Chapter Eight: Masques
30th November, 1889
Lady Margaret Sotherby emerged from her bedroom and paused in the hallway of her Berkley Square home to put down her trident and shield in order adjust the front of her long flowing robe and straighten the helmet she was wearing. Once done to her satisfaction, she slid the Union Jack shield over her bare arm and picked up her trident -- Britannia once again.
Pleased with herself, she walked across the hall and knocked on the door opposite. "Nicholas?" she called. "How are you getting along?"
"Blasted armour chafes like billy-o!" came a grumbling voice back through the door, accompanied by a very audible clanking and the sound of something metal hitting the ground. "Blast it!"
"Language, dear!" Margaret admonished.
"Remind me why I couldn't go as Julius Caesar?" Sir Nicholas Sotherby groused, his knightly suit of armour creaking as he bent to pick up his fallen gauntlet.
"Because Henry the Fifth is a far more fitting king to accompany Britannia," she reminded him with a sigh. "One could hardly proclaim the greatest of our Empire by having the man who conquered Britain alongside of her, can one?"
"'S'pose not," came the reluctant agreement after some silence.
"Will you be all right?" she enquired solicitously.
"Jervis and I will manage..." he answered with a loud sigh, referring to his valet, who was currently trying to figure out what piece went where of what was left.
"I'll see you later then." She nodded at the door and smiling, moved on down the hallway. Stopping again a few doors down, she knocked on the door to her right. "Helen? May I come in?" she called.
"Of course!" came the friendly, if muffled, reply.
Turning the handle, Margaret bumped the door with both trident and shield and on manoeuvring her way through, sighed at her oldest friend as she closed the door behind her. "Don't tell Nicholas I said so, but these..." she informed her friend, holding up the weapons with some slight exasperation of her own, "will simply have to be dispensed with as soon as possible! I'm quite likely to poke out several of my guests' eyes!"
"Mmm right," came an even more muffled reply as Helen turned with a very amused expression on her face, unable to be more articulate due to the three hairpins she held between her lips while she endeavoured to style her hair.
Putting down the weapons, Margaret made her way across to her friend and extracted the hairpins from her mouth, turning her around to help her finish styling the Grecian hairdo Helen was creating, her long auburn ringlets already tumbling down over the back of her Greek style sleeveless gown.
Beginning to slip the pins in, Margaret nodded approvingly. "This was a wise choice...it is most becoming on you, both in terms of the dress and your hair." She smiled at her fondly. "I can't believe this hair is the same raging carrot red, wild matted thing I used to make fun of when we were children. I envy you it now!"
Her friend chuckled and flashed a grateful look up at her friend for her aid. "It is an unusual colour, but not nearly as attractive as yours, Maggie. You've been often noted for your beauty...I'm noted for meddling often in 'men's work.'"
Margaret harrumphed slightly. "Yes...and I know which will leave the longer legacy. And men call us vain creatures. They are terrified they might be shown up by us, and that is why they cleave to their 'men's work' so desperately. Honestly, the only thing they excel at is the art of self delusion." She shook her head. "The brains behind half the successful companies in England are women. Nicholas would leave his head behind if I didn't remind him about it...I tell you, Helen, the entire business world would grind to a halt if women were taken out of the equation. Men's work, indeed."
That brought another chuckle from the Grecian dressed Helen. "I suppose so," she agreed, taking great care not to shake her head. "You look marvellous, Maggie," she enthused, looking up at her friend's reflection in the mirror.
Margaret ran her hand briefly through her thick, lustrous, ebony hair which for once was worn loose in keeping with who she was supposed to be, flowing long down over her shoulders and back in waves of silky black. Her high cheekbones and flawless ivory skin, without a freckle or blemish thanks to years of careful management, gave her a regality and grace which, as Helen had quite correctly said, marked her out as one of the beauties of the age. But just as importantly for her friends, her good looks were hardly foremost in her mind, and her quick bend and kiss of gratitude upon her friend's cheek was immediately followed by an altogether more practical, "I hope I don't get a headache from the weight of this helmet! Lord knows how real warrior women managed!"
Shaking her head, she stood Helen up and turned her to admire the finished product. The long Grecian pale blue robe, crossed over the bodice in deeper blue ribbon and tied around the waist with a slim golden belt set off her friend's complexion and auburn hair beautifully. Reaching out and drawing one or two of the long ringlets over her shoulder, Margaret nodded in satisfaction. "There," she said, content. "Perfection. You will turn the head of every man here tonight."
Helen gazed at her friend with a rather disbelieving expression. "Nonsense. Besides, why would I wish such a thing? I am already attached," she said softly with a shake of her head.
"And what has that got to do with anything, pray tell?" the other woman replied. "Just because a woman is attached, it doesn't mean she should not attract a gaze or two from other men. It's good for husbands and beaus to be aware of such interest. It keeps them on their toes!" Margaret chuckled and then paused, her smile sliding into a more knowing one as she moved to an armchair while straightening her gloves. "Something you've managed quite nicely with William," she commented, glancing back at Helen.
Moving to the small couch across from Margaret, Helen gave her a rather questioning look. "I have?"
Margaret quirked a dark eyebrow at her. "Helen, you know full well the man is virtually bewildered." She paused again, this time a little longer as her face grew a little more serious. "He is in love with you, you know."
A rather guilty expression crossed the other woman's face as she turned to gaze at the fire burning cheerily in the hearth. "I know," she whispered.
Margaret watched her closely. "And you? How do you feel about him?"
A light frown crossed her face, as her friend continued to gaze into the flames. "I love him. He's sweet, kind, gentle...he makes me laugh. He's honest and true, and I'd never have to doubt for a moment anything he ever says to me," she replied as though she were running through a list in her mind.
The noblewoman nodded and folded her hands in her lap. "And the tall, dark consulting detective from Baker Street?" she added, having been aware of her friend's unrequited longing prior to her courtship with William.
Grey eyes darted over to meet green ones before they returned back to where they'd been resting. "What of him?" she replied, taking great care to put no inflection in her voice one way or another. "Maggie..." she said softly after a moment, "he's not Mr. Holmes. True. However, that is neither here nor there. I'm long since done dwelling on what is past. William loves and needs me and is an eminently more suitable match."
"On that," Margaret said definitely, "you will get absolutely no argument from me." Her eyes narrowed a little. "But Helen...have you truly put Mr. Holmes behind you?" she questioned.
Helen sighed and turned back to her friend. "Maggie, try not to worry so...what's done is done. Mr. Holmes has made his choices, and I have made mine," she insisted, moving back to the mirror to pick up her gold headpiece and set about securing it in her hair.
Wanting to say more but thinking the better of it, Margaret patted the arm of her chair lightly and then exhaled breezily. "Well...I don't know about you, but I am fascinated to know what everyone is coming as this evening!" She smiled at her friend and chuckled. "I presume you and William arranged to match?"
The other woman laughed a little at that, her mind distracted from the uncomfortable subject that had been nagging at her for a fortnight and resulting in many a sleepless night. "Oh yes! He was most excited to come as Alexander the Great. Though I think for him, there is the residue of playing dress up somewhere in there..." she joked.
"Isn't there for us all?" Margaret commented before her sculpted eyebrow lifted thoughtfully. "William as Alexander the Great?" she ruminated with a glint in her eye. "I do love a man in Classic-Greco Roman garb."
Helen shot her a humour-filled look. "Oh yes...I know you and the skirted male, my dear," she teased. "Though I did manage to get William to refrain from doing anything to his hair...I don't think he would horribly good as a blond."
Her friend's nose wrinkled slightly. "No...you are quite correct. Speaking of blonds, I wonder what that giant cousin-in-law of yours, Roger Howley, will appear as tonight...he's a chiselled mountain of a man..." Her eyes lit up. "I say, I wonder if he might come as Hercules. To have Alexander and Hercules would quite make my night," she added with a chuckle.
"Really?" Helen enquired, having completed her task and turning back to her friend with an arched eyebrow of her own. "I should have thought you would be more pleased if perhaps he came as Robert the Bruce?"
Margaret laughed. "Oh no, Helen...the fascination with Scotsmen is entirely yours, my dear...the skirted male is not entirely my purview, remember."
Helen's cheeks flushed as she coughed lightly. "Yes...well...perhaps we should...it's getting late..." she murmured, heading towards the door.
As she stand and gathered her weaponry, Margaret's throaty laugh followed her friend before she herself did. "Remind me to invite you to the Earl of Ayrshire's next house party...well, castle party...I'm dying to see what the effect of all those Scotsmen would be on you," she said as she caught up with Helen in the hallway.
From down the hallway, the muffled frustration of her husband could clearly be heard, and Margaret sighed. "I should've made it a Roman theme...life would've been a lot easier all around." Her eyes grew devilish. "Not to mention we would've had the not inconsiderable sight of Mr. Sherlock Holmes in a toga," she exclaimed with a laugh. "I wonder who he will come as?"
Helen stopped short and stared at her dearest friend. "What? You...you invited Mr. Holmes?" she breathed. "I didn't know you..."
Margaret turned in surprise. "I didn't mention it? I'm sure I must have! I was so surprised when he responded favourably, I must have told everyone! How I missed you quite eludes me...after all, you were the reason I invited both him and the Watsons this evening; I wanted you to have more people you knew here tonight."
Helen started moving again, her pace more rapid. "Yes, I knew about John and Mary...and thank you, that means a great deal...but...but..." She stopped again, so abruptly her friend almost collided into her as she spun around, her auburn curls whirling. "He...accepted? Mr. Holmes...accepted coming to a ball?"
"Well...yes!" Margaret nodded, trying to hold onto her shield and trident. "As I say, it was somewhat surprising and rather last minute as the response only arrived yesterday, but yes." Her eyes regarded the other woman closely. "Helen, are you quite all right?"
Her friend looked rather dazed and disoriented, with a vaguely panicked look in her eyes...and most certainly not all right. "What?" she asked, shaking her head and forcing herself to be calm. "Yes...yes, Maggie, I'm quite all right...perfectly well..." Turning, she started moving slowly down the hall once more.
Margaret frowned, regarding the woman she had known since early childhood, and moved after her. "Helen..." She stopped her short, her own face serious. "Is there something I should know?"
"Hmmm?" The other woman appeared positively distracted and after a heartbeat, she glanced up and flashed a quick if anxious smile. "No...honestly...everything is fine. I suppose the news stunned me a little, but I am quite well."
"Helen..." Her friend levelled a disbelieving look at her. "I have known you since we were six years old...I know when you're nervous...and worse!" She indicated her state. "What is going on?"
Helen had opened her mouth to assure her friend all was well when the tall form of the butler appeared and seemed to be heading purposefully in their direction. "I think your guests are arriving, Maggie," she murmured, indicating Bronson with an incline of her head, relieved at his approach and spared from spinning lies she knew her friend would not believe.
All claims of placidity were a complete fabrication, for Helen's insides were twisting into tight knots, and it was taking every ounce of her will to stop from shaking at the thought of what seeing Mr. Holmes again might set off in her. It had taken her a great deal of time to collect herself after the emotional maelstrom of the Haymarket incident, and her thoughts were saved from drifting constantly to his arms or his lips on her only when William was alongside of her.
For when he was with her, she found herself calmed, happy, content…protected from her frustrating, persistent, and wrong thoughts of the detective. But she had not seen Mr. Holmes since he and John Watson had returned her to Brown's…and she had no indication of what might occur in his presence…even with William there. In fact, having her beau there scared her most of all…what if she reacted to Mr. Holmes and William saw? The thought gnawed at her fearfully. She loved William and she could not hurt him so…not over something as futile as an infatuation that would not die.
Alongside her, Margaret moved her eyes reluctantly away from her clearly troubled friend towards the approaching butler and the formal beginning of the evening's events, suddenly concerned about far more than her husband's grousing and the cook's attempts at pheasant in aspic.
"Captain William Edwards as Alexander The Great," Bronson announced to the swelling throng as they filed past their hosts who were standing by the ballroom door in the spacious foyer, greeting them and ushering them on into the lively ballroom environs beyond.
William, his ornate breastplate glinting in the houselights, with blue sleeveless kirtle underneath, short sword strapped to his waist, light greaves over his shins, sandals laced up his calves, and a gold laurel wreath nestled in his hair, stepped into view. He was quite an imposing sight, for it was an outfit that flattered considerably, his toned arms and legs, muscular from years of riding, shown off to good advantage, and the armour lending a mostly manly air. One that the hostess immediately appreciated. "Oh my word, Helen," she clucked admiringly. "You do match up well...right down to the blue you're both wearing."
William approached them with a smile and bowed. "Sir Nicholas...Lady Margaret."
"Come, come..." Nicholas shook his head, the effect causing him to rattle somewhat. "Nicholas and Margaret, Captain...I believe, William, we have known each other long enough and taken sufficiently unending quantities of tea in the course of squiring these two ladies for that to be the case."
"Thank you, Nicholas." William chuckled and on shaking his hand, held it out to Margaret, who gave her own gladly. "Margaret, you make a stunning Britannia...if the government is wise, they would have you model the part for use on all insignia."
"William Edwards." Margaret raised her chin. "You are an inveterate flatterer...pray, do continue."
Helen sighed and shot her friend a teasing look as she stepped forward to her greet her beau, a wide and admiring smile on her face and that instantly comfortable sensation slipping over her, her previous nerves sliding away under his blue eyes. "Good evening, William."
The officer's smile grew broader as she addressed him before he affected an apologetic air to his hostess. "Alas, Lady Margaret, I'm afraid the bulk of my flattery has already been assigned for the evening." He turned his eyes back to Helen. "Good evening, Helen...you look...enchanting," he said sincerely, his eyes bright as perused the Grecian effect.
She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and extended her hand. "Thank you...I believe Alexander himself would have been envious of you," she returned as her friend's smile widened behind her.
"Ah..." He smiled conspiratorially. "If you think I look impressive, just you wait till you see what is behind me!" He half turned back towards the door just as Bronson made another announcement.
"Doctor and Mrs. John Watson as King Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn!"
John Watson strutted almost arrogantly into the party, his costume lavish, rich, and amply padded...while alongside of him, Mary appeared the epitome of Tudor grace in ruff and gown. Helen's eyes widened at the swaggering doctor, unsure whether to be impressed or dissolve in a fit of giggles.
"My!" the voice of the noblewoman beside her piped up, as she nudged Helen slightly on seeing her friend's lips quirk. "Doesn't the good doctor make an inspiring King Henry! And his wife looks utterly stunning!" She turned to her husband. "It appears I am surrounded by Henrys this evening...I wonder if any more shall arrive and I can make up a set," she teased him.
Nicholas huffed slightly. "He looks a sight more comfortable than I do! Why couldn't I accompany you as that Henry?" he groused, clanking slightly as he shifted.
"Because, my dear, then we would have two...and that simply would not do," she insisted. "And...that Henry does not quite work arriving with Britannia...Henry the Fifth, conquering hero, was much more appropriate."
"Yes, good King Hal was somewhat less likely to marry her and cut her head off." William chuckled as the Watsons approached.
One hand stuck in his wide belt, his faux beard jutting out in a display of royal aloofness, Watson was clearly enjoying himself, his wife receiving admiring glances as they moved to their hosts. "Good evening, Sir Nicholas, Lady Margaret," he greeted them on arrival, smiling on noticing who Nicholas was. "Or should I say Your Majesty?" he enquired, bowing a little.
The peer returned the bow stiffly, his armour creaking. "Your Majesty."
"Good evening, Dr. Watson," Lady Margaret greeted him, holding out her hand. "A pleasure to see you again...and this must be your wife Mary, of whom I have heard nothing but wonderful things from Helen."
Mary's cheeks flushed as she gave the noblewoman a quiet smile. "Lady Margaret," she replied in turn with an incline of her head. "I too have heard nothing but glowing things of you. How is your little one? Helen tells me he is just darling."
Margaret's face immediately lit up on the mention of her baby. "Oh, he is doing marvellously, thank you. Colin surprises me each and every day with something new." She sighed happily and glanced up at her husband for a moment before leaning over to the other woman confidentially. "I would have brought him tonight but unfortunately I was overruled," she lamented. At that, Helen raised a hand to cover her forming smile and with a tiny nod to Mary acknowledged the statement was quite accurate.
"A masquerade ball is no place for an infant," Nicholas reiterated firmly. "Especially when one's mother is carrying weaponry."
Margaret waved her hand glibly at that. "Well, if that was the only problem, I could easily have come as Demeter...goddess of the earth."
Nicholas's handsome and ultra reserved features barely registered his derisive snort as he in turn dismissed her statement in his usual dry tone. "Easily? You spent weeks insisting it had to be Britannia...which is why I'm appearing tonight as a regal tin of sardines."
Margaret sighed and turned to Helen for help, only to find her friend doing her utmost to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble out. Watson saved her from the dark haired woman's admonishments by turning his attention to her and her beau. "Helen, William, you look like you escaped from one of my childhood Latin readers...simply marvellous, the pair of you."
"Thank you, John," Helen replied, giving his hand a quick squeeze as he took it. "You are most kind. At least William is gifted with a title...I'm afraid the best I could come up with was 'anonymous Grecian woman,'" she continued, her tone light -- the joviality and colour of the evening, William's presence, her friends' banter as well as the Watsons arriving sans detective having lightened her mood considerably.
"Oh, I think it has to be obvious," Watson replied and glanced at his wife. "Your name gives you no other option, dear Helen...a small horse under the arm would've done the trick nicely!"
The young woman's cheeks coloured considerably at that. "Oh no...I would not wish to be equated so...for it is not at all accurate. Our hostess tonight, as well as dear Mary here, are beauties to fit the title far more than I," she demurred before adding jokingly, "Nor would I wish any wars or battles to be fought on my behalf."
William took her hand and shook his head. "You are endearingly if excessively modest, Helen. You yourself told me that your father named you for that exact personage...and whether you will it or not, there's a half dozen gentlemen who would quite willing battle it out for your favour right this moment." Raising her hand as the music from the orchestra swelled with the sounding of the first waltz, he kissed it. "Thankfully your favour has already been given," he said quietly. "Mine is the privilege of the first dance, I believe?" he said of their long standing arrangement.
She smiled softly at him and nodded, squeezing his hand. "I do believe you are right," she agreed.
Leading her into the ballroom proper and out into the middle of the floor, they took their positions with the others. As the conductor of the ten piece ensemble turned and bowed to them, they embarked on the highly apt Artist's Life Waltz, the couples on the floor almost as one sweeping out across the floor gracefully, which considering the cut of some of their outfits was no mean achievement.
His arm about her waist and his hand in hers, William smiled and with a surreptitious nod of his head, indicated a satyr complete with hair leggings for trousers, horns upon his head, and a set of pan pipes hung by his side dancing with a Valkyrie complete with horned helmet and pigtails. Leaning forward, he whispered, "You see the strangest attachments these days..." He sighed. "Sadly, the engagement is bound to failure...inter-mythology romances never last."
Sneaking a glance at the aforementioned couple, Helen laughed quietly. "Oh yes...besides, satyrs are not exactly known for being devout to one woman...and Valkyries...well...are rather vengeful. I see a Greek tragedy in the works," she agreed.
"They really should have given more thought to their compatibility...although," he arched an eyebrow at a married couple who had come as the famed Siamese Twins, Chang and Eng, and were joined together by the sewing together of their Asian outfit as they talked with others by the dance floor, "some perhaps put a little too much emphasis upon the idea. One must strike a balance..." He smiled down at her. "Similar enough to be comfortable with each other...but different enough to add spice and interest."
Helen's stomach clenched, though she took great care to not show the guilty shiver she felt at his words. "I agree," she replied, choosing her words with the utmost consideration. "It is vital that the spice be present...otherwise the comfort can not only be lost but become...mundane." She gave him a quick smile and glanced around at the costumed crowd around them before looking back at him, determined to focus on him. "Your costumer truly did a marvellous job," she complimented him again admiringly, though her eyes narrowed as she took in his hair. "You...did you curl your hair?"
Blinking, William appeared vaguely embarrassed. "The...the costumer suggested just a few for...accuracy. He said as I had the length of hair for it, it might...might..." He trailed off. "Does it look foolish?"
She shook her head and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "No!" she insisted. "Not at all...honestly. I thought I was seeing things and just wanted to be sure." Her smile widened. "I think it looks most handsome. And attention to details is always a trait to be admired."
"Indeed?" he said with a smile as they swept around the floor towards the door. "I must remember that. No doubt it's a trait you've learned the value of from your time with..."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Bronson's voice rang into the room through the open doorway. "As..." there was a confused pause as the butler cleared his throat, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes!"
Outside in the still bustling foyer full of chat and bonhomie, if the original announcement of his name hadn't attracted a great many eyes to the adjacent 'arrivals' doorway, then certainly the rather 'unique' choice of 'character' for the night did. Heads turned, including those of John and Mary Watson, who had lingered near their hosts with glasses of champagne, to regard with extraordinary surprise the tall, dress suited figure of the detective move wholly unselfconsciously to where Nicholas and Margaret were receiving the late-comers.
Sir Nicholas, standing beside his wife, gazed at Holmes's pristine white tie and tails, a corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Mr. Holmes...Nicholas Sotherby. I believe you know my wife, Lady Margaret...welcome to our home."
"Thank you, Sir Nicholas." Holmes inclined his head to the darkly striking peer. "And yes, I had the good fortune to encounter Lady Margaret prior to another ball...one which never came to pass. Thank you for the invitation, Lady Margaret."
Holding out her hand to him with a warm smile, Margaret inclined her head. "You are most welcome, Mr. Holmes. And how have you been faring of late? Helen informs me you have been rather occupied with cases...all successfully concluded, I hope?"
"Some," he replied as he bowed over her hand. "Others are still works in progress." He indicated his temple with a wave of his hand. "Sifting and processing."
Her smile widened. "Of course...best to leave the pot simmering," she agreed, glancing around. "Dr. Watson and his wife are not far...and Helen is already ensconced on the dance floor." She pointed to the ballroom beside them.
Holmes glanced briefly to where she pointed. "Ah, Miss Thurlow. Yes of course," he mused with a nod. "With Captain Edwards, no doubt," he added, his lips quirking slightly as he witnessed John and Mary coming towards him, the former's rotund regent catching his eye rather quickly. "Good evening, Mary…Watson."
"Holmes. You gave me to understand you weren't coming!" The doctor eyed his turn out. "My dear chap, didn't you read the invitation?"
"Of course," Holmes replied mildly. "Hence my presence here."
Watson frowned. "Yes, but..." Glancing at Margaret somewhat apologetically, he leaned into his friend. "It's a fancy dress ball? You were to come as an historical figure."
"In actual fact..." Holmes corrected him genially, "the precise wording upon the invitation read -- an historical or fictional character."
Watson nodded, slightly bemused by the response. "Yes...precisely!"
"I fail to see the cause of your concern, Watson. I have complied completely with Sir Nicholas's and Lady Margaret's requirements."
"But how?" the flummoxed doctor finally exclaimed. "You came as yourself!"
The detective smiled. "Exactly so. Just as you write me."
Margaret's laugh rang out, and Mary hid her wide smile behind her fan as she shook her head. Nicholas, the rare sight of a full blown smile playing about his lips, extended his hand to his newest guest. "Allow me to shake your hand, Mr. Holmes. Wonderfully played." He clanked in the gesture. "I rather wish someone had fictionalised me."
Margaret barely refrained from rolling her eyes as she patted her husband's arm. "The night is young, my darling," she replied enigmatically with a twinkle in her eyes.
His brow creasing slightly at his wife's words, Sir Nicholas cleared his throat, harrumphing softly, "Yes...well...again, welcome Mr. Holmes. I look forward to speaking with you again as the night progresses."
"Sir Nicholas. Lady Margaret." Holmes inclined his head once more before moving away with the Watsons into the ballroom. "You are looking suitably regal this evening, Mary..." His straight face could not quite contain the humour in his voice as he glanced at her husband again. "And you, too, of course, Watson."
Watson drew himself up defiantly. "Henry the Eighth," he replied as if it were all the explanation in the world required.
"Thank you, Sherlock," Mary replied, smiling over at her husband. "Isn't it accurate? John paid extra special attention to the details. So much so we had a hard time getting him out the door this evening."
Eyeing the extra padding around Watson's middle, the detective nodded. "Yes, that I can well believe."
"It's a pillow, Holmes," Watson returned somewhat indignantly.
"Naturally." Holmes clasped his hands behind his back. "You make a good show in doublet and hose, however."
Watson's eyes narrowed slightly. "Easy to make fun when one is not in character oneself, Holmes," he huffed.
"I am completely in character, Watson," Holmes replied, his eyes perusing the orchestra and dance floor before coming back to his friend. "I plan to do something positively filled with intrigue any moment now to prove it."
Mary arched her eyebrow, her expression inquisitive. "Oh, Sherlock?"
He looked to her, his eyes positively alight with amusement. "Indeed, Mrs. Watson," he teased. "What romantic gesture would you deem apropos?"
Mary's brow furrowed as she gazed out over the grand ballroom. "Well...I do not see anyone requiring saving...nor anything amiss at all...so I am hard pressed to find something notably heroic for you to accomplish."
"Ah...a shame," he lamented with absolutely no trace of remorse whatsoever.
As they spoke, out on the dance floor, the last few bars of Strauss's Waltz came to an end and with it, the dancers swayed to a halt. Gracefully slowing after a final turn, Helen smiled up at her beau and determinedly avoided looking over at the Watsons and the newest arrival to the festivities.
When he had entered, it had taken a great deal of effort not to let her eyes linger...first on his lack of costume...and then on the outfit he was wearing. For in her mind, no man's physique was as well suited for dress tails than Mr. Holmes's. She had turned her eyes away quickly so as not to betray her rapidly changing emotions -- anxiety, anticipation, longing...and above all guilt…all surging on seeing him again. Chastising herself for her faithless feelings, she had thrown herself into her dance with William, focusing all her attentions on him. But she was not at all sure if she was going to manage to play that game for the entire night, especially when she was forced to socialise with him.
As they moved from the floor, the Strauss waltz theme continuing with You & You, William's attention was also upon the new arrival. More than a glimmer of amusement was contained within his eyes as he watched the rather inappropriately dressed man with his colleague and wife. "Anyone else turning up as oneself," he said of the butler's announcement, "would strike me as an unmitigated cheek. On Mr. Holmes, however, it merely seems the expected thing. A clever ruse to avoid horns on one's head or bare legs on a winter's night."
After carefully schooling her face, she reluctantly turned her gaze back to her friends. "Yes...it is very clever," she agreed.
Leading her across to where they were gathered, William greeted him and was greeted in return before Holmes turned a quiet gaze on her. "Good evening, Miss Thurlow. To what are we witness? Proud mortal heroine or capricious sybaritic goddess?" His eyes took in her costume; the descriptions offered oddly in keeping with both aspects of her behaviour during their last encounter.
Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly and her eyes dipped for the briefest moment. "I am merely as you see me," she replied. "Though it seems many wish to cast me as the heroine."
"Alas..." he commiserated, glancing at Watson, "a state of affairs with which I can heartily empathise."
The auburn-haired woman smiled a little. "Of course. And how are you this evening, Mr. Holmes?" she enquired politely, feeling more and more like her eponymous Spartan avatar and trying not to wonder if she would behave in a like manner if her 'Paris' had been in any way inclined towards her.
"Quite well," he replied. "If a little prominent."
Nodding, she drew her eyes away from the tall man, turning her smile to William and feeling as treacherous in her heart as the woman who started that epic war, her own 'Menaleus' also undeserving of such treatment.
"Indeed so," William answered the man he had not seen since their contretemps in Winchester, his tone cordial but guarded. "My compliments on sidestepping the costume issue beautifully...but it seems you must field questions and stares all night because of it. I suppose there is no such thing as a perfect crime, is there?"
"If there were, Captain Edwards," Holmes returned, "I would hardly be able to detect it in order to inform you now, would I?"
William started to laugh quietly. "No, sir...I suppose you would not at that."
"But you are quite correct, Captain..." the tall man admitted. "There is very little one can do illicitly, illegally...or with guile...that will not come under public scrutiny sooner or later."
Helen's eyes shot to the detective's for a heartbeat before turning them hurriedly away to gaze around the room, trying to pull herself together under the pretext of admiring others' costumes.
Unbeknownst to her, Mary caught the look, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. John had told her the shocking essence of what had happened two weeks previously. But her friend was hardly reacting to the detective in the manner of a triumphant co-conspirator. If anything, she seemed uncomfortable around him…almost as if something else had occurred between them…and yet John had mentioned no falling out. On the contrary.
They were joined a moment later by their host and hostess, who were circulating around the room now that their guests had all arrived. "Helen...Mrs. Watson." Nicholas creaked as he bowed in as courtly a manner to them as he could. "If neither of you would have any objections to my current state...perhaps you would take a...slow...turn about the floor with me at some future point, if you have room for such a dance on your cards?"
Mary smiled and inclined her head. "I would be delighted," she replied as Helen pulled hers out and nodded as well.
With his thanks, he took the card to sign his name on two slow waltzes before glancing at the other men about him. "I trust, gentlemen, that you will be taking similar advantage?"
The enquiry precipitated a flurry of cards and attached pencils passing to and fro, until Nicholas noticed Holmes's lack of participation. "Mr. Holmes..." the young peer addressed him with the mildest note of disapproval, his age belying the highly formal attitude with which he addressed most everyone, "surely, sir, you intend to fulfil your obligation to the ladies as a single gentleman and guest?"
A momentary silence slipped over the group at the rather awkward moment. Nicholas, straight as a die in every respect, took the role of host exceedingly seriously. Foremost amongst his duties at a ball was ensuring the ladies' dance cards were well attended to by the gentlemen...and he was intolerant of reputation or temperament when it came to what he deemed was the right or wrong thing to do.
Helen's cheeks both felt the urge to pale and flush as she found herself stepping in, the thought of dancing with Holmes in public brilliantly terrifying. "It is all right, Nicholas...if Mr. Holmes does not wish to..." she went to insist.
Her friend's husband interrupted firmly and without hesitation, his tone and gaze towards his recalcitrant guest exceedingly polite. "It is of course my duty to ensure that the single gentlemen do theirs by the ladies this evening." He arched an expectant brow at the detective. "A duty I am quite sure Mr. Holmes has no true wish to shirk?"
Holmes returned his gaze, and there was a moment when even the group's collective breathing seemed to pause, before his dark pomaded head dipped forward in a nod, a slight smile on his lips as he regarded the upstanding young nobleman. "Quite so, Sir Nicholas," he agreed before turning to the ladies without further ado and inserting his name on each of their cards in turn for a little later in the evening. Helen forcibly had to restrain her hand from shaking as she retrieved the ornate and unique little booklet meant to act as a memento of the evening.
Watson, surprised indeed, shot his host an admiring glance. Few men of any level of his acquaintance could convince Holmes to do that which he did not wish to. It was a most unusual step for Holmes to take, he pondered, watching Holmes sign each ladies' card in turn before he himself joined William in going further afield to find unattached young ladies and place themselves at their disposal. But as he did so, he found himself frowning slightly. Yes, it was most unusual indeed.
The announcement came that the refreshment room had opened for those who wished drinks and a light snack before the supper room would open at midnight, and so the next hour or so was a blur of punch, conversation, and dance as polkas, mazurkas, and promenades swept the crowd along.
The band returned from its short break, and those rounds of dances that were to precede the evening's midnight supper started up. Following the first of them, William returned Mary to her husband and thanked her earnestly for a fine gavotte before he was approached by Bronson.
"Excuse me, sir," the butler said apologetically, "but there is a courier with a cable for you outside."
"Ah..." The young officer nodded. "That would be from the General. My apologies, Sir Nicholas, I took the liberty of telling him I would be here tonight should he need to contact me."
"None required," Nichols replied, approving of such dedication.
Helen frowned at her beau. "It isn't anything serious, is it?" she enquired with a hint of worry.
"I wouldn't say so..." he assured her with a smile. "We are having high level talks with the Austro-Hungarians regarding the Balkan situation this week. The General is rather agitated by it. He and his counterpart from the Emperor's court don't get along too well, it seems. Therefore, he is determined that we make the best of impressions in an effort to give him no cause for complaint. It will merely be more minutiae for me to attend to first thing in the morning." He exhaled softly. "But it may require a reply. Bronson, would you be so good as to convey my regrets to Miss Mercy Talbot? I had the next dance with her." As the butler nodded and moved away through the crowd, William took Helen's hand and kissed the back of it. "I shall endeavour not to be long," he excused himself.
For a moment, Helen watched him depart before turning back to the others with a small smile.
"A hard worker..." Nicholas commented favourably of her beau. "Cadwalader's a pushy sort of fellow, I hear. Not easy to work for. Your Captain would need that indefatigably good humour of his," he said to Helen, glancing about him when another of the slow waltzes he had assigned himself as best suited for his costume started up. "Ahh...my dance, Mrs. Watson, I believe? My commiserations, Madam," he apologised with a wry look as he offered her his arm.
The other ladies looked to their cards. "And I believe I have the pleasure of the good doctor's company." Margaret flashed the faux-king a warm smile. "Shall we?"
Helen felt her stomach lurch as they left her alone with her own dance partner.
Attempting not to show how incredibly anxious she felt, she lifted her eyes from her card to the man in question. "If you do not wish to dance, Mr. Holmes, I entirely understand," she hedged, hoping both at once that he would still wish to and that he wouldn't. "I would not have you obligated merely because Nicholas..."
He held his hand out to her palm up in silent expectation of her taking it, and thereby ending her words as he turned his head to regard her, as resolute an expression on his face as she had ever seen there. "I believe, Miss Thurlow, that this is my dance," he stated quietly, brooking no equivocation from her of any kind.
Without another word, her hand slipping into his and her eyes curious as his forthright claim sent slight shivers through her, she walked with him to the dance floor, Waldteufel's Tres Jolie ringing gently around the brightly lit room. His bright clever eyes upon her, he turned to face her with a slight bow before one white gloved hand curved about her waist and the other was held out to her once more.
As her hand slipped into his…even though the reverse should have been true, her anxiety melted away. Eyes locked to his, she felt her breath hitch faintly in her throat. His gaze was as direct and as penetrating as she could ever recall it being, and when he drew her closer it brought to mind both that illicit dance in the Rose Garden at Kew...and the more intimate connections of their recent covert case.
Taking a step, he began to waltz in time with her, moving her about the floor in flow both with the music and the tide of others about them. His steps were as sure footed on the immaculate parquet flooring as they had been on the dew dropped grass that night at Kew Garden. But...his gaze...that bore none of the distracted good humour of that dance, for it seemed now as he gazed at her to be concentrated and focused upon her. The merest of frowns creased his brow, giving him the intense look he normally wore when in the deepest of contemplation as he caught her within his unwavering gaze.
And she could feel herself falling into it...every part of her wanting to surrender to him just as she had done two weeks previously. Wishing nothing more than for him to sweep her up tightly into his arms and never ever let her go. Even the part that railed against such desires was completely hypnotised and silenced under his spell. Her fingers itched to move and before she could stop herself, they slid just an inch up higher on his shoulder.
The slight bump of her own shoulder by a passing couple on the crowded dance floor resulted in his foreshortening the usual wide stance. And on the next turn, he drew her in closer to him, his hand moving further around her waist to the small of her back, still watching...almost contemplating her.
That tiny frown still upon his face.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly at the increased proximity to him, her breath quickening with the thrill of his fingers brushing over her spine. She could feel her heart begin to race within her chest while his eyes continued to hold hers...and she mourned.
Mourned because, despite all her efforts, despite holding the heart of another and caring deeply for him in return…she was still lost in the thrall of a man who with one touch could bring her to life, whose kiss had nearly made her weep, whose opinion she knew now she held most dear above all others, and who could never…or rather would never...love her in return. And still...she could not pull away.
On the crowded floor, their dance, like so many others, continued...but unlike the others, it was not unobserved.
Had Helen but known it, everything she was thinking had, diverted as she was, begun to show itself on her face. That, coupled with their closer proximity as they danced, began to attract the attention of those who knew them best. Friends, separated from their romantic partners in favour of others, let their eyes wander in the lull of conversation, gazes naturally turning to and alighting on other close friends and intimates. It took only a moment for their attention to rest permanently upon the one couple who were not a couple, and yet, as one watched them, one might be forgiven for thinking otherwise.
As they danced together, Mary, Nicholas, Margaret, and Watson could only watch. Watch and on catching their dance partner's eyes, try to pretend there was nothing amiss...when all four knew full well that there was and at various points, threw nervous glances towards the main ballroom door in uneasy search for an absent soldier.
When the music ended, the floor had almost cleared before Holmes, his brooding expression ever constant, released her and stepping away, offered her his arm to escort her from the floor. Compelled by the charm of his eyes, she slipped her arm around his and with neither saying a word, let him lead her back to their friends, who were waiting at the floor's edge in an uneasy, tense silence. Releasing her hold on his arm, Holmes turned to her and gave a respectful bow, thanking her for the dance.
Watson watched him, endeavouring to keep the deeply mystified expression off his face. Helen's face had pained him to see at first. He had hoped he would never see that look again -- the one he could only attribute to the deepest of emotional ties, which in and of itself it would have been problematical enough, but given her attachment to William Edwards…it was greatly worrying.
But despite that…it was not the look in her eyes that was uppermost in his mind. Rather, it was trying to fathom the reasoning behind his friend's expression. The one he knew all too well. The one that often only came with the most dense of problems...or a deep complex dilemma that he was struggling with. It was that particular look which gave him pause for thought...and wonder.
Margaret was standing to one side with Mary Watson, both women gazing with barely constrained concern for their friend, whose face seemed to visibly pale as soon as her dance partner's eyes finally moved from hers. They watched as the grey eyed gaze of the young woman lowered to the floor, but not before they saw a clear glimpse of the combination of sadness, heartache, and longing in them.
Helen seemed to sway a little on her feet as she once again struggled to control her emotions, not remotely helped by the realisation that the near total silence amongst her friends was almost certainly something to do with her display upon the floor. She cringed at her foolishness…at how weak she was…at what might have happened had William returned.
Finally, as the atmosphere grew more oppressive, Margaret could no longer hold her tongue. "Helen, dearest, you look positively parched. Why don't you come with Mary and me to the refreshment room and we shall get you a drink? All that dancing is bound to make anyone thirsty...I know I am," she exclaimed, and it heartened her a little to see her childhood friend raise her head with a small, thankful smile.
"There we are...sorry about that!" William smiled as he approached them once more. "Afraid it did require a reply after all." With a curious expression, he regarded them all standing around as the dancing continued on the floor. "Everyone feeling tired?"
"Just resting for a moment," Nicholas replied rather stiffly after no one else seemed willing to place a response the soldier's way. "It's a trifle warm in here, Margaret. Perhaps we should ask Bronson to open the windows..." He glanced at his wife's friend. "Stop things from overheating."
Helen seemed to pale even more at the comment, her eyes slipping to the floor again as her friend shot her husband a look. "Very well, dearest, perhaps you would like to inform him?" the black haired beauty suggested.
William glanced out around at the dancers and back at them, clasping his hands and rubbing them a little vigorously. "Well, I can't say I'm too warm. It was a little chilly in this ensemble out there near the front door with the courier. In fact, I could do with some warming up!" He turned to Helen with a smile and dipped his head to catch her eye. "Might I impose upon your tolerance to join me on the dance floor once more, Miss Thurlow?" he cajoled hopefully, a gallop in full swing upon the floor.
"If you'll excuse me," Holmes cut in somewhat unexpectedly, reaching into his inside suit pocket. "I'm afraid I'm somewhat in the mood to indulge a personal vice..." Drawing out his cigarette case, he turned to his colleague, enquiring in a light tone, "As you're fairly well insulated against the cold, Watson...would you care to join me?"
The doctor looked rather like a deer caught on rail tracks as his eyes swivelled to his friend, whose introspective look had vanished entirely. "Actually, Holmes, I didn't bring my cigarettes with me...the case doesn't fit in the money purse." He rather sheepishly tapped the velvet bag hanging from his belt, his eyes darting back to Helen.
"You are, of course, welcome to share mine," Holmes rejoined, perfectly at ease as he took a step or two away.
"Oh...yes...well then, of course I'll accompany you, my dear chap," the older man replied hesitantly before giving his wife a rather helpless glance and following with his friend.
Helen barely seemed to notice their departure as she lifted her head to face her beau, trying to avoid the eyes of the others. "That...that would be lovely, William...and I'd love to...but...I'm afraid I'm not feeling rather well," she answered him softly. "I think...I should go lie down for a bit..."
"Oh...?" The young officer took a step closer, his brow furrowing on seeing her pallor. "You do look decidedly pale," he agreed before he looked after the departing duo. "Perhaps I should fetch Mr. Holmes back so Dr. Watson can look you over?" He nodded decisively as he took a step to do just that.
"No!" she said a bit more forcefully than she intended, grasping his arm before continuing in a lower tone, "I mean...that is not necessary. It is just a headache. I am sure I will be fine."
His frown deepened significantly as he looked down at the tight hold she had on his arm, not missing the rather strident initial response to his suggestion. Tensing slightly, aware now not only of her uncomfortable reaction but that of the soundless trio remaining, he gazed down at her. "Very well," he said gently. "Well then, let me escort you to the stairs at the very least?"
She nodded slowly and gave him a soft, grateful smile. "Yes...that would be most kind of you," she acquiesced before turning to her friends, her eyes merely flickering to them, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself. "I apologise for this...and I hope your evening goes well." She turned to the blonde haired woman who was watching her with great concern. "It was good to see you again, Mary...we shall have to get together very soon."
"Of course," the other woman replied, taking her hand. "Rest well."
Offering her his arm, William waited for her to lean upon it before escorting her from the energetic ballroom. They moved into the wide foyer which contained groups and couples chatting and taking refreshment from the room beyond, set up for that express purpose. Leading her through the busy area to the stairs, he took her up to the initial landing in favour of having some privacy before releasing her reluctantly. "Are you quite sure you will be able to go the rest of the way yourself?" he asked kindly with genuine concern. "I know it wouldn't be seemly for me to do so...but I could fetch one of the ladies..."
She shook her head, looking at her distorted reflection in his breast plate rather than his eyes. For each gentle word he offered her only made her loathe herself and feel like the grotesque version of herself she saw within the polished armour. "You are a good and sweet man but do not worry, William...I know the way quite well and shall be fine. If you like, I shall telegram you tomorrow to appraise you of my condition." She gave him a small smile, trying desperately to keep the guilt from showing. "Thank you...but please do not let me in any way spoil your evening."
Touching her cheek softly with the tips of his fingers, he nodded at her words. But he barely let her take more than a step away from him before he spoke again. "Helen? Is it Mr. Holmes?" he asked slowly, his voice as quiet and concerned as before.
She was glad her back was to him as her eyes closed and her stomach clenched in fear, sure he had discovered her or seen them. "Mr. Holmes?" she asked, trying to sound bemused.
"Yes…" he pressed. "Did he say something to you? To upset you?"
Relief and guilt collided within her, but it was barely a heartbeat more before she turned back to him and shook her head fervently. "No, William...it really just is an inconvenient headache. Mr. Holmes did nothing at all, I assure you." She plastered a smile on her lips. "I shall telegram you tomorrow. I promise."
Looking at her back, he straightened slowly. The detective had done something...upset her somehow...he was sure of it. Her vehemence was strong…too strong. For a friend, Holmes had the most adverse reaction on her at times, ones such as this. And she knew, too, that he and Holmes had not seen eye to eye on more than one occasion…likely she did not wish to have him cause a fuss over it. "I see..." He let a small smile touch his lips. "Very well. I look forward to hearing from you, providing you feel well enough." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Sleep well, dearest."
"Thank you...and do please enjoy your evening, William," she returned, giving his hand a squeeze before moving briskly up the stairs. Whereupon rounding the corner, she near ran to her room.
The ball ended around three in the morning, the midnight suppers of these occasions extending the events greatly. The last of their guests having only just slipped away, the orchestra paid, and the servants on the verge of retiring, the master and mistress of the house finally made their way to bed.
Nicholas, shorn now of half his armour, which lay in a heap in the hallway below, mounted the stairs arm in arm with his wife. "Well then, Meg?" he asked quietly, resorting to the shortened endearment of her name he used always only in private. "Were you happy with how your first costumed ball progressed?"
Running a hand through her long hair, her helmet and trident also discarded downstairs, she leaned tiredly on his side. "Yes...for the most part, it went absolutely swimmingly."
"Yes. For the most part." He nodded, his voice rather tight as he gazed ahead of him down the darkened hallway. "Quite frankly, though, I was rather relieved when Mr. Holmes declined to stay for supper. William suspected him of something regarding Helen. He was decidedly put out by her departure...definitely blamed Holmes. Told me he'd upset her somehow." He frowned in annoyance at such goings on in his own home, and with firm disapproval evident in his tone once more, he continued, "Thankfully what he lighted upon was not the reality of the situation."
His wife sighed and patted his arm. "Nicholas, dearest...I am sure there is a reasonable and simple explanation," she said, trying to seem reassuring, but unable keep her own worried state from her tone.
"Reasonable?" His tone bore a deal of incredulity. "Very well then...provide me with one for what we witnessed on that dance floor." His eyes turned to her. "All I know, Meg, is had William seen what we did, I would not have blamed him in the slightest had he struck the man." He paused. "Even if it was mostly Helen's reactions that were appalling. I'm sorry, my love, I know she is your oldest friend, but for a girl practically affianced to another man that was an outrageous display!"
For once, Margaret did not have an answer, unable to deny what he was saying. "I honestly do not know what is going on, my love. I thought...I was sure…until today that she had gotten over her feelings for him. That she had completely moved on..."
"Apparently not," he harrumphed and stopped to face her as they stood outside Helen's room. "When you speak with her, you need to ask her her intentions, Meg. If she has feelings for Holmes, she must do the decent thing! William Edwards is besotted by her...almost as much as I was with you." His tone and expression softened slightly. "It would have killed me to see you look at another man the way she looked at him tonight. No," his voice grew firm, "if she intends to go on with William she must cut Holmes out of her life. Deal with whatever infatuation she has for him...or end it with William. It is the thing to do."
"I know..." She sighed deeply, glancing at her friend's door. "I know."
"You wish to speak with her now, don't you?" His lips curled in a small smile.
"If she's awake," she answered with a nod. "Do you mind awfully, Nicholas?"
He shook his head. "No," he replied with a kiss to her forehead. "Just be sure to get your rest. I will see you in the morning at breakfast."
Kissing his cheek lovingly, she released him and saw him on his way to his room before moving over to Helen's door. Leaning her ear to the door, she could discern the definite sound of movement inside. Rapping on the wood lightly, she quietly called to her friend, "Helen? Helen darling...are you still awake?" And a moment later, a nightgown attired Helen opened the door with a pale face and an anxious gleam in her eyes.
Margaret's smile was soft and affectionate, overlaying her own concern as she caught a glimpse of her oldest friend's continued state. "May I come in?" she asked quietly, hearing her husband's door click shut down the way.
The young woman stared at her friend with eyes that didn't seem to see her until with a blink, she nodded and stepped back. "Yes...yes, of course, Maggie. How was the ball?"
"It went very well, very well..." she enthused gently as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. "The only downside was our losing you so early." Taking her hand, Margaret led her friend to the couch by the small fire and sat down with her.
"Yes...yes, I'm very sorry for that...I had a headache that I couldn't ignore," Helen murmured, her eyes turning away to the fire. "Seems to be one of the many things I am no longer able to."
Margaret observed her silently for a moment before speaking. "Helen?" she asked, gazing down at their joined hands. "Do you recall when we were twelve and in school, and that brat Emmeline Cardew took that butterfly clip of which you were exceptionally fond -- the one your father brought you back from Paris? And how...rather than my causing a fuss and taking it straight back from the hateful creature as I wanted to, you denied to me that you cared so much as a jot for the blessed thing?" She returned her green eyes to Helen and sighed quietly. "Well, I am as much convinced of a headache being the true cause of your leaving us tonight as I was convinced then that you didn't want that clip back."
Helen did not answer, her gaze again lost in the fire...though her grip on her friend's hand tightened just a little. A second sigh escaped Margaret's lips, and she shook her head softly. "It really was rather evident upon your face, but I fear I must ask it of you all the same...how much do you still care for him, Helen?" She smiled a little. "And please do not ask me who."
The other woman's chin quivered before a tear slipped down her cheek. "Oh Maggie..." she whispered, her eyes finally turning to her friend's. "I...I think I am more in love than ever I was...and it is tearing me up inside. I shouldn't have gone! I shouldn't!" she exclaimed suddenly. "If I hadn't, then this never would have happened...I'd be content still. What have I done? What is to become of me?"
Margaret enfolded her friend in her arms and hugged her tightly. "Oh...my poor Helen." She shook her head as she hushed her. "You do love him, don't you? I hoped it was not so...but feared as much. You do not let things of the heart go lightly...you never have. Your father...and now Mr. Holmes." Pulling back to regard her, Margaret brushed a tear away with a heartfelt and sympathetic expression on her face. "But...what do you mean, you shouldn't have gone? To the ball tonight, you mean?"
Grey eyes widened a little and after a deep but shaky breath, Helen shook her head. "No...I..." She paused, and started again, "Do you recall the kidnappings of those children a fortnight back? Mr. Holmes was the one who solved that case, though the police took all the credit. I knew one of the children involved and went to appeal his aid in the matter, arriving just before he went out in disguise to do so...I was there when he told John his plan. He said his disguise would work better with a woman...but could not find one that would fit the role...so...so I volunteered." She shook her head at her friend's aghast expression at her involvement in any kind of dangerous activity. "No...no! He refused. And rightfully so...but...you know me when my stubbornness is raised...I...I...I put myself in disguise...as a..." Her voice grew hushed. "Harlot...and went after him."
"A...a...harlot?" Margaret breathed. "Helen, you didn't?"
Her friend's cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair. "I did. He tried to send me back...but the contact showed and the game was in play...so I was with him until the case concluded. But…you see…" She swallowed slowly. "There was a moment when the villains responsible...particularly the woman...did not believe we were what we said we were...and I was so nervous and enrapt within my role...that I said I would prove it to her...and I...I..." Her voice failed her.
"Helen..." Margaret tensed, barely able to take in what she was being told. "What? What did you do?" she asked in a whisper.
Grey eyes dipped and when their owner replied, her voice was so quiet it could barely be heard. "I kissed him..."
Margaret blinked, not entirely sure whether to be relieved or appalled. Considering the 'role' her best friend was playing, the proof could have been almost anything conceivable. But when considered on its own merits, the kiss...initiated by her...was quite bad enough. "Oh Helen. What were you thinking? In front of other people? What must he have thought?" She frowned slightly, suddenly curious for more details. "What...sort...of kiss?"
The last bit seemed to help re-establish Helen's distracted attention, and she turned to her with a slightly surprised expression. "What? Oh...well...the only kind I knew at the time...I mean...I didn't really..."
The dark haired woman nodded almost in relief. "Of course...of course...the fact that that is all you know makes it even more remarkable that you managed to make it so convincing!" She shook her head, still reeling somewhat at the revelation of her friend's behaviour, though as she paused for a moment, her friend's words began to trickle in even more as she turned back to her with wide eyes. "One moment..." she queried, "the only kind you knew at the time?"
The colour in Helen's cheeks seemed to deepen even further as she nodded. "I...well...that is to say…he..." she stammered, at a loss to put into words what had occurred within the deepened kiss.
"Ohh..." Margaret's eyes widened even further, as her voice grew small. "Oh my." Glancing around her and trying to think of something to say, the noblewoman's lips parted somewhat. Several different replies died unspoken on her lips until she looked back at Helen with an almost resigned air. "Well…did you enjoy it at least?" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh heavens…that was wicked of me!" she exclaimed as she cringed.
"Maggie!" Helen scolded before glancing down, a tiny smile on her lips. "More than anything..." The happy remembrance lasted only a moment before a long sigh burst from her lips. "But...it is hard to deny what you feel for someone when you are in such an intimate embrace. To him, it was all part of the role. A tool to ensure our success...an...embellishment. But to me..." There was heartache in her gaze.
"To me it was everything...I have never felt what I felt for him when in another's…admittedly more chaste…embrace. I was falling...and yet so aware...I could feel everything." Tears again welled in her eyes. "What am I to do, Maggie? His feelings for me have not changed a jot, and now I am with a good and true man whom I love but...who does not inspire me to such…depth of feeling. And yet I cannot deny what I feel...it's tearing me up inside…slowly destroying me."
Margaret could only flinch at her friend's pain and profound dilemma. To have a sweet loving man, but not to care for him the way you should, and to care a great deal for a man who cared for you only as a friend -- it was truly a horrid situation.
"Oh Helen..." She shook her head at the friend whose life was never quite charmed enough to run smoothly. "Helen, my dear...I can only imagine what you're feeling. But..." She tried to be as firm and gentle as she could. "You must know you can't go on like this. You need to make a decision about which means more to you -- a contented life with William, who loves you and whom you love albeit without the passion you seem to have for Mr. Holmes…or a life without either but true to your heart?
"It is a hard choice...and I do not envy it you. Nor will I blame you whatever path you choose. You would not be the first woman to choose a good man rather than one who enflames her heart. They are often the better for you. And I would wish you great happiness of it. But the other choice, too, would have my admiration. To give up both men? Either way, Helen, you must make a choice...and stick to it. It is neither fair to yourself, nor to William, to continue as you are."
"But...what if I make the wrong choice? What if I give up contentment but regret it...or stay and resent him?" came the reply, tears coursing down Helen's cheeks. "I know I must choose...I know it. But either way...someone's heart is going to be broken...William's...or mine."
Authors' Notes: Welcome back! And we're a day early! (dances) We are so glad that everyone enjoyed the last chapter so much! It is always great to hear from everyone. Right...so to answer questions and comment on comments.
1. Mary Becker was in fact modeled after a very real woman named Mary Jeffries...and boy, what did she get up to! In fact, if you want to learn more about her and some of the other less-reputable folk, I'd really recommend The Victorian Underworld by Donald Thomas. An excellent read and not written in a boring way at all. Perfect for Holmes researchers!
2. Glad everyone liked that kiss! (grins)
3. As for Holmes's dig at Helen's personal life...we all know what he thinks of Edwards, so not a shocker there. But stay tuned for next week...this week was Helen's fall out...next week Watson has a little chat with Holmes about his behaviour at the ball.
So till then, thank you all for reading...and please feel free to leave a comment/review/thought. We love hearing from you! Only three more chapters left! Hugs to all! --Aeryn