Chapter Seventeen: Oh What a Beautiful Morning

I was awakened some time later by a loud rap on the bedroom door followed by Holmes's strident voice informing us it was time to get up.

Becky groaned. "What time is it?"

Before I could answer, Holmes burst through the door, dressed elegantly in a black tweed suit, complete with gloves and a top hat. "It is five o'clock," he said. He proceeded to turn up the gas until the room was completely illuminated.

I squinted against the bright light. "You're quite the morning person, aren't you?" I asked sarcastically.

He raised his eyebrows and a slight chuckle escaped his lips. "There is nothing like Paris in the morning. Now, get up and dress quickly, we have much to do today."

I yawned. "Yeah, all right, whatever you say. Now, if you would please get out so we can get dressed…"

"I will be back in ten minutes' time to make sure you ladies are up and dressed," he said.

"You are positively insufferable in the morning, do you know that?" I asked with feigned annoyance.

Something akin to a smile passed across his face, but it disappeared so suddenly that I couldn't be sure if it was real or imagined. Quickly he left the room.

When he had gone, Becky looked up at me; sleep still clung to her eyes. "Do we have to get up?"

"I'm afraid so," I said cautiously getting to my feet. Much to my relief, both my ribs and my ankle felt much better.

"How's your foot?" Becky asked, throwing the blankets off.

"A lot better, thanks," I replied, carefully walking around the room. "I can put more weight on it."

"That's good," she said stifling a yawn. "That's really good."

I decided that my friend would not successfully rouse herself for a few minutes, and took the opportunity to complete my toilet.

Becky watched with mild amusement as I carefully pulled on my jeans . "What are you doing? We're not home remember," she said.

"I know," I said grabbing a cream colored dress with a touch of lace at the throat and wrists. It covered the jeans beautifully. "We're doing a lot of walking today, and I want to be comfortable. You can't even tell I have pants on."

"Good idea," she said with a laugh.

"I suggest mon amie, you get dressed and stop laughing at me. While you dress, I'll see what Mr. Sunshine is up to."

Becky laughed at the name I used for Holmes. "I'll be ready in a sec."

"I've heard hat before," I said hobbling to the sitting room.

I looked at the couch and tried extremely hard to stifle my laughter. Watson was on the sofa wearing an unbuttoned stripped pajama top and open dress pants, his eyes were closed and he was snoring softly even as his right hand clutched one of his shoes.

Poor guy's not a morning person either. He must've fallen asleep as he was putting on his shoes.

Just as I was about sit next to Watson, Holmes walked in the room whistling a tune that was unknown to me. Catching his eye, I motioned for him to be quiet and gestured to the sleeping doctor.

With an impish smile, Holmes walked over to Watson and gently shook him by the shoulder.

The doctor groaned and slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times to focus. "Holmes, what the devil?"

"Watson," the detective said in measured tones, "somehow I believe you will attract quite a few stares if you are truly going to venture out in that outfit."

Watson looked down at his clothing and then at me. His face grew bright red. "I…I am planning to change…" he said, stammering in from embarrassment.

Holmes laughed good humouredly. "All right old boy! Go and make yourself decent for God's sake. I'm in a hurry to leave," he said.

Without a word, Watson retreated to his bedroom.

"That wasn't really nice," I said.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders and lit his briar pipe.

"Smoking at this hour? Damn you're a nicotine fiend."

He raised his eyebrows, not knowing what I meant. "Yes, well a pipe first thing in the morning made from yesterday's plugs and dottles helps the thinking process. Why am I explaining this to you? You have no business asking me about my habits."

"My apologies," I murmured sitting down. I had just woken up and was in no mood for his sarcasm.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, turning around to face me.

"Much better, thank you," I replied, attempting to get use to his chameleon-like moods.

He nodded. "Good. Your ankle…"

"I can walk if that's what you're asking."

Once again he nodded and we lapsed into a comfortable silence. I stared at him, surprised by the amount of energy he had in the morning.

He caught my gaze and I blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," I murmured.

He raised his eyebrows, signaling for me to explain myself.

"I just surprised at the amount of energy you have in the morning. I mean it's crazy!"

He flashed me a very brief smile. "Nothing exhausts me when I work, but idleness exhausts me completely."

"I wish I could say the same," I said stifling a yawn. "I'm certainly not a morning person, so if I seem evil, please excuse me."

He said nothing and busied himself by taking long pulls on his pipe. Although he appeared outwardly calm and collected, I could see in his eyes, which were shining brightly and his constant need to keep himself moving, that he was a bundle of nerves and excitement.

I decided to talk to him about the investigation before he could start pacing. "So, do you think we'll discover anything at the opera house?"

He shrugged and peered at me over the pipe bowl. "I do not like to theorize before I have data."

"Yeah, that's right, how did I forget. When are we going to book passage on a train headed for Perros?"

"Before we go to the opera house," he replied.

I was about to reply when Becky strolled out of the bedroom, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Good morning," she said yawning.

"'Morning," I answered. "You look totally hot."

"Go jump off the nearest bridge and drown in the nearest river," she replied testily. "I look a mess."

I pretended to look her over critically. "Nah, I've seen you look a lot worse."

"Mac, read between the lines," she said holding up three fingers in my direction.

"I beg your pardon, but what is that suppose to mean?" Holmes asked.

I laughed at his nineteenth century ignorance. "Forget it Mr. Holmes. I don't feel like explaining the many ways of insulting people of the twenty first century this early in the morning."

"I think I should teach that lesson," Becky said smiling broadly. "I've told off more people then you can imagine."

"Trust me, I know," I replied. I returned my attention to the detective who was watching the exchange between me and my friend like a small child watching monkeys at the zoo. "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as Watson is ready," he replied quickly. "Watson!" He shouted.

"Coming Holmes," came the doctor's reply. A few moments later, he joined us in the sitting room, clad in a grey tweed suit accompanied by a black bowler hat. His eyes still held the remnants of sleep, but he was in good spirits. "Is your ankle all right?"

I nodded. "I can walk on it, although my walk is little more than a limp, but," I said raising up a hand before Watson could protest, "I am quite capable of walking around for hours."

"So long as you are able to walk," he answered. "Breakfast at the hotel restaurant?"

"Sounds good to me," I lied. The thought of food at five o'clock in the morning was enough to make me positively ill.

Holmes interrupted our conversation by clearing his throat, and opened the door for us and we walked to the hotel restaurant. There, Holmes ordered us several French pastries and four mugs of hot tea. We ate in silence, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts.

I was too excited to really eat. My thoughts kept returning to my adventure at the opera house and I was more curious then ever to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Once we finished eating, Holmes paid the bill, brushing my protests aside by bluntly reminding me that I had no money and we were rattling off in a four wheeler to a destination known only to the great detective.

The cab stopped and I glanced out the small window, realizing we were at a train station.

"Weird way to get to the opera house," I said sarcastically.

Holmes ignored me and he and Watson alighted from the cab.

"Where are they going?" Becky asked.

"I'm not a psychic, but think it's safe to assume they are getting train tickets."

"Smart ass."

"Yeah I know."

"You seem rather touchy this morning."

"Sorry, but I'm tired and in pain."

Further conversation was denied when Holmes and Watson returned to the cab; four train tickets were peeking out of Watson's coat pocket.

"Nous voulons aller a Palais Garnier!" Holmes called to the cabbie.

The cabbie whipped up the horses and we were off to the Paris Opera House.

When the cab stopped outside the magnificent building Holmes paid the driver and we followed him into the main hall, where Messurs Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin were waiting for us.

"Bonjour," Moncharmin said offering his hand to Sherlock Holmes. "C'est trés agreeable fimalement pour vous rencontrer."

"Le plaisir est toute mon," the detective replied with a cordial smile. He introduced us to the management and when the pleasantries were completed, Holmes turned his attention to the problem at hand. "You have arranged for us to take a tour of the opera house, have you not?" Holmes asked in French.

The managers nodded simultaneously. "Oui, Monsieur Gilles Beaufort will give you a tour of the above ground portions et Monsieur Isidore Vasser will take you into the cellars," Richard said forcefully. He then turned to his partner. "Armand, apporte Monsieur Beaufort ici maintentant."

Monsieur Moncharmin quickly disappeared. He returned, some minutes later, with a towering man, with massive oarsman's shoulders and ballooning biceps. His dark hair was beginning to recede and his sapphire eyes searched our faces. He was unkempt, which was made obvious by the disheveled appearance of his Roman T beard.

"Bonjour, je suis Gilles Beaufort," he said, his voice rasping. He extended one of his work-swollen hands to whoever would take it.

"Bonjour," Holmes said, taking the man's hand. He then proceeded to introduce us to Monsieur Beaufort.

Beaufort nodded to each of us in turn. Once the introductions were complete, Beaufort offered us a toothy grin. "If you are ready, we can begin the tour of l'opera populaire."

Holmes nodded and we followed Monsieur Beaufort into the auditorium. The first stop on the tour was the stage. I looked out at the vast auditorium, imagined it completely filled and a shudder ran down my spine. Although I was use to performing in various school plays, the thought of acting on such a huge stage, in front of so many people was enough to give the most season actor a touch of stage fright, and I was certainly no exception.

I heard a slight chuckle and spun around only to see Sherlock Holmes smirking.

"What?" I asked, my voice defensive.

"Fear not Mackenzie," he said with a slight smile. "You do not have to perform on such a stage."

"Yes Mademoiselle," Beaufort said gently, "many people get nervous the first time the trod the boards."

"I wasn't nervous," I lied. "Seriously, I was just looking out into the auditorium."

Watson smiled at me and chuckled. "I could never be an actor," he murmured.

"No old boy, I do not believe you are a candidate for the stage."

Monsieur Beaufort interrupted the exchange between the two friends by directing Sherlock Holmes's attention to the footlights. "There Monsieur, are the footlights. These lights help illuminate the stage and can create some interesting effects. Although the limelights are the true stars of the opera."

I must admit the thought of listening to the gravelly voice drone on about the intricate workings of electrical equipment was enough to totally bore me. In attempt to find something to focus my mind on, I began to idly glance around the auditorium once again. However, this time, my eyes traveled around the lower seating area. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy form moving.