The author welcomes your comments and respectfully requests your forgiveness with any liberties you feel may have been taken with your perceptions of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss Mary Russell. Special thanks to An Oxford Punter and Patricia Donleavy; they were a source of inspiration, but they bear no blame.
Lessons in Blue
Part I
by "Her Much Mearning Hath Made Her Mad"
"Russell! What is taking you so long?!" he droned loudly in between puffs of his pipe. Holmes sat bored in the sitting room of their hotel suite. He was not in the mood to pretend to be social, and that was exactly what he was going to have to do. If his partner and wife ever managed to emerge from the bedroom, that is. He had emerged several minutes ago in full evening dress.
Mycroft had sent them to Switzerland on a government errand he had characterized as "not too difficult, certainly not dangerous, but delicate none-the-less." It was, in fact, a belated wedding present as this errand would only take this evening and they had the rest of the week to explore the city and surrounding country-side. Russ had never been to Switzerland before, and it did get her away from her books for a while. Most of them, at least. She had insisted on bringing some with her and had already purchased more during their travel from Sussex.
Holmes found himself pacing the floor, examining the various decorations in their suite. Mycroft had spared little expense. The suite was quite large and luxurious by any standards, with two bedrooms, each with their own lavatory, a sitting room, and a dining nook. Of course, the arrangements served Mycroft's purpose. Holmes and Russell for this trip were Mr. Holmes and his as sociate, Miss Russell. As Mycroft needed them to appear to be just business partners and not spouses, two rooms were required. Thoughtfully, Mycroft had arranged for the suite rather than completely separate rooms. Holmes gave a slightly sardonic smile. That Mycroft had even considered such a thing was a bit of a surprise. Though the guests at the evening's event might know of him, and Mycroft had hoped many would, it was unlikely that word of his marriage had reached here. Even if it had, with Russell's age and removal of her ring most would not assume she was his wife. Having them together but apart would be helpful in gaining the needed information. He put the pipe aside.
Some day he must remember to tell Russell about Mycroft's first musings--or were they really warnings--about what Mycroft had termed " ahem ...the potentiality of this relationship, Sherlock." That Mycroft suspected his brother's feelings was not a surprise; Mycroft had been steps ahead of him all his life, but that he would voice such a thing! Though older and, by Sherlock's admission, smarter, Mycroft had never been one to give advice on such personal matters, not even when Sherlock was a young university student. At the time Mycroft had intimated at the direction Sherlock's feelings were taking for Russell, Sherlock had been appalled by his brother's remarks. He knew Russell would be too when he told her. Still, he chuckled to himself, it was a story worth telling, even if he left out the part about his not denying Mycroft's assumptions.
He looked out the window at the impending darkness for several more minutes. "Good god, Russell, what are you doing?" he bellowed.
"Irritating you more than this trip already had, apparently." She responded flippantly from behind the closed door.
He clenched his teeth and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. It was true. Though the time with Russell was appreciated, he had left several experiments undone and a critical chapter of his book on detection laying in messy stages. Besides, he was in Switzerland again. His last visit had changed him, if not exactly the direction of his life. He was reminded of the hurt he had done Watson. Long since forgiven and behind them, he still regretted causing his friend such grief. Watson had accepted the claim that it was the right course of action and for that he was very grateful.
He was reminded of his lonely wanderings and the painful lessons he had discovered along the way. At home, he could gaze over the fireplace to view the depiction of the water fall that hung there and not really give it any thought. Here, though, he was confronted with Reichenbach, with the fact that he dramatically escaped death, with the fact that next time he might not. He looked at the bedroom door, almost wishing he could look through it. He took his hands out of his pockets and pulled on the cuffs of his sleeves, feeling briefly the gold and garnet cuff links Russ had given him as a wedding present, a symbol of the month of both their births. Now was decidedly not a good time to reflect on his mortality.
Russell looked at herself in the full-length mirror once again. Holmes had every right to wonder what was taking her so long. This particular dress should not take long to put on--there wasn't much to it. When she had first seen the design by the elves and the ice blue color of the material, she was fascinated by it. Now wearing it, she wasn't sure she had the nerve to walk into the sitting room let alone into a ballroom. She had, in fact, put the dress on, replaced it with another, and then returned to the ice blue one. Each time having to be careful of her professionally done hair.
Cut down to there and up to here, she thought running her hands over the front of the dress. She was certainly aware of the dress and was beginning to feel foolish for her attention to the matter. It was not like her to pay so much attention to her appearance. Perhaps it was because there was so much of her appearing in this dress, she mused. Turning slightly she allowed as how she did have the legs for it. And, she added out loud in her best sophisticated-woman-of-the-world voice "I'm wearing it for a noble cause." She snorted at the sound of that and waited to see if Holmes had heard her.
He hadn't, or at least he didn't act as if he had.
Why, she chided herself, the apprehension? It's a fashionable dress; the elves wouldn't let her be unfashionable. Oh, hell, Russell, you know what the trouble is. You want to know what Holmes's reaction will be, but you're afraid of it at the same time.
She started to gather her bag. It's not like the man is going to divorce you over a dress! If he doesn't like it, he'll tell you. ... And if he does say he doesn't want you to wear it ? Then what?
"Tell him how ridiculous that traveling cap of his is!" she hissed to herself.
She turned to look at herself in the mirror over her one bare shoulder and reconsidered. You know the man; he isn't going to say anything at all. You like it, you have to admit you like the way you look in it, you're on a holiday of sorts, for heaven's sake. Move away from the mirror and out the door.
Holmes looked up as the door opened and Russell did her best to glide through it. His grey eyes widened only a fraction, but she could see his jaw twitch as he stifled his surprise. Though he could clearly glimpse all of her, he focused only on her expression. "Finally ready, I take it?" he asked while rising. He gathered their coats from the back of the sofa and went to hold the door for her. Matter of factly, he added, "You do remember Mycroft's instructions for the evening?"
"Yes, Holmes," she noted matching his tone. "However, I don't recall anything in Mycroft's instructions which preclude my having a good time while following them." She smiled to herself, anytime she could surprise Holmes was a time to be enjoyed.
They proceeded in silence out to the waiting car. Russell chatted with driver asking about the local sights most of the way. Holmes gave the appearance of listening, but she knew he was not. Whether he had his mind on the task to be completed or something else, she really couldn't tell. But either way, she noted, it was likely to be an instructive and interesting evening.
A short time later, they arrived at the Embassy. It was flooded in light and gleamed white stone on lush green lawns. The flags of several countries, including the United States and England, were displayed along side the embassy's own flag, indicating that the guest list was likely to be international. As they waited behind several cars depositing their passengers, Russell ran through Mycroft's instructions. "One of you will be contacted during the course of the evening. I do not know the name of the contact or what he looks like, but I do know it is a man and I know that he will know to look for you. I'm sorry I cannot tell you more, but he has never made any contact with us before. He offers us valuable information, if he comes through and if it is accurate. We cannot risk one of our usual operatives. If no contact is made, if the information proves false, or if something goes wrong, it would be much better for the government if we did not have any official agent present and could claim no prior knowledge of the whole affair. This way, the man merely offers information to a loyal citizen of the crown but is not seen in the lone company of the British ambassador, his staff, or anyone from the home office."
"How will we know if or when contact has been made, Mycroft?" Holmes questioned. "You must be able to give us something more. You expect us to pick out the contact from the one hundred plus guests and servants who will be there?"
Mycroft shifted himself in his overstuffed chair and looked at his brother in what can only be described as a disgruntled manner. "I'll admit, Sherlock, that it makes for much unpleasant mingling, but those were his conditions. He said he would make contact with you or your associate."
Russell had interjected, "Then you think this man and his offer are legitimate?"
"By all accounts, yes. The information is certainly worth sending you on a holiday anyway."
She continued, "Why as Mr. Holmes and his associate rather than as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes?" Though there had never been question in either her or Holmes's mind that she would continue to use her own name, she found it surprisingly odd not to be using his in this matter.
"Strangely, enough, my dear," he began while playing with his pince nez on the end of a chain around his neck, "you will be allowed more access to the guests and the embassy as his associate. As his wife, you would be cornered with most of the other wives for the evening, forcing our man to make contact only with Sherlock. I don't wish to limit his access to either of you unnecessarily. Both of you need to be available."
The doorman, uniformed in bright red, opened the car door for Holmes, and Holmes offered Russell his hand as she emerged from the car. The step to the walkway was slightly bigger than she had realized and she ended up flashing quite a bit of silken leg. For all his training in discretion and not noticing guests, the doorman clearly went bugged-eyed. She said "thank you" very sweetly, being vague as to whether she was thanking Holmes for his hand or the doorman for holding the door. Normally, she would be offended by the equivalent of a leering whistle, but she found herself complimented and a bit amused.
As ever the gentleman, Holmes gave her his arm as they climbed the steps to the front hall. Had he noticed the doorman's look? He presented the manservant with the engraved invitation and a young woman of Russell's age arrived to take their coats and gloves and Holmes's top hat. Ahead of them stretched a massive hall; the servant indicated that drinks were being served in the main ballroom to the left and dinner would be in one-half hour in the dining hall to the right. The ambassador, who was the host for the evening, had been detained in his office, but would be joining the guests momentarily. Holmes thanked the man and managed to not look too much like a man attending a funeral service. She suddenly had this picture of her doing all the mingling and Holmes standing in the center of room waiting for the contact to come to him.
They were greeted by Alain Andrews, the tall, good looking, blonde-haired, green-eyed, and muscular undersecretary. Andrews expressed his thrill at meeting Holmes and mentioned that he had once considered going into the police force as a result of reading Watson's stories when he was young. Holmes smiled politely, but Russell knew how his celebrity disquieted him. Andrews inquired if reading the stories was what had led Russell to being Holmes's associate. "No. I didn't even read the stories until after I met Mr. Holmes." It was only a small lie and it clearly intrigued him. Had he actually just traced her neck line with his gaze? Did he kiss every woman's hand as he met her?
"If you'll excuse us Mr. Andrews, I see someone I know to whom I'd like to introduce Miss Russell." Holmes said suddenly.
"Perhaps later I can offer you a tour of the embassy?" he responded looking at Russell. "Both of you," he added hastily turning to Holmes.
"I have been here before," Holmes announced coolly, " but I'm sure Miss Russell would be interested in the building and its occupants."
"Of course. With pleasure. I'll be sure to find you after dinner, Miss Russell."
As they walked away, Russell asked, "when were you here before?"
"Never."
"Holmes," she said under her breath, "Mycroft said the man would contact either of us. How do you expect that to happen if I'm off touring the place?"
"Perhaps you will get lucky and he will contact us before dinner." With this he turned and resumed his progress toward a group of guests standing by an enormous window. Holmes did, in fact, know one of the gentleman. Lorenz Martollo, the famed tenor, who was touring with the Belgium opera in Lohengrin. Introductions were made all round with the usual praise of Holmes's accomplishments. Russell knew by now what was going on behind his gentlemanly facade: why am I praised for discovering truth and trying to see that justice is done. As the first and, in her opinion, best private consulting detective, she wondered why he had never grown used to it.
Russell was treated with interest, both as his associate and as a woman. But unlike others who had hinted at disbelief at their partnership, or who had assumed a different sort of relationship, she was welcomed without question, if not exactly warmly. One of the wives and Martollo's companion, whom Russell assumed to be his mistress, commented on her dress: Mrs. Lewis (was that her name?) asking after the name of the designer and the other remarking that she hoped Russell didn't get too chilled in the course of the evening. Martollo silenced his lady friend with a smile to Russell and the comment that it was likely Russell would not wear such a gown were she not warm-natured. The other gentleman laughed at Martollo's boldness, and in a voice she did not recognize as her own, Russell concurred, "as warm as one can be when surrounded by the Alps." Martollo asked her to promise him a dance later, and she gave her silent agreement with a nod. Holmes turned the conversation to Mr. Lewis, who was also apprising Russell, and inquired after their trip from New York. The drama continued for a few more minutes and Russell found herself liking the attention she and the dress were creating, and liking Holmes's attempts to hide his displeasure at this even more. What a rare event--she in control and Holmes wavering toward unnerved.
With the arrival of the ambassador and his wife, the introductions passed back and forth as people moved in and out of various groupings. The ambassador was pleasant enough, but seemed a bit uneasy for one who must attend these types of soirees frequently. His wife, on the other hand, was in complete control of herself and the ambassador, knowing who everybody was and what their business was. She greeted Holmes and Russell with charm and asked if they were on business or on holiday. Holmes answered with equal charm "a bit of both, Madam, but certainly this evening is holiday."
"Mr. Holmes, I understand that among your many talents you play chess." She coyly continued, "perhaps you could aid my husband in improving his game? He's lost seven straight games to his undersecretary and it puts him in quite a foul mood," she teased.
"My game, according to Miss Russell, is quite erratic. I fear I would not be a good teacher. But, Miss Russell's game is quite excellent and I'm sure you could prevail upon her."
If Russell hid her surprise at Holmes's offer, she could not hide it at the lady's response. "Good," came the sure reply. "I have no doubt that my husband would learn from her tutelage, but if not she surely would provide distraction to Alain's game." Here was a woman who knew how to play every game, Russell thought.
Dinner proceeded in much the same fashion. Holmes and Russell were seated across from one other. They could talk to one another, but as the table was quite wide and quite noisy given that there were three such tables (twelve to a side) they limited themselves to their companions on either side. Russell found herself between Alain Andrews and a Gunther Hoffman, Holmes between Mrs. Lewis and a Lady Lillith "please, call me Lily" Lawrence, the American widow of Lord Alister Lawrence.
Russell permitted herself a moment to look across the table at her husband. He was speaking with "Lily." How had Ronnie phrased it? Heaps of s.a. God, but he could be charming when he wanted to be. But she knew from his earlier mood that he didn't want to be charming. She wondered if this were mere politeness. It seemed more than that. Could this be in response to the attention she was being paid by various gentlemen during the evening? Unlikely. Maybe there was more to this errand than Mycroft had led her to believe? Holmes seemed to be carrying on for his monarch this evening.
Holmes looked up to catch Russell's eye. He was displeased. Their contact was a man and here he was sandwiched between two middle-aged ladies who were content to converse on matters of pure drivel. She raised her eyebrows in a gesture of apology. He nodded slightly and went back to moving his food around his plate.
"...the city?" She heard in her ear. Andrews had leaned over and was talking to her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that." She improvised, "I was, uh, just thinking how flavorful dinner is." Brilliant, she heard Holmes snidely remark in her head, but she smiled demurely at Andrews.
"I asked how long you planned to be in the city?
"We've planned a week." But not wanting to give too much away, added "But with Sherlock Holmes one never makes too many plans."
"Will you spend all your time with Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
Was he really embarrassed by the directness of this question? He seemed to be. "As I said, it is difficult to make plans. Mr. Holmes's business ..." she let the sentence trail off noncommittally.
"Perhaps, if you've time, you might allow me to show you some of the city?" He was twirling his fork on an empty plate. He looked at her sideways. Hopeful but somewhat shy.
Certainly a different demeanor than she observed earlier; which was the true reflection of Andrews?
As if he read her thoughts, he spoke. "You must forgive me, Miss Russell, I offered you the tour of the embassy earlier out of habit as much as desire. The ambassador is really not very good with the public and consequently I tend to overcompensate for him. This request" he continued, "is strictly of my own volition and interest. I would enjoy showing you the city. And, naturally, I would extend the invitation to Mr. Holmes if it would increase my chances of your acceptance."
They were leaning quite close to one another and she could smell his cologne mixing with the fragrance from his boutonniere. She hadn't said anything, but just let him continue to fill the silence with talk of varying city sights. His voice was low and mellow. She suddenly felt Andrews reach over and lightly brush her hand as it rested on the table. She moved it under the table, but before she could get it to her lap, Andrews caught it in his hand. She instinctively looked at Holmes.
He had seen the tilt of their heads, their smiles, Andrews hand next to hers, his hand moving after hers. His expression was absolutely blank. After a split second, he turned casually to Mrs. Lewis and spoke.
She didn't know what he was saying to Mrs. Lewis, but she knew what he had said to her. "Do what you will, Russell."
She quickly but gently removed her hand from Andrew's grasp. Her heart said "Thank you but I'm afraid that won't be possible." But her voice betrayed her and she found herself saying, "That's a generous offer, Alain. I will consider it."
"You must least promise me a dance this evening."
She acquiesced with a nod.
With dinner thankfully over, she returned to the ballroom with the other guests. The orchestra had already taken its place and begun playing. Holmes came up beside her. "Any ideas?" she asked.
"Only ones I don't relish." Sounding unerringly like Mycroft, "Mingle and make yourself available." With that he left her standing by herself.
She was quickly joined by Martollo, whose lady friend was nowhere to be seen at the moment.
"May I have this dance, my dear?" he fairly crooned.
Martollo was of average height, a little overweight, and had the curliest light brown hair she had ever seen. It was starting to turn white at the temples, she noted. She would not normally find someone of his appearance attractive, but he was charismatic. She suggested something along the lines of him needing to be able to move his feet out of the way quickly as she was out of practice.
"I am not worried about my feet, my dear, merely my heart."
As they began to dance, he asked her how long she had known Holmes. Satisfied with her answer, he turned the subject sharply. "You interest me greatly, Miss Russell."
"I do not think your lady friend would like that, Mr. Martollo."
"Lorenz, please. No, Clarissa wouldn't, but I doubt you will tell her I said so."
He was an excellent dancer. So strong a lead, she felt like she was gliding on ice.
"Do you know why you interest me ... may I dare to call you Mary?"
When she did not respond to either query, he continued confidently. "You are Sherlock Holmes's associate. That means you are intelligent. No matter what one may think of tenors and their temperaments, I much prefer a woman of intelligence. One who uses her mind as well as her other attributes." He paused waiting for her reaction. He glanced at her and she held his dark gaze for him to continue. "You are a beautiful woman, Mary. But even with all his observational skills, I dare say my old friend Holmes has not noticed. Or if he has noticed, he has not appreciated." He deftly moved her away from another couple recklessly dancing their way and went on as if there had been no interruption at all. "Beautiful women are God's gift to men. Intelligent women are God's gift to humanity. Beautiful and intelligent women are a double blessing ... if also a double threat." He winked at her.
"And Clarissa, Lorenz?"
"There are many types of beauty" he shrugged "and many levels of intelligence." "We have been together a long time. We will always be together, even if not continuously. My girlish admirers are no threat to her. You are a threat to her. You have my interest and attention. She knows me well enough to know that."
"You and Holmes (the man does like to his hear own voice ) you are business partners. You are not lovers? (you won't get a response from me on that one ) You have not played the game, then, heh?"
"The game?"
"The lovers' game of jealousy, calling forth the green-eyed monster. Make no mistake, my dear. It is a very, very dangerous game. Played carelessly both sides can lose. One should never dare to play it unless one is sure of the opponent or is willing to risk everything. I can play for both reasons tonight. Clarissa will be jealous of my attention toward you, she will be angry for a time, then she will be very good to me in order to win me back and make sure I do not stray from her. But as I said, you do interest me. If I could persuade you, then it's a risk worth taking. Are you interested in what I have to offer?"
Heavens but he was sure of himself. Although his ego indicated he could love only himself, she could see where his magnetism might draw many. She tried to take on a light-hearted, almost flirting, tone. "I'm sure it is an exceptional offer, Lorenz. But I must decline."
"Ha. Ha. Ha." he laughed. "I should have known that Sherlock Holmes would never introduce me to a woman more beautiful and intelligent than Clarissa if he were not sure of her."
Now what the devil did that mean? Had he introduced Martollo and Clarissa? How well did he know Martollo?
"Still, as I have no doubt that both your partner and my mistress are watching us carefully, I owe us both this." With that he twirled Russell and dramatically dipped her low to the floor as the music ended.
"Bravo, Lorenz. Bravo." Russell exclaimed as he lifted her back up.
"Bravo, yes, but alas, no Encore." He feigned dejection. And she smiled broadly in spite of herself.