Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?

In tasks so bold, can little men engage,

And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage?

I gave him back the page. ‘“A gentle Belle reject a Lord.” What does this mean, Holmes?’

‘A general warning, no doubt. Note the reference to rage,’ said he. ‘But the deacon penned this note, and he has a vested interest in warning Dillie off her two rival beaus. My worry is about those threatening letters one of them might have sent.’

‘Might have sent?’

‘The deacon has lied to us before. And who tore off the arm? Someone in a rage or wishing to threaten. My instincts tell me that the deacon was telling the truth, at least about that.’

‘What about this line here, Holmes: “A well-bred Lord t’ assault a gentle Belle”? Isn’t one of her beaus in line for a dukedom?’

Holmes nodded. ‘Yes. I am not yet ready to leave that irritating young lady on her own. Watson, we must visit the two young suitors so that I may take the measure of each. Finish your sandwich.’

The aristocrat Freddie Eden-Summers was to be first. His Great Court lodging at Trinity was the perfect picture-postcard subject of romantic Cambridge. Three storeys high, with ancient stone arches, gargoyles and mullioned windows with leaded glass, the student lodgings were designed to face a spacious green of great beauty. After a brief chat with the porter, in which Holmes mentioned the revered Professor Wyndham’s name, implying that we were in service of that august person, the porter informed us that Freddie Eden-Summers was playing tennis at that moment with friends some ten minutes’ walk away.

We came upon the courts, and were pointed to a tall, pink-cheeked lad with a luxurious mop of golden-brown curls, who was in the midst of smoothly annihilating his opponent. His movements were elegant and graceful, his expensive sports clothes, teasing manner and natural charm giving the impression of a privileged and self-confident young gentleman of leisure.

The game finished a minute or two later, and Holmes seized the moment to approach the boy.

‘Mr Frederick Eden-Summers,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘May I have a word, please? My name is Sherlock 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.’