A Scandal in Battersea Read online

  “How,” apparently, was a very special group of people under the aegis of Mycroft Holmes, who swept in as soon as it was clear that it was safe to do so, whisked everyone away, and repeatedly told them all that “everything would be taken care of.” At that point, Nan didn’t care. Someone took care of her wounds—wounds she hadn’t even realized she’d taken. Someone else got her clothing to replace what she was wearing—now irreparably ruined with whatever hideously smelling ichor passed for blood in the monsters. Someone helped her into a carriage with Neville under her salvaged cloak, and soon the rest of the Harton School contingent joined her there, and with everyone too exhausted and numb to speak, the carriage rolled away. She—and Neville—were asleep before they arrived. She had vague memories of being guided to her room and her bed, with Neville electing to nestle down into the bedclothes as if he was in a nest rather than taking his usual perch. And by the time she woke up again, it was teatime the next day.

  Sarah’s bed and Grey’s perch were empty. Seeing she was awake, Neville stood up, roused all his feathers, and looked at her expectantly.

  “Eat!” he demanded.

  Her stomach growled in answer, and she threw on the first clothing that came to hand, put Neville on her shoulder, and went in search of everyone.

  The first place she checked was Memsa’b’s drawing room, which turned out to be the right guess. The air was full of the agreeable smell of curry, both fireplaces were lit and roaring, and the room was full of people. Sarah looked to be halfway through an enormous plate of curry on a tray in her lap, Grey was eyes-deep in a cup of chopped vegetables, and there was another cup of bloody bits of meat waiting for Neville. He leapt from her shoulder to his perch and set to it, while one of the servants made sure Nan was supplied with the same curry Sarah was eating on a tray of her own. There was also beer, and although she wasn’t much of a drinker, she felt strongly in need of it.

  “What happened?” she asked, then started stuffing herself. She felt as hollow as an empty vase, and as if she would never get enough to eat.

  “We have no idea what happened at the hospital, except that Mycroft sent us a message saying that ‘thanks to Sarah’ the seven girls are awake and no longer mindless.” Memsa’b frowned. “I cannot think that being part of that hideous Queen is going to have done their minds any good, however.”

  “I believe my brother is being rather too sanguine on that subject,” Holmes drawled from the darkest corner of the room. “But the young women are now under his aegis and not ours, and he has made it very clear we are not to enquire after them, or their welfare. The same, I am told, goes for the remains of the creatures we fought. In fact, we are ordered by my brother never to speak of this to anyone except among ourselves. Tedious of him.”

  Nan looked over at Sarah, who shrugged. “The girls’ souls were released when the Queen died, and I helped them back into their bodies, but I won’t speak for their sanity after this. Of course, they were one and all fairly unimaginative girls, and if they are sufficiently strong-willed, they may be able to convince themselves it was all a fever dream. I hope so,” she added. “There is nothing that any of them did to deserve this. They are absolutely the purest of victims in this situation. What they do deserve is the right to have the sort of life that they want.”

  “What about Karamjit, Agansing and Selim?” Nan asked anxiously, certain now that Sarah was fine. Grey showed no anxiety whatsoever, and whatever fright Nan had given her friend, she knew that Sarah knew she could not have acted otherwise.

  “Selim is much better—” began Sahib.

  “Selim can speak for himself, Sahib.” Nan became aware that there were three cots placed over near the second fireplace in the spacious drawing room, each one containing one of the three warriors that had fought with them. Selim was propped up on his own elbow, the other two on piles of pillows. “Selim is very much aware of his mortality and that he is no longer as young as he once was. And very grateful that Allah forgave his hubris and allows him to tarry awhile before attempting the gates of Paradise.”

  “’Tis about time, you old fool,” Karamjit mock-grumbled. “I have been telling you this thing for years.”

  “A Gurkha does not know age—” began Agansing, who was interrupted by Karamjit flinging a cushion at his head.

  “To make a long story short, we were never at the hospital, there was never any battle with an otherworldly creature, and the young ladies we were investigating were the victims of some unknown disease that caused a brain fever,” Sahib said.

  “That may be so, but I am going to endeavor to trace that last girl to whatever workhouse she came from, and from there, to whoever it was who purchased her indenture as a servant,” Holmes said firmly. “If there is an agent out there who caused this once, it could happen again.”

  Sarah looked up from her now-empty plate, and said, somberly, “Yes, it could. And we should be on the watch and on our guard for just such a thing.”

  “I am going to be guardedly optimistic,” John Watson replied. “Historically, those who have allied themselves with such creatures are generally rewarded by being devoured or destroyed themselves. I suspect that is the fate of our unknown collaborator with evil.”

  “I hope you are right,” said Memsa’b. “We called in a great many favors that we may not have at our disposal another time.”

  “I hope there is never another time,” Mary Watson said fervently. “I would be very happy dealing in smaller crises. A werewolf outbreak, perhaps, or a plague of vampires.”

  “Oh come now, Mary, you certainly aren’t going to gull me into believing those mythological beings are real,” Holmes scoffed.

  “Oh?” Mary turned to give Holmes the sort of stare one gives a particularly stupid child. “And what about the Green Men you saw with your own eyes? And the salamanders. And the trolls? For someone who claims—”

  “Children, children, don’t fight,” Sahib said indulgently. “Take up that particular argument somewhere other than our drawing room, please.”

  Mary sniffed. Holmes shrugged. “I will admit,” he said at last, “That being involved in this superstitious farradiddle does make for more interesting cases.”

  “Oh please—” Mary said, but was interrupted by the entrance of one of the servants.

  “There are three young men with letters of introduction to you, Sahib,” he said diffidently. “Shall I show them in?”

  Sahib looked baffled, and so did Memsa’b. Nan could not help but notice, however, that Selim, Karamjit, and Agansing were looking . . . conspiratorial.

  So she was not terribly surprised to see that the three young men in question—not terribly young after all, certainly in their late twenties or early thirties—were dressed, respectively, in the native costumes of the Gurkha, the Sikh and the Indian Moslem, all modified to suit the bitter winter weather.

  All three bowed stiffly to Sahib when they were brought before him. The Sikh seemed to be their spokesperson, and he began to open his mouth, when Karamjit interrupted him, “Sahib Harton, may I introduce our nephews. After due consultation with their elders, we have selected these three youngsters to train as our replacements in your service, and we beg you to accept them immediately.”

  Nan was not sure which of the four were the more astonished, Sahib Harton, or the three young men, who apparently had been unaware that their uncles were lying down in the presence of their employer. All four mouths fell open, and all four faces had such comical expressions that the entire room broke up with laughter.

  Selim held his midsection as the laughter ended, looking still amused, but pained. “Please to be refraining from making such faces again for some time. I fear I may have torn stitches.”

  Sahib finally recovered. “You are certainly hired, and you will certainly begin learning your duties as soon as your uncles are able to instruct you,” he said, and turned to the servant. “Mustafa
, please see to it that these gentlemen get rooms next to their uncles, and something to eat, and help them take their belongings to their new quarters. I am sure they are fatigued by the journey and will want to rest. We’ll let them get settled and used to our School before their uncles start putting them through their paces.”

  The young men followed the servant out, and Sahib turned on Karamjit. “What do you mean by this, old friend? You are surely not leaving us—”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Karamjit replied, interrupting. “But we are getting no younger, and if you and Memsa’b keep having adventures of this sort, we will certainly need some younger bodies to absorb the punishment while we convey orders from behind some sturdy wall. That is all. We fully intend to grow ancient, wrinkled and withered in your service, forcing you in the end to hire ayahs for all three of us.”

  Agansing snickered, and Selim held his side again. Then Karamjit turned to Holmes.

  “And you, good sir, if you are going to keep entangling yourself with the Hartons’ affairs, I advise you to begin training a replacement of your own. Their lives tend to be . . . interesting.”

  Grey laughed, and Neville made a rude noise. “Interesting!” Grey exclaimed. “Verrrrry interesting!”

  But Holmes only smiled.

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