A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
"And then, after our little confrontation over tea, I left you and your companion and returned to England." Sherla concluded her recitation of two of the cases in which Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss Irene Adler had crossed paths. Irene took a sip of her now-cold coffee. They'd sat here in the bedroom talking non-stop for almost six hours and the once hot beverages and bread had long since cooled to room temperature. Keeping her face expressionless, Irene regarded the lovely young woman seated opposite her. The flannel nightgown draped too long on her petite frame, but still enough was revealed to make any claim of erstwhile masculinity seem absurd. Nonetheless, Irene was surprised to find herself beginning to believe at least part of the girl's story. The Bohemian affair was one thing. That damned weak-spined monarch had been involved in much of the affair, including the finale outside Mr. Holmes' Baker Street rooms. But the second affair had taken place after Irene's supposed death on a train in the Alps. To the best of her knowledge, only a very few people knew more than a few bits and pieces of that case; her husband, her companion and best friend, two young people who had been living in America for the past two decades and Holmes. *Of course, the answer that she is his daughter might still apply. He could have told her all about that case, and she obviously takes after him in intellect if not looks - lucky girl - but that still begs the greater question. Why try to convince me she's Holmes? Holmes' letter was correct, as was her journal entry - I would have taken the girl in if only to solve the puzzle she poses for me.* Then, another thought came to Irene. *Is this one of Holmes' famous stratagems? One designed to ensure my curiosity is well and truly piqued so that I will aid her? If so, it fails the simplicity test rather badly. And it is all predicated on me believing that she is at least Holmes' daughter. Surely, he could have designed a far simpler means of engaging my interest.* Irene considered that again, and then said as much to Sherla who shrugged. "I am afraid, Miss Adler, that I have been dealing with such a great deal of new and difficult things over the past fortnight, that I was forced to go with the very simplest of stratagems." "Simplest? How in heaven's name could this," and her extravagant gesture took in the entire room, but began and ended on Sherla herself, "EVER be considered simple?" "When it is the solemn, God's own truth, ma'am," Sherla said softly yet firmly. *Well, she doesn't blink at that statement,* Irene thought. *Heaven only knows how anyone could make such an impossible story sound feasible, but she has. Girl ought to be out trodding the boards as an actress.* "I see," said Irene. "So, if I am to understand what comes next, you will suffer another relapse of those appalling shakes and fever you had last night, but without the drug that relieves your distress?" "While at the same time taking nearly a chronological year from my age each time. Yes, that is true." "I see. So this Moriarty fellow said that this time the final, unrelieved effects will be fatal?" Sherla began to answer the question automatically, but then stopped herself. Irene watched with quiet fascination as the girl's face became serenely blank as something triggered deep in her mind. *Now *THAT* is a look I have seen before,* Irene told herself. *Once on Holmes but most often in my own mirror when some little fact or idea connects to some other, seemingly incompatible one. I wonder what she will say next?* "Actually," Sherla finally said, her voice very thoughtful, "What he said was that his lab animals went quite mad and that only of few of them had the good fortune to die quickly." "Now that is a very interesting statement," Irene said. "The obvious interpretation is one thing, but a careful analysis of the words might lead to another interpretation. That might be an accident or it might be very clever wording." Sherla only nodded before continuing. "In a letter he left for me at one of his old hiding places, he told me that he had no need to kill me twice, that I was already a dead man." "Well, you certainly are not a man, if you ever truly were, young lady. Still, another fascinating bit of wordplay that could mean many things. All we really know is that his lab animals went insane and that an unknown percentage of them died early in the process. I would say, Miss . . . oh bother, I am going to call you Miss Holmes just to have something to call you by - I would say that you are not a lower animal. You are obviously intelligent and determined. I would think that you could survive this withdrawal given sufficient purpose. Is another chance at your Professor Moriarty sufficient purpose for you?" "Please, Ma'am, call me Sherla." "Then you may, for the time being, call me Irene. Now, answer my question." "It wasn't enough before, Miss. . I mean, Irene. I always broke down and used the drug." "But you do not have the drug anymore, so you need something else. Is your hatred for this man you call 'evil incarnate' sufficient? To at least try? I would prefer not to be told to shoot you in the head like a horse with a broken leg." That brought forth a soft chuckle from Sherla. *At least she doesn't giggle,* Irene thought with some satisfaction. "I would prefer you not to do that as well. Actually, I don't know that I hate him, Irene. Hatred is an emotion, and I have always distrusted and attempted to control my emotions. I feel duty bound to stop him before he has the opportunity to cause great harm and destruction to civilization." "Are you willing to try, Sherla?" Irene asked. "If you are concerned, we can restrain you to the bed so that you cannot harm us or yourself in your madness. Perhaps you will burn it out of your system." "For an opportunity to deal with Moriarty once and for all? I'd give myself over to Torquemada himself, Irene. But I do have one stipulation." "What is it?" Irene asked softly. "I want you armed. I know. . . or rather, I used to know a number of ways to escape bindings. If I am mad and I do escape, I want you to be able to defend yourself." Irene thought about that and nodded. Smiling, she lifted her right hand, palm inward and pointing towards Sherla. Irene snapped her fingers, jerking the hand downward. When she brought it back up, the tiny .25 caliber revolver was in her hand. Sherla smiled at the older woman. "So that is why you wear such unfashionably loose sleeves. A wrist holster, perhaps?" "Very good!" Irene congratulated. I used to keep a derringer in a hidden pocket of my muff, but this little beauty is just as deadly and has five shots to my derringer's two. If it will make you feel better, Sherla, I will have this will me when we work to see you through your ordeal." "It would, thank you," Sherla said fervently. "Very well, then. Shall we see about something more substantial? I am fair starved. KATRINA?" Irene suddenly called. "Oui, Madame?" the little maid's response was so fast that there was little doubt where she'd been. Irene winked at Sherla. "We need a nice hot luncheon, please. Some broiled fish, perhaps, with steamed vegetables." Katrina made a quick curtsy and then hurried off to the kitchen. "Don't worry about Katrina, my dear. She is nosy, but she keeps my secrets. I have found her most useful in some of my more. . .sensitive domestic inquiries." "She is very pretty," Sherla ventured. "And she knows it, too, the saucy little minx, but very intelligent, also. A beautiful, confident and intelligent woman is a very dangerous creature, Miss Holmes. You might do well to remember that should you have occasion to face down your "father's" archenemy again. Now, come, let's get you cleaned up for lunch. I've let you lay-a-bed quite long enough!" ~--------------~ Sherla wanted to groan with frustration. The lightly broiled fish and colorful medley of steamed vegetables had tasted wonderful - from what little she'd been able to eat. Irene had laced her back into the corset while helping her dress, and she seemed to of the same mind on the art of corsetry as Jenny - the tighter the better. Except on her own person, Sherla had noticed and had been quick to mention. "Ordinarily, I wear my corset when in public. I was planning a day at home and saw no need to wear one. However, when I *do* wear one, I wear it far tighter than you can wear that thing," she had said with disdain. "Damned English insist on torturing their women and calling it fashion. If you are to be here any length of time, Sherla, we will must needs have you fitted for proper foundation garments. You will be amazed at how much more slender, yet comfortable a properly fitted corset can be." "COMFORTABLE?!?" Sherla had squeaked. "By comparison in any case," Irene had conceded. "A well-sized corset could lace you down to the same waist measurement as the one you are currently wearing, and cause you less discomfort than if we loosened this devil's garment by two inches or more." "In that case, why not wait until I can be properly fitted? Why can I not dress as you are doing the meantime?" *I*," Irene had answered with a haughty aristocratic air that would have suited a grand duchess, "am no longer a debutante and ingenue who must fit into the current fashion of the day that seems designed in the belief that a woman should be cut in the middle to make two parts. You, young miss, if we continue this adventure, will be placed in such a role." "ME?!?!" Sherla squeaked, barely able to get in enough air to support that much sound. "You," Irene had replied with a wicked grin. "You will need to be able to move freely. . . or at least, as freely as women can in this society. That corset will do to keep your waist in training until such time as we have procured better for you." Sherla had eyed Irene's figure and found it not at all full, and sniffed. "Then perhaps one of the disguises I must perfect first is my elderly woman guise," she said with careful emphasis. "If it works so well for you, that is." "Oh, that was well done, Sherla!" Irene had enthused, "Just the perfect touch of cattiness to make it sting. Which makes me think that you have always been a woman, . . " and her words drifted off. "Or what, Irene," Sherla asked cautiously. "Or that you should have been one," Irene had said with a chuckle. "Now, come and eat." Despite the banter between the two, the specter of Sherla's coming ordeal was never far from either woman's thoughts. Several times Irene found herself censoring some comment about the future or revising a thought that might indicate Sherla would not be with her after the coming night. Sherla, with the perception that had seen her through many a difficult investigation, caught each hesitancy, each break in the conversation. "You don't have to cosset me, Irene," she finally said. "I have accepted my fate. I had accepted it when I made the decision to come to you instead of trying to find Moriarty." Irene searched the lovely young face, looking for some sign of doubt or fear, but found only serenity and a calm determination. *How can one so young speak of her own death with such equanimity?* she asked herself, not for the first time. *The only answers that present themselves are that she is insane, that she is acting and knows she won't die, or that she is exactly who and what she says she is. I don't think she is insane, and for the life of me, I cannot imagine a reason for this charade if that is truly what this is. That leaves the third possibility. My word, but, I think I almost believe her, and that means she is going to die in my house tonight after going mad first. If that does happen - if this young woman IS Holmes and she dies such a horrid death tonight, then no power on earth will protect this Moriarty fiend from me.* "That must have been a difficult decision for you, Sherla," Irene said softly. Sherla shrugged. "You've seen the beginnings of the madness. I would be less than useless against him in that condition even if I do survive with my intellect destroyed. He has beaten me," the words were so simply said that Irene had to resist going over to comfort the girl, "But as long as I can turn the case over to someone like you or the Belgian, he has not yet won the war." "So like the runner at Marathon, you come to me?" Irene asked. "As I said earlier, you are the best choice. You've bested me so you are capable of besting him." Silence ensued after that and the two women sat sipping their wine. Finally, Irene had to ask. "Do you know when to expect the withdrawal to begin." "Soon, I think. A full dose was good for about a day, and reducing the volume administered seemed to reduce the time between attacks proportionately. Ten to fourteen hours from the time you injected me, I should think." "That is very soon," Irene said."Sherla, my statement earlier about restraining you to the bed?" Sherla nodded her recollection. "I think we should consider that option carefully. If you were bound to the bed so that you could do no harm to yourself, you might be better able to withstand the symptoms until they burn themselves out. It may well be that the madness actually induces the subject to suicide. Who knows, perhaps the madness, in and of itself, is only temporary, but no one knows that one way or the other because the suicide is permanent." "I had not considered that possibility," Sherla said softly. "I had only thought of the restraints as a means to protect you while I fought against the madness. You would still be armed, so that if I broke free, I would do you no injury?" Irene nodded solemnly. "It is worth a try, I suppose. I truly despise simply surrendering this way. Very well, let us see to the necessary preparations, for I think the need for them will be soon.
