Chapter thirty-six: Stars and Butterflies
31st July 1887
"I never fitted in society at all." Goethe's Faust
We overstayed our time at Mr. Vance's mansion, so that, hurry as we might, we could not possibly make it till nine. Therefore, we prepared for the dance leisurely, and appeared at the hired cab at half past. Mary and I had put on our theatre cloaks, for although the day had been a sunny one, the air was now too fresh with a little wind blowing, at least for our bare shoulders. Mr. Holmes, self-enamoured, was tugging on the end of a white cashmere scarf, admiring the effect in the reflecting cab window.
"We ought ter get goin'", I urged him. "Pray make haste and step into the brougham. Otherwise, all of us will be blown away in the gust! Mr. 'olmes 'as managed ter lose weight in Brighton, you know", I told Mary, who was impatiently treading from one foot to the other. She had been very eager to arrive punctually, and now fostered anxieties that my husband's narcissism might cause us further delay.
At my words, however, she laughed out loud. "Don't be ridiculous. Mr. Holmes doesn't even have any weight to lose. And I've never heard of any man or woman who achieved that while on holiday."
"Well, call me crazy. P'raps it is because Mrs. 'udson ain't 'ere ter pamper 'im?"
"Dear ladies!" Holmes was affronted. "I do not pride myself on my particular politeness, but I must say it is very inconsiderate on your part to discuss my personal concerns in my presence. And above all, I thought it were your, the ladies', health which to improve we were envisaging. Wasn't it?"
And with an air of wounded pride, he flicked out his hand to assist us in mounting the cab.
"He is so very sensitive", Mary complained quietly, before Holmes stepped in and was seated opposite us. With the upper end of his cane, he trenchantly hit the carriage roof.
"To the Royal Pavillon, cabbie! And be quick about it!"
oooOOOooo
The Pavillon is a large, domed building, modeled after the palaces of the maharajas. It is situated on a wide open space above one of the most frequented beaches in Brighton. The name is derived from the fact that the edifice was constructed by the Royal family, and only recently passed out of the queen's hands into public possession. Nowadays, it is mostly used as a venue for festivities by the summer guests, being home to the Brighton Ball every month during the season.
As we approached the building in our brougham, I hung my head out of the window, only to be pulled back by Mr. Holmes, into whose face a scandalized frown had etched the word unseemly. Mary giggled.
The carriages of the visitors had been parked a little off beneath some birches, and it was there that our cabman drew in the reigns. "We're there, guv'nor!"
Alighting in plain view of the palace, Mary and I could see that Madame Lavelle and her subservient ones had done a good day's work: The brightly illuminated entrance was bedecked with honeysuckle, pink roses and white carnations. It was flanked by solemn footmen, who made me feel a bit self-conscious, considered that we were rather too late. But such feelings were unfamiliar to my companions.
Mary passed the men as though they were air, and my husband only stopped to drop our names. I wondered about the discrepancies in our behaviour, and arrived at the conclusion that it had to be education-conditioned. To Holmes, and even to Mary the governess, middle-class society had always been a kind of exclusive club of which they had possessed membership since the day of their birth. And I was, most likely, the alien in the stranger's room.
Chasing away these contemplations with a defiant toss of my head, I followed them into the lounge, which was closely packed with people. My eyes searched for familiar faces among them, but found only teardrop lamps, crème coloured Chippendale sofas and long mirrors in massive gold frames on the wall. My husband silently helped us out of our cloaks, and vanished into the direction of the wardrobe lady, while someone handed Mary and me our dance cards.
"I'm so looking forward to dancing!" My friend beamed. "I only wonder whether there'll be enough eligible candidates?"
"By all means, my dear child! By all means!"
With a little ballet-like leap, Colonel Kincaid came to our side, out of the blue. He had the somewhat confusing habit of calling everyone "dear child" or even "poppet", regardless of gender, age, and general congruity with these terms.
"Won-der-ful! So what do we have here?" he avidly scribbled his name on both our cards. "Today must be my lucky day. One Allemande with Mary fair and one Musette with angelic Kitty. Ha, did you know that one, by the way? Says one chap: My wife is an angel. Says the other: Oh, boy! But mine is still alive!"
He wanted to burst with laughter, but became serious within an instant. Returning our dance cards, he gravely averred: "Do not listen to me, my dear children, do not listen. You know I love all women."
We had no chance to reply however, for the wiry little man cried: "Oh, here comes Mr. Holmes! How are you, my dear boy? Did I tell you the delicious joke of the chap who says…"
"Yes, yes, you did that, Colonel", Holmes replied irritably, sending on a sigh that seemed to signify: "Repeatedly."
"You will, I'm sure, excuse us, but I couldn't possibly withhold the ladies from their first dance any longer…"
"I understand, of course, of course", the Colonel affirmed slyly, with a bogus indulgence that in a very charming way ridiculed Holmes' flimsy excuse. "Well, we will meet again in the course of the evening, I daresay. Until then, my duckies! Adieu, adieu, adieu!" And he pirouetted away. Holmes groaned with annoyance.
"Good riddance! We have shrugged off the insufferable cretin."
"I rather like him", Mary observed, and I nodded intently.
"God Almighty." Holmes chose not to enlarge the subject of Colonel Kincaid. He guided us toward the alleyway between the anteroom and the ball room, which was equally crowded with dancing couples.
They whirled across the shiny maple floor to the ring of a lively waltz, the ladies in low-cut summer dresses and with flowers in their hair, the gentlemen in linen suits. The lackey to our left announced our arrival with a booming voice. "Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock Holmes and Mrs. Mary Watson!"
In spite of his stentorian voice, our entry hardly attracted attention at all among the other guests.
"What splendour!" Mary smilingly turned around herself. "I've attended last month's ball you know, but then the hall was not so adorably decorated. Our batty Madame is good for something, after all. And it was definitely less populated last time."
I felt inclined to believe her. The dance floor was virtually stuffed with bows, frills and tulle, and although the pairs were dancing rather closely, the feathers of the ladies' headgears occasionally got entangled with that of the neighbour. Also the sitting booths around the wall were occupied without exception by those whose feet were aching too badly or who were plainly too exhausted to go on dancing.
The floor was further limited by a bar to the left, where the champagne was flowing abundantly, and to the right by a podium for the musicians. They just intoned "Les Pâtineurs au glâce", and indeed the blank surface of the floor conveyed the impression of a frozen lake upon which audacious young people were slithering rumbustiously.
Holmes stared at the violinists' instruments with yearning, while Mary brought to my attention the way our friends from the hotel had wound the podium with periwinkle, and the vases they had erected between the sitting booths, stocked with orchids and birds of paradise. Even the high stucco ceiling had been adorned, by some brave person, free from giddiness and appareled with a ladder or very long legs.
The room as a whole was filled with a wonderful scent, the aroma of the flowers mixed with the salty smell of the sea, for the far end of the room opened to a stony porch above the beach, and the long windows were folded forward.
"It's dreamy", I sighed; only to be elbowed by Mary, who indicated the double menace of Mrs. Ragland and Madame Lavelle approaching. "Oh…my…"
Mr. Holmes had also noticed what the matter was. Without further ado, he grasped my hand, kissing it hastily. "A thousand apologies Kitty, I very recalcitrantly neglected reserving a dance on your card. Would you nonetheless grant me the privilege of the first turn around the hall?" And not abiding my answer, he embraced me with one arm, lacing his right hand with my left, and swept me out on the floor, which left poor Mary at the elderly ladies' mercy, without means of escape. I laughed in spite of myself.
"That wasn't exactly gallant, Mr. 'olmes!"
"Oh, don't move yourself to tears", he sneered. "I have an idea that someone or other will soon release the damsel in distress."
For a minute I watched Mary who looked very lovely in her blue, puff-sleeved dress, and indeed it did not take Mr. Youghal any longer to materialize by her side and lead her off to dance. For the second time in one day, I had an uncomfortable feeling that the shy young man's regard for my friend was more profound than recommendable in the case of a married woman. However, I chose to say nothing yet and smiled at Mr. Holmes whose all-round proficiency for once did not unsettle me, for I prefer a good dancer to an amateurish one.
He looked down on me, and the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. "I perceive you are wearing the necklace I gave you."
"I treasure it very much", I assured him quickly. "And I thought it went quite well with this plum colour – which is of course perfectly unrelated to the fact that this colour looks best on me."
"Really. I prefer you in russet", he replied plainly, spinning me around the bend of the room.
"But…I don't 'ave a frock o' that colour", I returned with a frown.
"I am convinced that at the very least you used to have one. You wore it when first we met", he explained easily, as though we were not talking about an occasion two years in the past.
"You remember what I wore on our first encounter?"
"I only rarely forget details. My memory is not very…selective, on the whole. And speaking of the memory, this reminds me…"
The dance had come to an end, and Sherlock Holmes made me step aside with him, so that the other people could form up for the Allemande. It appeared that he wished to retrieve something from the depths of his jacket, and after some attempts, producing a measure tape, a lock pick and a magnifying glass, he succeeded.
"Ah! There it is." He presented me with a nosegay that was only slightly bruised. The buds were so tiny and delicate I had to see them in proper light to recognize they were Bleeding Hearts.
"Thank you so much!" I gave him a surprised look. "You remembered that!"
"But then, it was only today that we broached the subject of favourite flowers", he remarked calmly when I fixed the flowers to my gown.
"It was a very pretty idea." I took his hand in both of mine and lightly pressed it, but suddenly his smile became somewhat rigid, and I swiftly let it go again.
"Ahem." He gingerly withdrew his arm. "I was on the point of proposing a drink – do you think Mrs. Watson would care for some refreshment, too?"
"Yes", I confirmed avidly, for Mary was already having her second dance with Colonel Kincaid, "yes I suppose she could do wiv a break."
He left me and I watched the dancers, cavorting like so many butterflies, until the old girls discovered my availability and unscrupulously occupied me.
"Do you play whist?" Mrs. Ragland roared above the general rumpus, while Madame Lavelle loudly complained about Mary's refusal to be a part in her fitness projects. Luckily, Mary and the Colonel joined us just a little later. My friend was radiant. Her aquamarine earrings still dangled in the rhythm of the music.
"Wasn't that great fun, Colonel! We'll have to do the next round together, too! Oh, thank you Mr. Holmes", she added, for my husband had silently returned with our champagne goblets. While he was entangled in a conversation by the ladies, Mary took me aside.
"Kitty…" she glanced furtively around before she continued, her voice lowered, "….have you seen Mr. Youghal anywhere?"
"Not since you danced with him, no", I replied, surprised.
"Well, that's just the crux! While on the floor, he more or less confessed being in love with me. It was pretty embarrassing."
"Oh, no!" I exasperatedly hit my temple. "I was anticipating something of the sort. What did you do?"
"What do you think?" Mary was getting impatient. "Of course I told him there already was a man in my life, that I was very sorry and so on and so on. Later, I saw him moping about in the booth over there, watching the dance. But now it seems the earth swallowed him! Nobody's seen him!"
"Poor devil. Perhaps he's gone home?"
"I don't know…" she insecurely looked around. "I think I'll go and search him."
"Don't!" I warned her. "He might interpret it wrongly. You wanted to do one more dance with the Colonel, so go for it. And I just will…."
But when we turned around, we had to perceive that Mr. Youghal was not the only man that had gone missing. Much as I would ask people and look out on the dance floor, no trace of Holmes was to be found.
oooOOOooo
I discovered his whereabouts by good chance only. Almost suffocating with the oppressive heat that invariably builds up in a crowd, the alcohol rising to my head; I had gone to stand by the down folded windows to breathe some fresh air. As I did so, I observed the lone glow of a cigarette in the darkness out there. Nobody really seemed to take notice of me momentarily, so I opened the window and stepped over the high threshold, out on the porch. Beyond it, the white beach could be seen gleaming, and the dark sea was rolling and stomping.
The gust had abated and had left the sky swept clear, so that every single star was to be distinguished. Calmly I closed the window and went over to where Mr. Holmes was leaning against the balustrade, dusting his serge waistcoat with cigarette ash.
"A smoke was overdue", I observed smilingly, standing next to him and placing one arm on the low wall.
"It was not exactly that which drove me out."
"Then you find it a dead bore." I felt my smile grow sad, a little.
He was silent for a moment and then he said: "Ah, I don't know Kitty. All I know for sure is that all these kind, amiable people are frightfully getting on my nerves. I was not made to endure noise, idle chatter and constriction. To be quite honest, I found the atmosphere in there quite depressing."
"I felt close to choking, too", I conceded hesitantly, "still I find it was all done rather nicely."
"Ha!" he uttered a strange little sound of disagreement.
"Didn't you think?"
"Kitty, oh Kitty. I would loathe spoiling the evening for you. If I were to describe my reception of it, it'd be depressing for you too. No, no, you go back in there and enjoy yourself, and I shall have another cigarette or two, and then walk to the hotel across the beach."
I looked up at him, but he did not actually seem depressed, in fact his eyes, reflecting the light of stars, were smiling at me.
"I wouldn't want to go in there again without you", I muttered. He inhaled deeply.
"Why not."
"Because I'd be all by myself", I explained. "Mary is busy with her gallery of admirers, and with nobody else to talk to, I'd end up feeling blue indeed. I'd…think too much about things."
"What things?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "It's just…" absentmindedly I patted my hair to ensure it covered the side of my neck.
He watched me expectantly and then snorted deridingly. "Oh please", he gibed, "you're not indulging in your inferiority complex again?"
He saw well that I was hurt, and with an impatient sigh stumped his cigarette on top of the wall. "Now really Kitty, you are letting yourself go. Pray what was in that room that reminded you of Baron Gruner, hm? Did the musicians play Madamina? Or did somebody suggest porcelain smashing?"
"You're laughing at me, Mr. 'olmes", I grumbled. "How'd you feel being the only cripple in a room full o' pretty girls…."
He chuckled condescendingly. "You're childish. First of, I consider the term cripple a highly dramatic one in your case. And in the second place, I did not perceive as much beauty in there as to oblige you to feeling inferior."
"You didn't? I suppose you just didn't look. Only see that woman over there, the one by the window! Ain't she georgeous?"
I indicated a tall, blonde lady resplendent with diamonds and very white teeth. She was surrounded by several gentlemen who were all doing their best to amuse her. Holmes, however, only wrinkled his nose.
"Where you see beauty, I can only detect a haggard hermaphrodite, dyed hair and loads of paste jewelry, nevertheless worn with a pretence that did almost convince me she were really fool enough to parade genuine diamonds in such a crowd."
I first looked at the lady, suddenly beholding that her pretty face was heavily made up, and then insecurely at Holmes, who earnestly returned my gaze. "You ought to accept it, Kitty. Beauty is not perfection…far from it. Much rather than that, it is the flaw that brings about the charm - it's the tender spot that captivates."
Hardly were these words spoke when already he regretted them. He faltered, visibly afraid that I might get him wrong. I felt I had to say something humorous or it would get too awkward. "Oh, but Mr. Holmes! I know you are only saying that because you are aware that your nose is way too large and your ears are projecting!" I exclaimed, pretending that I was perfectly at my ease, and he feigned taking offence, though he was playacting just as I was. We were both aware of it, and were grateful to each other, for the uneasy moment had passed away.
"So…you are determined to leave, Mr. Holmes?" I asked when he had sufficiently complained about my cheek. "It is well, for I am also quite weary of dancing. I shall come back with you to the Bay View."
"As you please. But haven't you promised any dances to the gentlemen inside? Won't they be waiting for you?"
"Only to Colonel Kincaid, an' 'e will be fine dancing wiv Mary. Shall we?"
"Yes. If you so wish."
A path had been laid out that connected the porch with the beach, occasionally interrupted by steps and overhung by a large laburnum bush. Burning torches had been planted left and right of it, in case the guests might like to take a nightly stroll by the waterside, but all the same Mr. Holmes solicitously gave me his arm so that I would not slip.
"The height of these heels is idiotic", he calmly informed me. "And so is the cut of your dress. Wouldn't it be ironic if you returned from a health resort with rheumatism and pneumonia?"
"I ain't cold. Not a bit." We had taken the last set of stairs and had arrived on the beach. "But you 'ave a point – they're uncomfortable. Ouch!" I slipped out of my shoes and picked them up in one hand. The sand was still warm beneath my naked feet. I laughed quietly in wonder and he quizzed me with a glance. "'tis nothing."
We walked silently side by side. The heavy silk of my dress was trailing on the sand, and there was a funny tickling sensation in my feet. I felt so curiously serene. The black sea was coming in and withdrawing alternatingly. The golden glint from the Royal Pavillon disappeared from sight as we went further and further away, but the stars were there always and poured their silver light down on everything.
Though we didn't say a word, my thoughts were constantly with the man that walked beside me, arms folded on his back, face turned up at the sky ponderously, and I felt so light, so light, so I-knew-not-what. All too quickly did new golden lights appear ahead of us: The Bay View Hotel. We rounded the cove, arrived at my and Mary's customary bathing place, and only a short stair separated us from the house and the garden. It was too narrow to be climbed simultaneously, so both of us halted and we hesitantly regarded each other. I laughed unconfidently.
"Strange, ain't it? That beach's so full with people by day, an' now it's so still and deserted. I wonder whether people will already be asleep up in the house?"
"Almost everyone will be at the ball", he said slowly.
"Oh." I swallowed hard. Oh indeed.
He held my gaze for one second longer, but then broke it with a jerk of his head. "I think I'll turn in. Do you wish to remain? Well, don't stay too long. You really might catch a cold, you know."
"Are ya very tired?"
"I mean to rise early tomorrow. Wouldn't dream of disappointing the sportive Madame", he said facetiously. "Good night, Kitty."
"Good night", I breathed. "And – thank you for the bouquet."
He had already begun to mount the stairs, but turned around one more time to wave his hand at me. In the gloom, I could only see him due to his bright suit.
"Thank you for the evening! It was not completely devoid of enjoyment, after all." And having uttered these words, he irrevocably vanished.
I spun round to face the sea. The curious light-headed feeling had become stronger suddenly…it was overwhelming, making my breath go irregular, making my heart pound in my chest. The scales had fallen from my eyes suddenly, though still it seemed incredible to me. I - Kitty Winter – Kitty Holmes – was in – in – love!"
Ouf, at laaast! Okay this hurdle's been cleared, thankfully. But what about Holmes? Do you think he might feel the same way? Yeah, no, perhaps? After all, only requited love will prosper…
Love, Mrs.F