.
    So for the rest of the ride, they got a very entertaining description of the gaggle of young poets, artists, writers, and musicians who were “courting” her.
    â€œThey want me to introduce them to the occult, of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I do my best to keep them occupied harmlessly without getting themselves into trouble.”
    â€œBetter you than some,” John Watson said darkly, and Nan nodded.
    â€œSahib and Memsa’b have extracted a few dilettantes from things they . . . regretted,” Nan added.
    â€œThey’re harmless little ducks for the most part. A few are terribly earnest, most are only terribly earnest as long as their interest lasts, which isn’t long. They all want to
see
things, of course, and have delirious visions of things they can paint or write about, and when that doesn’t happen, they go on to some other enthusiasm. Usually it’s the Lake District. I try to encourage that.” Beatrice shrugged. “Not a speck of our sort of Talent among the lot of them, of course, which is just as well. One never knows when the next fad might be hashish, opium, or cocaine parties, and mixing the occult and drugs is as dangerous as waltzing with tigers, if you don’t know what you’re about.”
    â€œThat’s an understatement,” John Watson said darkly. “What about the one with the angry face? The one that was lurking within earshot, but not in the circle?”
    â€œOh, Alexandre.” Beatrice waved her hands dismissively. “He has ambitions and driblets and drablets of ability. I said to him the other day when he came oozing about, talking about what he was ‘about to’ write, ‘Alex, you don’t want to write, you want to
have written.
’ Oh, how he glared! He knew exactly what I meant, though it escaped the others.”
    â€œThat he wants the laurels of being a writer without the work?” Sarah hazarded, which clarified things for Nan, who couldn’t work out what Beatrice had meant, either.
    â€œExactly, my dear.” Beatrice patted her hand. “He would love to be Oscar Wilde, but he hasn’t a tenth of Oscar’s heart, nor a twentieth of Oscar’s talent. He also fancies himself a grand occultist, and as you might imagine, he’s going at it through the application of drugs and
atmosphere.
I’ve warned the ones that will listen against him.”
    â€œAnd the ones that won’t listen?”
    â€œI can’t be responsible for everyone,” she replied philosophically.
    â€œBeatrice, you should be careful about him,” Mary Watson said, suddenly. “I’ve heard things about him. He’s vicious, sadistic, and thrives on revenge.”
    â€œAnd
I
have my little book,” Beatrice said, with a decided nod. “It’s
my
version of The Woman’s photographs. There are things I know about half of London, and proof of all of them. Why do you think I’ve never been run up before the judges on fortune-telling? No one wants me to start reciting what I know before a judge. But you’re right, and I will be careful about him.”
    Mary relaxed. “Good.