A Study in Satin

by Tigger
© 2000, all rights reserved

 

Part I: Semper Cogitus

Chapter 11. Truly Right and Fitting

 

Sherlock Holmes felt utterly naked and exposed - a feeling, he acknowledged to himself, that was utterly ridiculous as he had rarely worn so many layers heavy clothing nor had so much of his skin covered at one in his life.

He was standing outside a small shop on the fringe of fashionable London - Madame Jeanne Marie's Quality Couture - dressed from the skin out in women's clothing. In the past when Holmes had found it necessary to pose as a woman, such as in the case Watson had glaringly titled the "Adventure of the Mazarin Stone", he'd always dispensed with the voluminous and exceedingly uncomfortable undergarments English Society mandated for women in favor of more comfortable attire. Unfortunately, Holmes was here to buy women's clothing which meant he would undergo that torturous and barbaric custom known as a fitting.

Holmes had chosen this shop for two reasons. First, it was a fair distance from Baker Street so it was unlikely anyone here would run into him in the near future. Second, he knew Madam Jeanne Marie from an old case that had never been told in one of Watson's anthologies. It had been a momentarily diverting case involving blackmail and royalty. One of the blackmailer's victims was the former Mistress of a Duke who had, in turn, asked Holmes to deal with the situation.

Jenny, or rather, Madame Jeanne Marie had been another of the blackmailer's intended victims. Furious, she'd immediately offered to cooperate with Holmes in setting a trap. The villain of that piece had been the Duke's younger brother, a complete wastrel who had needed funds to pay off gambling debts incurred to some very dangerous people.

In the course of that investigation, Holmes had been very impressed with Madame Jeanne Marie. She was a very intelligent woman who had, in her youth, invested her only marketable asset carefully and wisely. In an earlier time, the young, witty and gorgeous Jenny Deaver would have been described by London Society as being a member of the Demimonde, or perhaps less kindly as being some man's "bit o' muslin". The fact of the matter was that she, like the Duke's blackmailed friend, had been a professional mistress, a kept woman for whatever wealthy man was willing to house her, clothe her and provide her with "gifts" such as fine jewels in return for her intimate favors.

Unlike many of her peers who had lived lavishly for the moment and then became destitute when their looks began to fade, Jenny had ruthlessly hoarded her "gifts" and had then used that accumulated wealth to escape that lifestyle. One day, she'd simply disappeared from the London scene completely.

A year later, Madame Jeanne Marie had opened her dress shop. Since men rarely attended their ladies on their shopping trips, the chance of the Madame Jeanne Marie nee Jenny Deaver meeting a former protector in her new guise was highly unlikely. Her little shop prospered which was another reason she'd been targeted by the Duke's brother, and while it was not quite as lucrative as her former profession, the fact that she did not have to pander the egos of doddering old fools or submit sweetly to arrogant young rakehells more than compensated for the difference. She was well content with her new lot in life.

Madame Jeanne Marie was well known among the less affluent nobility for selling quality, fashionable dresses and gowns at a fair price. She was also known among the somewhat more affluent ladies of Society for buying dresses and gowns that these estimable women no longer wanted or that they could no longer corset themselves into. She would then turn around and sell such 'secondhand' finery to her customers at a fraction of what a Bond Street "modiste" would charge for comparable new garments. Many young debutantes, whose financial situation might otherwise have forced them to forego a London Season, made their entre into English Society's infamous Marriage Mart having first passed through the doors of Madame Jeanne Marie's shop.

That was the second reason Holmes had sought out this shop. Holmes needed stylish dresses that fit properly if his plan to gain access to his accounts at the Bank of England were to succeed. Those could be obtained here, and Madame had a staff of qualified seamstresses, most of whom were highly skilled with Mr. Singer's sewing machine, who could quickly alter a new day gown to fit Holmes properly.

Unfortunately, the part of Holmes that was still male was finding the concept of having a gaggle of chattering, giggling women with sharp pins swarming about him, sticking said pins into cloth that was very tight about his body, rather daunting. Holmes had never much cared for visiting his tailor, and *this* promised to be far worse than that mind-numbingly boring experience.

Holmes was trying to build up his courage when a bell ringing announced the opening of the shop door. "May I help you, Miss?" a pleasant voice with a slight French accent asked. Holmes closed his eyes and nodded. Silently, he reached into Mary Watson's black reticule he had borrowed from his old friend's rooms at Baker Street, and withdrew a note which he passed to Madame Jeanne Marie. She looked at the envelope and her eyes went momentarily wide.

"Well," the older woman said briskly and without a trace of a French accent, "Don't just stand there out in the cold, Miss. Come in, come in."

Holmes was motioned to a small table where tea and cakes were laid out. Madame indicated that he was to serve himself as she opened and read the letter. Holmes knew the contents since he had written it personally, careful to ensure that his handwriting looked as much like his old neat and precise script as he could manage with his new, smaller fingers.

Dear Madame,

I hope this missive finds you well and prosperous. It pains me to bring this up but I find that I do not know where else to turn. Once long ago, you told me that if you could ever do me a service, I had but to ask.

The young woman who brought this message to you is Miss Joan Hanks. She is a professional home nurse who has been assigned to my case by Dr. March. I am very much afraid that I am now bedridden and likely to remain that way. That said, I have certain duties, financial and otherwise, that I must attend to in short order.

Miss Hanks has graciously offered to act as my agent in these matters. She is a very intelligent young woman, and would do admirably in this regard except for the matter of her manner of dress. You know, as do I, that many lesser souls unfairly judge others by such superficial methods as the quality and fit of their clothing.

Enclosed in this envelope you will find forty pounds which I took from my household petty cash account. Please outfit Miss Hanks as you deem suitable for a young woman of business. If these funds are insufficient, I must tell you that Miss Hanks first mission is to visit the Bank of England on my behalf so let that guide your selections.

I am,

Yours Most Sincerely,

S. Holmes.

221B Baker Street

London

Madame looked up from the stationary, and there was a suspicious brightness about her eyes. She dabbed at them delicately with a lacy handkerchief and then coughed to clear her throat. "Should I infer, Miss Hanks, that based upon what Mr. Holmes has not said in this letter that his condition is very serious?"

Holmes nodded gravely. "Mr. Holmes directed me to answer any of your questions, otherwise I would be unable to answer such a personal question. Mr. Holmes condition is extremely serious, Ma'am. He will not be among us much longer."

"I see," Madame answered, the tears now flowing freely and cutting dark tracks through her face powder. "That is very sad for he was. . .*is* a remarkable man."

"He spoke very highly of you, Ma'am, and asked me to tell you that he was most sorry he is not allowed visitors for he would have enjoyed seeing you one more time."

"Really?" Madame asked. Miss Hanks nodded. "I wish I had known that. I . . .well, I would have tried just a bit harder to lure him into a bit of pleasure that time in . . " She stopped herself short, blushing. "Well, no need to go into that. Suffice to say he wasn't interested in me, nor I suspect, in any woman that way."

Holmes was momentarily stunned to find out that this woman had once tried to seduce him. Even now, in her late forties, she was still a very attractive woman. How could he, the great Sherlock Holmes, the finest observer of detail in the known world, have not realized that this experienced, sensual woman had wanted to make love with him? *Perhaps because you never thought about such matters of the flesh, Holmes?* he asked himself rhetorically, and then continued, *and more interestingly, why do I think I would notice and be rather responsive to the idea now? Most peculiar.*

In the meantime, Madame had shaken off her tears and had begun to assess the young woman across from her. *Well, she might be halfway attractive if she knew what she was doing, but she obviously doesn't. Bit of a little brown wren. Much too plain for any really colorful plumage, but that isn't what Holmes asked for in any case. "A young woman of business" he said. Well, we'll see what we can do to make her a bit more taking in her looks. She has nice eyes if you can just get past that nose. What about her figure?*

"Well, come along, girl," Madame ordered. "Let's measure you and see what you've got. Give me your bonnet and reticule and I will lock them up in my desk," she held out her hands to take the requested items and then turned her head toward a bead-curtained passage at the back of the shop, "MAISIE?!" she bellowed.

A small, cream complexioned redhead put her head through the hanging beads. "Oui, Madame?" she responded in a pathetic attempt at French.

"Oh, don't worry about those French airs, Maisie, this one is a friend. Get your measuring tape and pin cushion. I'm going to repay an old debt by helping Miss Hanks here with her wardrobe."

"Back in a jiff, Miss Jenny," the redhaired pixie said with a huge smile, and then disappeared back through the curtain.

"And bring my decanter of medicinal French brandy, too." Madame yelled after the girl. Then, with a smile that Holmes found very unnerving, she turned back to face her customer. "So," Madame Jeanne Marie said, "Let's see what I have in stock that will suit you, Miss Hanks. . . Oh, may I call you Joan? And please, do call me Jenny."

"I. . . I would be honored, Mada. . I mean, Jenny," a slightly bewildered Holmes replied. "Thank you."

"Oh, thank me in a couple of hours, Joanie," Jenny Deaver said with a mischievous grin, "If you still want to, that is.'

~------------~

Holmes learned quite a few additional and surprising facts about his new self in the hours that followed. The first was that his new body had a very low tolerance for alcohol. He couldn't recall taking more than a sip or two from the rather generously filled snifter of very potent brandy Jenny had pressed on him, but by the beginning of the second hour, he'd definitely been feeling the effects of overindulgence.

Disguised as Joan, and fully rigged out by Jenny and Maisie, Holmes was amazed by what he saw in the mirror. He barely caught himself - for the tenth time - almost releasing a decidedly un-feminine expletive. Holmes was forced to conclude that this masquerade that had seemed so trivial when he had begun it, would require the most complete exercise of his impersonation skills.

Holmes peered pensively at his reflection. Perhaps the brandy had something to do with the problem in performing adequately while limiting the impersonation to an intellectual exercise. In any case, Holmes decided that for the duration of the fitting at least, *he* would need to accept the mental mind set of a feminine persona - one that *she* would have to study as thoroughly as any other skill required for a consulting detective.

The second thing Holmes had discovered, was that trying on clothes was fun. Jenny seemed to have an endless supply of such lovely dresses and gloves and bonnets and even shoes - and she insisted that Mr. Holmes' little nurse try them ALL on so that she and Maisie could pick what looked best on their new friend. Holmes changed outfits more times during her time at Jenny's than her old self would have done in a normal week. And after the first hour (and all those sips of Jenny's EXCELLENT French brandy) she'd loved EVERY minute of it.

Well, almost every minute of it. Madame. . .that is, Jenny, had been shocked to discover that her new very dear friend Miss Hanks was not properly laced into a corset under that drab, ugly dress she'd been wearing. No wonder the girl looked like she didn't have any figure to speak of. Jenny had taken care of that little problem immediately. In no time at all, she and Maisie had their friend Joan in a lovely white satin corset complete with a real whale bone busk, and had it laced down to an honest twenty two inches.

"But, Mada. . I mean, Jenny," Holmes had protested, "I can't be fitted like this. There's no one to lace me up at Mr. Holmes establishment."

"Now, don't worry about that, dear, we'll give you one of these corset levers," Jenny had responded holding up an odd contraption of two wooden handles connected by a stout hinge. "See these hooks in the front? That's how you undo the corset, leaving the lacings nice and tight. You just attach the levers to the front of the corset like this," she said demonstrating, "And pull the front together so you can undo the hooks, or connect them if you are putting it back on."

"But I don't think I should be laced quite this tightly, Jenny," Holmes protested, "Not for everyday wear." The last thing Holmes wanted was to have to wear this corset just to put on the new clothes she'd planned on using for her disguises.

"Nonsense, dearie," Maisie said blithely as she looked the now wasp-waisted Holmes up and down. "Why, look at what it does for your bosom." she stated as she reached over and started to plump up that part of Holmes' increasingly feminine physique.

Holmes was totally unprepared for having herself fondled in that manner and had squealed in shock - only to be scolded by Jenny. "Now, Joan, don't carry on so. Let Maisie see to that lovely bosom of yours. She's right, you know, a little pat here, and a little pull there gives you a lovely figure. Why, I would wager that you'll show some lovely cleavage in the right gown now.

That had been the point at which Jenny had begun plying her little subject with yet more brandy. The girl had real potential, she'd decided, now that they had her properly corseted. Jenny thought she might even be able to make the girl halfway attractive if they could just get past the little prude's inhibitions and dress her properly.

And, in large part thanks to the brandy she'd gotten into the girl, so she had. Four hours later, Jenny had the pleasantly inebriated Holmes preening in front of the three sided mirror in a ball gown made of green satin, with a rather daringly low cut decolletage. Maisie had even managed to get some expertly applied cosmetics on the girl's interestingly odd little face and to do something halfway attractive with that uncontrolled mop of black hair.

Madame Jeanne Marie cast a critical eye on Joan Hanks. Even with three snifters of medicinal French brandy in her, Jenny Deavers could still assess another woman's looks with cold precision. It was a skill well honed in her days as a professional mistress. You always had to know when your protector's interest had been piqued by another woman so that you could either counter what was catching his attention, or begin looking for a new situation.

The girl's nose was too long and prominent for real beauty, but Maisie's cosmetic artistry had almost hidden even that flaw. She'd made the girl's mouth seem a little fuller, and drawn attention to the girl's incredible dark eyes. There was something arresting about those eyes, Jenny mused as she swirled her fourth snifter of brandy, something that transfixed anyone caught in their gaze. Her smile helped, too, now that Joan had fallen deeply enough into her cups to smile. And of course, now that she had a real figure, well, the girl would do all right for herself. All she needed to do was find herself a nice young man, preferably one with a good financial position, and hit him square in his manhood with those eyes, that cleavage and that smile.

Holmes was, at that moment, smiling happily at the elegantly dressed young woman in the mirror. *My god, I am almost pretty,* she thought, again through the haze of brandy fumes. She lifted the skirts and did a slow pirouette while trying to keep her eyes on her reflection in the mirrors. Tipsy as she was, she would have fallen on her bottom had not Maisie and Jenny leaped forward to catch her. Holmes giggled as they helped her back to a stool.

"Now, Joan," Jenny said with a smile, "Maisie has finished altering the two day gowns and the traveling dress. You can wear the corset and the new under things home. The other dresses will be ready for the final fittings in a few days."

"How. . " Holmes unexpectedly belched in a most unladylike fashion and blushed prettily, "I beg your pardon," she apologized, and then blurted out, "How much will I owe you?"

"The money Mr. Holmes gave you will be just fine, dearie," Jenny reassured her. "Now, I want you to stop by the shop every day at lunch time so that Maisie and I can teach you how to do your face and hair properly."

That almost brought Holmes out of his alcohol-induced bliss, and for just a moment, he forgot his vow to remain mentally and physically in role as Joan. And yet, he couldn't very well commit to being here everyday, could he? He had things to do and places to be . "Ummm. . . Jenny, I don't know if I can get away everyday. Mr. Holmes might need me, or have errands for me," he hedged.

Jenny nodded sagely. "Just so, dear, you're right, of course. You just come here when you can, even if it isn't lunch time and we'll work with you. You have lovely eyes and we can teach you to do them up to best advantage. You won't be young forever, and you don't want to spend your whole life taking care of other women's families. You'll be wanting children of your own, after all."

Holmes felt his cheeks burn. "You don't have children," he accused petulantly.

"Because I couldn't," the older woman answered quietly. "I was pregnant once, but something went wrong. I lost the baby and nearly died."

A rush of a new and wholly unfamiliar emotion washed over Holmes. Once again, the femininity of the situation overwhelmed the masculine Holmes and she felt an undeniable need to comfort her new friend. "I am so sorry, Jenny," she said softly, as some force beyond her ken drove her over to embrace Jenny.

"It's in the past, dear," Jenny said as she returned the hug warmly and then smiled over at Maisie. "and I make up for it by taking care of my girls. Now, you need to get home to Mr. Holmes. You run and change into that blue day gown while I send a boy for a cab."

The ride home was filled with yet more revelations for the still-dreamy Holmes. She sat snuggled into the plush upholstery of the uptown cab Madame had ordered for her. As she was still well over the hatches from all the brandy, Holmes thought it vastly amusing to blow at a bonnet feather that kept drooping down to tickle her nose.

On a whim, Holmes slipped off one of her gloves and stroked sensuously along the fine material used in the making of her gown. The cab hit a bump, momentarily discommoding her, but she grinned happily and shimmied herself back into the comfortable cushions. As she did, she realized that the wonderful tactile experience extended to the scandalously soft, wonderfully smooth cloth of her new undergarments as well. Holmes sighed in pure sensual appreciation as the silk of her new chemise slid teasingly over her nipples, and then she realized that the terrible itching had all but disappeared only to be replaced by something infinitely more pleasurable.

"How positively delightful," she sighed before nodding off into a slightly drunken catnap - a happy and gentle smile shaping her colorful lips.

Holmes fell asleep shortly after arriving at the Baker Street lodgings. She did not even remember to remove her new corset.

 

 

 

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© 2000 by Tigger. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.