The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

Holmes, and I am up from London on behalf of the Wyndhams. I am a renowned planner of weddings.’

‘Weddings?’

‘Miss Odelia Wyndham has requested me to organize her upcoming wedding and asked me to consult with you.’

My jaw must have dropped, for Holmes quickly clenched my arm, saying, ‘And this is my partner, the celebrated London florist, John Watson. You are thinking lilies and roses are you not, John?’

‘I, uh …’

‘And clematis?’

‘Certainly, clematis. Orange blossoms,’ I added, ‘but only a few. They overpower.’

Eden-Summers laughed. He had perfect white teeth, long blond eyelashes and was a young Greek god in every aspect. I could see why Dillie’s older sister Atalanta would describe him in such glowing terms – and why any young girl would consider him a prize.

‘Wedding? To Dillie! Why, that cheeky young thing! I have not even proposed yet! Silly girl. A bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Not proposed? Why, er, then there must be some mistake,’ Holmes blustered.

‘Well, I am close to it, to be sure. Ah, those Wyndham women! Her sister, Atalanta, she is something. Watch out for that one! A narrow escape on my part!’

‘But Miss Odelia? Dillie? She has not accepted you yet?’

‘I tell you I have not proposed. But I don’t see why she should refuse.’ He shrugged, smiling. ‘She’s certainly been welcoming to my, er, attentions. Hmm … I say, old man, you are getting a bit personal! You are here to plan her wedding? This must be her idea of a joke!’

Holmes as the ‘wedding planner’ looked suitably contrite. ‘I am quite embarrassed, sir, and beg your pardon. It seems Mr Watson and I are here in error. Good day.’

‘Oh, don’t go away all sorry like that. Here’s something for your pains.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-pound note, and offered it to Holmes, who looked at it like it might be a snake. I took it and doffed my hat. As a florist might, I supposed.

‘Do not worry, gentlemen. We’ll hire you for the wedding if we do decide to tie the knot. That Dillie! Quite a sense of humour she has!’ His lighthearted guffawing followed us off the court.

‘Not our man, then, Holmes?’ I said when we were out of earshot.

‘He would not be an obvious choice. If there were a threat, he is low on the list of suspects, though I’d like to know more of his temper. Let us pay a quick visit to Dillie’s other suitor, Mr Vitale.’

‘May he be her only other suitor,’ said I.

Holmes laughed.

We reached St Cedd’s College, but Vitale was not in his rooms either, and we were directed to the Cavendish Laboratory. We headed south and upon arriving at the imposing stone building on Free School Lane, Holmes paused a moment, staring up at the dramatic, Gothic arched entrance.

‘I wanted to attend this University, study here,’ he remarked. ‘At the Cavendish.’ It was an uncharacteristic personal admission, and I looked at him in surprise.

‘Why did you not, Holmes?’

‘Did you know that James Clerk Maxwell’s personal library has just been donated by his widow? I would love to spend some time with that collection.’

‘You have not answered my question.’

‘Perhaps another time, Watson.’

After wandering the halls briefly, we were directed to the physics lab. There we found ourselves in a long, narrow room facing an array of strange glass tubes, electrical equipment, wires, and beakers of chemicals. A much larger version of the strange device in our sitting-room that Holmes had called a ‘Ruhmkorff Coil’ stood on a table near the door. Long stone counters ran the length of the room.

A lone young man sat at the far end of the room, poring over a single sheet of paper, his head in his hands, concentrating in a manner that looked as if he could burn a hole in the page. He was so thin and pale that he made Holmes look positively blooming in comparison. Dark reddish-brown hair, worn unfashionably long, flopped over his forehead.

‘Mr Vitale?’ said Holmes as we approached him.

The boy looked up as though surprised by a human presence. Perhaps twenty or twenty-two, Leo Vitale had a handsome but serious young face, with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes magnified slightly by a pair of round silver spectacles. A ‘surprised baby owl’, Atalanta Wyndham had called him.

He was rather a good-looking fellow but appeared to have a mind in the clouds.

‘Why is the sky blue?’ he asked, dreamily.

‘What? Why is the rain wet?’ I exclaimed, already annoyed at this second overprivileged youth. What would England come to with these debouched characters cluttering up our finest institutions?

The boy looked at me blankly.

‘It is a physics problem, Watson.’ Holmes turned to the boy. ‘Rayleigh scattering,’ he said. ‘The sunlight bouncing off the molecules of the atmosphere.’

The young man blinked and seemed to arrive back on earth. A shy smile, followed by ‘Yes, you have it, sir. But Mr Fortuny will be in later. I am busy now.’ He turned away from us and picked up a long, delicate glass tube in the shape of a corkscrew.

‘Ah, Cosimo Fortuny, I know of him!’ said Holmes. ‘And I would love to chat with him about artificial lightning. A storm in a glass tube. But we are here to see you, Mr Vitale.’

No reaction. Vitale continued had begun to busy himself with the glass tubing before him.

‘Young man, I am here in regard to Miss Odelia Wyndham.’

The fellow started, dropping the glass tube which shattered on the counter.

‘Careful, I would imagine those Geissler tubes are not easy to come by.’

‘Who are you?’ asked the boy, his voice barely a whisper.

‘I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr John Watson.’

I was tempted to add ‘florist’ but restrained the impulse.

Leo Vitale regarded us with a remarkably flat, contained expression. I wondered if he masked himself in this manner consciously or truly was feeling next to nothing.

‘Mr Vitale, if we could go somewhere to discuss—?’ began Holmes.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ said a voice behind us. We turned