"Mr. Holmes," said Irene Adler. "And Dr. Watson. I don't believe we've actually met."
I shook her hand with some embarrassment. Not only was I remembering the circumstances under which I had first seen her--at which time I was in the process of throwing a bottle-rocket into her house in order to deceive her into believing it was on fire--but I was still trying to recover from my recent activities. Holmes's ears, always quicker than mine, had detected movement early enough to let me out of that confoundedly compromising position before Miss Adler entered. But I am quite sure she noticed that I had a little too much color in my cheeks, and that Holmes was folding up the handkerchief on which he had just wiped his lips with elaborate nonchalance.
"No, I haven't had the pleasure," I said. "I must say your performance tonight was--"
"Genius," Holmes interrupted, as his eyes met hers in the mirror. "I saw the first production. Your Lord Goring quite surpasses the original."
"I'm so glad to hear you say it," she said, undoing her necktie. "Your opinion means a great deal to me." She flashed me a smile in the mirror. "I should return your compliment, Dr. Watson, and tell you how much I enjoyed 'A Scandal In Bohemia.'" I blushed even more furiously. "You were far more generous to my character than many another man would have been. Although I was of course disappointed by that opening paragraph."
She turned around to fix Holmes with her laughing eyes, enjoying his look of discomfiture.
"Of course I have the highest respect for you, as an artist--" Holmes began, meditating dire revenge upon me.
Irene Adler laughed. "But your affections are engaged elsewhere." She sighed. "The good ones are always taken..."
Holmes was really beginning to seem upset, so I interrupted. "And how is the happy gentleman? Mr. Norton?"
The smile disappeared from her face and she turned back to the mirror. The reflection hardened her gaze.
"Mr. Norton," she said, "is as well as a man of his character can be expected to be. At least so I hear." Holmes was now able to face her with compassion instead of anger. "You surmised, of course, from my return to the stage--"
"That your marriage had encountered some difficulties," Holmes finished.
I wished that I had surmised this as well, and thus avoided heaping more embarrassment upon my unfortunate head.
"When you marry a man who looks like Godfrey, you must expect a certain amount of infidelity," she said. "But to discover he was wanted for fraud in America, Scotland, and Ireland was a bit of a shock." She removed her jacket and handed it to me. I hung it up in the wardrobe. "I don't think our marriage was even legal. I believe he has one or two other wives in other locations. But let us not continue upon that depressing subject."
"Indeed," Holmes answered. "May I ask how you prepared for the role?"
I thought I could see her winking at me, but it could have been a trick of the mirror. "Observation, of course. The best way to play a convincing man, I find, is to think of a particular man you know, and do your best to reproduce him. How well would you say I succeeded, Dr. Watson?"
"Admirably," I answered.
"But of course," she said, while Holmes stood taken aback, "there's much more to being Lord Goring than simply counterfeiting a man's manners. I'll tell you the real secret." She leaned over the back of her chair with a bewitching smile. "The secret is: Lord Goring is a man who prefers men. And, Lord Goring is the moral center of this universe. Once you know that, you know everything."
"The moral center?" Holmes said. "I wasn't aware Wilde's universe had a moral center."
"Of course it does," she said. "You're coming back tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Of course," Holmes bowed. "Assuming there are places still available."
"For you, always," she said. "I would request, when you return, that you pay special attention to the scene bewteen Lord Goring and Lady Cheveley in Act III. Then you'll see what I mean."
Holmes forbore to mention that we had already paid special attention to that scene. "I will keep it in mind. Good night, Miss Adler, and thank you for a fascinating evening."
"Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said.
Once we got into the street Holmes began walking away rather quickly.
"Holmes!" I hurried after him.
"What the devil does she mean, engaged elsewhere?" he shouted, turning on me.
"I assumed she meant me, Holmes."
"But how could she possibly know?"
I stared at him in frank amazement.
"Holmes, you are the one who is always on about feminine intuition. If you believe a tenth of the things you have said about women you must realise that you cannot fellate your lover in a woman's dressing room and expect her not to notice anything."
I waved down a cab. Holmes crawled into it, suddenly chagrined. I stood up to give my directions to the driver.
"221B Baker Street," I said. "Take your time, and keep to the good roads."
"Right, sir," said the driver.
I ducked into the cab, closed the door, and pulled down the shades.
"I suppose you're right, Watson," he said, pained. "It was most indiscreet of me, and dangerous for both of us." He looked at me apprehensively. "You're not angry, Watson?"
"Well, it was damned imprudent," I answered.
"I am sorry to have risked exposure." He sat back in the cushions. "It was a serious error in judgment."
"What was really an error in judgment," I answered, leaning over, "was letting me keep the bracelets."
He started when he felt the steel click around his wrists. At least now they were warm.
"Watson--" he expostulated, as I reached for his trousers. "Talk about danger--"
"I told him to keep to the good roads," I answered.
The litter on the floor of the cab would certainly muck up my trouser knees. But it would definitely be worth the sacrifice. The only thing that was really troubling me was that I wasn't quite sure I remembered where the spring was.
"Lady Bexbrough?"
She had been weeping silently during the latter half of my recitation of the evening's events, and now tried to compose her face.
"Yes, Violet?"
"I'm afraid there's something else."
"Something else?" she repeated, as if she couldn't imagine anything worse than the confirmation that her husband was running around after an actress who wasn't even younger than she was.
"I remember seeing, in your jewelry drawer, a diamond brooch in the shape of a snake," I said.
She nodded, still tearing.
"You might want to look to see if it's still there."
Lady Bexbrough pulled out her keys and went over to the drawer. Before she unlocked it, she looked at me.
"First tell me why you ask."
I explained.
Bursting into fresh tears, she pulled the drawer out and tore through its contents. Finally she struck it violently with one hand, sending it slamming back into the vanity, and slammed her other hand down on the marble tabletop.
"It's gone," she cried. "It was the first thing he gave to me. It's gone."
Even though I had half expected it, I was shocked to see the evidence.
"And do you know what the joke is, Violet?" she said, although it didn't seem to strike her as funny. "He bought it as a gift for me with money that he borrowed--borrowed against the fortune he knew I would bring to him. So it's twice mine, and he's twice a thief."
"Madam," I said. "What do you wish me to do?"
She straightened up and regained some of the haughty demeanor that had cost her some friends in her social circle.
"I do not care to have my husband exposed as a common thief," she said. "But I cannot stand to have that woman flaunting the first pledge he gave me of his love for me. And--"
"Madam?" I said.
"I want him to give her up!" she burst out. "I don't want the disgrace public. But I want him to be as humiliated in his own eyes as I am in mine!"
I thought about this for a moment.
"I believe I may have a plan that might accomplish all of these things," I said.
"You do?" I nodded. "Then pray execute it. I will give you anything you need."
I swallowed some dryness in my throat.
"I will need a ticket for tomorrow night, and some cash," I said. "Also, I will need one of Lord Bexbrough's cards..." She nodded. "...And one of his evening suits."
Lady Bexbrough's eyes opened just a fraction wider. Then she said, "Of course, Miss Hunter. I'll have one pressed."
"Why Holmes!" I exclaimed, drawing back the sitting-room curtains. "It's Miss Hunter!"
"Miss who?" he enquired languidly.
"Violet Hunter. Of the Copper Beeches. She's coming here."
"Ah yes, I remember..." Holmes drawled, stretching himself out on the settee.
There was a knock at the door. Since Holmes seemed disinclined to rise, I opened it and ushered in Violet Hunter.
Now that her hair had begun to grow out, she looked more charming than ever. She advanced diffidently into the sitting room, looking from Holmes to myself in some anxiety. Holmes waved her to a seat and went back to lounging on the settee.
"What brings you back here, Miss Hunter?" I asked, since I was afraid Holmes would never get round to it. "Is anything wrong?"
She sighed, twisting her handkerchief in her gloved hands. "It is terribly embarrassing, but ... you both know me, and I'm sure will believe me when I say that I am absolutely innocent."
Holmes finally sat up and took notice. "Innocent of what, Miss Hunter?"
Miss Hunter seemed about to give way, but mastered herself and went on. "I've just come from Lord and Lady Bexbrough's apartments, where I am employed as a governess. I didn't know who to turn to so I came to you. You see ... something has gone missing from Lady Bexbrough's jewelry drawer, something rather valuable. And I am afraid that the suspicion has fallen upon me."
"You say you are afraid it has," Holmes said. "Have you been accused?"
She shook her head. "Not in so many words. But after Lady Bexbrough discovered that it had gone, she called me into her room and asked me a series of the most pointed and insulting questions. She didn't dismiss me, as I had been afraid she would. But I think she is keeping me on only to have the chance of catching me with the brooch in my possession."
"Brooch?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "A diamond brooch in the shape of a snake, with a ruby for the eye. It was a gift from Lord Bexbrough on their engagement."
"How did she come to notice it was missing?" Holmes asked.
"It is kept in a locked drawer in her boudoir. She was going to take out another piece of jewelry, and happened to notice it was not in its accustomed place. Then she realized her drawer had been rifled. The lock had not been forced, so it had to have been taken by someone who had a key, or had access to a key. Suspicion in that sort of case naturally falls upon the servants--and a governess is a servant, whatever anyone may tell you."
"Yes, you are right of course," Holmes murmured. "Tell me, can you think of anyone else who might have taken it? Other servants, relatives--perhaps Lord Bexbrough himself?"
"I do not know, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I was hoping you might find out--discreetly. The theft has not been made public--I do not think Lady Bexbrough has even told her husband that the jewel is missing. Knowing you to be a man of discretion, I came to you at once. I have a little money saved, and can--"
"Please," said Holmes, waving a hand dismissively. "I will be glad to look into your case, as I am rather idle at present; and any payment must surely come from Lady Bexbrough, whom I am sure we can bring round in good time once the jewel is recovered. I can assure you that neither of your employers will know we are on the case until we have a fortunate result."
"Oh thank you, Mr. Holmes," said Miss Hunter, with a tremulous sigh. "I feel better already, knowing that you are on my side."
"Yes, quite," Holmes said, rising and opening the door. "Good day, Miss Hunter, and I hope we shall have some news for you soon."
Miss Hunter disappeared. Holmes closed the door and stood in thought.
"Holmes!" I said. "The brooch from the play--the diamond brooch with the ruby snake's eye--"
"Oh, of course that is the brooch she means," Holmes said impatiently. "The only question is, what would make such a well-bred and intelligent young lady come into this room and tell us such an appalling string of lies."
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"If Lady Bexbrough really thought she stole that brooch she would have her things searched and give her the sack," he said. "Either Miss Hunter really has stolen it and is trying to use us to protect herself--"
"Holmes, I can't believe she would," I said.
"Neither can I. I think it far more likely that she is leagued in some sort of conspiracy with either Lord or Lady Bexbrough. It is obvious of course what has happened to the brooch."
"Lord Bexbrough has stolen it from his wife to give to his mistress," I said.
"Precisely. And the mistress has, for some unfathomable reason, made it the central prop of a scandalous London production." His brow furrowed as he puzzled it out. "Something is being staged here, Watson, and Miss Hunter thinks she knows what it is. But I am not at all certain that Miss Hunter is right."
"Well," I said. "Perhaps tonight we will make it through Act IV?"
"Perhaps," he said. "I had to return the manacles to Lestrade this morning."
"That is a great pity."
"I'm sure that with the resourcefulness that characterizes the native Briton, we will manage to struggle through without them," he said.
"So we shall."
Phipps did not recognize me, but that did not surprise me. I don't think I would have recognized myself.
I had sacrificed my poor hair, for the second time in my life, earlier that evening, and with the top hat and the suit I fancied the illusion was almost complete. It is true that the cotton binding was chafing me terribly, and it had taken me an hour of practice to get the trick of walking as if I were used to trousers. Even with the padding I had added my shoulders were unusually sloping; but many of our young idle men present on purpose a figure as effeminate as the one I certainly made. I handed the card to Phipps in a sealed envelope, behind which I had tucked a folded five-pound note.
"Please take this to Mrs. Bellamy, and ask if she will see me," I said, with all the suavity I could muster.
Cash made all the difference. Phipps bowed and ducked into the green-room. I waited on tenterhooks in the hallway.
"Right this way, sir," Phipps said, waving me in. "Thank you, sir."
When the door shut I leaned against it for a moment. In addition to being nearly faint with relief, I was overtaken by a strange kind of intoxication which I felt was related to my knowledge that I had just come a step closer to meeting Lord Goring. The card stratagem, of course, was a gamble; I had relied upon Mrs. Bellamy reading the card in silence, and not intimating to Phipps that she thought it came from Lord Bexbrough, which of course he would know I wasn't. It had paid off; and now here I was, inside the green-room, looking through the half-open door of an actress's dressing room. I saw the swish of a brilliant blue skirt, and the back of a woman leaning toward a mirror.
I knocked gently on the door. "Mrs. Bellamy?"
The woman inside lifted her dark head. It was Irene Adler.
"If you're looking for her, you've come to the wrong place," she said acidly.
All I can say is that I was stunned. She was dressed in a peacock satin evening gown, which left her shoulders bare and clung tight to her bosom before it fell to the floor around her feet. She had just finished arranging her short hair in curls around a pearl tiara, and was holding a pair of matching earrings. I knew that the cropped hair should have seemed incongruous. But I was looking at her shoulders and neck as they shone under the soft lamplight, and I had never seen anyone so beautiful.
"I'm not looking for her," I said. "Not any more."
She smiled at me. "And might I know the name of the only young man in London capable of correcting such a grave mistake so expeditiously?" she said, extending a hand.
"My name is Victor Hunter," I answered.
I took her hand, lifted it to my lips, and kissed it. Her eyes were on mine as I lowered it, slowly. I kept her hand in mine, and she did not withdraw it.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Hunter," she said.
She knew. Of course she knew. Probably she had already identified fifteen things I was doing wrong. But out of kindess, I supposed, she was playing along.
"I have long wanted to meet you," I said, aware that my voice was husky even though I wasn't trying. "I found your performance ... utterly captivating."
"Why thank you, Mr. Hunter," she said. "Do come in."
I could hear, in the background, Mrs. Bellamy remonstrating with Phipps regarding Lord Bexbrough's nonappearance. I was grateful to be able to duck into Miss Adler's room, and even more grateful to see her push the door to.
"I was just completing my transformation," she said, lifting the pearl earrings. "My manager insists that when I enter and leave the theatre I do so en femme." Her bright eyes went to the mirror and fastened on mine. "It is of no concern to me; I rather enjoy dressing up. And arriving at the theatre is a show all its own." She fixed the second earring. "But of course you must know that. How long have you been following actresses, Mr. Hunter?"
"Since I saw you on opening night."
She turned around. Along with the dazzling smile there was something sad in her eyes.
"And you found a way to insinuate yourself into my dressing room," she said. "Why?"
"I wanted to meet you," I answered.
"To see whether I'm really a woman?" she inquired, with a trace of bitterness.
"No," I protested.
"Then why?"
"Because..." I was an inch away from saying that I had fallen in love with her. Then I imagined how I would respond to such a revelation from someone like me, were I in her situation. "Because I find you fascinating."
"You're a young man to be fascinated by actresses," she answered, picking up her eau de toilette.
"I am not fascinated by actresses," I said, stung. "I am not some brainless spoony who chases after women on the stage because he vainly imagines that all working women are whores. I sat out there in the pit last night and fell in love with a creature that only exists between the hours of eight and eleven on weeknights plus a Sunday matinee. I wanted to meet the woman who made that possible. That's all."
I had turned to go, but she put a hand out to take hold of my wrist.
"Please don't go, Mr. Hunter," she said. "I have been in this business for a long time, and it has made me cynical. I meant no offense."
She was still holding my wrist. I looked into her eyes and caution abandoned me.
"I know you are a woman. Last night I knew you were a man. I am aware that many qualified doctors would tell me that being able to believe both of these things makes me insane. I do not care. My life is a hall of mirrors in which you have become the only real thing. Since I first saw you on stage I have thought of nothing else but meeting you."
Irene Adler looked back at me in astonishment and, I thought, something like fear. I raised her hand to my lips again. She allowed me to hold it there. And then to turn it over, to press my mouth against her open palm, and run my lips down the soft white skin of her wrist.
When I looked up again her eyes were wide and a little too bright. But Lord Goring's irony came back to her in an instant.
"Are you a playwright, Mr. Hunter?" she inquired archly, withdrawing her hand. "You write wonderful romantic dialogue."
I was moved to anger, but before I could give vent to it there was a knock at the door. Irene Adler opened it.
I was afraid it would be Phipps come to root me out, but instead it was a taller man, almost bald and with coruplent jowls.
"Miss Adler," he said. "That party at the Clarendon has been going on for an hour now. Why aren't you there?"
She stormed away from him back to the mirror and sat down with a snap. "I'm not going. I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because that wretched Count will be there--"
"That wretched Count is the host and he has most especially asked for you. If you don't go he will be very put out, seeing as he is one of my largest investors." Her head snapped around and she fixed him with a stare that woudl have withered me. "If you don't get yourself to that party, and have yourself a good time, I won't have to fire you. The Count will pull his money out and we will close."
I had been trying for some time to extricate myself from this confrontation, but my movements had now attracted the attention of the manager--for so I surmised he was--and he was not pleased.
"And what whelp of which decaying ancestral house is this?" he demanded.
Irene Adler took my arm and smiled at him.
"This is Mr. Victor Hunter," she said. "He has been kind enough to offer to escort me to the Count's party this evening. Do ask Phipps to call us a cab. I won't be a moment."
The manager grumbled, but he disappeared. Irene looked at me. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Are you serious about this?" I whispered.
"If you are," she answered.
"Am... will I pass?"
"By this time they should all be half drunk. Besides, you do it very well, for an amateur."
She stood up and piloted me out of the dressing room. I was moving as if in a dream, and only vaguely conscious that I had forgotten the errand on which I had come.
"Mrs. Bellamy will be at the party too, of course," she observed conversationally as we entered the green room. "She never misses a free dinner, especially if there's champagne. My wrap is that silver fox there." Taking her hint, I fetched it from its peg and draped it around her bare shoulders, pausing only for a moment over the scent of her hair and the warmth at the nape of her neck.
"You are a perfect gentleman, I am sure," she said, taking my arm again.
"Of course," I answered, wishing I weren't.
We walked through the street door to the waiting cab.