A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Fortunately for Sherla's sanity, the snow ended early the next morning. "Only a scant yard's worth of snow, not even a whole meter," she murmured just loud enough that Irene was able to overhear. "Surely it shouldn't take them long to clear the roads and trails." Irene had to hurry from the room to keep from laughing aloud. But there was precious little motion outside the frosted window of their suite that morning, and not much more in the hotel's common dining room when they made their midday meal. It had become quite apparent that the quick clearing hoped for by Sherla would not be forthcoming anytime soon. "But Maman, this place is so isolated," Sherla complained as she fumed about not be able to move about and prosecute her inquiries. "How will we ever find anyone to talk with, to ask . . ." A sudden cue from Irene caught her eye. "There are plenty of people to ask such things, my dear," Irene said easily, "Such as our most gracious host. Good afternoon, Herr Schmidt," Irene said with a smile for the approaching innkeeper. "A most delightful luncheon." "Thank you, Frau Huxley," the jovial man responded using the false name Irene had selected for their disguise. "I will tell my wife you enjoyed her cooking. And you, Fraulein Cheryl, did you not enjoy your luncheon?" He gave her such an exaggeratedly concerned look that Sherla laughed in spite of her frustration. "It was delightful, Mein Herr, and well you know it," she said, batting her eyes flirtatiously. "So why aren't you happy at my lovely hotel, Fraulein, eh?" Irene gave Sherla a sharp kick beneath the table and a quick stern look to remind her of her role. "It is just that we have been snowed in since we arrived, and lovely as your hotel surely is," she hesitated and the thought of what Irene expected her to say brought a rosy blush to her cheeks, "It's just that. . that there are so few b. . . I mean, people my own age here. . . to talk to, that is." "She means BOYS, Mother," Katrina/Karl sing-songed in her best pestering-little-brother voice. "Shut UP, brat!" Sherla snarled, glaring at her "little brother." "Karl" stuck out his tongue in response. "Thank god there are so few boys about," Irene said sotto voce, much the obvious amusement of the innkeeper. "Children, behave yourselves! Cheryl, we do not tell people to "Shut up" - where do you pick up these awful phrases? And Karl, don't stick out your tongue. It's vulgar." "Yes, Mother!" they chorused while still glaring at one another. Visibly composing herself, Sherla turned her attention back to the paternally grinning host. "So, Mein Herr, when do you think we shall be able to go out and move about your beautiful city?" "Well, Fraulein Cheryl, if you were to brave the foul winds and cold, you might be able to move about a little after luncheon. Most of the merchants have cleared paths to their doors and to the path of their neighbors. Although, I do not know if your lovely skirts will fit yet, as the paths are sadly very narrow. The wind blows still and fills in the paths as quickly as they can be cleared." "But what about the roads?" Sherla had pressed. "I am afraid, Mademoiselle, that the roads will not be cleared for perhaps one or two days after the winds ease." "One or two DAYS?!?" Sherla nearly shrieked. "After the winds ease," the innkeeper had replied, a bit of a smile on his face. "But, but. . . That's," "As must be, dear," Irene said firmly, putting a cautioning hand on Sherla's wrist. "What can be done will be done as soon as it can be done." "But, Mother," Sherla protested, remembering at the last second to let a petulant whine into her voice. "If I don't get out of this . . .," and with a pause she looked up and smiled fetchingly at her host, then continued, "very nice hotel, what will I DO?" Irene's glare owed more to her skill from years on the stage than any real anger, but it looked quite impressive nonetheless. "Cheryl, if you cannot find something that will occupy your mind and your hands, then I'm sure I can find something for you to do. Or perhaps Herr Schmidt would appreciate some help in his kitchens, if you have so much energy to spare." Herr Schmidt interrupted whatever response Sherla might have made with a rich, booming laugh. "Thank you very much, Frau Huxley, but I would not dream of taking advantage of the Fraulein that way. Besides, if she were in the kitchen, then so would be all the stable boys, and then where would I be?" Leaving that question hanging in the air, surrounded by yet another booming laugh, the hotel owner wandered on to visit other of his snowbound guests. One single glance back, rewarded with a most fetching pout on Sherla's full lips, and his round belly shook with poorly suppressed mirth. Once they were alone in the room, Irene turned a hard eye on Sherla. "You have to get control of your frustration, Sherla. It calls attention to you and that is the last thing we need. Where is this famous rational control you used to pride yourself about?" Sherla started to make a sharp retort, and then reconsidered. "You are in the right of it, Maman," she said, just a bit shamefaced. "I shall do better. I just wish we could be done with this entire affair. I want him stopped, once and for all." "Which you cannot accomplish in this mood. We will find him. Our plan is sound." "I just wish we could do something," Sherla sighed. "And so we can, since there are paths dug out of the snow," Irene said, her eyes twinkling. "But how? A flirt such as I would not dream of soiling her lovely skirts on those snowy streets without proper, cleared paths." "Nor would a woman of mature years such as I, my dear, but a rough and tumble young lad such as Karl must be simply *itching* to get outside into the snow." Katrina's eyes went wide in surprise. "ME? Out. . THERE?!?" At Irene's complacent nod, Karl/Katrina shook her head. "I itch, all right, Maman, but it is because of these wooly trousers. Why ever would I want to go out in that wind and snow when there is a warm fire in our room and hot chocolate for the asking?" "Why, to deliver a telegram for my husband to the train station. It should be fairly empty of people today and you could make a quick examination of the premises." "But Irene," Sherla put in, "You are here as Madame Huxley. To whom will they deliver the telegram? The last thing we need is a love note returned as undeliverable." "One of the individuals who has assisted me in the past has been forewarned to expect such messages from Madame Irene Huxley," Irene said with a slight grin, "and he will then forward them, unopened, to my darling husband. So, we can use our Karl for this little reconnaissance without worry about the delivery end of our little stratagem." "A most excellent notion," Sherla enthused. "It is NOT!" Katrina refuted, but she could tell she'd already lost the battle. "Let's go upstairs right now and get you bundled up," Sherla said excitedly, "And remember to walk like a boy swinging your shoulders and not those lovely hips. You have to THINK *boyish*." "I'll give you boyish," Katrina snarled in her ear. "Well, yes, you did that quite well actually, the night of the ball," Sherla said with a smirk. But her own memories brought a blush to her cheeks that was not at all play-acting. Katrina's mouth dropped open, but she realized she would be hard-pressed to find a suitable rejoinder to her so-beautiful lover. Especially since that comment had forcibly wrenched her own thoughts into an entirely different channel. By the time she realized how she had been manipulated, Sherla was already holding out her coat and muffler. "I'll get you for this, ma petite," Katrina promised, but the promise in her eyes showed an entirely different punishment than she might have considered just a few moments before. "Promise?" Sherla whispered back. Irene decided she had better intercede or the trip with the telegram would be quite delayed. "Both of you, behave, or I will be the one making promises." "Why Irene, I thought you'd never offer," Sherla said, her throaty contralto holding no hint of childishness. It was a good thing they were in their room, because Katrina's giggle held no hint of masculinity. Or was it Irene's own laugh that resounded down the hall? Cringing ostentatiously in apparent fear, Katrina's good humor lasted while they bundled her up, if not much longer. She sighed in defeat and allowed the two women to escort her to the front door of the hotel. ~-------------~ The wind blew fiercely, catching up the fallen snow and lashing the flakes about like so many icy blades. Katrina cursed under her breath as a particularly cutting blast sliced in between her chin and the woolen muffler. Grimly, she put her head down and pressed on into the wind, her only thought to get to the train station and out of the brutal winds. "It will be a simple trip, Katrina," she fumed remembering Sherla's smiling encouragement. "You'll be there in no time at all, Katrina. Don't you remember how quickly we got here from the train station, Katrina? Of course, we were in a horse-drawn sleigh and the storm had barely started. NEXT time, SHE can be the boy. After all, doesn't she have more practice at it?" Another gust of wind lashed at her, chilling her to the bone. "And with her figure, she's better padded and insulated against this cold than I am. A whole life as a woman and she gets a better figure than I have in less than two months." Katrina stepped into the recessed entrance of one shop in search of momentary relief from the ferocious weather while she checked her location. She thought back to just a half hour ago, trying to remember the directions the innkeeper had given "Karl" when told the boy was going to the station. Peering through the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the snow, she found the confectioner's shop that the innkeeper had given her as a landmark. Katrina pulled her chin down deeper into the woolen muffler and wrapped the greatcoat tighter around her before stepping back into the cleared path - nearly knocking over another brave soul fighting his way through the howling winds. *That was close. I'd have probably ended up in one of those snow drifts and not been found again until spring.* Then another thought struck her. *Suppose he'd heard me complaining? That would have been very difficult to explain and would likely have ruined Tante Irene's and Sherla's entire plan. Time to keep your mouth shut, Katrina.* *Stupid male clothing,* Katrina fumed silently as the cold wind buffeted her. *Women can simply put on another petticoat or two or three. Can a man put on more trousers? Not bloody likely. If I really were a man, I'd be freezing that defining part of me off out here. At least the shoulder padding Sherla put on me to make me look more masculine is helping against the wind and that awful sticking plaster she put across my bottom to make me remember not to swing my hips is gone.* Katrina shuddered when she recalled the last time the three inch wide, eighteen inch long piece of sticky cloth had been ripped from her bottom. *Next time,* Katrina promised herself again, *That little witch gets to freeze. I will be the girl and SHE can be the boy. Just wait until I get my hands on her. . .if they're thawed enough to get a grip on her." She was still planning her dire revenge when the sign for the Brezel train station suddenly appeared in the blowing snow. Moving as quickly as her freezing trousers would permit, Katrina raced for the door. With a huge sigh of relief, she slipped inside. The sudden change in temperature made her momentarily lightheaded and she barely kept herself from falling by leaning against the nearest wall. Fortunately, the place was nearly deserted, so her lapse went unobserved. "Act boyish, she says," Katrina muttered and then began stalking toward the iron-grilled pay window. A man of slender build and thinning hair got up from a desk and came over to the window at her approach. "Trains won't be running for another two or three days according to the latest telegrams from up the line. If you are here to buy tickets, you have made the trip in vain, boy." "Thank you, sir, but I am here for my Maman who wishes to send a message to my Papa and let him know we have arrived safely," Katrina replied, reaching into the pockets of her great coat to remove a somewhat crumpled envelope which she pushed beneath the metal bars. "My Maman would like that sent to Paris as soon as possible, sir." The station master opened the envelope, read it and nodded. "I can send this now, young man. ." he looked up, expectantly. "Karl, sir, Karl Huxley." "I am Herr Loche, Karl. If you want to go warm yourself by the stove over there, I will call you when I have a receipt from the receiving office." "Danke, Herr Loche. It was very cold outside and I have never seen weather like this before." "Well, it is a very cold wind. You get warm and I will see to this." *Praise the Lord if the other station does not answer for at least an hour or so. It will take that long for me to get warm.* ~------------~ It did not take nearly that long, but then, it did not take nearly that long for Katrina to thaw, either. Soon, she was warm enough to shed her coat and nose about the small station house. Clearly, there was not enough room for much in the way of cargo or other materials to be stored in the building, which indicated that a separate storage facility was required. She'd have to find that place, but not today. The only place she was going after that message was receipted was back to the hotel. Yes, she was headed back to the hotel and hot chocolate, to the warm fires and even warmer arms of her loving Ma'amselle Cherie.. And best of all, she would be going downwind the whole way, too. That ought to cut her travel time in that hellish cold in half. "Young Herr Huxley?" the station master called. "Yes sir?" "I have the receipt for your mother's message. It will be delivered to your father's home within the hour. Here is your Mother's copy." Herr Loche said, holding out a sealed envelope. "Her change is in the envelope as well." Katrina took the envelope, executed a small bow as Sherla had taught her, and donned her coat, hat and muffler. She waved a farewell to Herr Loche and went outside. Her first thought was that it had gotten warmer during her time inside the station. Then, she realized that the winds had died down. "Thank heaven," she breathed as she turned towards the hotel. She hadn't gone more than a few meters when something hard struck her in the back of her head. Seeing stars, Katrina spun on her heel to see what had happened only to catch a face another missile flush in her chest. A boy, who'd been hiding behind a small mountain of piled snow, came out to face her, laughing. "Got you good!" he crowed as he reached into the snow to form another snowy missile. He threw this one and Katrina managed to dodge it, but did not retaliate. "Hey," he called, "What's the matter? Don't you know how to play snowballs?" "Snowballs?" Katrina shouted back. "What's that?" "We make balls out of the snow, like this," he called back as he demonstrated, "And then we throw them at each other, like THIS!" he shouted as he let fly the ball he'd just formed. That ball caught Katrina just beneath her muffler, sending cold snow down beneath the collar of her coat. "Let me see if I have this right," she retorted forming her own ball and letting it fly in a weak little loft that her intended target could easily have dodged, were it not already so far wide of her mark. "HAH! You throw like a girl. Didn't your Papa ever teach you how to throw?" *Uh oh,* Katrina thought, *Can't be caught out this quickly over something like this!* "Ummm, no. My Papa is always away on business and I've never learned this game. It doesn't snow like this at home." The boy came closer. "That's sad. Hey, I can show you how to throw. It really is easy. My name's Erich, by the way, Erich Loche." "Oh? Your Papa is the station master? My Name is Ka . . umm Karl. Karl Huxley," she answered, momentarily stuttering over the new, still unfamiliar name. "You're shivering," Erich charged. "Guess you aren't used to this type of weather. Tell you what. You go home and get warmed up. Tomorrow, I will come and teach you to throw, all right?" "All . . all right," Katrina shivered out, exaggerating the breaks in her voice. "I am staying at the hotel up the road until my Maman can find us a place to live up here." "Great. I will see you tomorrow after breakfast, Karl. Tell you what. I will walk you back. I bet you don't know the short cut back to the hotel. I'll have you there in half the time." ~------------~ "Excellent work, Katrina," Sherla cheered. "Your new friend will be an excellent resource for us and a better cover for you. Now you have a reason to spend time in the vicinity of the train station without anyone being the wiser of your true intent." Katrina was not so certain, but knew better than to voice her worries to the very pleased Sherla. "Tante Irene," she began, "I don't know if I can carry off this masquerade so close to a real adolescent boy. He has already decided that I throw like a girl. Suppose there are other boy-type activities that I do like a girl? How soon before he decides that I must BE a girl?" "Oh, Katrina, . " Sherla began to protest, only to be cut off by Irene. "Sherla!" Irene snapped before turning a gentler mein to the daughter of her heart. "Dear, you are right to be concerned, but Sherla is also correct in her assessment of the opportunity this acquaintance provides. You must try, at least, to befriend this boy." "And if he discovers I am really a woman?" Irene shrugged. "Hopefully he will not, but if he does, you still will have had the opportunity to find out things we need to know in the meantime. We will then use our planned story to explain why you are dressed and asked to behave like a boy. Most men will believe it. All right?" Katrina wanted to say no, but then she glanced at the entreaty in Sherla's eyes and knew she could not deny her lover this. Sighing deeply, she nodded her acquiescence. "But, my love," Sherla added, "We will have to start using the sticking plaster for you have been walking with a hip swing again." "I have not!" Katrina retorted, dreading that awful tightness that made even the most restrictive corset seem comfortable by comparison. "Of course you have," Sherla said confidently. "Look at that bit of packed snow that you tracked in, formed between the heel of your boot and the outer sole. It is thicker where the outer edge of the sole meets the heel than on the inner edge. Obviously, you are leading with your toe and instep on each stride. You have been touching toe first like a woman instead of heel first like a boy. I would wager any amount that if we were to go outside and check your tracks in the snow, you have been putting one foot in front of the other, too, also indicative of a hip-swing." "We will see about THAT," Katrina said, her temper showing as she pulled on her coat and stormed out the door of their suite. "Brilliant deduction, my dear Sherla," Irene said, her golden eyes twinkling in mischief. A spate of foul language announced Katrina's return to the suite's outer room. "Well, at least she is learning to curse like a boy, and I cannot even discipline her for it since she is working SO hard to stay in role." "You were correct, ma petite," Katrina said as she let herself back into the sitting room. Her tone of voice provided almost enough warning for the Great Detective. Almost. "And this is what Erich showed me," Katrina said, tossing a softly-compacted ball of snow at Sherla's unfairly-dry hair. Unfortunately, her aim was not much better with Sherla than with Erich. Or perhaps it was because Sherla was rising and turning toward Katrina as she entered the room, but the snowball struck a few inches lower than the trousered member of their group had intended. And squarely into the so-very-feminine decolletage of Sherla's evening dress. "Oops," gasped Katrina. The gasp was matched by Irene, who had risen quickly herself in a not-entirely-successful attempt to avoid the scattering snow. Sherla, on the other hand, emitted a squeal far to outraged to be considered a gasp as she tried to scoop the freezing white snow from her cleavage. "I'm sorry, Sherla," Katrina tried to explain, backpedaling away from the so-petite, yet so-fiery brunette. "Hoohaahahah," Irene burst out, unable to control herself any longer. Her rich, uninhibited laughter pulled Sherla up short, looking from her intended target to the total lack of sympathy from her supposed benefactor. "Irene, this is not funny," she snapped, as she fired off the remnants of Katrina's snowball at the older woman who showed considerable agility in dodging Sherla's not-girlishly-hurled missile. "Oh, I don't know. I think it's wonderfully hilarious," Irene managed to get out, before being overcome with laughter again. "I, . . ," but before Sherla could say anymore, her own laughter spilled out, destroying any potential for further intimidation of Katrina. Smiling hugely, Sherla went over to hug her lover. "You truly are doing fine, sweetheart. You just need a little help smoothing out the rough edges of your characterization. Perhaps we can find something less. . . tacky than the bottom plaster to help you to remember to swing something other than those gorgeous hips." "Oh, you," Katrina said, her mood improving. "You know I will wear it if you think it best." "Wonderful!" Sherla said as she embraced Katrina tighter. "Just remember, darling. Think boyish!"
