A Study in Satin

by Tigger

 

Part II: Veni, Veni, Vici.

Chapter 9: Stitching Together an Alliance

 

"OUCH!" Sherla exclaimed as she brought her pricked and bleeding finger to her mouth. "THIS is supposed to help me think?"

Irene looked up from her own sampler with a grin. "Well, it is certainly quieter than my piano."

"I apologize for using it without permission," Sherla started only to be hushed by a wave of Irene's needle-bearing hand.

"Nonsense. I am teasing. Use it as you will, provided you don't mind an audience. I just thought this might be easier to carry around with you, as I suspect, my girl, that you will be as much of the reflective turn of mind as your male personage was."

"At this moment, all I am thinking of is that I have managed to blood four of five fingers on one hand," Sherla retorted darkly.

"Well, in that you are limited by your teacher, I am afraid. If only my dear Nell were not abroad with her husband you would likely pick this up more quickly with a good deal less pain. Here, let me see your sampler," Irene ordered. Dutifully, Sherla handed the small scrap of fabric to Irene who looked at it closely before nodding. "Well, I will say one thing for your detail oriented perspective, Sherla, you are precise and accurate with your stitches. Mine are not nearly so fine as yours, but then, I am not so focused a personality as Sherlock Holmes." Irene saw no point in mentioning the tiny spots of drying blood that marred the formerly pristine white fabric. Sherla had certainly already noticed and would endeavor to improve the next time. That was a facet of her personality, too.

Sherla sighed at set aside her needle and thread. "Neither am I, it would appear."

"Another of those differences, my dear?" Irene asked gently.

"Apparently. Just this morning, I realized I have never asked you for your assistance in this matter - not formally, in any case - nor have I done much to pursue my own objectives vis a vis Professor Moriarty. That is unusual to the point of being unique for me."

"For Sherlock, perhaps, but Sherla has had a great deal on her plate that had to be dealt with before you could return your attention to our villainous professor. I, on the other hand, have been making some discreet inquiries and must admit to being rather. . .intrigued."

Sherla's eyes went hard as she looked at Irene. "What TYPE of inquiries and of WHOM?"

"About your professor and of some old, very knowledgeable acquaintances. Why are you suddenly so upset?"

"Because Moriarty kills first and asks questions afterwards. If he receives word that someone is making inquiries about him, his likely response would be to remove the questioner and anyone the questioner consulted. Do you have a safe place we can remove ourselves to in order to hide?"

Irene stared at Sherla for a moment and smiled. "Under most circumstances, Sherla, it is very difficult to recall who you were in your previous life. Sometimes, however, such as this moment, it is all but impossible to think of you as anyone other than the very indomitable Mr. Holmes. Relax, dear, please. The people I have communicated with talk only with me about such matters. I have long trusted them with my life, and more importantly, with the life of my husband. We are safe enough here."

That seemed to mollify Sherla, at least somewhat. She relaxed her stern visage into something approximating polite feminine interest and asked, "What did you learn?"

"Not a very great deal, I am afraid. The most consistent response is that he is dead, having met his end almost two decades ago somewhere in the Alps - Austria, was the consensus."

"It was Switzerland," Sherla corrected tersely, "At a place called Reichenbach Falls. You recall the period of time when I, or rather when Sherlock disappeared and was presumed dead?" Irene nodded. "Moriarty and I confronted each other there. I had just arranged the destruction of his gang and he trailed Watson and myself to a small city near those falls. We fought and he went over the cliff and into the basin far below the falls. I very nearly joined him in that fate. God only knows how he survived that plunge for I cannot see how it was possible. Unfortunately, that was not the end of the threat posed by the professor for he had several very dangerous henchmen who would have surely attempted to avenge his death.

"So you elected to "die" as well." Irene stated.

Sherla nodded quietly. "I deemed it the most prudent course of action until I was in a position to neutralize them. If I had not, Watson and I would have been in extreme danger, and quite likely would have perished. I did not want to deceive Watson in that fashion, but the man had no acting abilities whatsoever. He was as honest as they come." Sherla sighed. "I have missed that frank, supportive honesty more than I ever thought possible. Especially now."

"Such friends are beyond price to such as you and I. I feel quite the same about my own dear Nell. What finally brought you back? Since you went into hiding to protect Dr. Watson, that implies that a danger to him must have brought you back."

Sherla started at Irene's words, and marveled again at the woman's perception. "Watson managed to run afoul of Moriarty's most nefarious underling, Colonel Moran, whom I had always considered to be the second most dangerous man in London. By then, I was ready and was able to arrange Moran's capture. Deprived of Moriarty's genius and Moran's ruthlessness, the remainder of the professor's criminal empire collapsed soon thereafter."

"I see. That fits the information I developed. Beyond that, all I learned was that if there was any type of organized criminal activity going on in Europe while your professor was alive, he was either behind it or profiting from it. It seems he had a particular passion for white slavery - kidnapping young women and selling them to brothels or to certain foreign interests."

"Some parts of the world still have the means and the will to keep women in sexual bondage and whether they do so with bars of steel or curtains of silk, it is still bondage. Men, and some women, were willing to pay a great deal of money for lovely young girl slaves. Moriarty liked money because he could use it to buy power."

"The world is a difficult enough place for a woman, as you will surely find, my dear, without that type of loathsome vermin preying upon our gender. For that reason alone, I would be willing to assist you in this case, even if you had not brought so tempting a bonus with you."

"Bonus?" Sherla asked, just a tad uneasy seeing the grin playing about Irene's generous mouth.

"Well, of course, darling. You are only twenty one years old, at least by your legal passport. Women do not reach their majority until twenty five. Just think, I have the privilege and pleasure of being guardian to the great Sherlock Holmes.

At Sherla's look of abject horror, Irene burst out laughing. "Oh don't look like that. I won't get in your way unless you are about to commit a faux pas that will seriously endanger your identity or your mission. Think of me as. . .a necessary part of your disguise."

If Irene expected Sherla to demur or to take part in her jest, she was to be disappointed. "Irene, I mean to kill the man once and for all. Nothing else will answer for me. If he manages to perfect his potion and the world has to face another fifty or sixty years of Moriarty . . .well, the consequences will be horrific. He must be stopped - completely and forever."

Irene considered her charge for several long moments. Sherla sat calmly under the cool, direct gaze and did not so much as flinch. "Are you certain," she finally asked, "that this is for the good of the world and not merely for the revenge of Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

The question hung on the air, going unanswered as both women contemplated its ramifications. "I cannot answer that," Sherla finally said. "Certainly, the world cannot, in its current volatile state, long survive Moriarty's machinations, but I will not attempt to lie to you and tell you I do not want him for myself. I have ALWAYS wanted him for myself, but now, more so than ever."

"Is being Sherla so very unsatisfactory?" Irene asked softly.

"Did you not just say that world is a very difficult place for a woman?" Sherla retorted before softening. "I don't know, Irene. When it first happened? It was horrible, and I feared for my most basic self. Now? As I said, I don't seem to be able to focus as well, but there are other compensations, such as arthritis-free joints, and youth."

"I see. I hope it becomes better for you, Sherla, as I have decided, despite all the times I railed against the unfairness of the world toward my. .. *our* gender, I would not be a man for anything."

"I hope to one day agree with you, Irene."

Irene brushed her hands as if clearing away the dust of their conversation. "So, if I am to assist you, what should we do first?"

"Thank you," Sherla breathed, "I wasn't sure you would help. Step one is to find him. We cannot stop him unless we know where he is."

"Europe is a large place. Any idea where to look?"

"Not really," Sherla admitted. "He was very careful not to give away any clues when he confronted me in my rooms."

"In your journal, you mentioned something about perfecting the potion," Irene prompted.

"Yes," Sherla agreed, forgetting herself and sprawling her legs out in front of her only to be silently reprimanded by Irene. With some alacrity, she pulled her legs back to her chair and sat erect as she considered the problem. "Moriarty is old - older perhaps than I. .. Holmes was, although," and here she recalled the humiliation of her fruitless attack, "although he was physically stronger and in better health. He would want those added years to carry out his foul plots. He has ever dreamed of world conquest and if through this potion he gains sufficient time, he already possesses the will, the genius and the utter ruthlessness to achieve that unworthy goal."

"Odd that he hadn't already perfected the drug," Irene observed. "If he is so brilliant, that is."

"Oh, he is brilliant, but the only things greater than his intelligence are his ego and his arrogance. He believes himself to be even more brilliant than he is."

Irene nodded, and wished for one of her Turkish cigarettes, but resisted because of Sherla's evident allergy. "That is very odd."

"How so?

"What would bring a man like that out of hiding before he'd finished his work? Surely he had all the advantages where he was. Safety, secrecy, a ready supply of the herbs he needed - why give all that up? If he truly believes that he is capable, why reveal himself before he has completed his task?"

"An excellent question," Sherla mused softly. "And specifically, why reveal himself to me? Why not wait until he had completed his researches and was therefore able to face me as a young man?"

"I can think of one possible reason," Irene offered. "For all his masculine arrogance, he is, by all accounts, nonetheless a scientist of great ability. I suspect that he has come up against a dead end and is looking for someone who might help him find other answers. If he is, as you say, convinced of his own brilliance, he is likely telling himself that this is a mere expedience and not a necessity, but that is the only reason I can see for him to come out of hiding and confront you."

"He is seeking other expert help? That seems logical. And yet, he came for me first. Again, I ask, why?"

"Because you . . .or rather, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was the only man of any influence who might recognize him or recognize signs of his renewed activities. None of today's police officials are likely to know anything about him."

Sherla gave a self-deprecating laugh. "More fool he, then," she sighed. "I had been well and truly put out to pasture. Do you know that Holmes had been barred from Whitehall as a public nuisance?" At Irene's shocked look, Sherla continued. "Probably because it did not suit them to let it be known. They might have truly needed me one day with this war looming, so they did not see fit to humiliate me publicly. But if you did not know, that explains why Moriarty likely did not know, either."

"True enough. What type of help would he seek and where would he seek it?"

"Well, if it were me, I would look for scientists on the forefront of current researches into the body human."

"Scientists," Irene said thoughtfully, "Who are at the forefront of their fields." Suddenly she practically levitated from her seat and was burrowing through a pile of papers on her desk, muttering to herself as Sherla watched on in amazement. "Let's see . . Society of Theater Patrons . . . Society for the Preservation of Parks Along the Seine . . . Society for Women's Suffrage - Ha! Like that has any chance in this paternalistic country! Ah, here it is, La Societie Scientifique. I get these invitations all the time, but this one may prove useful." she said offering an embossed invitation to Sherla, "Certainly, it ought to be a fair place to start our search."

Sherla took the card and read it.

Docteur et Madame de Maupessant

request the pleasure of

Madame Irene Adler Norton

at their home

for a

Reception and Ball

for

La Societie Scientifique

At the bottom of the card, written in a fine, lady's hand, was a personal request to Irene from the lady of the house, asking if she might consent to sing a few short selections as she and her husband were so very fond of opera.

"This is for day after tomorrow," Sherla noted.

"I had not intended to go, as my husband is still abroad, but now I will RSVP my pleased intent to attend and my very great desire to perform for their guests. That will ensure us an invitation and an opportunity to meet the type of individual we will need."

"But those attending can not include the one that Moriarty was after. If he was to have been there, Moriarty would have taken him by now."

"True, Sherla, true, but each of those attending will know of others in his field, specifically someone who has mysteriously disappeared recently. Failing that, someone there might be at least able to help us develop a list of materials your Professor might require in this endeavor. Hopefully, something on that list will be sufficiently rare in some way that we can use that as our first clue."

Sherla smiled at that. "A very sound strategy, Madame," she said with exaggerated deference.

"So good of you to say so, my dear. Please remember that during the next forty eight hours when all our tempers become frayed."

"I am afraid I do not understand, Irene," Sherla said, her confusion clear upon her lovely face.

"Obviously. Sherla, this means you will be presented to Society in two days. We shall need a new dress for you, a special one as a debutante in anything less than a designer original will draw entirely too much attention. Let's see, what else? Dance lessons. . ."

"I am perfectly able to dance!" Sherla said indignantly, "I was trained as a youth!"

"Dancing the female role? In a heavy skirt billowed by petticoats and wearing heels? Moving backwards most of the time and letting your partner lead?" Irene asked challengingly. At Sherla's wide eyed denial, Irene nodded firmly. "I thought not. Oh, and we will need some basic lessons in flirting. Katrina will need to help you with that, as I will be busy. As to the concert, it would be best if you could accompany me since that would put both of us in the presence of our quarry and will give me an excuse to include you in the invitation to call upon him that I intend to wangle from him."

"Flirting?" Sherla asked, having missed the rest of Irene's planning.

"Flirting, my dear. It is what debutantes do, and if you did not do it well . . "

"It would draw too much attention," Sherla completed darkly.

"Just so," Irene enthused as she strode to a bell rope and gave it a lusty pull. "Come, my dear. Once we have Katrina apprized of our plans, we shall go to the music room and decide upon our selections. It is, unfortunately, too late to go to the dressmakers, but we can start with the music, dancing and flirting. That should see us through the evening and tomorrow morning until the Modiste opens."

Just then, Katrina hurried into the room. "Ah, Katrina, come with us to the music room. As an old acquaintance used to say, the game is afoot!"

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

Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes

Date: February 23, 1911

Location: Irene Adler's Home outside of Paris France.

Time: 11:53 P.M.

My Dear Doctor Watson:

I am exhausted. First, it was the embroidery lessons Irene has insisted upon. Needlework. My god, John, what is happening to me?

Actually, I have a better feeling about that question than I did last night. Irene had a great deal to say to me yesterday in the music room that made sense. I don't know if she is correct or not, John, but I want her to be correct - especially now that she has agreed to help me in my coming battle against Moriarty.

She is, as you always said, a truly exemplary woman. If I must be a woman, then I wish to be a woman of her stamp, mettle and abilities. I wish you could have seen her today, John. She drew me out as skillfully as I had ever done to any of my past informants, and then, when she saw a strategy that had a chance for success, she acted on it with great determination and enthusiasm. That is the other reason my fingers are in pain - four hours of rehearsal for her performance in two nights. I have cramps in my little fingers, John.

Still, I stand by my earlier conviction that she could eventually defeat Moriarty. I would like to think that, with her help and guidance, I, too, can become a woman who is capable of bringing about his final demise. I hope so, John, for I could not wish for a better role model. I shall apply myself to that goal most assiduously, and if that means embroidery, dress-fittings, flirting and dancing, then so be it.

Beyond that, I have several very positive reports to make this evening. First, I have only needed to cool my libido once in the past 18 hours - just before Katrina all but pulled me from my bed this morning. Better still, I do not feel any signs of that unquenchable urge at this point. I do, however, get this interesting little fillip of heat whenever that pretty little maid of Irene saunters by me. Not the same intensity, but of a similar nature in feeling. She seems to be around me quite a bit, too, so I have had ample opportunity to study the phenomena. It is not at all unpleasant.

More importantly, my measurements seem to have steadied out at last. John - my clothes FIT for the THIRD consecutive day! I cannot begin to tell you how pleasant it is to not trip over my hem or how wonderful it is look at myself in the mirror and see a woman wearing a lovely gown and not a shapeless sack that drags upon the ground about my feet. Oh, I can still give you the precise numbers since I am certain that you would expect them, but they don't seem to matter as much to me anymore. My height is down less than half a centimeter since yesterday and my weight a bare two hundred grams (which I continue to believe may be attributed more to this infernal corset which that minx Katrina insists on tightening more each day! I may have to contrive yet another suitable, retaliatory strategy for that lass.) In any case, I believe that Moriarty's potion is finally cleansed from my system.

Thank goodness! It at least means that this new gown I am to be fitted for tomorrow will have some probability of still fitting when the time comes to wear it to the ball.

End Journal Entry

 

 

 

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