moving towards them as she flung her duster about, releasing dust into the air. “Mr. Holmes, are you going to allow me to go on one of your cases? Are you serious? What do I need to do? When do we start?”
“It is dangerous work, Miss Mirabella,” Dr. Watson cautioned. “It was an ill-conceived notion. Upon further reflection, I seriously don’t think . . .”
“Dangerous for whom?” laughed Sherlock. “Miss Hudson or the criminal? Personally, my pity goes out to the criminal.”
“Oh, I have dreamed of this ever since first hearing my aunt speak of your detective and forensic work,” Mirabella twirled in the middle of the room, her duster clutched to her chest. “I am very good at taking and preserving the integrity of specimens. And, as you know, the sight of blood—even cadavers—doesn’t bother me at all. Well, maybe a little, I’m not without a heart like some people. ”
“Ah, and how does your solitary heart cope with the vile and wicked things we see, Miss Hudson?” Sherlock asked with interest.
“The horrible things we see only fuels the desire to see justice done,” she replied without hesitation, lunging her duster into the air. “At that point what can one do except avenge the innocent and protect others?”
“It is a lofty sentiment, but Miss Hudson has not been trained for this type of work,” Watson insisted, his expression more concerned than ever. “I’m quite serious, Holmes.”
“As am I,” replied Holmes, pulling his pipe from his pocket. “And she will be. Thoroughly trained.”
“Never fear on that subject, Dr. Watson,” she nodded adamantly. “I can shoot a gun—and even wield a punch on occasion! My brothers were the best boxers in the county.”
“Take my word for it, Watson,” Sherlock nodded, “Miss Hudson is surprisingly strong.” He rubbed his wrist absently.
“I might not know an awful lot about ladies’ things, but Aunt Martha can sew. She has long offered to make a new wardrobe for me—but of course I can’t afford the material as I must save every penny for university. Although it’s not that expensive if you know where to shop. And I do. Why . . .”
Why indeed? Why on earth would she need elegant clothing to work on a case, anyway? The whole idea was peculiar. Probably another of Sherlock’s misguided ideas. She had to keep an eye on him or he was likely to blow up the London flat or possibly kill himself with the chemicals and drugs he kept hanging about. The man was far too removed from the world at times. But if it meant she would be included on the mission, she would wear a burlap bag if Sherlock commanded it!
Her heart was pounding as she clutched the duster. Mirabella had no idea she wished to be on a criminal case so much.
I must be out of my mind.
Holmes tapped his index finger on his unshaven cheek. “In the first place, Miss Hudson, you have to focus on playing your part and keep your mouth closed. It can’t be done . And you would have to make a visit with my optometrist and get those new glass lenses to put in the eye.”
“Do you think so, Holmes?” asked Dr. Watson. “I like her glasses. They give her a very intellectual, sort of modern look.”
“Now wait just a moment, Mr. Holmes, I am not sticking a piece of glass in my eye!” The burlap bag, yes. Glass in the eye, no. She intended to use these eyes for a while. “If you think I’ll do that, you’ve got another thing coming!”
“No, the glasses would have to go.” Sherlock’s gaze was on Dr. Watson, ignoring her, even as all his remarks were clearly intended for her. “They don’t fit the role. We can’t take any chances. But it is of no moment; she can’t keep her mouth closed, so it won’t work.”
“I most certainly can!” She cleared her throat. “And I’m not the only person guilty of that