Chapter 3: Age of Discoveries
Within a few weeks, Mrs. Molly Holmes' presence at Madame Celeste's became an accepted thing by all concerned, except by her husband, of course, who knew nothing about it. His guilty but enthralled wife went at least twice a week to the brothel, along with her adviser, of course, though that worthy was persuaded to allow Molly a great deal of time on her own through the simple expedient of flattery on the part of Madame Celeste's housekeeper, a woman whose sense of humor and devotion to Madame allowed her to carry out this subterfuge in fine style. The adviser, Miss Pringle, would be asked humbly to give her opinion of various aspects of the house's environment and on the health and welfare of the serving staff, which was numerous. That the housekeeper and serving staff were, to a man, laughing at her behind her back - for the house was run like clockwork and the serving staff well cared for and very well paid - Miss Pringle never suspected.
It had all been arranged on Molly's very first visit to the establishment. Madame Celeste, having been introduced and immediately realizing exactly who this young medical student was, and, more importantly, who her husband was, contrived to see Molly alone in her office, ostensibly to consult her about a chronic skin condition that manifested in a most delicate area and had baffled every doctor the woman had consulted. This was no more than the truth ("Lies can complicate things quite wretchedly, my dear Mrs. Holmes, and quite unnecessarily"), but though an examination was carried out, that was not Celeste's goal in meeting with the wife of Sherlock Holmes. She seemed sincerely interested in what Molly had to blushingly relate about their wedding night and their subsequent weeks in Italy, and Celeste laughed when Molly told her how Sherlock had reneged on his promise to allow her to visit the brothel in disguise.
"I am not surprised in the least. Not content with wedding an unschooled virgin, once a gentleman of the higher orders has tied the knot he props his wife on a pedestal and presumes she has no more interest in sexual matters than the innocent he married. And then, when he grows dissatisfied at home, he comes to us. I've seen it time and again."
Molly's dismay was so plain on her face at this that Madame said, quickly, "No, no, my dear, that won't happen to you! We'll make certain of that." And then and there, Madame began advising Molly in some of the ways in which a gentleman's pleasure might be increased. "But you must implement any changes in your behavior with the greatest caution, since your husband was unwilling to allow you even to visit here, much less take instruction. Foolish, but there it is. He must believe these tricks and practices sprang from your own imagination. So nothing too startling at first. Later, when he grows more accustomed to your innovations, you can allow yourself to be more adventurous."
"This is so kind of you!" exclaimed Molly, "and it makes me very proud to know that you hold Sherlock in such great esteem!"
Celeste laughed again. "You should be proud, but… well, your husband seemed an odd sort, very aloof to my girls' blandishments, all business except on that one occasion when he came here to receive instruction on your behalf. It piqued me, cool and handsome and condescending as he was. I tell you, Mrs. Holmes, to know that he is being entirely undone several nights a week by his innocent little wife, thanks to our tutelage, will give me more satisfaction than I can easily convey."
Molly suspected that Celeste was also pleased at the notion that the wife of Sherlock's bosom would be deceiving him, even if it was only by a sin of omission, but after that first visit, Molly was fairly caught. The things she learned from Madame Celeste and from some of the other girls were both titillating and to the point, and as she began over the weeks to employ them in the bedroom, she could not help but notice how greatly her dear husband was affected, and how loving were his glances at all other times.
o-o-o
One afternoon in the middle of October, Molly had come alone to visit Madame Celeste and was trotting up the back stairs of the house with a vial of the precious unguent she'd discovered that actually eased Madame's skin condition. She'd come twice before by herself for this purpose, always using the servant's entrance, and Madame had been most grateful, though she cautioned Molly to be extremely careful that she was not observed.
"The trustees at your school wouldn't like you coming here unaccompanied by your advisor, and your husband would likely take a dim view of such behavior as well. I don't wish to incur his antipathy."
But Molly had promised to be careful, and the unguent she'd brought (purchased from a Chinese doctor in Limehouse, near the Magdalene Hospital, if Madame had but known) proved so soothing and beneficial to the woman that she actually paid Molly considerably more than its actual cost. "For I cannot imagine that your husband gives you anything more than pin money, and moreover, if you will take my advice on financial matters as you are wont to do regarding those of the bedroom, you should open your own bank account and add to it as you can, in case of a rainy day."
Molly, whose "pin money" from Sherlock consisted of a very generous quarterly allowance, and already feeling enough guilt over deceiving him, did not elect to take this advice, though she did find a hiding place for her profits in their bedroom, a shoebox at the back of the wardrobe containing some elegant pumps that unfortunately tended to pinch and that she would likely never wear again, though they were too pretty to easily give away.
She was acquiring a nice little nest egg, thanks to Madame Celeste's stubborn malady, and it was with happy anticipation of adding to it that she ascended the stairs, heading toward Madame's office on the second floor. However, once she reached the first floor landing, she came upon a most disturbing sight: a lovely young woman, no more than a girl really, whose name, Molly knew, was Lucinda.
Lucinda's face was much tear-stained, her mouth was set in a tragic line, and when she saw Molly she gasped, exclaimed, "Oh! Oh!" and burst into renewed sobs, burying her face in a large handkerchief.
"Lucinda!" Molly cried. "What is wrong? Are you unwell?" For every other time she had seen Lucinda she had been aglow with unabashed happiness, a somewhat unusual state for one of Madame Celeste's working girls who, young as some of them were, tended to adopt a wry cynicism early on in their careers.
"No! I… Oh, ma'am… read this! " And Lucinda handed Molly a rather damp and somewhat crushed letter. Molly smoothed it carefully and read:
My Darling Lucinda,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this missive, one that contains news that I know will be difficult for you to bear. My father has discovered our affaire du coeur. I have met with him, perforce, and he has given me to understand that he will disinherit me entirely if I continue to frequent Madame Celeste's or any other house of ill-repute. My intention of offering you marriage he treated with the utmost contempt, telling me that I must decide for myself whether you would be willing to live with a man with no expectations and no prospects (since my poetry, though I know you hold it in high regard, is unlikely to earn me a living wage) and whether it would be right even to offer you such a life.
I have to admit that the answer that groaned within my breast was "No."
My heart of hearts, it grieves me more than I can say to tell you we must part, and that I pray you will quickly find happiness with some other man. I myself will doubtless live out my life as a bachelor, for I cannot conceive of any woman who could take your place in my affections, and I will not marry for position or for filthy lucre, no matter what my father says. I beg you will find it in your tender heart to forgive me, and will sometimes allow your thoughts to touch upon the hours of bliss we have experienced during this idyll, ill-fated as it has been.
I am, and ever will be, your own,
Bertram
Molly, having read the letter, looked up at Lucinda in horror and sympathy.
Lucinda said, "My life is over!" and gave a hitching sob, her tears overflowing once more.
Molly put her arm about the girl. "Lucinda, you must not say such a thing!"
"Oh, Mrs. Holmes, you do not understand. I… I am not like the other girls here. I have only been here since August, and my Bertram was the only man I… I ever…"
"The only one to have bedded you?" Molly asked, surprised. "How is this? Were you a maiden when he first came to you?"
Lucinda nodded, and pressed the handkerchief to her trembling lips.
Molly said, "If you please, tell me how it all happened. I always thought that perhaps you were of genteel birth, and now…"
"I was," said Lucinda. "My father is a clergyman in… in the north of England, a most God-fearing man, but… well... My dear mother died two years ago. It was a dreadful time, and I… I cannot but believe it turned my father's intellects somewhat, for though he had never been warm, he became far worse, almost a recluse, except on Sundays, and when parish business arose. And… well… I look a great deal as my mother did in her youth. Many of the townspeople remarked on it. My father seemed almost to resent that, and as the months passed, he kept me more and more restricted to home. But there was one young man, the son of the local blacksmith, who would come and do work on our property, and… he had a fondness for me. One day, we were both in the orchard behind the house and he… stole a kiss. It was nothing, truly! But my father witnessed it, and he was… oh, dreadfully angry. He sent the young man away, telling him never to return. And then… oh ma'am! He... he cut a switch from one of the trees and took me in the house and… and..." Her voice trailed off and she had grown very pale, quite overcome at the memory.
"Oh, Lucinda!" Molly breathed, horrified.
But then Lucinda looked at Molly, her face set. "I ran away. I put on my best clothes, stole all the money from the poor box in the chapel where I had gone to church every Sunday of my life, and I ran away to… to the nearest town and bought a ticket for the train to London. There had been an advertisement in the Times, for work as a lady's companion, and I was determined I should apply for the post. And I did, too… but they thought me too young, though I had turned seventeen. That was last July. I tried then to find other work in service, through an agency, but it seems it's very difficult when one has no references - and not much experience. We had a housekeeper at home, you see, and a girl to help her, and then there was Cook. I am afraid I didn't learn much about domestic work or… or anything useful." Lucinda fell into dejection at this, snuffled, and then blew her straight little nose with the damp handkerchief.
"But how did you end up here? And with Bertram?"
Lucinda smiled slightly. "I was nearly out of funds entirely - London is so very expensive a place to live - but then Sally Ripple befriended me."
"Sally?" said Molly, frowning. "You mean that little dark-haired girl who seems so lively?"
"She is lively, and I still believe she has a good heart. She's Madame's favorite of the younger girls. She saw that I was close to despair, and at wit's end trying to think what to do. She brought me here. Madame said she had a surfeit of servants and needed no more, but if I wished to become… well. I resisted for two weeks. And then, one night, I saw Bertram and… and fell in love. And I told Madame I would have him."
"Did he know you were…" Molly hesitated, fascinated and appalled.
"Oh, yes. He had to pay a great deal, I believe, for… for my maidenhood. But he loved me. I know he did. From that very first time. And I saw him many times after that over these last two months. I knew he would rescue me from this life. I knew it, though the other girls… they weren't as certain. But they did encourage me to hope. Only Madame laughed at the notion. And it seems… she was correct." Lucinda sniffed again, and wiped her eyes.
"What will you do now?" Molly asked, quietly.
"Madame still maintains she needs no additional servants. But… I can't. I can't give myself to any other man. I won't. I won't! "
Molly put her arm about the girl's shoulders. "No. There must be some other way. Lucinda, will you stay here until I speak with Madame Celeste? I am here to deliver the medicinal unguent she has found so beneficial and I know she will listen to me."
"But... what will you tell her?"
"Well… if you had the chance to become a kitchen maid in a… a somewhat strange but quite genteel home, would you leave this place?"
Lucinda stared, and breathed, "Oh, ma'am. Do you mean-"
"Wait here!" Molly commanded imperiously, eyes glinting, and an impish smile on her lips.
o-o-o
"Alphonse!"
Alphonse turned from the cutting board where he had been creating a mountain of perfectly julienned root vegetables which he would presently braise with butter and herbs and salt and pepper and just half a clove of garlic so as not to overwhelm the delicate flavors of the- but here he stopped his musings to stare at the not one but two women before him. Or woman and girl. Though the stranger, the girl, was several inches taller than his mistress, and built on queenly lines, very pretty in an English Rose sort of way, and she was obviously very young - not even of age, if Alphonse was any judge (and he was).
"Madame?" he asked, the question in his voice and disapprobation in his eye.
"Alphonse, you will forgive me for interrupting you at a crucial point in your preparations-"
"All moments are crucial," Alphonse said in baleful tones.
"Yes, so you have given us to understand," said Mrs. Holmes, with a somewhat humorous sidelong glance at the girl.
The girl did not notice, however, but looked upon Alphonse with awe and some trepidation, as was certainly appropriate.
But Mrs. Holmes continued, "In any case, you have been hinting for some time that you need an assistant-"
"An escuelerie."
"Precisely. Though I do hope you will deign to teach Lucinda some of your cooking skills, if she shows the aptitude for it."
Alphonse stared, first at Molly Holmes, then at… Lucinda. He said, "This?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Holmes.
"This is not a boy. What will I do with a female? They do not belong in the kitchen."
"Oh, rubbish!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes, a stubborn glint in her eye. "Lucinda will be more than equal to any task you may set for her. Is that not so, Lucinda?"
"Oh… oh, yes, ma'am. Only… if Monsieur doesn't want-"
"I don't," stated Alphonse, and prepared to turn away.
"I will give you a raise in pay," Mrs. Holmes stated.
Alphonse considered this, as well as her determination. "How much?"
"Two pounds a month."
"Five," said Alphonse.
"Three and that's my final offer. Otherwise you will accept her, with only a good grace and no increase in pay at all."
Alphonse drew himself up and glared at the mistress of the house, but it had little effect. She had been coming into her own these last two months since her return from Italy. Her husband flitted about London in a daze of lingering bliss, and no wonder. She was a force to be reckoned with, his lovely, kind, and energetic young mistress.
Alphonse bowed slightly. "Three, then." He looked at Lucinda and jerked his chin in the direction of the sink. "Put on an apron and get to work."
Mrs. Holmes gave him a glowing smile in thanks.
o-o-o
Lucinda settled in quite happily at 221B Baker Street. Wary of Alphonse, at first, she soon grew used to his gruff ways, worked hard to please him, and began to pick up bits and pieces of culinary knowledge. There was much more to cooking than she'd ever supposed when she was growing up in quiet, conservative Yorkshire, and she found it exciting and immensely satisfying when she achieved any success - and to receive a nod of approval from Alphonse made her quite giddy.
Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Holmes, the famous consulting detective, each gave her a nod of approval when Molly first introduced her to them ("... one of the girls I came to know through my community service - and Alphonse has been complaining he needed help …") but otherwise barely acknowledged her existence. Young Archie was friendlier, but was so wary of Alphonse that she rarely saw him since she spent all her time in Alphonse's kingdom.
Or nearly all. After a week, Alphonse had allowed her to serve some of the dishes he so lovingly prepared (and it was love, he had the greatest admiration for his employers and went to great lengths to please them). And it wasn't more than a few days later before she was delivering all of them to the table, since Alphonse preferred to lurk ominously in his particular domain.
It was this new task that finally revealed to her, and to her mistress, the true state of affairs. One morning, a Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, and Archie were sitting round the breakfast table, and Lucinda was carrying in a tray with a dish of kedgeree upon it, the smell of the haddock, eggs, and spices wafting up to her. Her stomach had been a little delicate lately, but now it revolted entirely. She quickly set the dish on the table and hurried from the room.
But her distress had not gone entirely unnoticed. Mrs. Holmes came looking for her, and found her in the tiny back garden, vomiting into one of the flowerbeds.
"Lucinda!" said the kind, worried voice, gently rubbing her back. "You are ill! Why didn't you let us know? You should be abed."
Lucinda carefully wiped her mouth with the edge of her apron and then reluctantly turned to her mistress. "No, I am not ill. Not like that. Oh, Mrs. Holmes…" Her voice trailed off in utter despair.
And Mrs. Holmes gasped, suddenly realizing what was amiss. "You are with child!" she said, almost whispering the words.
Lucinda nodded, and her eyes filled with tears.
