Chapter Twenty Eight: An Amusing Deception

As I sat in front of the blaze, a red-headed man with a cubby face and a ruddy complexion sat next to me and leaned close to the fire. He was dressed plainly, in a simple red shirt and tweed pants that were worn in the knees. Undoubtedly, Holmes could have deduced the man's life story from those knees, but I was unable to do so.

"Bon matin," he said. His French was tinted with a thick Irish brogue.

"Bon matin Monsieur," I replied.

"Ca va?"

I was in no mood for conversation but I had to be polite and reply. "Eh, je suis comme ci-comme cą, merci. Et vous Monsieur?" (Eh, I'm so-so thanks. And you sir?)

The man smiled at me, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw that smile once before. "Merci. Je suis trés bien." (Thanks I'm very good.)

Knowing what was expected of me I smiled. "Porquoi?" (Why?)

"Parce-que, je connais vous mais vous ne connaissez pas moi!" He said with a laugh. (Because I know you but you don't know me!)

I raised my eyebrows at the strange man. "Huh?"

Suddenly, he let out a peal of laughter and he ran his hands through his red hair, only to remove it and reveal black hair. Then his face became thinner and his eyes sparkled brightly. In an instant I realized I was sitting next to Sherlock Holmes!

"Mon Dieu!" I said shoving him gently and laughing at my own foolishness. "Holmes you got me!"

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows in confusion. "I didn't get you anything."

I laughed again and smiled. "It's an expression we use in the US of A meaning you fooled me or you surprised me."

He nodded and very slowly tried out the new phrase. "I got you."

I tried extremely hard not to laugh, because his slight English accent (which is heavier than Watson's) made the phrase sound ridiculously proper. I looked him over; surprised at the way he could change his voice and appearance. "When Watson wrote that you were a master of disguise he wasn't kidding. You know something, Lestrade's right, when you decided to become a detective the stage lost a fine actor."

He blushed slightly at the compliment. "Merci beacoup."

"So what's up with the disguise?" I asked curiously.

"Since we are going to make a clandestine journey I do not want to be recognized by our quarry. I will alter your appearance when we go upstairs."

I cocked my head to the left. "Sounds fun."

"Come along," he said, a touch of impatience was in his voice.

I stood and followed him to the sitting room. "Sit," he commanded.

I barked but the joke went over his head so I just did as I was told.

"Are you by any chance Irish?"

"I'm as Irish as leprechauns and Blarney Castle," I replied.

"Good."

Fifteen minutes later, when I looked in the mirror I gasped. Gone was the seventeen year old, short blond haired, pale faced and stubborn chin of Mackenzie Sterling. In 'her' place was a pale freckled-faced, bright eyed Irish peasant girl who looked about ten years old, complete with long flowing brown braids which stopped at the middle of my back.

"Oh my God," I gasped looking at myself in the mirror. "I don't recognize myself. You're amazing!"

Sherlock Holmes grinned at my praise. "We must work on your Irish brogue and get you into some peasant clothing."

I curtsied and allowed a blush to rise to my cheeks. "Dia dhuit laddie," I said greeting him in Gaelic with my best Irish brogue.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You know Gaelic?"

"A little," I replied. "I can say hello, welcome, good luck, cheers and goodbye."

"This will be very helpful, very very helpful," he replied staring into space.

"Holmes, what are you looking at?"

"When we finally see the viscount, you can greet him in Gaelic, draw him out into conversation, learn what you can…"

I shook my head. "Holmes, I don't think that is such a good idea. I mean acting wise…"

"You'll do splendidly, you'll see. Now," he said slapping on his red wig once again. He picked up a bundle of clothes and handed them to me. "Put this on and then rouse your friend."

I did as he instructed and tried to stifle a laugh when I slipped into the threadbare peasant dress Holmes had given me. I tiptoed over to Becky's bed and very gently prodded her.

"Aye lass, there's nothing like Ireland in the mornin'. Up an' outta bed lass, 'urry up!"

"Hmm?" She opened her eyes and looked around with foggy eyes. When she saw 'me' she gasped. "Who the hell are you? What the hell are you doing in my room?" She demanded, pulling the covers protectively around her.

"Aye, no need to be shy lass," I said offering a toothy grin. "It aint like you've got anything I 'aven't seen b'fore."

She gasped and then tightened her grip on the blanket. "That is sick! I don't know who the hell you are or how you got in here but I want you out of here right now, or I'll call hotel security!"

"Aye lass, no need to get nasty. I'm leavin' but I suspect you'd best get up b'fore yer train leaves," I said exiting the room.

I looked around the sitting room and spied Holmes sitting smugly in an arm chair, a satisfied grin on his face.

"And you are worried about your acting!" He said with a smile that could have been derogatory if not for the warm gleam in his eyes. "You will be able to fool someone like Raoul, le vicomte de Chagny."

I smiled at his off-handed compliment and bowed slightly. "Merci Monsieur…"

"O'Neill and you are my daughter Bridget," he said softly.

I grinned. I wouldn't mind playing your wife. Mac, stop it! "So when are we going to leave?"

"As soon as your friend and Watson are up and I alter their appearances."

"In that case," I said feigning boredom, "I'm gonna go to the lobby and find out what I can about Brittany."

Holmes glanced at the clock on the mantel. "It is six o'clock. We will meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes."

"Yes sir," I said with a mock salute. Before he could comment, I hurried out of the sitting room.

'These are hidden fires indeed!' I thought as I slowly walked to the lobby. Holmes was being jovial, polite and kind to me. Perhaps all that happened last night helped us break through our barricade of belligerency.

So lost in thought was I about the sudden change in Holmes's attitude that I didn't see the man in front of me and unceremoniously crashed into him.

"Pardon moi," I said looking at the man who I crashed into. I wanted to die when I realized it was Raoul de Chagny.

He flashed me a boyish smile. "That's quite all right Mademoiselle. May I have the honor of your name?"

"Bridget O'Neill," I said coquettishly. Thank God I remembered to use the name Holmes had given me. "And you are sir?"

He once again smiled. "Je m'appelle Raoul de Chagny." He bent down and kissed my hand. "You are lucky I remembered my name, because I usually forget myself when I see such beauty before me."

So I'm not pretty eh Raoul? That's your spiel for every girl you come across. I figured as much at Chez Villard.

Suddenly it dawned on me who he was going to go see. I knew I had to stall him long enough for Holmes to leave. "You are not the Raoul de Chagny?"

"I see my name precedes me," he said with a little bow. "How do you know of me Mademoiselle O'Neill?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny," I said with a coquettish smile. "You are known all throughout France, even in the small town of Perros, where I am from, for your amazingly good looks."

He raised his eyebrows. "You are from Perros?"

I nodded my head. "Oui Monsieur."

"I am headed there myself."

"Oh really?"

Come on Holmes, hurry up!

"Yes, I am going to meet a friend."

"Oh, that is interesting Monsieur. I am returning home on this morning's train."

"You are so young! You cannot be traveling alone," he clucked.

I smiled. "Non Monsieur, I am not traveling alone. I am going home with my Papa."

"Good, because if you were traveling alone, I would have insisted that you be my companion."

I forced another smile and wondered how much longer I could stall the viscount before he went upstairs and ruined Holmes's (my) plan. "That is very kind of you Monsieur. I would have liked that very much. When does your train…"

"Bridget! You wretched girl, where are you?" I heard 'my father' (Holmes) call.

I turned around and saw the detective standing on the stairs looking around. "Papa!" I shouted running to him. "Here I am Papa!"

"Ah Bridget!" He said with a smile.

I jumped at him and he caught me easily in his arms. "Papa!" I said kissing him on the cheek. Heaven! "Papa what took you so long?"

He smiled at me, the gaze in his eyes one of an adoring father looking at his favorite child. He was a great actor indeed! "Aye, I woulda been down here quicker had your uncle Thomas not take so long to get ready."

"Where is Uncle Thomas?"

"He's coming down. He is helping Deirdre with the bags." He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at Raoul de Chagny. "And who is that young man who you were bothering?"

"That is…"

"I am Raoul le Victomte de Chagny," he said stepping forward with an air of self-importance. "She was no bother Monsieur. I found her quite charming."

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "An' how would you know of her charm?"

"It's all right Papa," I said turning toward Holmes so Raoul did not see me laughing. He was certainly a great actor. "He is extremely honorable. I was being clumsy again and I walked right into him!"

'My father' laughed good humouredly. "I apologize Monsieur le Vicomte. But you will see when you are a father. You become over protective."

Raoul de Chagny smiled. "It's quite all right Monsieur." He looked at his watch and suddenly realized how much time he spent lingering speaking with us. "If you will excuse me Monsieur," he said with a smile. "There is someone I must speak with before I leave. I hope I will see you both in Perros."

We waved good bye and Holmes ushered me out of the lobby and onto the street. We walked a block and then made a sharp right turn.

Just when I was going to question him as to what he was doing, I saw two people, two Irish looking people, a man and woman standing in shadow with bags. It did not take a detective to figure out that the couple was Watson and Becky.

"Did you secure a cab old boy?" Holmes asked.

Watson, who was dressed in a shabby brown tweed suit, nodded his now 'bald' head. "Yes, right this way Seamus," Watson said motioning to us for follow him. We walked a little further and found a waiting four wheeler. Watson grabbed our bags and put them in the little luggage spot. Then he helped Becky and me get in. Once the two men were inside, the cab began rattling away.

"My dear Mackenzie, you were brilliant!" Holmes said with a laugh. "Very clever of you to stall the Vicomte like you did."

"See Holmes, I use my brain for something!"

He smiled and the four of us settled into a compatible silence. When the cab stopped, I heard the familiar whistle of a train and knew we were at the train station.

"Holmes," Watson said checking his pocket watch. "I say old boy, we don't have much time to catch our train."

The detective shrugged. "How much time do we have Watson?"

The doctor once again consulted his watch. "Five minutes."

"Enough," Holmes replied helping me down from the cab. He grabbed my small carpet bag (compliments of Dr. Watson) and slung it over his shoulder as though it didn't weight more than an ounce. He lifted his own, which caused his shirt to raise just enough to give me a glimpse of his well toned abs. I immediately looked away before my limbs turned to jello.

We threaded our way through the throng of people at the station and found an empty first class cabin. We boarded the train with only three minutes to spare.

Once the conductor checked our tickets he closed the door behind us, leaving us alone. The detective looked at me quizzically.