A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Later that morning, Irene was back in her library when Sherla entered the room followed by Katrina. Sherla was dressed in a relatively sober dark blue morning dress that was as simple as it was elegant. The only ornamentation on the dress were the tiny pearl buttons down the center of the bodice, and the white lace accents around the collar and the cuffs. It was strangely at odds with the rest of Sherla's toilette for the girl's hair was far less formal, hanging as it was down her back in a single wave of midnight silk. In addition, her cosmetics were somewhat more colorful than one might expect for a lady making a morning call on an acquaintance. *Katrina's work, obviously,* Irene noted, recognizing the styles, *The style looks stunning on Sherla, although she couldn't appear publicly arrayed like this. I wonder what that means.* "Madame. . ." Katrina started slowly. "Call her Tante!" Sherla interrupted forcefully, "when we are alone for she has given you that, and it is a great honor and a privilege." Irene started to make a retort of her own when Katrina merely nodded. "Oui, Mademoiselle Sherla," she said with an unexpected meekness. "Tante Irene," she began again, "I have told Mam. . I mean, Sherla about parts of my life before I came here to you, but could not tell it all. Would you, please, tell her? She needs to know, I think, as much as I needed to know about the danger she posed. I tried, but I cannot seem to get it out." *So that is the way of it, is it? Well, all I can think is 'Brava, Sherla, well done!' Now, perhaps we can bring this problem to a close. Why, something like this would be just the thing to get Sherla's hand back in, as it were.* "Very well, Katrina-dear," Irene smiled to her young maid. "You may go to the school room for your afternoon studies. I will call you if I need you." "Merci, Mad. . " Katrina was stopped short by a sharp look from Sherla. She cleared her throat. "Merci, Tante Irene." Irene watched the girl leave the library, shutting the door behind her. "I appreciate what you are trying to do, Sherla, but until we are absolutely sure of her safety, it might be best if she were to remain in the habit of calling me Madame. If you insist on her calling me 'Tante Irene', she might forget in public, which could be disastrous for her and for my husband and I." She stared at Sherla who finally nodded. "Excellent. Now, perhaps then you might explain your rather eclectic toilette?" Sherla took a seat without being invited and pinned Irene with a meaning-filled glare. "I have a vile headache," she replied tartly, "As YOU wished I would." Irene could not help smiling and Sherla gave her a sniff - another mannerism learned from the minx, Katrina. "I could not stand having my hair pinned and pulled so Katrina left it down. The cosmetics are from my most recent lesson in the art, and I liked it." "I see. You spoke while Katrina showed you how to use cosmetics?" Irene asked, thinking this was not the way of the very impatient Mr. Holmes. "It calmed her to be doing something with her hands and to be concentrating on something else as she spoke. She shrugged at that. "And I needed the instruction." *Of course you needed it,* Irene thought, *And if weeding the garden or gutting fish for lunch would have distracted Katrina, you would have needed instruction in that, as well. Who are you trying to deceive, Sherla? Me or Sherlock?* Irene cleared her throat and smiled gently. "Godfrey has a preparation he swears by in such circumstances. It tastes vile, but it might help." "Thank you, but no. The worst is past, and most such preparations involve more alcohol which I do not think my system will tolerate. I need my wits unimpaired if I am to assist you in resolving Katrina's problem. She has explained to me that the role is a disguise, and that you are hiding her from certain unnamed members of the underworld because she helped you with a case. Please explain what happened." *How very Sherlock her bearing is right now, in spite of that very feminine ensemble, * Irene mused. *'The facts, Madame, if you please. Simply the facts!' I wonder at the difference in technique. Is it because I am not distraught over this as Katrina obviously is, or is the reason for this forthright approach to my interrogation more to do with the fact that I am not your lover?* "Very well. The short of it is that Katrina was instrumental in helping Godfrey and I break up a prostitution and white slavery ring that was preying on young women of the theater in Paris." "That much I have managed either to wring from or deduce from what Katrina has told me. Please tell me the facts of the case." Irene began to reach for a cigarette and caught herself. She sighed. "A friend of ours found this very talented, if poorly taught young contralto training at a little known school in one of the seedier sections of Paris. He was about to offer her a contract to sing in the chorus of the Paris Grand Opera, when the girl disappeared. He tried to locate her, but the school was no help whatsoever. Moreover, they were oddly disinterested for an institution that supposedly trains young women for the operatic vocation. Having one of their students perform at the Grand Opera would reflect glory upon them for having trained the girl, and would greatly improve their consequence in the community." "A rather odd reaction, indeed," Sherla replied contemplatively. "I should have been rather suspicious myself." "As was our friend. He made some, unfortunately, rather not so discreet inquiries and was attacked and beaten on the street near his home one night soon thereafter. Again unfortunately, he did not make the connection between a beating where nothing was stolen and his search for the missing girl. He continued his inquiries and was again beaten, but this time he was told that if they had to come back a third time, he would be waking with the angels in heaven or the devil in hell. "At this point you were called in?" Sherla surmised with a smile. "Precisely. I made my investigations through the stage set while Godfrey disguised himself as a street cleaner and instituted a surveillance on the school. No one in the theater or opera set had ever even heard of this school. Fortunately, Godfrey had more success than I did. Over the course of three weeks, he became quite familiar with those who regularly came and went. Two things caught his notice, however. One was the fact that, as he put it, 'this very nasty looking piece of goods" came to the school one day, about two weeks after Godfrey had begun his watch. She arrived and left by a very expensive, if gaudy carriage, and the next day, two of the more attractive female students no longer attended the classes." "The gendarmerie was never called in on these 'disappearances'?" Shaking her head, Irene held up one hand and rubbed her forefinger against her thumb as if fanning a hand full of paper currency. "When we investigated, there were no records of those women at all. We suspect they were young women from the country or from the lower classes who had some singing talent, or thought they did, who would delight in the chance to learn to sing for their living." "All beautiful?" "Attractive enough, certainly," Irene agreed. "In any case we decided to follow our only clue - the possible connection between the woman and the disappearance of the two students. The next time she visited the school, Godfrey followed her." "I hope he has improved at the art of such a covert activity since our mutual adventure in Monaco?" Sherla asked with a smile. "Well, he wasn't attempting to surveille Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street this time, but he has improved greatly as a sleuth in our years together," Irene said with great fondness in her voice. "He followed her to a large, walled estate outside Paris. That night, we made an attempt to enter the grounds but found the intervening space between the wall and the house guarded by large, vicious dogs. We barely escaped." "Interesting, and begs the question - were the dogs to keep someone in or someone out?" "Both, in my estimation. Godfrey and I were still trying to develop a method for gaining entry that would not involve hurting or otherwise incapacitating the dogs, when our we had our first bit of luck." "You made your own luck with your most excellent detective work, Irene," Sherla said gravely. "That you were there was a result of that effort." She waved away the praise and continued. "While we were there looking for weaknesses in their security, that hopelessly gaudy carriage departed the estate through the gates. We noted that the carriage had to stop on both sides of the gate, first to unlock and open it, and then to close and relock it. We thought that, perhaps, we could somehow secret ourselves beneath the frame of their equipage when it stopped to open the gates upon its return, but as it happened, that was unnecessary. Katrina had anticipated our solution for she dropped to the ground from the conveyance's undercarriage once it began moving again following locking the gates. She then rolled for the nearest cover like a little dervish, which happened to be the bushes where Godfrey and I had hidden ourselves." "A very desperate act on her part - she might easily have fallen too soon or during a turn - been run over by the wheels or attacked by those dogs of yours." "She had decided that would be preferable to existing in that vile house another instant. We, of course, spirited her away to our home where we got her entire story from her - has she told you that? How her inhuman bastard of a father had sold her to that woman when she'd been but barely sixteen? She is not like other women, Sherla, as you have no doubt surmised. She prefers the love of other women and she has a brain - neither of which were acceptable to her father." "Is that not a little young, even in France, for a young woman to decide she prefers the touch of women over men?" Sherla asked in disbelief. "Your all-too-English disdain of things French is showing, my dear. She was a bastard - born on the wrong side of the blanket to a French aristocrat whose antecedents, unfortunately, escaped the kiss of Madame la Guillotine. Her birth and her intelligence made her unsuited for sale in the more socially acceptable marriage mart. It did not, however, affect her value in other, less reputable arenas. Her father raped her when she was but fourteen years old, and continued to do so until he sold her. She turned to the only consolation available - her Mother's maid who introduced her to the ways of Sappho. It was a far gentler and pleasurable introduction than her father had given her." "I see," Sherla said, her voice suddenly so cold and dangerous that Irene could barely restrain a shiver. "The gaudy woman is a brothel keeper, then?" "That and worse, Sherla. She called herself Madame de Sade, and it fit her. The torments and horrors she inflicted on those girls to force them to do her bidding were horrible - beyond merely inhuman! The Marquis may have the reputation, my dear, but trust me that no male could ever torment, humiliate or hurt a female like another female. Katrina resisted, as much because it is not in her to tolerate submissively the touch and sexual use of men, as because she has the soul of a lion. Knowing Katrina's preferences, Madame de Sade's punishments were to deny her that, and to make her a torture slave in her dungeon. For enough francs, a man could do almost anything he wished down there. Records we recovered later indicated that as many as fifty young women died down there, their lives paid for in francs and sous. Katrina would have been next among their number had she not escaped when she did. Her name had already been entered in the ledger, along with the negotiated price for her death - ten thousand francs. "I hope the woman died screaming in agony, locked away in her own damned hellhole," Sherla hissed in fury, the first emotion Irene had seen since the discussion began. "And that certainly explains your concern that Moriarty was involved in such activities. "Not quite, as I will get to in a moment. As to Madame, I am afraid her death was not so poetically just. She was, however, executed by the French courts if that is any conciliation." "The French would have granted her far too merciful a death because she was a woman, but at least she is dead. What happened?" "Nothing very heroic, I am afraid. My husband and I contacted a very reliable and honest official we knew. He closed down the operation and arrested Madame de Sade and her minions. We tried to help the other girls, but for the most part, they disappeared before we could do very much. I worry about them when I permit myself to think of them." "You saved Katrina," Sherla commented softly. "Yes we did, and fell in love with her. I had actually discussed with Godfrey the possibility of adopting her when our friend warned us that the Madame did not work alone. Apparently, there was reference to a higher power in Madame's records, someone she had to report to and answer to in matters related to her various criminal operations. In return for a rather sizeable portion of her gross profits, this mysterious individual protected her, and provided her with . . . other services." "By that I infer you mean such services as murder on demand?" Irene nodded. "Yes. There were numerous records of officials who became too interested in Madame's business being referred to this person, only to have them disappear forever in relatively short order." "And you feared for Katrina should her name become public, as it would have to were you to adopt her? You were afraid this individual would try to avenge Madame, or at least, the income her demise cost him?" "Exactly, my dear. So we took her in and made her, publicly at least, our maid. She is actually family and we are privately educating her so that when she is old enough, she might attend university and make a life for herself. Unfortunately, she has been bitten by my own investigations bug, and thinks to do what I do and have done. I will admit that she has shown a great flair for the work, but I fear that she thinks to rescue other young women such as herself. Given her personal preferences, she has not intent nor desire to wed, so at least she will not have a family to concern her." "She has you and your husband," Sherla corrected, "and now she has me. But enough of that, some questions, if you will, please." Irene nodded and Sherla began. "Katrina's . . paternal parent, what happened to him?" That brightened Irene, in a malevolent manner at least. "He is dead - one of the mysterious one's victims on behalf of Madame de Sade. Apparently, he thought to extort more money out of the Madame. He was found stripped, beaten and castrated outside of his country home, his severed male part stuffed into his mouth." Sherla could not help shifting in her seat, and drawing her legs together as she considered that image. "Oh sit still," Irene admonished, her eyes twinkling, "At least now, you no longer need worry about such things, now do you?" "As you say," Sherla replied, her voice still uneven, "However, I am more interested in this individual you hide from. There were no indications who he might be? I assume you have used your considerable skills to search him out." Irene shook her head. "Of course, but it is as if he simply ceased to exist about the time we took in Katrina. Some clues, surely. Initials in one place, a military title in another, and some combinations of all of them. None of it made any sense to our friend or to any of the officials." Something changed in Sherla's demeanor. "How long has Katrina been with you?" "Almost four years. She was barely seventeen when she escaped, and was not more than sixteen when that animal sold her to that vile woman." "That might fit. The father was killed soon after the . . .sale, too, am I correct?" Irene nodded, her expression becoming pensive. "The title, Irene, and the initials. . .do you remember them?" Her voice was now low, very intense and just a little dangerous. "Why yes, Sherla, the title was Colonel. As for the initials, sometimes it was simply "G". Other times it was AHG or AG. Once it was recorded as Colonel G. Why? Do you know something?" "Four, almost five years ago, Sherlock Holmes undertook his last mission abroad on behalf of his brother Mycroft. It was a mission so secret that Watson was never told for fear he might forget its great sensitivity. I was sent to neutralize the last known associate of Professor Moriarty - a man who was to Paris and France, what Colonel Moran was to London and England - Moriarty's right hand man and hand picked successor to his role as Lord of the Underworld. This . . person had come to Mycroft's attention by his acquiring of various apparatus and laboratory equipment needed to breed bacteria. It had become clear from Mycroft's investigations that this person intended to develop the bacteria as weapons." "And this person fits the initials I just gave you?" Irene asked impatiently. "Colonel Auguste Henri Gilbert, late of the French Army," Sherla said solemnly. "He is dead, Irene, and has been since shortly after Katrina's father was killed. I, or rather Sherlock, engineered his demise in his own foul laboratory. His organization collapsed almost immediately, as had Moran's when Mr. Holmes returned to London to save Watson. There is no one left with the power or the will to come after you or Katrina." "My lord in heaven," Irene breathed softly, "you mean she is safe at last? I can acknowledge her in society as she has always deserved?" "She is safe, although whether she wants anything to do with Society is another question, and one which must await another day and time for its answer." "She deserved so much better than we could give her and still keep her safe, Sherla." "She seems rather happy with her lot from my observations. Given what she has gone through, it is miraculous that she is so. . open and happy. That speaks volumes about her, and even more about you and your husband. She could so very easily have become one of those lost souls who ultimately end their own lives." "As you almost did, my dear?" Irene asked gently. "I was alone when I should not have been, and therefore decided on a permanent solution to a problem I might have later, given time and the help of friends, seen as temporary. She had friends - she had and has you. Now I have you and I have her. I do not think such a false and faulted solution would ever occur to me again." "Do you wish to be here when I tell her the good news?" "I think such glad tidings are more appropriately done between. . .Mother and daughter, Irene. There will be other times for all of us to work through this for it is not really over - not for her and not for me." Sherla rose and walked over to the bell pull. "I will be in the music room if either of you need me." Sherla left the room just as Katrina hurried up from where ever she had been studying. Sherla only smiled at her concerned friend, and waved her into the library. ~-------------~ The melodies of Liszt and Chopan were filling the music room when Irene and Katrina entered the room. Smiling in welcome, Sherla finished her piece and then turned to her audience. "All is well?" she asked quietly. "You . . .I mean, Mr. Holmes truly did away with that evil man?" Katrina asked, her English becoming heavily accented in her emotional turmoil. Sherla nodded. "Mada. . I mean, Maman has given me this that I might give it to you," Katrina said as she pulled a long, black leather case from behind her back. Sherla all but pounced on it, opening the case with pure glee on her lovely face. With reverent hands, she lifted the glossy violin from the red-felt lined interior of the case, and then reached for the bow. "May I try it?" She asked, almost hesitantly. "Of course you may," Irene huffed. "I don't play the violin, and besides, I purchased it for you. My friend in Paris Orchestra says it is a superb instrument, if not a Stradivarius, but none of those were on the market just now. Sherla quickly tested and tuned the instrument, and then putting it to her chin, drew the bow across the strings. She sighed in rapturous bliss. Without further ado, the other two women were treated to an impromptu concert, and if an occasional note was a bit off when Sherla neglected to compensate for her reduced finger reach, no one complained. Soon, Irene was accompanying Sherla on the piano. The pair, with Katrina as their rapt audience, played on well into the afternoon until the sound of their music could no longer drown out the growling of the empty stomachs. Reluctantly, they called an end to their idyllic moment to feed another, more earthly hunger. ~----------------~ Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes Date: February 25, 1911 Location: Irene Adler's Home outside of Paris France. Time: 6:33 P.M. My Dear Doctor Watson: It has been a most edifying time since I last wrote within these pages. I have had many new experiences, some positive and others not so very positive, but all of them enlightening in their own way. The ball went well, I think. No, that is unfair for I am working too hard to be "holmes-ish" in this journal, as if by doing so I give lie to the fact that my life and my outlook are changing as much as have my physique. I must be honest in this journal otherwise I am lying to myself which is perhaps the greatest sin of all. The ball was lovely! Wonderful! A marvelous experience of sight, and sound, of scent and flavor. I had a most wonderful time dancing, and truth to tell, I now regret having argued with Irene about those other six dances - although I must admit that my new corset did have me breathing rather heavily after the more energetic dances. I do wonder, however, if women who were born females laugh behind their fans as I did at the antics of the young men at the ball - young peacocks strutting their plumage before an unattached peahen in hopes of earning a peck or two of her favors. I must tell you that I have been unable to decide which of two choices earns the prize as the absolute worst aspect of this high society rite of courtship. On one hand there is the positively awful poetry they seem to think they must create and then inflict upon any poor female with the sound of their voices. I refuse to dignify any of it by attempting to remember it so that I may write it down here. Heavens above, John, immortalizing such clap trap would be a crime against art. On the other hand, however, are the absolutely hilarious "compliments" these young chevaliers bestow upon my and other ladies' heads. Heavens, John, if I had not been wearing gloves, one of those high-born fools would have sung the praises of the shape of my hangnails, or pontificated on the mysteries of the sweat patterns on my palms. Amazing. Another thing I have learned again, and which I should not have had need to learn again, is that I now have absolutely NO head for spirits. I became quite the giddy fool on a relatively small portion of champagne and nearly made a worse fool of myself, much to Irene's dismay. Fortunately, THE Woman emerged victorious from the fray, and we managed our escape only slightly scathed. I have discovered, that while the worst of Moriarty's foul withdrawal is past, I am still highly susceptible to the sexual demons of the flesh. And of all things, John, with a MAN!! Oh yes, I know, I know. I am a woman and starting to think like one more and more, and yes, man and woman together is nature's way of it, but curse it all, John, part of me still thinks like a man. This very good looking (yes, I noticed) young man lured me out into the moonlight and kissed me. Yes, I was well and truly inebriated by that time, and he did surprise me, but once he had me lip-to-lip? I wanted to consume him whole, John. Or be consumed by him. I was not rational enough during our. . . exchange to know quite which. At some point, the combination of the alcohol and the kiss reignited a need in me that matched my withdrawal experiences. Irene claims that had she not arrived on the scene when she did, I would have been inviting the fellow to do far more than just kiss me. I cannot say, for I do not feel that way about him right now, sober and no longer needful of physical satiation, and while Irene might not tell me a truth if she thinks it best, I do not believe that *she* believes she is exaggerating the case. Oddly enough, John, an old case of Sherlock's came up tonight - one which you were never made privy to for reasons of security. Suffice it to say, Sherlock's activities on that particular instance have done both Irene and Katrina a singular service. That pleases me greatly. I seem to have finished my size reduction, John, as none of my measurements have changed over the past several days. Oh, except for my waist and it is not for the reason you think. I have convinced Irene, and almost convinced Katrina, that I do not WISH to have a sixteen inch waist measurement. While I do admit I look magnificent laced down to such small dimensions, it does not suit my needs to have my abdominal and lower back muscles weakened as they would be were I to continue such tight figure training. We have agreed that I shall keep a nominal 19 to 20 inch waist with a lacing down to 17 to 18 inches for special occasions. Now all I must do is convince Katrina that waking up in the morning is NOT a special occasion. Irene's fencing lessons with me will keep those muscles strong so that when I go to face Moriarty, I will have the necessary freedom of movement to do what must be done. Katrina's question was if she could resume "properly seeing to your middle once this foolishness is over." I think, my friend, that I shall have to work long and hard to find a reason she will find adequate NOT to lace as she becomes dreamy-eyed whenever she mentions the words "sixteen", "inches" and "waist" in a single sentence that refers to me. And I will have a very difficult time denying her that pleasure, because perhaps the most incredible experience of all is that I have, for the first time in either of my two lives, made love with another person. Katrina to be precise. I must tell you, that I do not recall as much of it as I would wish, but what I do remember is delightful beyond my poor ability with words to describe adequately. I now know, John, or at least have glimpsed, what you must have shared and then sadly lost with your Mary. Nothing Sherlock experienced in his life compares to what I felt last night. It is something akin to being blind from birth and waking up one morning with perfect vision. I know that this expression of physical love between two female creatures is a violation of the laws of man and church, John, but am I truly a woman? Certainly a great deal of me is, and becoming more so by the day, but I am still the sum total of what once was Sherlock Holmes, a man. Do I make love with my body or with my mind? A pretty puzzle, eh? I shall consider it, but I shall not deny myself the pleasure and the love I have found in Katrina's arms while I do so. The last thing I have learned is that there has been far, far, far too little love in my life. .. lives, and I never before knew how great that lack truly was. I shall not give it up now that I have discovered it. However, the most important thing I have to tell you is that Katrina and Irene gave me a new violin today, a truly beautiful instrument. We spent the better part of the afternoon in the music room making music together. I must say, John, that this was the most lovely afternoon I can ever remember. Certainly far better than any I endured as a child. Even the challenge of a stimulating investigation never soothed to my inner spirit as did those few hours spent making music and friendship. Good night, John. It is time for the evening meal. End of Journal Entry.
