A Study in Satin

by Tigger

 

Part II: Veni, Veni, Vici.

Chapter 12: Dancing in the Dark

 

For Irene, the waiting while Sherla danced the last waltz with the Duke seemed interminably long, but finally it ended and she was able to draw breath again. *Even in her cups and aroused half out of her mind, she was still able to dance,* Irene thought relieved. *Of course, it is fortunate that the man must lead in a waltz, because I think that Sherla was barely hanging on through the steps of that last movement.*

Irene's surmise was proven true when the Duke escorted an obviously winded Sherla back to her guardian. "She is unused to going about in Society, your Grace," Irene gushed when the Duke arrived at her side, "as her parents lack the means in London which is why they sent her to me for this Season. I am afraid, however, that in my enthusiasms I have overextended her tonight."

"Well, she is a lovely young woman, Madame," the Duke said as he bowed over Irene's hand, "and we look forward to her presence at other entertainments throughout the season."

Somehow, Irene managed to keep Sherla from falling on her face during their final curtsy, but it was a very near thing. TOO near a thing, and worse, she could see that Sherla's growing arousal was beginning to overwhelm her better sense. Irene was forced to take a firm grip on each of the girl's arms to stop her hands from drifting toward bodily locations inappropriate to any public place, let alone a high society ball.

"Joan, fetch your wrap," Irene said brusquely.

"Hmmm?" Sherla replied.

"Fetch your wrap, we need to go," Irene repeated. "We need to get you home and to bed."

"Bedddd," sighed Sherla happily, the prospect inviting in ways that had little if anything to do with sleep.

With great effort to avoid any more 'good byes', Irene was able to speed the girl from the scene of the ball without any further or more socially damaging incidents. Fortunately, she had already called for their carriage and soon had Sherla bundled into the landau's comfortable interior. She immediately struck the roof with her fist to direct the coachman to leave.

"Just how much champagne did you drink, girl?" Irene demanded once they were safely underway.

Sherla gave her guardian a bleary smile. "Only a couple of sips between each dance, Irene, NEVER a full glass. I know better than to get into my cups when under ::hic:: cover on an investigation," she said with slurred confidence. "I never drank more than half a glass."

Irene closed her eyes and prayed for control. "Sherla, you sat out six dances, and you had two glasses of wine before the dances began," she said with an edge to her almost calm voice.

"It ::hic:: was only champagne, Irene."

"Which you drank too much of, my girl. Nearly five full glasses by my best estimation."

"So what?" Sherla demanded almost belligerently, "Could drink TWICE that much and not become inebr . .inebri. . ummm. drunk."

Disgusted, Irene threw her hands up in defeat. "HOLMES could drink that much, my fine young girl, and he had a much larger body and a far greater tolerance than you do. Didn't you stop to think that your capacity for spirits is at BEST half what it once was? Why, if I had not arrived when I did, you would have been looking for the nearest conveniently flat surface where you could lift your skirts for that young fool."

"He was nice," Sherla purred, "Liked him. Liked kissing him. He was related to your Mr. Washington's friend, Lafayette."

"I could see how much you liked it, infant, although I suspect his antecedents had little to do with your pleasure." Irene sighed. "Well, at least tomorrow should be educational for you," she finished with a hopeful note.

"To::hic::morrow?" Sherla almost parroted, "Why tomorrow? OH, you're hoping I will have a hangover,::hic:: aren't you?" Sherla stared at her mentor with wide, owl-like eyes. "Well, prepare to be disappointed. *I* never have hangovers."

"I hope you are wrong, little one," Irene said with fond exasperation, "for you have truly earned and deserve the Mother of all 'mornings after' for THIS night's work."

Sherla said nothing, but contented herself by smiling at Irene before leaning back to find the most comfortable location in the upholstered back corner of their conveyance. All too soon, in Irene's estimation, Sherla's hands began to drift once more, this time below her cloak to slowly stroke her bosom.

Suddenly, the coach lurched side-to-side, eliciting a surprised yet pleased "OOH!" from Sherla. Eyes wide, she seemed to wait for several moments, as if hoping the landau would repeat that felicitous movement. When it didn't, Sherla again took matters into her own . . . hands, and began swaying side-to-side of her own volition.

*I should tell her to stop,* Irene thought wearily, *but she is unlikely to hear me. Besides, if this onset of withdrawal sexual excitement is at all comparable to her earlier attacks, she has little if any control over her actions as it is. Best to simply get her back to the cottage and into the privacy of her room as quickly as possible.*

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

With Irene's permission, Katrina was already above stairs when the carriage neared the cottage. She had fallen half asleep in the sitting room as she waited for the return of her Mistress and their new girl from the ball, thinking about the problems this strange person would have to face in her new life. Privately, Katrina expected that Madame Irene would have the devil's own time getting that one out onto the dance floor. Too stiff-necked by half. The girl needed to shed some of that stuffy English male dignity, and little Mademoiselle Katrina was just the lady to help with that task. Hadn't Ma'amselle Cherie already done that delightful little prank with the honey and cream? It was worthy of a true girl, and she, Katrina, had never seen it coming, had never expected such a joke by a former man.

Of course, she now OWED the girl payback in kind. Katrina had been fond of that silk chemise that had been ruined by the sticky mess. It would take some effort to top that one, though. That truly was a masterpiece and the girl's first try, too.

An unfamiliar and very giddy giggle brought Katrina out of her light doze. Quickly getting to her feet, she smoothed out any wrinkles in her skirts as best she could, and then hurried to the foyer to greet the returning party.

And stopped dead in surprise.

Sherla, her hands doing something very strange beneath her cloak, was swaying awkwardly back and forth as Irene tried gamely to keep the girl on her feet. And that insane giggling was coming from Sherla?? "Madame," Katrina squeaked as she hurried over to help Irene with her burden. "What has happened to la petite Ma'amselle Cherie?"

"Too much champagne and moonlight, Katrina. None of us, least of all Sherla, stopped to consider that *MR* Holmes' ability to consume alcohol might be significantly different than *MISS* Holmes' capacity for such things. The so-very-noble young men at the ball plied her with the bubbles whenever she wasn't dancing."

"Ah, I see," Katrina replied, relaxing. "Oh, Madame?"

"Yes, Katrina?" Irene grunted as she tried to move Sherla's relaxed body toward the girl's bed chamber.

"You said champagne AND moonlight? What moonlight?"

"The next to the last gentleman, and I use the term loosely, she danced with managed to get her out into the garden to take some fresh air. "La petite mademoiselle was looking flushed and it was such a sad crush inside"." Irene quoted in a voice dripping with exaggerated and patently false concern.

"And he what? Had his way with her?" Rage was already building in Katrina's breast at that foul thought.

"No, nothing so damaging. She simply managed to be kissed nearly senseless by her handsome young man."

"Mademoiselle?!?" Katrina's voice squealed in shock, "The girl who used to be an old man permits the dashing young chevalier to kiss her? And LIKES it??!? You are certain of this, Madame?"

"Witnessed it with my own eyes, Katrina, at least the last of it. Fortunately, I came out before it got much beyond a kiss, and I must tell you that our girl does show remarkable promise as a kisser, but I am afraid it would have gone much further and quickly. I think she is experiencing at least a mild relapse of her . . .affliction."

"Ah. . .Ma'amselle Cherie is. . . needy, again, Madame?" *That explains where la petite's hands are and what those clever little fingers are up to beneath that lovely cloak.*

"Just so, Katrina, so I think it would be best if we were to undress her and then provide her the privacy necessary to deal with that problem." Irene gave a fierce yawn. "The sooner the better, too, as I am for my own bed. It has been an exhausting day and THIS one had me awake with the sun this . . .or rather, YESTERDAY morning."

"Help me get her into her room, Madame. I will prepare her for bed. She will not be the first Mistress I have assisted in such a condition."

"I have NEVER . . . " Irene started to protest only to be cut off by Katrina.

"No, my beloved Madame, YOU never, but sadly, you were not my first employer and other women are not so. . . caring as you."

The two women finished installing Sherla in her room in silence. Irene started to leave but stopped. "Katrina, if there is anything I can do, even if you merely wish to talk. . . about things, I have come to care deeply about you. Don't let something fester when I have the resources and the means to help you."

Katrina looked at the older woman, and then smiled broadly. She hurried over to Irene and, going up on tiptoe, kissed the older woman on the cheek. "I know, Madame. It is all right. Now, you must be off to your bed. I will first loosen Mademoiselle Sherla's stays so she can breathe more easily, then come assist you before returning to la petite ma'amselle."

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

"Come now, Ma'amselle Cherie," Katrina cooed to Sherla when she returned, "Let Tante Katrina ease you out of these heavy clothes."

A muffled sound that might have been 'no' floated up from beneath the coverlette Sherla had pulled over her head. The slender form beneath the tented blanket was moving slowly but sensuously in time to odd, purring little sounds. Katrina only smiled, and began to slide the heavy cover up toward the pillowed head so that she could start the undressing.

Instead of cooperating, however, a giggling Sherla erupted from her hiding place and began to tussle with Katrina. She resisted Katrina's best efforts to disrobe her, and it became clear to the little maid that the intoxicated Sherla was feeling very playful as well as aroused. She decided to use that to her benefit for she was tired as well, and had better things to do than wrestle with this foolish girl. "Non, Non, Ma'amselle, not in the so lovely gown. Madame Irene payed many francs to Madame la Modiste and we should treat it with care. If you wish to play, you must first take off the gown."

"Oh, very well," Sherla said, her lips drawn up into an exaggerated pout, but she stopped her play and lifted her arms to permit Katrina to remove the gown.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Katrina took the gown to the wardrobe and hung it up. She'd have to steam it later to remove the worst of the creases, but it appeared that la petite mademoiselle was neat in her habits, at least. Katrina could find no stains that would cost her hours of effort in the laundry.

Smiling, she turned back to her charge, and then moved over by the bed. "Come, ma petite chou," she encouraged. "Let us deal with your lovely lingerie next since it must also be treated carefully. Then, we shall dress you into your pretty nightgown and put you to bed."

Sherla made it into, or at least on to the bed, much sooner than Katrina had anticipated. So did Katrina, although it was not into or on to Katrina's own bed for Sherla dove at the little maid and carried her headlong into Sherla's mussed bedding. Caught totally by surprise, Katrina did not react until the surprisingly agile and strong Sherla had her prey flat on her back and was straddling Katrina's body with her own.

Each of Sherla's hands held one of Katrina's wrists pinned to the mattress, the smaller girl using weight and leverage to hold the maid down. Disbelieving, Katrina looked up at Sherla and felt her breath catch at what she saw.

Her hair had come loose from the complex array of curls and twists and fell from her head like a black silk waterfall. Sherla's eyes sparkled gleefully with mischief, and something just a little darker. Red lips were parted in a half smile so that the inquisitive tip of Sherla's pink tongue could slip through to moisten them. Katrina's eyes dipped lower to the white silk chemise that barely peaked above the top of the corset and could see the dark, pointed circles where Sherla's nipples had become hard and prominent.

Now, it was Katrina's pulse that began to race, and her mouth that suddenly felt dry as dust. For Katrina had a secret, one she had never dared dream would ever see to the light of day, or the dark of night. Katrina lusted in her heart for Ma'amselle Cherie. She had since the first time she'd seen the lovely young woman, all cold and pale in the coachman's arms. Her interest had only grown stronger with each revelation about the girl's past and about her future, for Madame Irene had felt obligated to warn Katrina of the possible danger Sherla might bring into their lives. So she knew all about Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and while she hadn't understood how it was possible for an old man to become this glorious woman, La Petite Mademoiselle had simply been too ignorant of womanly things to have grown up a girl. Morever, Katrina's hunger had grown with each cautious step the girl had taken towards becoming a woman.

A girl who had been a man and was now a beautiful woman. It fair made Katrina's blood boil just thinking about the possibilities and here, atop her, was the reality.

*Mais non, I must not permit this! She is drunk, intoxicated. She would never do this otherwise and she will regret it tomorrow, and I should hate that more than anything,* Katrina told herself sternly, only to have that secret part of her whisper back, *Mais oui, Katrina, for she has always been a man until a month ago, and what would please the man she once was be a woman, would it not? How could she hate such a gift?*

Katrina was still locked in her internal war of conscience when Sherla leaned down and planted the softest, most tentative, most incredibly sweet kiss Katrina had ever experienced on her lips. Primal instinct defeated the nay-sayer inside her soul, and Katrina pursed her lips and returned the innocently close-mouthed kiss.

"That was nice, but it really wasn't a kiss. Noooooot quite." Sherla said in the childlike tones of the happily intoxicated. "I know that because I was *truly* kissed tonight," she declared, her mouth a bare inch from Katrina's own, "and it was very nice. He did it *verrrry* well," she whispered, slurring the word 'very'. "Do you?" She asked perkily.

"Do I. . .do I WHAT, Mademoiselle?" Katrina asked, not wanting to misinterpret.

"Silly Katrina. Do . . you. . .kiss. .very well, too?" Sherla asked, her voice burbling with a suppressed giggle.

*Merde,* Katrina sighed, *I am lost.* "Why don't you come down here closer and find out, cherie?"

Sherla seemed to give that grave consideration. "I don't know," she finally said. "I might slip my grip on your wrists if you kiss really well, and then you could get away from me. I don't WANT you to get away from me," she assured Katrina gravely. "I like having you here like this. It FEELS good." Sherla gave emphasis to that final statement by giving a little hip wiggle about Katrina's own straddled hips so that the maid *knew* precisely where it felt so very good.

Now, Katrina truly was lost - lost in the sensation and closeness of this remarkable girl. "I promise, my sweet, I won't leave until you tell me I may."

"Word of honor?" Sherla demanded, sounding rather masculine in her insistence, Katrina thought.

"Word of honor," Katrina assured her soon-to-be lover.

Reassured, Sherla let go of Katrina's hands, and lowered herself so that they could hold each other as they kissed. With caution and care, the two women moved their lips together, and instantly ceased to care about anything else.

Much later, Sherla whispered happily, "You kiss MUCH better than he did, Katrina."

A soft, very aroused feminine chuckle answered her. "Let's finish disrobing, Ma'amselle Cherie, and I will show you precisely how well I can kiss."

"Why does taking off clothes have anything to do with kissing?" Sherla wanted to know, "Our lips aren't covered."

Katrina laughed again. "Let us get undressed, my dear, and you will be surprised and pleased at what we uncover."

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

As it had the morning before, something awoke Irene from a sound sleep. "Not again," she complained, even as she rose from her warm bed. Silently, she padded over to her door and cracked it open. In the half light of dawn, she saw a figure slipping out of Sherla's room. For a moment, Irene thought it was Sherla making another foray into the gardens, but then she observed two very significant problems with that theory.

The figure quietly walking down the stairs was not Sherla, but Katrina, and secondly, Katrina was nude.

Irene stood there, motionless for several minutes, trying to decide what to do, and in the end decided to do nothing immediately. *I will wait and see how Sherla reacts to this before I make any decisions. She is the unknown factor in this puzzle. I know Katrina, and in truth, had expected something like this to occur, though perhaps not quite so soon. Sherla, however, is not the well bred, lovely young miss barely out of the school room that she gives every appearance of being. However, nor is she the sixty some year old man she once was. I must wait, and react to her feelings and responses in this case. Otherwise, I could do irreparable harm to my relationship with Katrina or Sherla or both.*

Fatigue called Irene back to her bed, and she answered. She would need the rest, she told herself, for she would have to be at her very sharpest when this small crisis reached its cusp.

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

Her body languid with sleepy satiation, Sherla rolled away from the edge of her bed, one arm outstretched and seeking. She came fully awake when her search found nothing but empty bed. She started to sit up and leave the bed when she came down on something hard beneath the covers. Cautiously, she reached between the sheets. Her hands found and closed upon a long, cylindrical object of strange texture.

Cold chills ran up and down Sherla's back as she withdrew and recognized the object, for with that recognition came the memories.

The object itself was truly an exemplary piece of craftsmanship. Having once been greatly attached to a real example of the item the instrument in her hand was modeled upon, Sherla could only gaze at it in wonder and in horror. It was carved from ivory and was perhaps eight inches long from tip to base, and one to one and a half inches in diameter. An ornate hilt, like that of a ceremonial dagger, was attached to the. . .appropriate end of the object. The artisan who had carved it had meticulously mimicked veins and other textures of the original model into the smooth surface of the ivory.

*I believe the French would call this a godemiche,* Sherla thought as she tried to remain controlled. *Very strange name for an phallic symbol. Hmmm. . .what is that brown, almost rusty stain along the trunk, near the head?*

Sherla rose from her bed to take the implement to the window where she could examine it in better light. An ache, deep inside her woman's flesh brought her up short, and told her all she needed to know about the source of the stain. *One must suppose,* she thought, exerting all her will to remain calm and objective, *that this means I am no longer physically a virgin.*

Her calm facade crumbled the very next instant. "OH MY LORD!" she wailed, "Whatever will Katrina and Irene think of me now? I have abused a member of her household with my lusts."

Clutching the phallus in her hand, Sherla threw herself back into the bed, and began to weep. She had most likely just lost the only friends she had left in the world.

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

Much later, a very subdued Sherla made her way downstairs. She had not wanted to summon Katrina, so she had simply pulled on a nightgown, (she'd been even more horrified when she'd realized she'd spent the night completely nude) her thick velvet robe and her slippers before venturing out to find Irene.

Irene was waiting for Sherla in her library. Whatever the outcome of the confrontation, Irene had determined in her own mind that privacy was the best course, at least in the very beginning. Sherla entered the room, and without invitation or direction, shut and locked the door.

*So, she has reached the same conclusions as I. Not surprising, I suppose. When she was Sherlock, were we not ever opposite sides of the same coin? Hmmmm. . . she has tried to hide it with cosmetics, but she has been crying and her skills are not yet sufficient to the task of hiding a long bout of tears. What does that mean, I wonder? She refuses to meet my eyes, as well.*

"Yes, Sherla?" Irene asked gesturing the girl into a chair. "What can I do for you?"

Sherla folded her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor between the two women. Finally, she sighed. "I have come to tell you that last night. . . ." a choked sob broke her voice, but she took a deep breath and battled through it, "Last night, I . . .forced myself upon a member of your household. I. . .I threw Katrina to my bed using one of the Oriental techniques I told you about. . .and . . .and had my way with her."

Irene considered that for a very long moment. *So, she takes the blame upon herself, and in so doing, implies that Katrina was both blameless and the injured party. Remarkable person, this Mr-Miss Sherlock-Sherla Holmes. Truth is all and Justice its servant.* "You were in the grips of a relapse of the withdrawal effect, my dear," Irene said gently. "Not as serious as the past ones, but combined with too much wine. . .well, it was a volatile combination."

Sherla's eyes finally met Irene's, and for a moment, the older woman thought she saw hope, only to have that emotion disappear an instant later. "That is no excuse for . . forcing myself upon another person, Madame Adler. If you wish, I shall leave your home today, but I would like to try and apologize to Katrina first."

Standing, Irene walked over to the bell-pull and summoned Katrina, then she unlocked the door before resuming her seat. "Sherla, there is something you should know about Katrina, but I must have her permission first."

The little maid sailed into the room moments later, her smiling face like the sun, particularly when she saw Sherla. "Ma'amselle Cherie, you should have called me to help you dress," she scolded fondly.

Expecting recriminations and imprecations, Sherla was greatly taken aback by Katrina's sunny mood and genuine pleasure at seeing her. Katrina saw this and became worried. *She did not like it,* she thought as her lovely mood evaporated, *and she has come to Madame to complain. Well, you knew this was possible, even likely, but she seemed to enjoy our time so very much.*

"Katrina," Irene said, drawing her maid's attention, "Sherla has just come to me."

"It is all my fault, Madame," Katrina cut her off. "La Petite was, well, somewhat indisposed and I took unfair advantage of her reduced condition. I will pack immedia. . "

"You will do NOTHING except LISTEN," Irene shouted, thoroughly exasperated. "Mademoiselle Sherla has just told me that she forcibly threw you to her bed and took shameful advantage of you. Therefore, she has offered to leave, but wanted to apologize first. What happened, Katrina? Didn't she do it well?"

Surprise, then humor lit Katrina's face. "Mais Non, Madame, Ma'amselle Cherie is very gifted, especially for a complete beginner. It was very, very nice indeed." Now, the maid looked utterly sensual.

"But. . but . ." Sherla stuttered.

"But nothing," Irene finished. "I did not tell you the story of how Katrina came to be in my employ because some small minded people think less of her for something that was not her fault. However, one result of that experience is that our Katrina is a lover of other women. If she shared your bed last night, it was because she wanted to share your bed. Now, did she take unfair advantage of you, Sherla?"

Sherla's mouth opened and closed several times before she could form any words. "No, Irene, it was nothing like that. It was. . . well, lovely. Nothing in my whole life's experience compares with the wonders Katrina introduced to me last night."

"Very well, then," Irene stood and walked to the library door. "I am going for a stroll in the park. You two come to some type of mutual accommodation. Katrina, you already know most of Sherla's story, it would be fair if you shared yours with her. I shall return in an hour and will want my breakfast, so be quick about it!"

"Oui, Madame," Katrina said demurely. "I shall tell her while we prepare your most favorite breakfast for you. Merci, Tante Irene."

Irene nodded and left. Sherla stared at her lover of the night before. "Tante? You called her aunt? She is your aunt and you work as her maid?"

"For the same reason you call her 'tante', goose," Katrina said fondly. "Now, come join me in the kitchen. I shall explain everything to you while I teach you to make fruit compote and crepes."

 

 

 

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