Free A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes by Katie Raynes, Joseph R.G. DeMarco, Lyn C.A. Gardner, William P. Coleman, Rajan Khanna, Michael G. Cornelius, Vincent Kovar, J.R. Campbell, Stephen Osborne, Elka Cloke

love between women. I had a hard time seeing the point, anxious as I was to continue our conversation, but then something occurred to me. “If the Braddons knew, Holmes, that could be a motive behind the marriage.”
    “Another motive besides money, you mean,” Holmes said, and smiled again at my confusion. “Surely you noticed that Mrs Braddon took off her glove before shaking our hands. So meticulous a lady would never have done so if her gloves had been new. The rug beneath the window in her daughter’s room was also nearly threadbare, and the pattern matched that of the sitting room curtains. The Braddons clearly have need of making the most of their furnishings and cannot redecorate entire rooms at once.”
    We hailed a cab once we got up to the street and arrived at the school in less than a half hour. Although the students were home on holiday, we were informed that the teachers stayed in their lodgings year-round, and we were promptly shown to Miss Henderson’s rooms.
    The young lady who opened the door was fresh-faced, fair-haired, and willowy. When we introduced ourselves, she appeared to recognize our names, and what our presence implied showed clearly on her face. She invited us in with a graciousness tempered by anxiety.
    “We have found Alice Braddon alive,” Holmes said, the moment we were inside her sitting room and away from anyone who could possibly overhear. Miss Henderson sighed with relief, and when she smiled I realized just how distressed she had been – the difference was striking.
    “Have you apprehended her kidnapper?”
    “Miss Henderson,” Holmes said, “I will be frank with you, but please understand that you will be one of four people who know the truth – Watson, myself, and Alice Braddon are the others. Miss Braddon was never kidnapped. She wrote the ransom note, disguised herself as a boy, and came to Chelmsford with the intention of fabricating a story that she’d been murdered. She planned, as far as I can tell, to come to you once things had blown over and presumably live with you.”
    Throughout this explanation, I watched Miss Henderson’s expression change from disbelief to resigned determination. While she seemed shocked at first, I read in her eyes that such rash measures were not outside the realm of possibility for Miss Braddon.
    “You have not told her parents?” she asked.
    “No. I had the feeling that another person figured heavily into the equation: the person Miss Braddon referenced as the one she loved. I wanted to speak to this person before proceeding. Am I wrong to conclude that the person she loves is you?”
    Miss Henderson looked away, but I saw no shame in her face – only, again, resignation. “You are not wrong,” she said. Then, twisting her hands in her lap, she smiled ruefully and went on: “I should not be surprised, and I should not have been as worried as I was. Alice was forever talking about how easy things would be for her if she ran away and lived with me. I never dreamed she was serious. I suggested that she could come here to teach; we could be together that way. But then her parents arranged for her to marry…and there was nothing more I could do.” There was such a sad, patient acceptance in her voice and manner that I found myself hurting on her behalf.
    “We believe the marriage is what moved her to act when she did,” Holmes said. Miss Henderson shook her head.
    “That isn’t all of it. We have known about her marriage for some time. I had the unfortunate news last week that my position here has been eliminated; attendance is down and they have no need for three teachers of writing. I am the least experienced, and I have displeased the headmaster with my choice of curriculum in the past. I am to leave for Spain in a month to take a position at my uncle’s boarding school.”
    “I see,” Holmes said softly. “Her motivation was even stronger, then.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers pressed against his mouth and