Chapter VI

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An Intimate Acquaintance

* Illustration by George du Maurier
Over the years of my long and remarkable friendship with Sherlock Holmes there was a dear and enchanting lady whose existence I was obliged to keep secret from my reading public.  The lady was Lady Sarah Hawthorne and this is the true story of our most intimate acquaintance and how she came to play such an important role in our lives.

The first three years of my loving intimacy with Holmes were probably the most difficult and I was occasionally of two minds as to whether it was a good idea or not for, although he could be considerate in some ways and took a positive delight in surprising me, in others he could drive me to distraction, for instance filling my room with the foul odour of shag tobacco when, in spite of my best efforts, he simply could not sleep as his mind was far too active.  Eventually this was sorted out to my satisfaction and he agreed to only smoke the vile stuff in the sitting room.  On the whole though, I have to say that the rewards far outweighed the inconveniences and the delight we took in the more intimate aspects of our relationship was unsurpassed.

When he was not immersed in a case Holmes would spend each night in my bed, sleeping in my arms, and this, in turn, gave me a joy and a satisfaction that I had never previously known.  Besides, we were still the best of friends and still partook of all the activities that we had heretofore enjoyed together.

Of course he would still frequently disappear at odd hours, sometimes for days on end, without telling me where he was going or what he was doing and this caused me to feel more than a little aggravation.  If I dared to question him about it he would simply evade giving me an answer until he was good and ready.  The man could be exasperating and irritating, not to mention stubborn as a donkey and, were it not for the fact that I loved him dearly, I often thought that I could never have tolerated his frequently impossible behaviour.

As I recall, it was in the warm summer of 1890 that a new dimension was added to our relationship.  For a week Holmes had left home at half past six in the morning, not returning until just after seven in the evening.  He would return looking somewhat tired and would usually head for his room to rub some soothing lotion over his hands followed by his favourite eau de Cologne, however, once or twice before he did this I was sure I caught a whiff of carbolic.  Also, he would frequently complain that his back ached and I would have to massage it for him.  One would think he had been doing heavy manual work, I thought, puzzled.

Just as I was growing accustomed to his waking me at half-past five in the a.m. this strange behaviour came to a sudden halt and things returned to normal - or at least what passes for normal in this household.

Holmes had come home later than usual the night before and seemed quite tired.  After dinner he had bathed and retired to my room to sleep.  At ten o'clock when I joined him he was sound asleep.  I climbed into bed, trying to disturb him as little as possible for he was a light sleeper, but, of course, he awoke and murmured, "Ah, Watson, there you are," gave me a fond good-night kiss and went back to sleep in my arms.  He must have been quite exhausted, I thought.

The following morning over breakfast he remarked, "I suppose you would like to know where I have been spending my days for the past week."

"Oh, only if you want to tell me, Holmes," I replied casually, my head buried in the Times.

He smiled.  "I have been working."

"Well, that's not unusual," I remarked whilst perusing a list of the current entertainments at the Crystal Palace.

"I have been engaged as a housemaid in the service of Lord Faringold at his home in Eaton Place."

"Hm," I muttered, drinking my coffee, but then his words suddenly hit me.  "A housemaid!" I spluttered, almost choking on my coffee.

He smiled as he nodded at me.  "No doubt you are about to ask me how can this be?  It is really quite simple.  I had to get into the household and ascertained in advance that, unfortunately for me, they were not in need of any male servants, just a maid.  It was a considerable challenge!" he avowed with relish, grinning at me.

"Holmes, do you mean to tell me that for the last week you have been masquerading as a housemaid?"

"Quite so, my dear Watson."

It was apparent that he was inordinately pleased with himself.

"But, Holmes, no offence intended, but are you not a little tall, not to mention the wrong sex?  Tell me how you did this."

"Oh, it was really not that difficult.  I already had a suitable costume and wig.  The problematic part was getting myself gainfully employed."

"I wish I could have seen you dressed like that!" I laughed.  "You must have been quite a sight!"

"Huh!" he sniffed not a little disdainfully.  "I tell you, Watson, a housemaid's lot is not a happy one!"

"My poor Holmes!  Did they treat you badly?" I inquired with some sympathy.

"It was a not a happy household."

"But why, Holmes?  Why did you have to masquerade as a housemaid?"

"I was hired by Lord Faringold's uncle, Lord Frawley.  You see, Lord Faringold was one of twins; the one decent and honourable and the other a blackguard of the worst kind.  The uncle is going to die soon and for some little time he has had his suspicions that his favourite nephew, the decent and honourable Lord Faringold, was not himself.  The black-hearted twin has not been seen in years and nobody misses him, and yet certain behaviour on the part of Lord Faringold caused his uncle to question his identity.

"Alas Lord Frawley's suspicions proved to be all too accurate.  My first day there I witnessed his nephew's disgraceful behaviour as he struck the cook, a good and kind-hearted woman named Mrs. Fitzroy, because the meal was not to his taste.  She cried as she told me she had done it the way his Lordship always liked it and that she didn't know what had got into him lately and he seemed to have developed a terrible temper.  I began to see that the uncle might be right and inquired how long his Lordship had been like this.  About two months, she said, ever since his brother had come to visit him and there had been a dreadful quarrel in the middle of the night, the disreputable twin had never been seen again but ever since that day his Lordship had taken to drink something terrible."

"But, of course, the question was, if one brother had murdered the other, how had he disposed of the body?" I mused.

"Correct.  Not being a live-in maid made things considerably more difficult but I learnt from the other servants that the master had of late been drinking himself into a stupor every evening.  I also deemed it wise to be on intimate terms with the gardener."

"Oh?"

Holmes smiled.  "Indeed.  He became quite fond of me and tried to pull me behind the bushes and kiss me."

Unable to help myself, I burst out laughing.  "Good Lord!  What did you do?"

"Oh, I demurred in a ladylike manner without using too much strength, so as not to give myself away, and informed him that I was not that kind of a girl.  He none the less informed me that I was a fine figure of a woman."

"Lord, I wish I'd seen that!"

"Hah!  I can look back on it now with some amusement but at the time it was no laughing matter.  I could not afford to have him touch my face with either hands or lips as it was evening and since I had last shaved very early in the morning he would have felt my beard."

"Of course.  So what happened?"

"He mentioned a strange incident that had occurred some two months ago.  He said that one morning down by the old well he'd seen blood on the ground and on the bushes.  He'd worried about it, searched and spotted some more leading back in the direction of the main house.  He had thought it wise to inform his Lordship who replied that he had injured himself on the previous night when he had been attacked by a savage rodent and ordered him to set rat traps.  He didn't think it sounded right though as there was no sign of injury on his Lordship.  I got him to show me where he'd seen the blood but, of course, since two months had gone by and there had been considerable rain there was no trace to be seen.  Then around the far side of the well I noticed a freshly planted garden.  Stan, for that was his name, informed me that his Lordship had asked him to plant a new garden on that spot.  I asked him how long ago that was and he said that it was also around two months ago.  He had thought it a strange request as the spot was in the shade of a very large oak tree and nothing would grow there."

"Was this before he spotted the blood?"

"Exactly!  The day he spotted the blood he had been working on the new garden for about two days so that the soil there had been turned up and was nice and loose."

"Of course!  Then it was the evil twin who ordered the gardener to plant the new garden because he deliberately and cold-bloodedly planned to murder his brother!"

"Indeed!  I informed Inspector Lestrade of my findings but he was most reluctant to get a warrant to search the home of such a prominent family.  It took some convincing but he finally got the warrant and will be conducting the search today.  No doubt we shall soon be hearing from him with regard to the results.  So you see, my dear Watson, why I could not take you with me.  In the first place, I could hardly be seen leaving 221B every day dressed as a maid so that I was forced to utilise one of my little hideaways in order to change into my costume and put on suitable make-up etc."

"Holmes, you are a born actor," I remarked.

"Please, Watson, my blushes," he demurred, none the less inordinately pleased with himself and smiling at my words of praise.

*   *   *

That night when we were in bed I asked him how it had felt to masquerade as a woman.  To my surprise he informed me that it was not as different as he had thought.

"Of course, I had to worry about my appearance more and learn to walk with small, lady-like steps.  The main problem I had was the underthings.  Watson, I swear corsets are the invention of the devil and I could barely breathe in the wretched contraption!  No wonder women are so given to fainting!"

"But what about...?  Well, I mean you have a fine manly chest, Holmes, hardly ladylike."

"Oh, some strategic padding sufficed."

 "And what other problems did you have, my dear?" I inquired, chuckling merrily.

"Well, a lady's pantaloons are hardly suitable for a gentleman but I deemed it wise to wear them anyway.  After all, one must be prepared for all contingencies.  Well, I mean really, the opening's in quite the wrong place!" he declared with some pique.

I laughed.  "How inconvenient."

"I should say so!"

"But you managed?"

"With considerable difficulty!"

I laughed some more.  "I can imagine!"

"Oh, I am glad that you find my recent predicament so entertaining, Watson," he remarked with some sarcasm.

"Forgive me, Holmes, but, oh, Lord, I wish I'd seen that!"

As I continued to laugh, he rolled over on top of me, pinning me beneath him.

"On the other hand, my dear John, I am very glad that you did not witness my having to grapple with unfamiliar undergarments."

Chuckling again, I reiterated that I wished I had seen him dressed as a maid for he must have looked a treat.  However, he silenced me by kissing me.

As things turned out I was to get my wish much sooner than expected.

*   *   *

Some three weeks later upon returning from my surgery one afternoon I was surprised to find the sitting room filled with the lovely fragrance of lilacs.  The scent seemed to permeate the room and fill my nostrils with a heady sweetness.  At that moment I became aware that there was a strange woman sitting on the settee, a lady if I was any judge.

As she rose gracefully and turned toward me the first thing I noticed about her was her height for she was inordinately tall and the fact that she was also very slender made her seem even taller. Dressed in an exceedingly lovely violet silk evening gown she was a most remarkable sight.  Her pearl and diamond necklace and matching earrings complimented the pale, creamy smoothness of her skin.  Her large eyes were fringed with dark lashes and her thick, black hair was swept up on top her head and held in place with pearls while tiny curls framed her long, pale face.  A hint of pale rose blush coloured her thin cheeks and her deep rose lips seemed to hold a knowing smile.

"Enchanté, Monsieur.  Oh, pardonner moi!  I forget that I am no longer in France. Please allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Lady Sarah Hawthorne."  She spoke with a soft, husky voice and a slight French accent as she gave me her card.

"Doctor John Watson at your service.  I can not think where Mr. Holmes might me but no doubt he will return soon.  In the meantime pray tell me how I may be of service to you, madam."

She smiled at me and there seemed to me to be something disconcertingly familiar about her smile and her large grey eyes and even white teeth.  Then she gazed straight at me and laughed heartily in a tone that was instantly recognisable.

"Now confess, Watson, you were completely taken in!"

Grasping the back of the settee for support, I managed to croak, "Holmes, is that you?"  As I peered closer I realised to my everlasting astonishment that it really was him.  "It is you!"

"Of course!  What do you think?"  He twirled around for my inspection.

"Oh, Holmes, it's...  I...  I mean this is just incredible!  Just beautiful!  Oh, but you take my breath away!  Let me look at you!"

Striding to face him, I took his arms as he smiled at me.  "Do you like me like this?" he murmured in a soft, husky voice.

I shook my head in sheer, utter amazement.  "Holmes, you are absolutely exquisite!  Graceful, elegant and quite, quite lovely!"

"Why thank you, my dear!" he murmured.  "It is gratifying to me to realise that familiarity has not lessened my ability to surprise you."  He smiled at me.  "Would you be game to be seen in public with me dressed thus?"

"Why, yes!  I mean look at you!  Any man would be proud to have you for his companion.  But...  but why are you in disguise?"

"Come, Watson, get changed.  We must be off!" he declared.

"But where are we going?" I asked in some consternation.  "Is it a case?"

"Of course, my dear!" he declared cheerfully.  "We are going to a formal dance at the Kensington mansion of Sir Richard Wordsworth, so do hurry and get changed."

Somewhat doubtful as to the prudence of this course of action, I shook my head.  "Holmes, are you quite sure this is wise?"

He glided over to me, a vision of grace and elegance, the soft swish of his garments and his lovely perfume enchanting.

Taking my hands in his own gloved ones, he murmured, "My dear friend, if I could deceive you who know me so intimately I could deceive anyone.  Now do not worry, my good Watson, you shall be my companion for the night - and I shall let you lead!" he added.

"But, Holmes..." I protested forlornly.

"Now not another word.  Get changed!" he ordered in his imperious way.

It was useless to argue with him so I went upstairs to bathe and change with due haste.  As I once again came downstairs I saw Mrs. Hudson enter the sitting room and wondered what Holmes would do.  He merely smiled at Mrs. Hudson and asked sweetly, "Is my appearance commensurate with that of a lady, Mrs. Hudson?"

To my amazement Mrs. Hudson showed no surprise whatsoever at Holmes's appearance.  "Well now, let me see," she said and bustled over to have a good look at him.

Holmes noted my incredulity and explained that he had had to enlist our good landlady's help with his costume for the case we were working on tonight.

Mrs. Hudson laughed.  "My, my, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw that Mr. Holmes needed help with a lady's corset!"

"No doubt!" I chuckled.

"Huh!" Holmes muttered ruefully, "and Mrs. Hudson has laced me in so tightly that I can barely breathe and am in serious danger of fainting!"

"Now, now, Mr. Holmes," she scolded, "a lady of fashion has to have a slim waist."

"Quite right, Mrs. Hudson," I chuckled, fortifying myself with a brandy for the coming night while Holmes gave me a look that would have cowed a lesser man.

Mrs. Hudson studied his appearance.  "Now, Mr. Holmes, let me see how you look.  Walk up and down."  Holmes obediently did as she asked, taking dainty, ladylike steps.  "That's very good.  My but you do look the part.  Turn around."  Holmes obediently turned around.  "Hm, very good.  Bend down."  Holmes leaned over.  "Your hair needs to be fixed."

Sipping my brandy, I endeavoured to keep a straight face while Holmes looked heavenward and went to sit on the settee so that Mrs. Hudson could reach the top of his head.

"Mr. Holmes, that won't do!" she declared as Holmes sat down. "Stand up."  He appeared slightly exasperated but did as she asked.  "Now when you sit you must pull the skirt of your dress like so," she demonstrated with her own skirt by sitting on the settee, "otherwise it will get very creased, especially silk.  Now try again."  This time he sat down in a much more ladylike fashion.  "That was much better.  Believe me, you will have creases enough by the end of the night, you don't want to have more than necessary at the beginning, and remember - a lady always sits with her legs together."

Holmes smiled.  "Of course.  I will remember, Mrs. Hudson."

"Good.  Now let me fix your hair."  She removed some pins and re-positioned a lock of hair before setting it once more in place with the pins.  After a minute examination she declared herself satisfied.

"Will you be requiring help with the laces later, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh, I dare say I can manage, Mrs. Hudson, and if I get into trouble Watson will help me," he glanced innocently over at me, "won't you, Watson?"

"Of course, Holmes."

She smiled.  "Very good, gentlemen."

Holmes thanked her for her advice and her kindness and she left the room, smiling and shaking her head.  Her parting words were, "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen!"

"I don't think she believed we were on a case, Holmes."

He merely chuckled.  "By the way, I am a respectable widow of considerable means recently returned from the Continent where I have lived for many years.  Of course, you may call me ‘Sarah', my handsome doctor," he murmured, looking me up and down in a most admiring manner, "and you are... most handsome."

Taking his gloved hands in mine, I kissed them.  "Why thank you, my dear, and you are utterly captivating.  Shall we depart?"

"Do let's!" he replied demurely, his voice soft and husky as he smiled at me.

As I placed a violet silk evening cloak around his shoulders, he tied it in front.

He had already ordered a landau and as he settled inside it I noticed that he followed Mrs. Hudson's advice and straightened his dress as much as possible so that it would not get crushed.  He then began to explain our current case.

Apparently Sir Richard Wordsworth's second wife had disappeared recently in peculiar circumstances, his first wife having died of pneumonia some years ago.  Both women came from well-to-do families and he had profited greatly by his first wife's death.  If his second wife was also dead, as Wordsworth's cousin suspected, then Wordsworth stood to gain a great deal.  Holmes explained that he had reason to believe that the second wife was being held prisoner somewhere on the estate, possibly being starved to death.  He said that he, in the guise of a wealthy, unattached woman, would keep Wordsworth occupied whilst I conducted a search as a builder had been seen doing some work at the house this very week.

"If, as I suspect, the work was done in the cellar, that would be an excellent spot to begin your search and if you find any evidence of new construction work down there, you need not search any further, so you see it could not be simpler."

I shook my head in dismay.  "Holmes, just how do you intend to keep Wordsworth occupied whilst I search the cellar?"

"Ah, that is the reason for the disguise, my dear.  Wordsworth has a penchant for wealthy women - wealthy, tall women.  Both his first wife, whose picture I have seen, and his current wife were and are tall, slim women with dark hair.  We let it be known that I am a rich widow and I am sure that he will pay sufficient attention to me that you will have ample opportunity to search the cellar."

"Oh, if you say so, Holmes, but what if he gets too amorous?  Will you be able to handle it?"

"In that event I am counting on you, my handsome companion, to come to my rescue."

Just before we arrived at our destination Holmes grasped my hand and murmured, "Be careful, dear friend.  He knows how to use a gun and is known to carry one.  You have your revolver?"  I nodded.  "Good.  Do not be tardy in using it."  I inquired if he was armed.  "Of course," he answered, patting his thigh.

Once Holmes immersed himself in a part he seemed to literally become that character, and he did so now as I alighted from the landau and reached up to help him down.  Other people were arriving and he compared his haute couture with what the other women were wearing.  I smiled to myself, in awe of his courage and proud to be seen with him.

At the formal dinner I was seated next to Holmes and directly opposite him was Sir Richard Wordsworth himself.  He was a tall man with greying fair hair and of neat appearance whom I judged to be approximately three-and-thirty.  Throughout the excellent five-course meal I discretely observed Holmes and Wordsworth, the latter seeming to have eyes only for Holmes.

By the time we got to the third course Holmes nudged me under the table with his foot, then again a few moments later.  At first I was unsure what he was trying to communicate as he was smiling and talking to Wordsworth, so I let my leg rest close to his and it was then that I felt the brush of another leg and realised that Wordsworth's stocking-clad foot was stroking Holmes's legs beneath his dress most boldly while Holmes continued to smile sweetly at him.

The blackguard, I thought, realising that there was nothing I could do at present without jeopardising our situation and, of course, it was vital that Wordsworth be interested in ‘Sarah' in order for me to be able to search the cellar.

After our meal we adjourned to the ballroom and I saw Holmes looking at the dance floor where already several couples were taking their place for the first dance of the evening.

"Well, John, aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

"My dear Sarah," I murmured sotto voce, "are you... quite sure that this is wise?"

"My dearest doctor, I can assure you that I will let you lead," he whispered, gazing into my eyes, "and I am an accomplished dancer."  However, I was still nervous, wondering if we should have practiced before leaving Baker Street.

Holmes gazed at me in a somewhat reproving manner and tutted softly.  "Really, dear heart, your manner is positively funereal.  Now you are asking your lady love to dance, so smile, my love!" he commanded softly.

He smiled at me so confidently that I could only return the sentiment, succumbing to the charm of this new and intriguing aspect of his character.

Arising from my seat, I walked around the table and asked if I might have the pleasure of this dance.  We shortly took our place on the dance floor with at least a dozen other couples.  As the orchestra began to play I took his arms for the Blue Danube waltz and as we began to whirl around, my trepidation melted away to be replaced by wonder that he was such an excellent dancer.  He glided around gracefully, so light on his feet and easy to lead that he was a delight to dance with, not once treading on my toes.

We danced through two waltzes and a quadrille before repairing to our table to refresh ourselves.  As we sat there sipping our wine my companion drew a small fan from his bag and began to fan himself.

"Oh, but I am quite fatigued!" he declared.  "I have not danced so much in ages!"

"Nor I," I agreed.

"Now is your chance, my dear.  Hear he comes!" he whispered.

Sure enough along came Wordsworth.

"My dear Lady Sarah, I find myself enchanted by your beauty and grace.  You would do me a great honour if I might have the pleasure of this dance.  You don't mind, do you, Doctor Watson?"

"Of course not, and Sarah loves to dance, don't you, my dear?"

"Oh, yes!" ‘Sarah' murmured demurely.  "Poor John frequently complains that I just wear him out!"

"She does indeed!" I chuckled.

Wordsworth led Holmes onto the dance floor and I continued to observe them for a few moments.  However, all seemed well as they whirled around and I could see that Wordsworth was talking to Holmes in most animated fashion.

About to rise and begin my search, my attention was unfortunately distracted by a familiar voice declaring, "Watson, old chap!  I say I didn't expect to see you at such a swank soirée!"

My heart sank.  It was Thurston with whom I played billiards at my club and there was obviously no polite way to get rid of him.  Fortunately, to my knowledge he had never met Holmes, although even if he had, he would be unlikely to recognise him in the guise of a titled lady.

With one last glance at the dance floor where Holmes and Wordsworth were still whirling around I turned to speak to Thurston.

Some five minutes later I finally managed to get rid of him just as the music ended and Holmes glided back to our table accompanied by Wordsworth who was saying, "My dear lady, the pleasure was all mine. Doctor Watson, I envy you and I do hope to have the pleasure of your company and that of your enchanting companion at the spring ball at my family home on the twelfth of next month.  It is always a most colourful affair and I am sure you would both enjoy it immensely.  Oh, do say that you will come!"

"Oh, but that would be lovely!" Holmes softly exclaimed.

"Why, yes, we would be pleased to accept your kind invitation," I murmured politely.

Immediately he had departed Holmes glared at me.  "Who was that man you were talking to?" he demanded.  "You were supposed to be searching the cellar!"

"Sorry, but it was Thurston from my club," I murmured.  "How was I supposed to know he would be here?  I really had no polite way of getting rid of him," I retorted with some pique.

"One opportunity lost," he muttered.  "Well, well, I shall have to make another.  I shall see what I can do to lure him out to the garden later."

Holmes then decided he had to go and check his make-up.  So saying, he rose and I watched him as he headed upstairs and prayed that he would not get into difficulties with his clothing.

Counting the minutes, I waited, growing more and more anxious. Finally, after almost twenty minutes had crawled by in agonising slowness, much to my relief Holmes reappeared and glided back to our table.  He was chuckling as he sat down.

"I have just had the most interesting conversation with two charming ladies, Lady Mary Arbuthnot and Lady Alice Devere-Arnold, and Lady Alice has invited me to her home for afternoon tea on Sunday."

I gazed at him in dismay.  "You're not seriously thinking of going?"

He shook his head.  "I should have to purchase yet another complete costume."

"And what did this one cost?"

He gazed on me in somewhat sly manner.  "Do you really want to know, my dear?"

"On second thoughts..."

He smiled prettily.  "Quite so.  At least the jewellery is borrowed.  I must return it tomorrow.  Alas I fear I shall be indisposed on Sunday afternoon and will therefore have to send my sincere regrets."

Breathing a sigh of relief, I inquired the nature of his conversation with the ladies.

"My dear John, in the last fifteen minutes I have learnt such things as you would never read even in the agony columns."

"Oh, indeed?" I asked, intrigued, but he merely smiled a ‘Mona Lisa' smile at me.

"I also managed to search the master bedroom."  As I gazed at him in astonishment he patted his small bag.  "I brought my kit!"

"And did you find anything?" I eagerly inquired.

"Indeed!  Bloodstains are so difficult to remove.  I managed to remove a small piece of carpet.  I have it in my bag."

"Excellent!"

"Yes, and all the more reason for you to search the cellar, my dear."

Just as Holmes was about to go and seriously engage Wordsworth's attention once more, my acquaintance, Thurston, reappeared.

"Why, Watson, you sly, old dog!  You've been holding out on me!" he declared.  "Now you simply must introduce me to this beautiful lady!"

After I performed the introductions, Thurston insisted on asking Holmes to dance.  Holmes graciously gave in and Thurston led him onto the dance floor.

As I observed them dancing, it occurred to me that the more Holmes danced with other men, the more he appeared to enjoy himself.

When Thurston brought Holmes back to the table he begged that he might see the delightful Lady Sarah again in the future.  As he declared that she danced like a dream I could barely keep a straight face.

After Thurston had departed, apparently quite smitten with the graceful and charming Sarah, I ventured to remark, "You are quite the belle of the ball, my dear!"

He chuckled softly.  "Yes, men do seem to find me quite attractive, do they not, though I confess that I am quite unsure as to the reason."

"Oh, indeed, they find you most attractive, my dear, as do I.  As for the reason, I suggest that you look in the mirror."

He smiled sweetly at me before once more turning to observe Wordsworth who, just by coincidence, was eyeing him.  Right on cue Wordsworth excused himself from the group of people he was with and strolled our way.

"Time for me to go to work!" Holmes murmured.

"Doctor Watson, you don't mind if I steal away this lovely enchantress for a short while, do you?"

Shaking my hear, I smiled at Holmes, wanting very much to tell the supercilious cad to keep his hands off my darling.  He had been informing all who asked that his poor wife was ‘indisposed'.  I wondered just how truly ‘indisposed' she really was.  Was she even still alive?  The odds would seem to be against it if that sample of bedroom carpet in Holmes's bag really did contain blood.  And what of the building work in the cellar?  I had to get down there and take a look.

"My dear Sarah, it is a mild night and there is a moon outside.  Could I persuade you to walk with me in the garden?"

"Oh, I do love moonlight!  It's so romantic!" ‘Sarah' declared, rising to take his hand.  "Behave yourself while I'm gone, John!" she admonished.

Observing Wordsworth leading Holmes toward the terrace, I waited a moment until they were out of sight before making good my escape.  I found my way without difficulty downstairs but was damned lucky not to have been caught by the servants who were in and out of the wine cellar.  However, there seemed to be no other doors to be seen down there, locked or otherwise.  The only thing I noticed was the distinctive smell of fresh bricks and mortar.  Indeed, a section of the right-hand wall seemed to be of new brick-work and there were signs of bits of mortar around the floor.

Deciding that I had seen enough, I was most fortunate to make my way back to the ballroom sight unseen.  There was no sign of Holmes or Wordsworth and I decided to take a stroll outside in case the man got too amorous for Holmes to handle.

It was just as well I did for, when I found them they were sitting on a garden bench and Holmes was shying away from Wordsworth's advances.  I fancy that when he spied me strolling along the garden path his relief was unfeigned.

"Ah, John, there you are!" he exclaimed, rising to greet me.

Wordsworth rose too and immediately became the impeccably mannered gentleman again.  "Ah, Doctor Watson!" he greeted me.  "I was just saying to Sarah that the roses are most beautiful this year, but, of course, they can not compare to a true English rose such as yourself, dear lady," he murmured whilst gazing into Holmes's eyes.

As he took Holmes's hand and kissed it I wanted very dearly to tell the impudent scoundrel to keep his hands off my darling, but then Holmes took my arm and we strolled back along the pathway to the terrace.  He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure that we were alone.

"Jealous, my dear?" he inquired.

"Of course not!" I lied.  "I know the man means nothing to you.  He may even be a murderer."

"Exactly, my sweet!  Now give me a report of your findings in the cellar."

Upon my informing him about the new brick wall that I had observed in the cellar, he was most intrigued.

"Ah!  It is as I feared.  It is apparent that we can not go knocking down brick walls tonight, my dear.  I can see I shall have to pay another incognito visit.  Well, well, well, I dare say we have done all that we can for tonight.  Let us make our farewells to one and all."

Almost two hours later we finally made our escape, though not before one of England's most famous bachelors, Lord Robert St Simon, had danced three dances with ‘Sarah' - much to the envy of many of the other ladies present and the utmost displeasure of his current companion, the actress Flora Miller - and not before Sir James Tascott had danced two dances with Sarah whilst his scowling wife looked on in dismay.

Riding to Baker Street, I must confess that I felt most relieved to be out of there.  Holmes spent the journey giggling uproariously at the general behaviour of the men toward ‘Sarah'.

"Ah, what a night!  You know all the men told me that I danced like a dream!"

"Did they!" I muttered.

"Oh, indeed!  And they all insisted that I was as light on my feet as a feather!"

"Did they now!"

"Oh, but it was so wickedly funny!  They were all so impeccably behaved, except, of course, for Wordsworth when we were alone in the garden."

"What did he do?" I demanded.

"Oh, he just tried to kiss me."

"And did you let him?"

"Of course not!  You don't seriously think that I would court kisses from a suspected murderer, do you?  And anyway a lady would never kiss a man she hardly knows."

"Of course not.  Forgive me," I murmured contritely, taking his gloved hand and kissing it.

He smiled sweetly at me.  "You're forgiven, my dear."

"But would you ever let another man kiss you?  For instance, Lord Robert St Simon; would you let him kiss you?  After all, he is quite handsome."

"Hah!  I knew it!  You're jealous!"

I allowed myself a small smile.  "Well, perhaps a little," I confessed.

"Well, don't be!  It does not suit you, my dear, and I really don't care for it.  As for kissing Lord St Simon, perish the thought!  He disturbed me and I am uncertain as to the cause.  What was your impression of him?"

"Oh, superficially amiable, but then I did not have the privilege of dancing with him."

"Hm... I believe there is about him a certain calculating quality.  I overheard a lady say that he is looking for a rich wife."

"Indeed?  Perhaps he's in queer street then," I suggested.

"Perhaps.  Anyway, I have no intention of going around kissing other men, interesting as that might be."  He took my hands and gazed directly into my eyes.  "My dear John, you know you are the only man in my life and, besides, I adore you," he murmured softly in my ear.

"I know - and I also know that you were so enamoured by all the attention that you became a coquette for the evening."

He batted his long lashes at me.  "Forgive me, my sweet.  What can I say?  It was..." he shrugged eloquently, "...a new experience."

"Yes, and you loved it!" I accused.  "You were so flattered by all the words of praise that you proceeded to flirt your way through the rest of the night!"

"It was... a new role I was playing," he defended.

"I'll say!"

He ignored my sarcasm.  "As the evening wore on, and I was assured of my ability to carry it off, I...  grew comfortable with the part."

"Oh, is that what it was!" I muttered in disbelief.

"I merely grew more confident in the role!" he sniffed haughtily.

"Huh!"

After a moment during which I glanced out the carriage window he quietly asked, "You're not upset with me, are you, John?"

The feigned humility in his voice was priceless.  He was still flirting, still playing the part, I realised, turning back to look at him.

In the dimness of the carriage I took him in my arms.  "This is how ‘upset' I am!" I declared and proceeded to ravish his mouth deeply and thoroughly so that his soft lips were swollen and bruised by the time we reached Baker Street.

That night, still playing the role of Lady Sarah Hawthorne, he wanted to be wooed and seduced so I played the part of amorous suitor to the hilt, kissing his hands and telling him how very beautiful he was, how I was enchanted by his grace of form and movement, his swan-like neck, long legs and sweet pink lips.

The only problem we had was his corset as Mrs. Hudson had laced the thing so tightly that our passion had to be held in abeyance until I could undo the stay-laces.  When I finally managed to remove it, he gave a huge sigh of relief, complaining yet again that he could barely breathe in it.

When we lay on my bed he begged me to enter him.  As I pushed my oiled manhood into him he wrapped his long legs around me in the sweetest, most welcoming manner, calling me his darling and his love.

Oh, but I loved him vigorously that night and he kept urging me on to greater and greater heights, giving of himself more and more.  When he came helplessly in my arms his cry of joy was so hauntingly sweet that I knew I would never forget it.

In the aftermath he cradled my head on his heaving breast, and I reflected how he was all things to me.  As well as being my lover, my friend and my colleague he was alternatively powerfully male and now softly feminine, and he could seemingly go from one to the other in a matter of moments, but most of all he was totally unique.  I was captivated by him and always would be, and he knew it.

*   *   *

The following morning, using the reagent he had discovered himself, Holmes determined that the stain on the sample of carpet he had removed from Wordsworth's bedroom was indeed blood.  Shortly thereafter he paid another visit to Wordsworth's mansion in the guise of a plumber come to fix the pipes in the cellar.  He later told me what happened.

Once alone in the cellar he had wasted no time and proceeded to immediately remove a brick from the new brick wall.  He then shone a dark-lantern in and saw to his dismay the skeletal body of Sir Richard's second wife, Lady Amelia.  He had brought mortar with him and hastily went to work to replace the brick he had removed.  Thence returning to Baker Street, he had changed his clothes and we caught a cab straight to the Yard and to see Lestrade.  The man took some convincing before he would agree to ask a magistrate to sign a warrant to search the home of such a prominent and charitable personage as Sir Richard, but in the end it was Holmes's impeccable reputation that convinced him Holmes was right and there really was a body in the cellar of Sir Richard Wordsworth's Kensington mansion, not to mention bloodstains in the bedroom.

That night, Holmes returned to his role as a plumber and announced that he had come to ‘check my pipes' and would need to use a ‘plumber's rocket' to do so.  I asked him if his ‘rocket' smoked and he murmured seductively in my ear, "Even better, my dear, it steams, for it contains a most special substance that is exactly what you need to fix your pipes, though I have to say that the problem is severe and will therefore demand regular inspections to make sure that it does not recur!"

We laughed a good deal that night as he checked my ‘pipes' with his ‘rocket' so thoroughly that they were unlikely to need another check for at least a week and in the process lived up to his plumbing motto of ‘plumbing the depths'.

When Holmes and I had first become lovers I had thought that life with the world's first unofficial consulting detective would never be dull because of the nature of his profession, but I never dreamed that our love life would be so varied - and so delightful!

A consummate actor, whatever character Holmes took on he literally became that individual, and when we made love it was like making love to a different person each time, and yet all were aspects of the unique person that he was.  As a groom he was aggressive, took my manhood inside him, sat on me and literally rode me to glory; as a priest of the Roman Catholic faith he was chaste and celibate and had to be seduced into ‘sinning against the laws of God and man' - and, Lord, but we ‘sinned' enthusiastically that night, the ‘priest' insisting we would both end up in hell as a result; as a house agent he demanded to check my ‘structure' for faults before deciding if I was a suitable prospect for sale; as a Shakespearian actor he came to my room one night dressed as Juliet from Romeo and Juliet and he was sweet, innocent and virginal and I, as Romeo, had to swear undying love to him; on another Shakespearian night he decided that I would be Mark Anthony and he would be Julius Caesar, emperor of Rome and I, of course, had to ‘pay tribute' to him; another night, again as an actor, he decided that he would be King Arthur of Camelot and I would be his handsome knight Sir Lancelot.  There was also a game that we fondly referred to as ‘doctor and detective' and, notwithstanding that I am a doctor, he often liked to reverse our roles and be ‘doctor' for a night.

From time to time the enchanting and gracious Lady Sarah Hawthorne would make another appearance in our lives to charm and beguile several more hapless gentlemen, not the least being myself.  She also made a memorable appearance in a case we often laugh about to this day and refer to privately as The Adventure of the Misguided Client, a tale for which the public is not yet ready.

*** * ***