Invisible Scars

„As with new wine intoxicated both/ They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel/ Divinity within them breeding wings/ wherewith to scorn the earth."

Paradise Lost

In the midst of sewing pleats into a blouse, I received a note from Holmes, and read it presently. He let me know he would have the results from his chemical tests tonight, and invited me to drop by for dinner, in case something should come of it.

Lowering the slip of paper, I felt myself the target of Madame Martinez' searching glance. No doubt she was weary of the past weeks' extravagance - police and detectives calling at her boutique, taking me away for interviews, and my own self, leaving early from work a couple of times. Much as I knew she esteemed my faculties, I would have to watch out if I desired to remain in her service.

It was this consideration that caused me to overstay my usual hours, helping Madame with a pressing commission: Sewing the intricate, tiered skirt composed of various silks and linens took us longer than I had reckoned, and when I checked the watch, it was past ten, and darkness had fallen hours ago.

I hesitated. Was it appropriate to seek out Holmes at this hour? He probably did not expect my coming anymore. Maybe he had gone out, or had even retired for the night. Then again, that was not what I had known him to be - in our Sussex days, he had often been up late into the night, reading, researching, or just thinking, his head clouded in the meditative smoke of his pipe. Still, habits may change, and I was therefore a little timid when I stepped up to the concierge's desk at the Meurice.

He knew me by sight now, and eyed me disparagingly with his eye resembling that of a dead fish. I had dedicated express care to my wardrobe tonight, wearing my muslin promenade dress over the brand new S-bend corset, but I felt he remembered the torn linen frock of two nights ago, and had not forgiven it.

„Monsieur Holmes s'est retiré, mademoiselle", he let me know in the most condescending of tones.

„Veuillez envoyer quelqu'un lui chercher", I insisted. „J'attendrai."

And to prove my intention, I took a seat on one of the frail antique upholstery, whose purely decorative function was more than apparent. My impertinence was crowned with success, for after the quarter of an hour, the concierge, having made a telephone call, stepped out of his box. Suppressing my mild surprise that the lower part of his body, heretofore concealed, was not covered in scales, I rose to meet him.

„Monsieur Holmes voudrait vous voire", he informed me coldly. „C'est la chambre 443." And he waved me toward the elevator, obviously glad to be rid of the nuisance.

oooOOOooo

As I knocked on his door, there was a kind of shuffling sound to be heard from the other side, and after nearly a minute had passed, it was opened to me.

„I beg your Pardon ter interrupt so late", I began, „but I was detained at work and…"

But I fell silent as my eyes took in the interior of the suite. It was not only its splendour. Up to now, I had seen enough of the Meurice to expect expansive rooms, lots of gold and a shiny hardwood floor. And yet, what I saw clashed so irreconcilably with what I would have expected from Holmes. Apart from the fact that he favored a certain solid English cosiness, I had known the man apt to engender an inconceivable mess around his person in the most constricted intervals of time. Sussex had been far from pristine, though tempered by several pairs of female hands. Baker Street, his bachelor dwelling, had been worse, somewhere between an evidence vault, chemical laboratory and junk room.

But either he had changed his chaotic habits, or the hotel staff had wrought a miracle, as there was no cluttered surface in the whole place, not a single article that did not look as if it did not expressly belong there. Above all, there were candles - actual, burning candles in a house completely electrified! - and champagne in a bucket with crushed ice. It was like the setting of a romantic stage-play. I shook my head smilingly. There could be no room on earth Holmes would look more out of place in!

„Good evening, Frances", a soft voice said next to me, and I turned my head.

Had I just declared him out of place in this candle-lit phantasmagoria? How changed he looked from yesterday! Gray eyes that had pierced me mercilessly were now directed at mine with a frank and open expression, quite earnest, but without the hardness that had daunted me and my guilty conscience. His still youthful face, though mitigated by rough lines, conveyed a feeling kind, yet guarded with temperate aloofness.

He had been dressed for dinner, as was apparent by the white shirt and coal suit, but had abandoned the jacket in his frustrated wait. His whole air of patient disappointment made my sense of guilt increase dramatically. How thoughtless of me, to not even send a reply note I would be delayed….!

„You have been at work all this time? You must not drive yourself so hard. Your Uncle John would not like it….and neither do I. Sit! I take it you did not have time to think of food?"

„I have not", I replied, awkwardly crossing over to the plush sitting group, „but it ain't of no consequence and I'll just - „

„Ah, here we go", he cried, as a rap on the door interrupted me. Flinging it open, he gave way to the sight of two young waiters and a trolley bedecked with all kinds and shapes of tiny silver ware.

„Là-bas, s'il vous plaît" he instructed the men, gesticulating into the room, „where the lady sits."

„Mr. Holmes, you shouldn't `ave…." I muttered, as various delicacies were spread around me like a sphere of copiousness around a hollow planet. „Ye knows I'm used to not eating for hours on end."

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed, looking even younger in the light of the candles. „You're my guest not so much as that of the French Government, remember. Do you want to shame them? Ce sera tout, merci."

The two waiters left us alone, and we embarked on the exploration of the various Tit-bits from the Meurice kitchen, such as veal tartar, lobster medallions and Iranian caviar.

„Is there a partic'lar reason for celebration?" I asked as he filled our glasses with champagne. „`ave the laboratory tests brought any results?"

„None whatsoever", he replied carelessly, „the tea was just tea. No matter! We will find other clues."

Whence he took his optimism was incomprehensible to me. Until now, hints had been far and between. According to my conception of the situation, we had just lost another scanty chance of ascertaining Madame's fate. The food was rapidly loosing its attraction to me, and I passed on to drinking champagne, feeling a need for fast-acting consolation.

„What news did your day bring?" Holmes enquired. He was seated on a settee arranged at right angles with the sofa I had taken possession of. His long legs were crossed before him, and the champagne flute dangled precariously from his slender hand.

„Nothing worth mention, only work. But I had nearly forgotten…." And I bent down to retrieve the bag I had brought. „I made this during my break. It is nothing special, but maybe Mildred will like it nonetheless."

And I took out a straw hat with velvet lining, decorated with silk roses. „D'ye fink it appropriate? I mean - „

I faltered, not sure how to express my scruples. As a peasant woman, Mildred would have little occasion to put on finery. On the other hand, every woman enjoys a wee bit of luxury from time to time. I had hoped to achieve a sort of compromise between the two considerations.

Holmes reassured me. „Very judiciously chosen, Frances. I am sure my bucolic neighbor will appreciate it."

„I am glad ye should fink so."

„Yes, by all means, but put it in yonder suitcase, please. I do not absolutely need female frippery to be found in my rooms by the housemaids."

„Of course", I said with an absurd blush, rose and went over to the armoire indicated by him. Opening it, I put the hat, carefully wrapped in its bag, into one of the leather suitcases stowed inside. As I closed it, I though I saw Holmes in the mirror on the inside of the door, re-filling my champagne flute.

With a bit of hesitation, I returned to my sofa, and lowered myself onto it rather stiffly. „I think I ought to leave, bye and bye", I remarked. „It has grown late."

„If I am not much mistaken, tomorrow is Sunday", Holmes observed, unmoved. „Besides, you haven't finished your glass. Should I have been pouring this divine drop for an ingrate?"

I smiled, though through a little force. „Ye knows I `ave work always, even on Sundays."

He did not reply at once, but his eyes had a strange glitter in them. „For my sake, Frances", he finally said.

I cast down my eyes with a bizarre sense of confusion. „As you wish. I'll stay fer another glass."

„Good", he softly said, and held it out to me.

I accepted it haltingly, and sipped at it.

„Frances", he said with the same soft, almost venomous inflection. „It won't do, you know."

I lowered the glass in confusion. „I ….beg your Pardon?"

„You know what I'm talking about, Frances", he drawled, rising slowly from his seat to approach me.

I swallowed hard. „I - don't, Mr. `olmes", I asserted. Did he have to tower over me so forbiddingly? Did he have to throw his long shadow over my face?

As if he had heard my thoughts, he bent down, fastening his hands around either upper arm of me. I started.

„Do not - LIE!" He hissed, and suddenly all the genial warmth was gone from his face, all of the careless youthfulness. It was set in hard, merciless lines, defining his brow, aquiline nose, and jaw. I was shocked by the abrupt change, and the adrenaline that jolted through my body gave me unexpected strength.

„How dare you!" I jumped to my feet, shaking off his clambering hands. „This is intolerable! I will leave now, this instant!

And I circled the coffee table to evade him, but he was quicker. Intercepting me on my way to the door, he caught me by my wrists. „You shall go nowhere, not before you have parted with every blasted bit of knowledge you withhold from me!"

„You blackguard!" I spit into his face. „Luring me here wiv your pretended friendship an nice manners…now ye shows yer real face! Is this `ow ye treated my aunt? Then I don't wonder she jumped!"

At these words he pushed me from him with a powerful thrust. I stumbled backwards, one aching wrist caught in the other protectively. His eyes blazed, and he looked like he would fain kill me.

„Talk", he said with a coldness that was strangely at odds with his incensed look. I squared my shoulders and set my jaw, preparing for attack.

„You will let me pass this moment. Let me owt, and never come near me again, or I'll call the police!"

„You." He laughed out loud, a brief, spiteful laugh. „YOU call the police!"

Then the truth hit me. He had known all along. I had thought I did not trust him - he did not trust ME! We had been stalking each other like animals, but he had laid the better trap. I had walked straight into it. And I could see no way out.

For a moment, I considered yelling, raising a riot that would bring help. But of course, it would be futile. The walls in this house were thicker than in a prison, to protect the noble occupants of the rooms from the racket of the Rue Rivoli.

I did not have much more time to think. He came closer with measured steps. My hands itched to grab a chair, a vase, anything to hurl at him - an instinct instilled in me from the earliest age. But I could not. I stood motionless, until he was quite there. Then I tried to recede. But there was not much space left. The window sill stopped my passage by pressing into my rump. I might even have considered leaping out, but we were on the fourth floor.

With accelerated inhalation, my eyes wide open, I looked into his face. He stared back, and I had perforce to lower my eyes to the floor, before they shot up again.

„Well?" He said quietly.

„Mr. `olmes…I …I can't…."

He seized me impatiently, and shook me through and trough. My hair came undone, locks tumbling from the elaborate hair-do and over my shoulders. My resistance was alerted, and I fought as hard as I could. But he was strong, and under his iron grip, my white muslin split open along the backside with a loud, ugly ratch!

„Will you speak!" He panted, his fingers digging into my hair and giving it a fierce tear.

„Please! Please understand….!" Tears shot into my eyes with the pain. „I cannot! I promised!"

„Will you speak!"

„No, no!" I shook my head violently.

„Then you will only have yourself to thank."

His cruel hands locked at the small of my back, and with a strength I had not known hands could possess, ripped the lacing of my corset.

The shock of his hands on my naked back drowned each utterance nascent in my mind. I gasped, overwhelmed by the reality of the unspeakable things that were happening. But I was not a bystander, not an acquiescent object of his aggression. My hands clawed into his shirt front as he lifted me from the ground, and lowered the two of us ruggedly onto the canopied monstrosity of a bed.

The remains of my dress had already slipped to the floor. Removal of my ruined corset left me clad in only my stockings, and my briefs. Then, those were also gone, and his fell eyes were given no more restraint. His hands roved me aimlessly, then again clutched at me as if in despair. Teeth dug greedily into the flesh of my shoulder.

Oh God, what was all this? I breathed hard with each rude attempt at my innermost core. Save for the writhing of my body, I could not move or even free myself: The relentless hands still held me fast, sliding over my breasts, my neck, as if searching for something that was not there.

Hi Guys!

A case of Oops, the adventure of the distressing misstep, or a study in stupidity? We shall see! In any case, remain prepared for the next chapter!

Best, Mrs.F