Chapter 14
"Do you think he believed Thomas?".
Molly took a step back. Her gaze fixed on Alma's left side, checking that the herbal ointment she was applying had actually covered the entire bruised area. Then she looked up for a split second.
Irene Adler was standing in front of the small fireplace and was busy arranging her flowing raven hair into a complex chignon. "Well?" she urged taking one last satisfied look at her winsome face in the mirror on top of the mantelpiece.
Molly couldn't help but give her an are-you-serious-or-joking sort of look. "Well" she sighed, "You clearly don't know Sherlock Holmes".
"No, it's true, we have never been introduced" the woman admitted, tapping her lips with a finger and then rubbing them together so that the lipstick, a bright vermillion red, spread out perfectly. "But I'm sure he's not as exceptional as they describe him in the newspapers. Certainly very handsome and intelligent, but basically I believe he is the same as any other man, being a… man".
A small smirk tugged at Molly's lips. Trust Irene to crush a man's ego.
"I assure you that Sherlock Holmes is unlike any other man you have ever met" she countered as she fetched a clean bandage from the medical bag that Sally had brought the previous evening, "Absolutely nothing escapes that man. He has an abnormal deductive ability".
Irene had a doubtful expression as she swayed elegantly towards the two of them, " You think so? Really?".
"He's an absolute pain in the ass" she confirmed motioning Alma to stand up so to make it easier for her to wrap the ointment-treated area of her torso. "I don't doubt that" the beguiling brothel's madam replied to her friend, "But I think he could be fooled".
She wrapped her hands around one of the posts of the four-poster bed next to which Molly was taking care of Alma, and swung sensually left and right, "I know for a fact that someone did" she murmured mysteriously.
The young, naïve Alma jerked her head towards her, "Are you serious, Miss Adler?". Irene nodded, "Of course I am, girlie!". Her cornflower blue eyes met Molly's honey-coloured ones over the girl's shoulders. Molly frowned, and Irene clearly tried not to giggle.
"And does Mr Holmes know? I mean, has he found out who the person who deceived him is?" Alma had just enough time to ask eagerly, before Molly scolded her not to move.
"No. Not that I know of" she replied with a sly smile, "And the funny thing, my child, is that Mr Holmes has to deal with this person almost every day".
"Is it Doctor Watson?" the young lady excitedly let out a shriek as she had discovered a treasure. "No, not at all. It's not about him" Irene dismissed Alma's theory with a wave of her hand. "But you know who this person is!" the girl insisted as she looked at her with wide eyes and anxious anticipation.
"Irene" Molly said in a warning voice.
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport! I'm simply stating that Mr Holmes is not as perceptive as he is said to be. Which is why we can assume he had bought Thomas's explanation regarding the sketch found in Mr and Mrs Potter's garden, can we not?".
"I suppose we can, yes" Molly smiled tightly. The lucid part of her brain reminded her that it was one thing to assume it and entirely another to be sure. But she had no choice to make in the matter other than to wait for the consulting detective's next move.
At the moment all she could do was take care of Alma and try to alleviate her physical suffering. The ointment she had used on her abused skin was paying off. Most of the bruises were turning from a bluish colour to a greenish-yellow one. Slowly they would disappear completely even if Alma would keep the memory of them forever.
"Shall we take a look at your back before you get ready for the night?" Molly asked quietly. The girl nodded looking with disappointment at yet another ordinary, virginal white nightgown provided for her by Irene. She would have expected a brothel madam to only have risqué nightwear. She would have liked to wear some. Just for fun. And forget for a moment why she was in a brothel. Damn, Phineas!
"Miss Adler, you didn't answer me" Alma complained while she gathered her hair over one shoulder and lied face down on the bed, "You know who this person is". Irene grinned at her and vaguely replied, "Maybe". Molly noticed that the girl's eyes had lit up like those of a child in front of a wrapped present, "Oh! Is this a man or a woman?".
"I'm sure it's a man…Society said Mr Holmes doesn't appreciate female company" she rattled on, "My mother declares he's a misogynist".
Molly felt her lips pressing together, just to keep her from saying that in the little time she'd spent alone in the carriage with him, she hadn't felt that way at all. Perhaps his discomfort depended on the female figure he was in company of. Not all women are the same, are they not?
"Tell me his name, Miss Adler. Please!" the blonde girl begged, "I swear I won't tell anyone. Besides in a few days I won't be here anymore". "I'm sorry, honey, but I can't" Irene said firmly, "I enjoy gossiping, but I don't reveal other people's secrets. You wouldn't be safe here if I did that".
Alma winced in pain. Not because of Irene's words, but for a particular bruise on her right shoulder blade that still hurt as hell. Irene gathered up her skirts with a fluid gesture and sat on the bed next to her, "Here" she murmured in her ear, "Hold my hand".
Alma didn't have to be told twice. She reached out for Irene's and closed his eyes. "Maybe some laudanum?" Molly suggested, the hand that was applying the salve in mid-air. "No" Alma groaned, her face buried in the pillow. "Go ahead. I'd rather endure the pain than have my mind clouded".
Silence reigned for a good ten minutes.
Molly resumed the healing treatment and Alma seemed to dozed off under her touch. Irene, for her part, had tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. From under her long, black eyelashes, she found herself following, as if enraptured, the delicate but expert movement of Molly's hands on Alma's half-naked body.
An unexpected bubbling of lust pooled between her thighs. She instinctively licked her very red lips and a soft gasp escaped them, "You, okay?". Her gaze immediately rose towards Molly, whose expression was nothing short of intrigued, "Yes" she stammered. "Yes, I…" and she said the first nonsense that came to her mind "I just got distracted".
Because, for heaven's sake, what else could she say to her? I want very much to bed you? Obviously not. And not because she believed Molly was in love with Tom Langdon. Irene knew well she wasn't. Or because she thought Molly would be shocked if she hit on her.
They had known each other long enough to know each other's tastes in terms of romantic love and sex drive. And that Irene favoured women, both romantically and sexually, was no mystery to Molly. Despite all this, Irene was careful not to confess her attraction to her.
Molly was her friend. The only person who, despite Irene's questionable profession, had treated her with respect and kindness since the day they met. And if she had openly declared herself, their friendship would never be the same again. Molly would tiptoe around the two of them for fear of saying or doing something that might hurt Irene's feelings.
As a result there would be no more spontaneity, no jokes with sexual innuendos, no laughter over a good glass of red wine. No more evenings at the theatre, mixed with popular audience in the back rows of the stalls. And the last thing she would ever risk in the world was Molly's friendship. So to hell with her thirsty for her.
"I think you can get dressed now" Molly whispered in Alma's ear as she twisted the cap on the ointment jar. Within minutes the young woman had slipped into her nightgown and sat in front of the vanity waiting for Irene to fix her hair for the night.
As Molly dried her hands on a pristine white linen towel, she watched fondly as Irene and Alma debated whether it would be best to braid the girl's hair or simply tie it in a low ponytail. It was clear, whatever she said, that Irene loved taking care of Alma.
While using brush and ribbons, Irene asked Molly if she should leave immediately or could she stay a little longer for a glass of wine, some sandwiches and then, why not, a game of chess.
"I can definitely stay!" Molly approved and her dimples made her smile even more amiable, "I'll have it prepared in my private sitting room" Irene said. She was taking a last look at Alma's braid when a knock sounded on the door.
She headed straight for the door but only opened it a crack and found herself facing Hanna, the curvy young woman to whom Irene had entrusted the management of the brothel whenever she was absent, "Miss Irene, may I have a word?".
Something was off. Hanna was a strong-willed, capable young woman. It was difficult to find anything she couldn't manage completely by her own. If she had gone so far as to seek her out and ask her advice, it must be something serious.
"What's the matter?" Irene asked, lowering her voice. Hanna moved to the centre of the corridor casting a careful glance in the direction of the staircase leading to the floor below. Irene followed her, closing the door behind her.
"There's a man downstairs" Hanna started off, "We actually had to have him moved to the kitchen". Irene placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her deputy, "Who is he? What does he want? If he's a troublemaker you should have gotten him thrown out".
"He says his name is Sherlock Holmes and he wants to speak to Miss Hooper". Irene dropped her arms to her sides. Now that was a problem.
"What did you tell him?" she asked impatiently. "First I told him there is no miss here. Maybe he was in the wrong brothel" Hanna replied and at her words Irene couldn't hold back an amused grin, "That's a great answer!" she praised her.
Hanna shrugged, "Well, he didn't appreciate it very much. However, Mr Holmes started being very persistent, and threatening to come upstairs and check all the room, one by one, until he found Miss Hooper".
She was just adding that she had had to have Markus, their trusted doorman, intervene to remove Mr Holmes from the reception room because he was causing a scene, when Molly joined them in the corridor, "Sherlock? Did I hear you right? Why are you talking about Sherlock?".
Irene gave her friend a lopsided glance. Since when did she use his first name when speaking of Mr Holmes? Was it just an impression, an illusion due to the dim light of the wall lamps, or were Molly's cheeks slightly pink?
"He's here" Irene replied, eyes attentive to her friend's reaction, "Downstairs. In the kitchen".