Chapter 15

"He must have followed me" Molly said matter-of-factly.

"Indeed" Irene agreed. For the love of God, it was bloody obvious he had followed her. Undoubtedly Mr Holmes was a man of many talents but clairvoyance was certainly not among them.

At her friend's mocking tone Molly simply rolled her eyes, "Well, considering the whole ring sketch thing, I'd bet he was more interested in following Tom than me". Irene did a tiny one-shoulder shrug, "Maybe he thinks you're the criminal mastermind and Tom your jack-of-all-trades".

"Sorry to interrupt" Hanna cut in, "Mr Holmes said he wants to speak to whoever's in charge here". Irene looked at her and raised a brow that said, Aren't you the one? Hanna waved her off, "Clearly not me".

"I told him I would be back soon with the madam. And there is not a moment to lose, Miss Irene. That's not a patient man. If you don't hurry up and talk to him, we'll soon find him up here rummaging through all the rooms".

Irene grabbed Molly's upper arms and looked at her very seriously, "Get out of here immediately. There is a hidden staircase in my sitting room. Take it. It will lead you to the little library at the end of the downstairs corridor. From there you can get to the back door without anyone seeing you".

"Hanna, please show Miss Hooper where the staircase is and then join me in the kitchen", she dictated her deputy then she turned, striding to the stairs. "Irene" Molly called her back softly, "The problem isn't me. It's Alma".

The raven-haired woman paused to consider that. Oh, dear! How had she forgotten her? Wasn't it to protect the young chit that they were all working so hard? The thing was, although Alma had only been with her for a few days, Irene had become so fond of her that she considered her part and parcel of the brothel…that is, one of the family not a harlot.

"We can't let Mr Holmes find her" Hanna looked warily from Irene to Molly, "Nor can we change her hiding place with him downstairs!" she added pointedly. "Very well" Irene said turning around and planting her hands on her hips, "What do you suggest I say to convince him that Miss Hooper is not here? Because my only idea is to box him on the ear and kick him out of here!".

"Bad move trying to convince Sherlock I'm not here" Molly interjected. "Excuse me?" Irene crossed her arms and looked at her friend as if she had gone mad. "Think about it for a moment" Molly continued, "If you tell him you don't know who I am and I've never come in here, it will be more than obvious to him that I'm hiding something".

Irene gave a nod of acknowledgement, "Point taken" she said and motioned for her to continue with a flick of her hand. Molly told her it would be better to admit to Sherlock that she had actually entered the brothel. But once she had done what she had come to do, she was gone. Through the back door.

"What should I tell him when he asks me why you came here?" Irene asked, "Because it will be the first thing he asks me, you know". Molly nodded, "We need an excuse, obviously".

"Obviously" Irene muttered half-heartedly as she waited for her friend to come up with some smart way out. Molly was looking around frantically, her bottom lip caught between her teethes and her eyebrows furrowed. She was thinking hard and fast. "My holdall!" she fairly yelled, "Tell him I had to deliver it".

Irene's very blue eyes widened, a doubtful expression on her face, "Your holdall? Seriously? The irreprehensible Miss Margaret Hooper going to a brothel to deliver a bag! Should this be the excuse he should believe? Deliver it to whom then?". She shook her head several times as she began to nervously pace up and down the corridor, "It won't work. We have to think of something else".

"To my brother" Molly blurted out, "Tell Sherlock he needed the holdall".

"Martin?", Irene stopped dead in her tracks. To say she was surprised that Molly had brought up her alias was an understatement, "And what reason would he have to come to a brothel?".

"He's a doctor" Molly said with a small shrug. "A pathologist" Irene reminded her wryly, "There are no corpses here". Molly sigh disconsolately, "He's a doctor, Irene. He can treat sick people, not just perform autopsies".

"A simple seasonal ailment?" Molly asked no one in particular, "It's February for goodness' sake! It's plausible someone in here has a cough, cold or fever!". Hanna took a small step forward, "Actually" she said interposing herself between Molly and Irene, "Violet isn't working tonight. She complained of a headache. Maybe fever".

Molly grinned, "See?" she said turning to Irene who still didn't seem to be completely convinced of her brainwave. A full fifteen seconds went by and then finally she said, "Anyway Martin is not here. If Mr Holmes would like to speak to him…".

"He will be able to, if he so chooses" Molly said quickly, cutting her friend off, "Martin might be here soon". Irene glanced over at her then subtly nodded towards Hanna. Her deputy didn't know about Molly's double life and Irene certainly didn't want to risk her finding out about it.

"Might?" echoed Hanna blinking more than once. She was clearly lost. Their conversation must be uncommon and shadowy to her ears. "He'll be here" Molly quickly corrected herself, "I asked him to pick me up" she added smiling at Irene's right hand person.

"He will probably already be waiting for me in the back" she said, then turned to look Irene in the eyes "I need you to entertain Sherlock just long enough to…". "Go" Irene said resolutely. There was no need to explain her that she had to disguise herself.

As soon as Molly had said the word entertain, a naughty idea had made its way into Irene's mind. If she was going to distract Mr Holmes until Martin Hooper arrived, she might as well do it while having a little fun.

It was not at all polite for Mr Holmes to wait for the madam of the Les petits plaisirs in a kitchen, she had told Hanna. Grinning.

Mr Holmes was a guest. A special one. And it should have been treated as such.

Therefore Hanna had been instructed to accompany him to Irene's private sitting room and serve him some tea while she changed her clothes to best welcome him.

Irene didn't need to check her reflection in the mirror. She was fully aware of how attractive she was and was not ashamed to use her beauty to her advantage whenever necessary. There hadn't been a man until that moment who hadn't fallen at her feet and who she hadn't been able to manipulate as she pleased.

Well, if she was being completely honest, several years ago there had been a young man, an exclusive client of hers, who had not let himself be carried away by her charm. Chase Morgan was the only flaw in Irene's long list of conquest. And she had to admit her pride still suffered from not being able to make him fall in love with her. Especially because she had almost fell head over heels. Almost.

She had never been so infatuated with anyone in her life, much less a man! What was so captivating about Chase that had fascinated her to the point of making her think she could fall in love with him, Irene still wondered today.

Because, seriously, how could she not think from time to time about the one who had wounded her pride?

The man, hands down, was delectable. Tall, slim but fit. Black hair, thick and soft, which tended to curl if one ran a hand through it, and mesmerizing eyes of an indefinable blueish-greenish colour. But probably what had intrigued her most was his perpetually brooding air. And his being detached.

Even if he was passionate during their intercourses – he was one of the very few men who not only seek his own pleasure but make sure his partner, a harlot no less, enjoys it too, it was as if he wasn't really there in the room with her. His mind was somewhere else entirely and Irene had always wondered where it was and why Chase had such a profound need to distance himself from everything and everyone.

How she would have liked to be The Woman for him. The one around which his world revolved. The one he could lean on. The one without which he would have been nothing. And not simply the one from the brothel. The one that distracted him only for a few hours.

Chase had become a challenge to Irene. She had used all the seductive weapons at her disposal to suck him in until he fell at her feet, madly in love with her. Nothing had worked. In the end she even got to the point of talking about feelings.

And the word feelings had been all it had taken to scare him off. He had thrown open the door to the room and ran down the stairs four steps at a time as if he were being chased by Satan himself. And since that evening he had never set foot in the brothel again.

Hanna's discreet coughing brought Irene out of her memories, "What are you going to wear?" she asked pointing to the two dresses lying on the bed. Irene smiled in self-congratulatory smugness at the young woman who had joined her to help her choose the best dress to impress Mr Holmes, "My battle dress".

"Oh! Lucky him!", Hanna exclaimed nodding in agreement with Irene's choice of wearing a see-through negligee over her knickers and stockings. The two women exchanged a knowing look, "Oh, and that lipstick's shade…it is perfect" added Hanna. "Blood red" Irene whispered as she ran a thumb over her mouth.

Irene took a deep breath and then opened the intercommunication door between her bedchamber and her private sitting room. "Hello. Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Holmes. Did Hanna catch your name correctly?" she began stopping at the doorway and giving a rough look at the man sitting on the sofa.

Mr Holmes turned and stood up, "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. As I told Hanna, I need to speak to Miss Hoop…" his voice failed him and his jaw dropped.

One might think his reaction was due to his hostess' scandalous clothing. On the other hand she was pretty much naked.

But no, the reason was completely different.

"Miss Hooper, I know" Irene finished for him as she walked into the room, "But she's no longer here. She left". Only when she was directly in front of him did she look up…and her eyes went wide. Her flirtatious gaze disappeared, her charming smile faded, her arms fell to her sides. And she swallowed. Hard.

"Chase Morgan".

"Irene Adler".