As far as Celeste was concerned, everyone was well-rested by the time they arrived at Brighton, if a little grumpy from the cramped quarters. Holmes had woken her up with a gentle elbow to the ribs as the train pulled into the station. They parted ways with Doctor Watson, after rehearsing their eventual reunion, then hailed a cab to the resort. In this liminal time before they had to perform marriage for half the seaside, they were just Lefay and Holmes, testing out the new dynamic for their comfort. How close they would stand, diminutives, building the story they would spin together. All the while, Celeste noticed Holmes shift uncomfortably in the carriage, his posture closed off, occasionally stammering through a phrase. On one hand, it was a comfort to see her partner just as trepidatious about the coming week as she was. That butterfly in her stomach was back in full force as she observed how he was trying to hide just how flustered he'd become. On the other hand, Holmes was still a friend, and one who didn't deserve to suffer alone.
"Are you nervous?" Celeste blurted out, stopping Holmes mid-sentence. "Because I'm terrified."
Holmes had been staring at her in mild shock at the beginning of her question, but the expression melted into relief by the end. "Thank goodness one of us said it." That prompted them both to descend into a fit of giggles like schoolchildren.
"And we have to pull this off for a week," said Celeste, merry tears in her eyes. "I've never done a mission like this before. Have you?"
"Not near to this extent, no," he answered with a slight hesitation, intriguing Celeste enough that she made a mental note to inquire about it later.
"Usually there's handlers and safehouses and debriefings at the end of the day. No one's trusted me this far on my own without mischief before," she added, which reignited their laughter.
The hansom slowed as it approached the gates of the resort, an almost offensive number of cherubim adorning the archway. Their mirth sobered at the sight of their destination.
Celeste gave Holmes' arm a reassuring squeeze. "The way I see it, Basil and Amelia Lynley only exist as we dictate them to be. Their marriage can be whatever we make of it. We can fade into the background and observe or be obvious bait, our choice. So, don't worry about not performing well enough for my work. Just keep your words open with me, and I shall return the favor. Understood, Derryn?"
"Of course, Leopard," he said, with a fond smile that barely registered at his mouth but fully crinkled around his eyes.
With a grounding breath from them both, Sherlock Holmes took Celeste Lefay's hand to exit the carriage and Basil and Amelia Lynley entered the resort.
The Eurydice Arms was built like a palatial horseshoe, curling herself around the drive as a welcome with gleaming whitewashed wings and porticos on either side. A pristinely manicured lawn filled the space between wings, with lines of roses dotted with topiaries along the walkways. Couples strolled through the manicured gardens and played croquet on the lawn. The grand walkway to the front doors were lined with glittering lamps and impeccably dressed porters who leapt into action as the carriage slowed to a halt. The newlyweds made their way through the doors attached at the arm and looked with wide, fascinated eyes over their surroundings. A spectacled staff member with slicked back chestnut hair and a crisp blue suit immediately greeted them.
"Welcome and good afternoon to you, Sir and Madame. I am Mr. Ghasterly, concierge of the Eurydice Arms. It is my pleasure to assist you in your stay," he said as he led them through the lobby to his ornate desk. "Now, what is the name on your reservation?"
"L-Lynley," the husband nervously stammered out. His wife encouraged him with a doting smile.
"We're booked through the week, but this place is so charming, we may stay longer!" She added.
Concierge Ghasterly's eyebrows rose in the universal indicator of service industry frustration. "We shall have to see if accommodations can be met further at that time. Presently, you don't mind allowing us to inspect your documents, I trust?" He asked with his hand held out towards Mr. Lynley, who floundered a bit before producing their marriage certitificate.
"Of course, sir. Right you are."
A brief look passed between the couple as the concierge inspected the document, even going so far as taking a jeweler's loupe sparking with magic and going over the paper. He handed it back with a wide smile. "Everything seems to be in order. Thank you." The couple squeezed their arms a fraction tighter. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Lynley, if you don't mind enjoying the comforts of our lounge, it will be just a moment and we shall show you to your suite."
They were dismissed with a nod and left to explore the lobby. It was well populated with couples lounging on opulent sofas and some playing cards in the sunlit salon. It felt peculiar that only couples populated the resort. There were no playing children or roaming bachelors, though sometimes the men and women clumped together as they took breaks from their partners. Interestingly, an older woman sat by herself in a silent corner, keeping a firm hand on a sleeping Persian cat and looking over the crowd with a severe expression.
One group happily chatting in the lobby was a circle of matronly ladies taking tea on the sofas. One of the women noticed as the Lynleys walked by. Her eyebrows lifted suddenly in recognition.
"Miss Amelia Mairelon is that you?" she asked, rising to stop the couple. "I never forget a face, and it was so lovely to meet you in the sewing circle last week!"
'Amelia' smiled at the mention. "Of course. Lovely to see you again Mrs. Bembridge. And just so you know, it is Mrs. Lynley now," she said with an adoring smile to her husband.
"Oh, how wonderful," exclaimed Mrs. Bembridge, her hands clutching at her heart. "Congratulations to you both. I didn't mean to exclude you, young man, but you know how we old hens love to preen over the young debutantes," she said to Mr. Lynley. She put her hand out, and he took it graciously, if nervously. "Alice Bembridge. A pleasure to meet you. If I could find my Reginald, we could all have proper introductions made."
"I'm sure we could take dinner together soon," offered Amelia. "We have only just arrived."
"Of course, my dear. I do hope you both enjoy your stay. I call this place my worst kept secret for a reason." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "Though be careful of your words around Widow Forrester over there." Mrs. Bembridge nodded slightly to the woman in the corner. "She is the owner of this fine estate and only sees this leisure enterprise," -a wave to the front counter- "as acceptable so long as all her patrons maintain utmost propriety. So, while a little amorous merriment is understandable upon one's honeymoon, maybe keep it from her knowledge, hmm?" She punctuated the sentence with a cheeky wink towards Mr. Lynley, who awkwardly stiffened.
Taking pity upon her nervous husband, Mrs. Lynley thanked Mrs. Bembridge for her advice, and they bid her adieu. They walked out past the verandah to breathe the sea air from the side courtyard. There was a rose garden, a picturesque gazebo and benches, and beyond it all the cliffs leading to the beach. Gulls shrieked overhead, mixing with the distant sound of the surf. Across the lawn was an open lane towards the steps to the shore. Then beyond that was a good-sized building in mint green, awkwardly positioned so that the lane would be its only access to the sea.
"I can see why they have to share this particular courtyard," the wife whispered to her husband, who bit back his laughter.
"Lynley! By Jove!" Came a shout from the garden. A broad-shouldered man with a curled mustache and a boating suit strode to their spot by the steps. His (much younger) Fae partner dutifully rushed beside him, giggling as she tried to stay on his arm. He shook the startled man's hand gregariously. "How grand it is to see you here, my good man. I see you've found yourself your own bird of paradise to make a nest with," he said with a tip of his boater hat towards Amelia. "Captain Ambrose Armitage, at your service, Madam. I met this fine upstart back at the club just this past week. And I'm pleased to see you've taken my advice on your holiday, Old Boy," He clapped Basil on the back roughly. "How long have you two been here at the Arms?"
Basil blinked owlishly. "Just... today. We arrived here… today."
"Well, if it is the first day of your honeymoon, then you two certainly have some business to take care of," Captain Armitage said with a wink and a nudge. "And on my honor, Delphi and I shan't keep you from it. Come along, Pet!"
With that, the odd couple flounced away further into the resort, leaving the undercover honeymooners slightly baffled.
"I have had a three-hour conversation with that man, and I don't think I've said three consecutive sentences to him," whispered 'Basil' dryly. It was his wife's turn to suppress a laugh.
A young porter abruptly appeared before them with a stiff nod. "Mr. and Mrs. Lynley, your rooms are ready. Follow me if you please."
The couple shared a quick look, steeling themselves for their imminent performance. They were led through the rose garden to the entrance nearest to the beach lane. As they passed by the stretch of lawn where the two differing hotels could mingle their clientele, the porter spoke up.
"Will the two of you be taking dinner in your suite tonight, Sir? Or shall I reserve a table in the dining room for you?"
'Basil' stopped in his tracks, his balance a little precarious as he thought. "I suppose the former would be… convenient… for…," All color drained from his face. "…Our evening together…"
As he attempted to finish his sentence, the man stumbled fully to the ground in a daze. Mrs. Lynley was fast to aid him, protecting his head as he fell and curling beside him. The porter stood in mute panic at the scene before him.
"Oh, my poor lamb," exclaimed 'Amelia' as she unbuttoned his collar to free his airway. "Is anyone a doctor?" She called out clearly.
Right on cue, a man with a mustache and cane stood from a nearby bench and swiftly strode towards the ruckus.
"I'm a doctor, Lassie," he said in a noticeable Scottish brogue. "How fares your man, Mrs… Mrs. Lynley?"
She looked up at him with clear relief. "Doctor MacGregor, what a welcome surprise you are! I believe Basil's nerves are affecting him again."
"Oh dear," he said matter-of-factly as he knelt beside the couple. "When is the last time he ate or drank?"
"This morning before the wedding. We've had quite a long day."
"Aye, that would do it." The doctor put a tiny bottle of smelling salts under the infirm groom's nose. "Mr. Lynley? Wake up me boy. You're worrying your new wife."
As he opened his eyes, he grabbed the doctor's arm. "Sir. I am terribly sorry to interrupt your holiday. And you as well my dear," he said with a glance at his wife.
"Don't fuss over it. We'll get ye to somewhere more accommodating. You there, boy," MacGregor called to the porter. "Be there any form of sustenance in this man's room?"
The porter snapped to attention. "There is tea and light refreshment prepared, sir."
"Thank you. Now help us get Mr. Lynley on his feet." The doctor and the wife made a show of laboriously helping the nervous man to a standing position, and the trio walked the rest of the way to their room with him leaning heavily on their arms.
They all filed into a hallway just off the entrance, climbing up the nearest set of stairs, coming to a stop at one of the first doors nearby. With a heavy clink, the porter unlocked the door and ushered the others inside. Mr. Lynley was deposited into one of the luxurious chairs occupying the sitting room while his doctor checked his pulse, and his wife poured his tea. The triumphant smiles between the three went unnoticed by the porter, who unlocked the pocket doors to the bedroom beyond before depositing the keys on the entry table.
"Normally a full tour of the rooms is customary," he started. "But I'm sure it can be waived for your comfort, sir. Do you need any further assistance?"
"No thank you," the groom answered. "Though I would feel better if the Doctor could visit me during my stay to make sure my health is maintained, if it's not too much of an imposition."
"None at all for me, Lad," said doctor interjected. "I'll visit during afternoon tea, so not to disturb your missus. If that is acceptable to the hotel, of course. I would hate to invite the appearance of impropriety."
The porter shook his head. "In matters of health, such visits are permitted. I shall presently inform the concierge, and you will be given allowance to walk the grounds during daylight." The last word was emphasized sternly.
"Of course, Laddie. I'll finish checking up on Mr. Lynley here and be havering back to my own room. You best be doing your informing now."
With a bow, the porter left, and the three silently counted down until they could no longer hear his steps before erupting in cheers of victory.
"I can't believe we did it!" Watson said with audible relief as he headed towards the bar. "And the marriage license worked?"
Holmes immediately leapt from the chair and straightened his collar before applauding his fellow players. "Without an ounce of suspicion," said Holmes proudly with a flourish. "In no small part to the talents of our steadfast commanding Officer."
Celeste, cackling and bristling with pent-up energy, jumped upon the expensive settee to take her bow before the two gentlemen.
"Get down from there, you beastie," Holmes said with mock consternation. She only cackled more as he took her by the waist and put her down on terra firma himself.
Watson passed them both snifters of brandy and raised his own. "I propose a toast. To Holmes' suavity with his connections, to Officer Lefay's charm work, to my brogue, and to all of us lying our arses off!" With heady laughter, they all knocked back their drinks.
Holmes strode to the large window behind the table. "Are you still in Room 237? That should be its window across the lane," he said, pointing. The others stood beside him to look. When Watson nodded, Holmes fished a spyglass from his pocket with a grin. "Best man gift," was his only explanation.
"I am still not comfortable peeping on either of your privacy."
"I'm not asking you to spy at all hours, only appointed check-in times of morning and dusk. I have my own spyglass as well. We'll use our old semaphore code for any news should we need to discuss anything. If it's urgent, we'll walk to the sea together, if not, we save it for the next afternoon tea."
Watson checked his pocket watch. "Speaking of which, I best be off. There's only so much doting a doctor can do before the staff get suspicious. What will you both be doing with your evening?"
Celeste produced a small, folded piece of paper from her pocket as Holmes produced a much larger folded paper from his valise. "I managed to find a map of the hotel in London, and the Leopard managed to magic a copy of this week's guest list as our license was being inspected. That's my evening sorted."
"And I will be changing into something more maneuverable and searching the grounds for anything peculiar," said Celeste mischievously.
Watson grabbed his bag and cane. "Then I shall leave you both to your casework. I have a supper buffet to sample, and I will see you for our evening check-in." They waved him off cheerily as he left, whistling an off-tune version of Loch Lomond to Celeste's amusement and Holmes' consternation.
And then there were two. Just Sherlock and Celeste, who became acutely aware there was little they could do before their room service arrived. Once the hotel staff had finished entering their rooms for the day, could they fully begin their investigation in earnest. Until then, it was just the two of them biding time.
On their wedding night.