tell me how you knew it was me."
Holmes rolled his
eyes slightly. He'd grown so accustomed
to this little charade of people being mystified by his parlor trick-like feats
of deduction that it was no longer fun to astound them. "Very well," he sighed. "Your carriage is personally owned, for
it does not bear any of the markings of the local companies that service this
area. Obviously, someone of your station
would have her own. From your
conversation downstairs with Watson, I detected an ever-so-slight hint of a French
accent in your speech, no doubt from your formative years spent in Paris while
your father served as the Ambassador."
"How do you
know that?"
"I keep biographical
files on all of the Royals, as well as notable government officials,
performers, and authors. One never knows
when they will be of service."
"I
see," she said. "Pray
continue."
"Your height
and weight are consistent with the information I have collected thus far, and
finally, despite your best efforts, I can clearly make out the beauty mark
above your left upper lip which is said to be the single-most imitated physical
feature among the upper-class. It seems
that what nature has bestowed on you, your peers would seek to emulate through
cosmetics."
"Most
impressive, Mr. Holmes. I see that the
information I received about you was well-deserved."
Holmes nodded and
said, "So, now that we've wasted enough time establishing the obvious,
allow me to return to my initial inquiry. How may I be of service?"
She opened her
mouth to speak and Holmes' hand suddenly shot up, "Wait. Before you begin. Yes, we understand discretion is of the
utmost importance. Your attempts to
reinforce that by offering us extra money or jewels to keep your
confidentiality are unnecessary. Yes,
Watson is required to be present, even as you reveal whatever awful thing has
transpired that brought you here, regardless of how embarrassing it may
be."
"I suppose
you hear things like this from people like me quite a bit," she said.
"That
depends, Countess. I have not heard
anything from you yet. For all I know
you are about to tell me something far beyond the pale of my entire career thus
far."
"I assure
you that you have never heard anything quite like this, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes smiled
politely, if skeptically, and said, "Then please start at the beginning,
and I must insist you do not leave out any details."
"Some are
quite sordid, Mr. Holmes."
"It is not
possible to embarrass either Watson or myself, Countess. Whatever you leave out may hold the very key
to our solving the case, so I must ask you to be as specific as possible."
"Very
well," she said, with a sideways glance as if to take my measure. I looked down to spare her the humiliation of
knowing I was looking at her. She took a
deep breath and told us a tale of hedonistic intrigue that I shall not soon
forget.
~***~
On the Friday before last, I received a package
at our city home. Our estate is far out
in the countryside, and lately it has seemed unbearably empty to me to stay
there. Two weeks ago I packed a few
things and we left without telling a single soul.
I was sitting in my bedroom, reading, when a
man knocked at my door.
"Madame, some rich bloke asked me to
deliver this to you," he said. "Paid me thruppence to hand it off to the pretty blonde lady who
liffs here."
I looked
past him, but saw no one else. He
claimed his only instruction had been to deliver it to my front door and leave
immediately. With that, he tipped his
hat to me and walked into the night.
Attached to the package was a letter written
in ornate script, an invitation to a "private gathering" on the
following evening. It promised an
"unforgettable evening of mystery and delight."
A carriage would be positioned outside of my
front door at precisely nine o'clock the next evening, and all I need do is
enter it to be taken to the gathering's
Holmes rolled his
eyes slightly. He'd grown so accustomed
to this little charade of people being mystified by his parlor trick-like feats
of deduction that it was no longer fun to astound them. "Very well," he sighed. "Your carriage is personally owned, for
it does not bear any of the markings of the local companies that service this
area. Obviously, someone of your station
would have her own. From your
conversation downstairs with Watson, I detected an ever-so-slight hint of a French
accent in your speech, no doubt from your formative years spent in Paris while
your father served as the Ambassador."
"How do you
know that?"
"I keep biographical
files on all of the Royals, as well as notable government officials,
performers, and authors. One never knows
when they will be of service."
"I
see," she said. "Pray
continue."
"Your height
and weight are consistent with the information I have collected thus far, and
finally, despite your best efforts, I can clearly make out the beauty mark
above your left upper lip which is said to be the single-most imitated physical
feature among the upper-class. It seems
that what nature has bestowed on you, your peers would seek to emulate through
cosmetics."
"Most
impressive, Mr. Holmes. I see that the
information I received about you was well-deserved."
Holmes nodded and
said, "So, now that we've wasted enough time establishing the obvious,
allow me to return to my initial inquiry. How may I be of service?"
She opened her
mouth to speak and Holmes' hand suddenly shot up, "Wait. Before you begin. Yes, we understand discretion is of the
utmost importance. Your attempts to
reinforce that by offering us extra money or jewels to keep your
confidentiality are unnecessary. Yes,
Watson is required to be present, even as you reveal whatever awful thing has
transpired that brought you here, regardless of how embarrassing it may
be."
"I suppose
you hear things like this from people like me quite a bit," she said.
"That
depends, Countess. I have not heard
anything from you yet. For all I know
you are about to tell me something far beyond the pale of my entire career thus
far."
"I assure
you that you have never heard anything quite like this, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes smiled
politely, if skeptically, and said, "Then please start at the beginning,
and I must insist you do not leave out any details."
"Some are
quite sordid, Mr. Holmes."
"It is not
possible to embarrass either Watson or myself, Countess. Whatever you leave out may hold the very key
to our solving the case, so I must ask you to be as specific as possible."
"Very
well," she said, with a sideways glance as if to take my measure. I looked down to spare her the humiliation of
knowing I was looking at her. She took a
deep breath and told us a tale of hedonistic intrigue that I shall not soon
forget.
~***~
On the Friday before last, I received a package
at our city home. Our estate is far out
in the countryside, and lately it has seemed unbearably empty to me to stay
there. Two weeks ago I packed a few
things and we left without telling a single soul.
I was sitting in my bedroom, reading, when a
man knocked at my door.
"Madame, some rich bloke asked me to
deliver this to you," he said. "Paid me thruppence to hand it off to the pretty blonde lady who
liffs here."
I looked
past him, but saw no one else. He
claimed his only instruction had been to deliver it to my front door and leave
immediately. With that, he tipped his
hat to me and walked into the night.
Attached to the package was a letter written
in ornate script, an invitation to a "private gathering" on the
following evening. It promised an
"unforgettable evening of mystery and delight."
A carriage would be positioned outside of my
front door at precisely nine o'clock the next evening, and all I need do is
enter it to be taken to the gathering's
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