A Study in Satin

by Tigger
© 2000, all rights reserved

 

Part I: Semper Cogitus

Chapter 13. A Woman of Business

 

Holmes examined his disguise in his mirror, and firmly resisted to urge to give that surging mane of his one more brushing. It would not do much good, in any case. Thankfully, when he'd gone into Watson's rooms in search of the other items this stratagem would require, he happened upon the personal grooming kit of Watson's wife, Mary. Now Holmes finally had a hairbrush suitable to his feminine needs. Certainly, the brush that had been sufficient for the aged and thinning scalp of the old Sherlock Holmes had proven completely inadequate to the task of taming the young and lush tresses of Miss Joan Hanks.

So intent was he on pinning the unruly mop up into something at least remotely resembling what Maisie and Jenny had taught him the day before, that Holmes never noticed the pink tongue peaking out between pert, pursed lips. An objective observer would have thought it cute, and in keeping with the look of a young miss not long out of the schoolroom, still learning the grooming tricks of a young woman.

The hair arranging, however, required his full attention. It was not until after several attempts, and multiple rebrushings to groom away the loose wisps that marked Holmes' many failures as a hair stylist, before dogged determination finally prevailed. Holmes had elected to dispense with the cosmetics Jenny and Maisie had pressed on their new friend, primarily because he considered it highly unlikely he would look like anything better than a circus clown. However, he also thought that a visiting nurse would not have the time to worry with such things and that he would be more in role, so to speak, clean faced.

He had been practicing in the broad-heeled, Cuban-styled shoes since rising that morning. While he hadn't killed himself by taking a header, it had been a very near thing on several occasions. The shoes' tall heels increased Holmes stature by almost an inch and a half, which was a good thing since that morning's dose of Moriarty's potion had reduced his height still further. As it was, Holmes' eye for detail told him that the new shoes raised the hemline of his "business dress" just slightly more than was considered "politely fashionable". *Well,* Holmes thought wryly, *I may be showing a shade too much ankle right now, but by tomorrow I won't have that problem with these shoes. May need even higher heels tomorrow. Won't that be simply wonderful?*

Carefully, he perched the small, round, box-like hat that Jenny had given to him on top of the mass of pinned up hair. Holmes thought the thing looked like a child's version of a top hat that someone had sat upon. Worse yet, he was certain the perfectly circular item had a front and a back with all the feathers and other frou frou stuck haphazardly about its brim, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out which was which. Given the way his life was going at that moment, Holmes was certain that he would manage to put it on precisely backwards. He was about to simply give up and wear it whichever way, when he recalled his somewhat inebriated ride home the previous night. Those damn feathers kept tickling his nose, so he positioned the hat so that the feathers were at their most annoying, and then pinned it in place.

Holmes twirled in front of the mirror to check his gown and was satisfied with how he looked. *Thank beneficent Providence that it was Jenny who selected this ensemble. I never did manage to put two pieces of clothing together so that Jenny felt they suited.* The dress itself was a dark wine color that Jenny insisted showed off Joan Hanks' dark hair and eyes to advantage. Gold embroidery highlighted his corseted waist and of course, his hemline.

His dressing complete, Holmes walked over to the chair upon which he had laid his matching cloak and slipped it over his shoulders and fastened it down the front. Finally, Holmes slipped on his gloves, picked up his reticule and made one last check to ensure that all the required items were inside.

Holmes moved toward the door, but stopped in front of his foyer mirror. With a last delicate gesture at a still-errant lock of hair, Sherlock Holmes cloaked himself in the persona of a young woman.

With a last, somewhat tremulous smile to her mirror, Joan Hanks swung about and out the door.

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

The hansom cab stopped at the establishment of Carroll and Nickelsby, Solicitors, at precisely one minute before ten. Joan almost forgot herself and would have bounded from the carriage had not the cabbie beat her to the door. With a blush at her near gaff, Joan let the man take her black-kid-gloved hand in his own and permitted herself to be assisted to the ground. It was just as well she had waited, Joan realized moments later. The heel of her left shoe caught on the threshold of the cab and would have gone head first into the muddy London street without the cabbie's quick rescue. Stuttering her gratitude, she paid him and then blushed yet again when he tipped his hat before ascending once again to his perch on the rear of the cab.

Joan quickly gathered her skirts to keep the finely embroidered hems out of the mud and entered the office. A young male clerk greeted her from an ominously large desk set precisely in the center of the reception area. "May I assist you, Miss?" he asked in what Joan thought was a rather condescending tone."

Her back went ramrod straight and her chin tilted up forcefully. "Yes, my good man," she said stiffly as she pulled off her gloves, "I am here on business on behalf of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I have a ten o'clock appointment with Mr. Carroll. You *may* announce me *now*, please."

The voice of command, even when pitched in such light, feminine tones, brought an immediate response from the pompous young fool. "Immediately, ma'am," he said as he scurried off to one of the heavy oak doors behind his desk.

Moments later, he returned with a tall, older man in tow. "Hello, Miss Hanks, I am Jason Carroll," the older man said as he strode forward, his hand extended.

Instinctively, Joan extended her own hand to shake hands in greeting and so was greatly surprised when Carroll took her hand in his, bowed over it and kissed her fingers. She nearly snatched her hand back, and likely would have had she not been so shocked by the gesture.

Carroll smiled at the girl's disoriented look and said, "Won't you join me in my office, please, and we will see what Mr. Holmes would like me to do."

Still bemused, Joan followed almost meekly in the man's wake, and took the chair offered, but shook her head at the offer of tea. Much to her dismay, she had to stand and reseat herself when her gown billowed in front and bunched beneath her causing her momentarily to show an unsuitable flash of slender ankle and bit of calf.

The display was not lost on Joan's host. Realizing that she had made an immodest display caused Joan to be reminded of the soft and oh-so-feminine undergarments that continually caressed her body. Suddenly, very private parts of her anatomy all began to itch fiercely and she practically had to grip the chair arms to stop herself from scratching herself. Still, she felt her face flame under his obvious scrutiny. "How may I be of service, Miss Hanks?" Carroll asked once he'd seated himself behind his chair.

That, at least, was something Joan could deal with. "Of course," she hedged, opening her reticule and removing a large envelope and a card. She passed the card to Mr. Carroll. It was one of professional calling cards of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.

"Mr. Holmes directed me to give you that," she said, "and this envelope, sir."

When Carroll accepted the envelope, his fingers inadvertently collided with Joan, but her focus was now totally on the task at hand and did not notice it.

Carroll frowned as he opened and read the letter it contained. Since she'd written, Joan was already aware of what it directed the solicitor to undertake on Joan's behalf and found herself watching him as he scanned the letter. *Odd that a man of his consequence cannot seem to sit still,* she thought as Carroll shifted back and forth in his chair. *Hemorrhoids, perhaps?*

Dear Mr. Carroll,

A recent bout of illness has confined me to my rooms, and restricts me from seeing to my day-to-day business affairs as I would prefer. Until such time as I have recovered sufficiently to resume my normal schedule, my visiting nurse, Miss Joan Hanks from whom you received this letter, will be acting in my stead.

You are therefore requested to see to the following arrangements on my behalf. Please prepare for my signature a power of attorney granting Miss Hanks full access to my accounts and investments until such time as I revoke that document. Additionally, prepare any other such documentation you deem necessary for her to act as my agent while I am incapacitated. Since you are now already acquainted with Miss Hanks, I will leave it to you to make whatever introductions are necessary at the various banks and other institutions she will need access to in this office.

Finally, since I am, as I stated above, restricted to my rooms, I would ask that you call on me in my lodgings at 221B Baker Street with the documents for my signature. If possible, please make a cash withdrawal for me in the sum of five hundred pounds as I have not been able to replenish my household accounts since being laid low by this infernal sickness and must needs see to settling said accounts.

Thank you for your assistance. I am,

Most Sincerely

Sherlock Holmes

"You must be a most remarkable young woman, Miss Hanks," Carroll said as he raised his bespectacled eyes from the letter.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Joan asked, somewhat startled by the comment.

"I have known Mr. Sherlock Holmes for almost fifteen years, Miss Hanks, and think I know him rather well. This is the first time I have ever seen him involve a woman in his life, let alone his business affairs. You must be rather . . ." he hesitated and smiled winningly, "special to have won the approval of so particular a fellow."

Joan flushed, and looked down at her hands folded about her reticule in her lap. "I hope Mr. Holmes has learned that I am trustworthy and honest, sir," she said quietly.

Still smiling, Carroll waved the paper toward her with one hand. "So, you are aware of the contents of this note?"

"Not the details, sir. Mr. Holmes said he needed you to call on him this afternoon so that he could deal with several issues that have gone wanting since he was afflicted by this illness. Will there be any problem with you accommodating Mr. Holmes' requests, Sir?" *And there had better not be any given the exorbitant fees you demand for your services, Carroll.*

"No, no, my dear. None at all. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you when I come to call, Miss Hanks?"

Joan stood. "No, Mr. Carroll. Mr. Holmes gave me specific instructions that I was not to be about when you called. He said he needed to discuss issues with you in private and that I was to see to my shopping and other necessities this afternoon after helping him prepare for your visit."

Carroll rose and came around the desk. He put his arm about Joan shoulder and gently directed her from his office. "Then I shall look forward to seeing you again some other time, Miss Hanks. I shall look forward to it," and his voice dropped into a very low register, "Very much indeed."

Something seemed to crawl up Joan spine and a frisson of what might have been panic curled her stomach. She quickly donned her gloves before the solicitor could again capture her hand, made her farewells, and all but fled the offices.

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

Three thirty P.M. again found Holmes staring into his mirror dealing with his hair. A rather hideous blend of wig powder and gray woodash had dulled his hair to a limp, washed out gray. With great care, Holmes stuffed the greater proportion of the dusty mass up into a stocking nightcap, allowing a few, well-grayed wisps to flutter about his face.

Ah, his face - Holmes was particularly proud of his face just then. Two hours with his stage cosmetics had succeeded in restoring a reasonable semblance of his former masculine and aged visage - at least one that appeared debilitated by illness. Using the thick, waxy substances, Holmes had succeeded is sculpting the familiar aquiline nose and the prominent brow ridges. He'd hollowed his cheeks and then added powder and other, less pleasant pigments to give his face a grayish, unhealthy cast.

Holmes donned a pair of thick house gloves and proceeded to the sitting room. He smiled at what he saw there. *Fortunate that remembering the cases where I had needed to impersonate a woman recalled to mind the Count Sylvius affair in the Case of Marazin Stone. Otherwise I would not have remembered this fine fellow,* he thought with satisfaction.

The figure in the chair had once been a decoy dummy Holmes had used to fool a jewel thief into confessing and revealing the location of a fabulous stolen diamond. Watson, the arch-packrat and collector that he was, had saved the thing in his little museum of Holmes Memorabilia. *And a good thing he did, too.*

Still smiling, Holmes opened the "chest" of the dummy and then slid his legs into those of his avatar. Holmes then seated himself and slid his arms into place before closing the front of his costume. Holmes had experimented earlier and had therefore thought to bolster himself by placing several thick books down where he sat so that the combination of Holmes and his dummy looked to be of nearly normal stature.

The disguise was completed by an artful positioning of the stocking cap over the back of the chair and then bundling a large, thick comforter about him. Holmes had thought to position this chair so that he could examine himself in the mirror once he'd completed his preparations. What he saw there pleased him.

An old man, dressed in a nightshirt and evening robe seated in a chair. Except for his face and the toes of two very disreputable house slippers, he was swathed head to foot by a heavy quilt-like comforter. Holmes would even have fooled himself.

At least for two, maybe three minutes, in any case.

The door bell chimed just as the clock struck four p.m.

"Come in," Holmes said in a querulous, old man's voice, "it's open."

The door opened to admit Jason Carroll, a hand size portfolio tucked under his arm. "Good day, Mr. Holmes. I hope you are feeling better."

"I'm feeling old, Carroll, and there is very little that can be done to make that better!" Holmes snapped in his best curmudgeonly fashion, all the while thinking about the awful irony of that statement. "Well, sit down, sit down. Let's get this over with before that damned girl gets back here to badger me back into bed."

Carroll opened his portfolio and removed a series of papers. "You mean Miss Hanks? She seemed like a very pleasant young woman. Rather . . . umm. . shall we say decorative, as well? A young woman like that could do a great deal to keep a man young, eh?"

The last comment was said with a "man to man" tone that brought Holmes up short. *What does THAT mean? And why does it put my back up?* "Hmmmph," Holmes snorted, "If you're in the petticoat line, I suppose. Do you have my papers, Mr. Carroll?"

Carroll stood and brought the papers over to Holmes. Using his portfolio as a writing board, he presented a pen to Holmes. "This first one is the requested Power of Attorney, Mr. Holmes," Carroll told him before presenting two other forms for his signature. "These authorize Miss Hanks to sign checks and account forms for your accounts at the Bank of England, and this form, is the withdrawal form for the five hundred pounds you requested."

"What?" Holmes growled testily, "Does that mean you didn't bring my money?"

"I couldn't take that much out of your accounts, sir, without your signature, so I took the money out of accounts held by my office which I will, in turn, replace with the money you just authorized to be withdrawn."

"I see. Very thoughtful of you." Holmes took a few moments to thoroughly examine the other man when something caught his trained eye's attention. *Odd about his mouth,* Holmes thought, *unusually full lips for a man of his coloration and background. Unusually dark ones for his skin tones as well. Not at all what my studies into anthropological body types would lead my to expect.*

"Thank you, Sir," Carroll said, interrupting Holmes' line of thought, "If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Holmes, does Miss Hanks get any evenings off?"

Holmes frowned. "Eh? No, of course not. She is on duty every night since that is when I have my hardest time."

"So she stays here, not at home?"

"She stays here, otherwise she lives with the other nurses at the local hospital, but she doesn't have any time for any dalliances, sir, as she will be accompanying me to my country estates as soon as Dr. March says I am again fit to travel."

"I see. Well, hopefully you will soon be back in the first bloom of health, sir," Carroll said with somewhat less bonhomie than he'd previously evidenced.

*So you can pay your addresses on Miss Joan Hanks without offending her employer who also happens to be your richest client, eh? So sad, you old fool, that Miss Hanks and Mr. Holmes are one and the same.* "Well, I am told that with a few weeks of clean, fresh air in the country, I will be as good as new. We may be back in the city in two or three months." *Which should give you more than enough time to forget Miss Hanks, providing I and therefore *she* can survive that long.*

"Yes, well, I am afraid I must be on my way, Mr. Holmes. Do have Miss Hanks call on my office tomorrow to sign the papers herself. I have also scheduled time in my day so that I may introduce her to your account manager at the Bank of England's London Office."

Holmes nodded and then lifted a gloved hand to Carroll in farewell. Carroll took the proffered hand with some reluctance, shook it once and then with a final farewell, took his leave.

Holmes watched the door close and heard the downstairs door open and close as well, then he began to laugh. "You were much more enthusiastic about taking that hand in yours this morning, you old goat."

With another, very unladylike bark of laughter, Holmes extricated himself from the body of his dummy and set about moving it to his bedroom. "Might be useful to have a conveniently sleeping Holmes available to deflect the next uninvited visitor who comes calling."

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

Entry in the Journal of Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Date: February 9, 1911. Time: 7:41 P.M.

My Dear Watson,

Well, thanks to your tendency to save anything and everything associated with any of my cases, I was able to replenish my ready funds reserve today.

Physically, the changes in my body appear to be going apace. I am again shorter and lighter, by another quarter inch and another two and one half pounds respectively. My waist must be smaller because the corset doesn't feel as tight. Interestingly, my hips and chest are smaller now as well, but I am definitely becoming ever rounder in those areas of my body. Whether it is a result of the corset pushing softer flesh up or down or the result of Moriarty's potion making me ever more feminine in all physical respects, I am definitely developing a bosom and as Jenny pointed out, cleavage.

One concern I have about the rate of these changes is that Jenny and/or Maisie will notice. They are, after all, dressmakers. I stopped at a shoemaker on the way home from the solicitor's today and purchased a new pair of high heeled shoes. Unfortunately, these are not the wide heeled "Cuban heels", but rather another, much more slender heeled style known as "Spanish heels" and these are almost four inches in height. Based on my current stature, I will likely need them by day after tomorrow at the latest. Unfortunately, I have concluded that I desperately need the lessons that Jenny imparts to me so I am going to continue seeing her.

Besides, it is nice having a friend again, Watson. I do wish you were here, old fellow.

Tomorrow, I must face Mr. Carroll again, hopefully for the last time. I have checked my society page file, and have discovered that Mr. Carroll has a well earned reputation as a womanizer. I must conclude that my attempt to dispense with cosmetics and to appear businesslike did not turn aside his interest. Most upsetting.

I am very tired, Watson. I think I must get some rest. DAMME! Time is running out and all I seem to do is sleep, grow ever younger and ever smaller, and accomplish NOTHING toward the real task at hand - finding and stopping Moriarty.

And I still have not thought of anyone to take up the battle against the Professor when this damnable potion finally runs out and I die from the withdrawal symptoms.

But, as I said, I am very tired.

Good night, Watson. Perhaps I will be seeing you for real soon.

End Journal Entry

 

 

 

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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.