Chapter six: If you wanna hang out, you've gotta take her out – Cocaine
"Thank Goodness!" Sherlock Holmes appeared to cheer up with every bouncing step that we strode away from Agnes. He started whistling and swirling his cane, regaining his good spirits.
"Really Holmes, now you're exaggerating! I'm sure the old lady is not a bad sort. This unpleasant young man was, in my opinion, much more deserving of our distaste…"
"Balderdash, Watson. We've been allowed the absence from all society for a couple of hours, and don't you try and spoil it for me."
"As you will." I contemplated our reflections in the dull water of the mere by the border of which we were marching. "Holmes", I suddenly asked, "what have you been doing with yourself all the time that I slept in the morning? Where have you been?"
"Hmmm?"
I was aware he had understood me very well, but feigned deafness either to pique my interest or for some other purpose.
"My dear friend! You heard me. What have you been doing with your time?"
He threw me a curious sideways glance. "Do you really think it would make you happy to hear how I carefully ransacked the respective rooms of our hosts?"
"No, you didn't!" I stopped dead and stared at him indignantly. The corners of his mouth twitched. As per usual, he did not acknowledge how much he was in the wrong.
"This is intolerable! What if someone had caught you? How awfully mortifying for both of us! Imagine the awkward situation you would have got us into!"
He laughed heartily. "No need for your concern, I assure you, Watson. I took the precaution of going in the shape of a valet."
"A valet?" I squinted one eye. "So, that is the reason for your less than ceremonious habit!"
"You mean this?" He fiddled with the abominable red muffler. "Indeed, it was quite superfluous. Nobody set as much as an eye on me."
"Thank God", I moaned, my forehead clammy with perspiration. "Surely, this was not one of your more ingenious ideas, Holmes! It could have gone terribly wrong. What did you manage to find in the rooms, anyhow?"
"Many an interesting item."
"Such as?"
"That I won't tell at present. You know me, Watson. I like to keep a little mystery to myself."
"But you didn't recover the missing items, did you?"
"Hardly that."
"I thought as much", I huffed with disapproval. "The greatest fool would not steal those things and keep them in his room when one of the most famous investigators is about. They could be anywhere on the premises…"
"Exactly. However, I wish to abide a more convenient moment to take action."
"And what will said action consist of?"
"That I won't tell either. I have not yet determined on my proceeding. At any rate, it will be necessary for me to re-visit the rooms I searched today."
I did not enthuse at this prospect, but found it was safer to keep my mouth shut, for Holmes could become quite nasty when he felt I was interfering too much in his investigations.
oooOOOooo
thus we returned to our rooms at the Castle in order to take a bath and change for the evening. Having finished my own dressing, I stepped into Holmes' chamber and amused myself at the expense of my poor friend's incredible vanity. He had started grooming ever before I had, and even now, he was not nearly done.
Strutting in front of the lengthy mirror, he examined his appearance, smoothing his pomaded hair and re-adjusting his cravat with the emerald tie pin a certain royal personage had presented him with years ago. I did not actually succeed in suppressing the laughing fir which bubbled up in my throat, and Holmes revolved, only to turn back to the looking glass and run over his reflection worriedly, in quest of anything which might have provoked my merriment.
Satisfying myself that there was nothing, he faced me with slight irritation.
"Will you please share the cause of your amusement with me, my dear doctor?" he enquired with an air of being hurt.
"Nothing in particular, old man", I assuaged him. "I just wondered what Mrs. Hudson would say if she saw us like this. I take it we're looking rather foolish."
Mr. Holmes sniffed. "You speak for yourself only, doctor", he uttered and returned to the dumb rendez-vous with his inanimate double.
I let my eyes roam the chamber that had already assumed the characteristic untidiness, and mustered the array of my companion's collars and cuff links, all neatly spread on the coffee table. Shaking my head in disbelief, I removed myself from the room where my company, I sensed it, was temporarily not required.
oooOOOooo
There was an hour's gap to the official beginning of the ball souper, and I entertained myself by refreshing what little German I had. I am not ashamed to admit I also browsed all German love poetry at my disposal, hoping, not unduly I believe, to meet again with the charming young lady whose acquaintance I had made earlier that day.
I was sitting in the window, from whence part of the driveway could be observed, and from time to time an equipage rattled by, and even one or two of those dreadful, noisy, smelly, new-fangled contraptions which are called motor cars.
I inspected the clock at my bedside and decided it might be time to step down the stairs. Hopefully, my boswell had managed to perfect his looks by now.
I knocked on his door, but was not graced with an answer.
"Holmes?" Pushing open the door and peeping in, the first glance suggested to me that the detective had left without giving me notice.
Then, however, I beheld his silver cigarette case next to the vanity mirror, and knowing that Holmes would never be able to bear an evening of social reunion without it, I fully entered his bedroom and glanced about. He was not to be detected.
The window was closed and the bed empty, as were the couch and the seats by his coffee table. Knitting my brow, I wondered whether he had returned to the bathroom and recommenced the entire procedure, when a limp and listless arm fell from the upper end of the couch. It was not empty! He had lain down on it! And there, on the coffee table –
"No", I groaned. He had done it again. I stepped around the couch. "Holmes", I said tentatively, but strictly. "Holmes!"
He was lying with open eyes, his smoothened hair all messed up again, and his long, bony fingers twitched as if out of control.
"Wait a minute", I murmured, dashing to my room and retrieving a sedative which I dissolved in a glass of water. Returning to my prostrate friend, I kneeled down by his side and held the glass under his nose. "Drink…"
He brought it to his lips shakily, while I helped him a little to get into a sitting position. Taking the empty glass and placing it on the table, I noticed the angry red bodkin on the wrist of his trembling hand. I frowned at him while he calmed down, for although my heart went out to him, he should see I was cross. It did not do to deal too leniently with him on these occasions.
I had ever regarded his abusive habit with worry and concern, but truth be told, in Holmes' younger years it had been nothing more than a whimsical fancy that would seize him now and then, and to which he would yield for his entertainment only. Still, during the preceding decade or so, I had observed the use of the drug was taking its toll on the detective, he was growing more dependent on it and would use it on frequent and various occasions, as a remedy for discontentment, fatigue, black moods and even loneliness, I presume.
"Holmes!" I gazed earnestly at the man who was blinking rapidly, as if trying to get rid of something that stuck to his lashes. "Was that necessary?"
" 't was", he issued hoarsely. "Give me another glass of water, Watson."
I obliged him, thereby emptying all that was left of his wretched solution out of the window. When he had downed his second glass, he began to look a little more human, but my anxiety was far from wearing off.
"I know it is not nice to say: I told you", I remarked sternly, "but I have to. How often did I actually tell you, Holmes? Refrain from poisoning yourself with this devilish substance. It can't do you any good, it really can't."
He did not reply, but stared at the opposite wall, his gaze unwavering, his face ashen.
"Why tonight of all nights?" I nagged. "you know you are supposed to give the best impression possible, and this is what you do to grant it!"
He did not give an answer. I gripped him by the shoulder.
"Do you even hear what I'm saying, man?"
"I do. Thanks for your concern, doctor", he said indifferently. I sighed and run my hand through my freshly coiffed hair, putting this effort to naught as well.
"Would you like to stay in here, Holmes? Shall I invent an excuse for you?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "That would be a waste. Having administered the injection for the sole purpose of surviving the evening, I should see this through and accompany you."
"But will you be able to….?" I hastened to assist him as he rose, but he shook off my helping hand.
"I'm fine, thank you, doctor!" he claimed with select coldness, as if he had not been literally begging for me to give him a drink of water a few minutes ago.
I pulled back and watched him getting ready, he put on his frock and shoved the cigarettes inside, all arched eyebrows and curled lips although his feet staggered.
"Shall we, Watson?"
oooOOOooo
We had hardly descended the stairs when we head the curbed chatter of people and the gentle ring of Chopin's Valse Brilllante. The scent of many different sorts of bouquets, mingled with the perfume of many a beautiful woman, benumbed my mind. Even in the small anteroom to the ball room was crowded with people who stood in small groups, holding champagne goblets and making animated conversation.
The first glance to the hall took my breath away, the mellow light from the chandeliers made the wooden parquet floor gleam and the large French windows had been opened to the balmy night, newly lit torches illuminating the baroque pleasure gardens outside.
"It is awe-inspiring!" I muttered.
"I'm glad you should think so", a female voice pronounced close to my ear. "Good evening, Dr. Watson. It's wonderful to have you here tonight. And you, Mr. Holmes."
"We are most lucky to have the opportunity to attend Your Highness' ball", I returned politely, but honestly. We stood for a couple of minutes, engaged in formal chit-chat, or that is to say, the Gräfin and I were. Mr. Holmes remained silent, though he gallantly kissed our hostess' gloved hand on her welcoming us. I was a little concerned for my friend when her Highness swiftly garnered a string of people around us, all of which desired to make our acquaintance. I am sure he experienced it as quite an ordeal, but he seemed intent on persevering through the evening.
Talking as little as possible, he restricted himself to sipping on the champagne the Gräfin had supplied him with from the tray of a passing waiter in livery. I had the impression we had met each and every one of her kith and kin, when finally, I discovered a familiar face in the assemblage.
"Fräulein Luise!" I cried delightedly. "What a pleasure to see you again!"
"Dr. Watson", she said with a cheeky smile that belied her reticent tone. "I delight myself also."
With a very lady-like attitude, she offered her bare, chubby hand to me, but her round eyes already moved on and rested on my comrade.
"Is that Sherlock Holmes?" she simply asked, not waiting for an introduction.
"Well…yes, he is", I stammered confoundedly. "Holmes, this is Fräulein Luise. Her father is the Duke of Bavaria. We met earlier today, in the garden."
"It is my privilege, madam", Mr. Holmes stated, not remotely interested in who he was confronted with this time.
Fräulein Luises eyes, on the other hand, had not once left his visage during the introduction, and they more and more resembled of a pair of saucers. I felt amusement and perhaps a little envy. Apparently, Holmes had found yet another admirer.
Huh, that was a bleak one. Sweet Lord, what a mess! Holmes truly is more conceited than any diva, but he's also a poor devil. I feel pity for him and solemnly promise not to do this to him again. And yet another harassing female – though her interest does not lie with his investigations….dunno whether that's a comfort to him.
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