Free A Study in Sable by Mercedes Lackey Page A

Holmes replied, with a brisk nod. “And this one . . . is interesting.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you want to make use of
my
Talent on the parents or the fiancé, do you?” Nan asked. She was a little concerned, since that was bordering on the unethical, especially when there was absolutely no proof that there was anything more going on than a girl who had run away and a fiancé who was experiencing relief at getting out of an engagement he might not, perhaps, have been wholeheartedly happy about.
    â€œNo, no,” Holmes replied, waving her offer away. “In a sense, thatwould be cheating. I prefer my own methods. But thank you for the offer.”
    At that moment, Nan wished she had the originals of those letters in her hands, because she had another Talent that she had only touched on to Holmes—the ability to trace where an object had been, its history, and something of the emotions of the latest one to have held it.
    â€œIn that case, Holmes, I will see the young ladies to a cab, and would you care to come up to dine with us?” Watson asked genially.
    â€œThank you, but I’m dining out,” Holmes replied, standing up and reaching for his overcoat. “There are some musical friends I wish to speak to tonight, and the only way to capture them is to lure them with a feast. Good evening to you all, and I’ll go out with you.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œOi miss! Yer roight in time! Them birds been right good’s gold!” said Suki, meeting them at the door to their flat. “An’ Mrs. ’Orace on’y jest brought up dinner!”
    â€œExcellent, my little imp,” said Sarah, stooping over to kiss the top of the little girl’s head. Or rather, the enormous bow that crowned it. Little Suki, having been dressed most of her short life in whatever her mistress picked up at stalls and rag-vendors, was inordinately proud of dressing well, in the neat little frocks Memsa’b had had made for her that looked as if they had come right out of the pages of a Kate Greenaway book. “We’ll all have dinner straightaway, then. Did you have a nice tea?”
    Suki nodded; she was an attractive little mite. Her hair was a tumble of short black curls, she had a pair of enormous, beautiful brown eyes, and if her dusky complexion made some people suspect she owed her dark coloring not to Italian blood but to an African race, they were too polite—and too wise—to voice that suspicion around Nan and Sarah. When she opened her mouth, she was pure Cockney, though she was trying very hard to “speak roight,” so as not to shame the young ladies. “Oi ’ad a loverly tea,” she replied. “Mrs.’Orace give us all a curry.” By “us all,” of course, she meant that the birds had shared it. “She do a bang-up curry.”
    â€œExcellent!” Nan replied, hanging up her hat and shawl. “Now, what are we having for supper?”
    â€œLamp-chops,” Suki said, forthrightly. “Lamp-chops an’—fixin’s.”
    Nan whistled, and a moment later the birds came flying in from their own room. They had a room all their very own, which they knew they were supposed to remain confined to when Nan and Sarah were not about. It had an ultra-safe iron stove in the fireplace, good, heavy perches that would not fall over short of an earthquake, a bath pan for each of the birds, water and food dishes, and a multitude of “toys” of various sorts. And of course, when the girls were gone, Suki spent most of her time in there with them, keeping them company.
    Neville landed on Nan’s shoulder, Grey on Sarah’s arm, and everyone went in to dinner together.
    The flat was a very spacious one, above a bookshop also owned by their landlady, who had a smaller flat behind the bookstore. It had four bedrooms, one of which was the bird’s playroom, a sitting room, a dining room