The Secret Fiend

“Damn my father and brother,” she says.

He gapes at her.

“Just being silly,” she giggles. “Shocking word, isn’t it?”

Sherlock goes in with her. They sit on the old settee where they used to lounge, and John Stuart Mill, her gassy little Corgi dog, waddles up to him and stretches out nearby. Holmes hopes the little mutt can keep his flatulence to himself.

Irene talks non-stop. It is as if she has been holding a flood of emotions back, and they are finally bursting forth. She says she loves little Paul, but that her father is soft in the head about him, attached to him as if Paul were the reincarnation of her dead brother.

“That’s fine, if that’s what he wants to do. It is time for me to cut the apron strings and be independent anyway. I am ready to be a new woman. He speaks of encouraging that sort of thing, but I doubt he wants me to be truly independent. I am sick of spending all my time helping him with his work. Not that I don’t support him, but he is so removed from reality, even though he thinks he isn’t. He doesn’t really understand the unfortunate. He looks down on them from above and tries to get them to help themselves when that is often quite ridiculous. I would rather be truly close to them, understand them. Mr. Hide comes from a less-than- savory background. They say his father was a criminal, but he reformed. It makes him very authentic. I want to be like that, somehow. I want to live a real life, connected to my feelings. I am learning a great deal from Malefactor. I think I am beginning to gain his trust.”

Sherlock has to bite his tongue.

“Oh, I know you hate him. I know you think he wants to hurt you.”

“He does, Irene.”

“Not if you don’t confront him.” She slaps him playfully on the shoulder. “I have learned more about him. That’s why I am sure I can change him. I know you know that his family pulled themselves up from nothing, and then lost everything. But did you know that he was a brilliant student too, a mathematical whiz who could have been a professor in any university?”

“It doesn’t matter what he could have been. He chose otherwise.”

“Yes he did, but he can turn back too. He could be such a positive force.”

“I doubt it.”

“I know you do. You have an old-fashioned view of someone’s ability to change. He has spoken to me of his admiration for you, what do you think of that?”

“That he is using you.”

She frowns. “You give me little credit, like most men do women. I am not naive. I understand his evil tendencies, believe me. I shall alter him, bit by bit, before he harms you. And he is changing me.”

Sherlock feels ill at ease.

“He has encouraged me to be myself, to not be the good little girl who simply accepts everything her father wants her to be.”

“Is he encouraging you to commit crimes?”

“I shall ignore that comment. He is encouraging me to enjoy life, and to, among other things, explore my interest in singing. It connects me to my soul. You heard me sing, once.”

“You are suited for better things.”

“You sound like your grandparents.”

“Pardon me?”

“Isn’t that what they said to your mother? Didn’t they try to hold her down? Didn’t she love your father even though he wasn’t deemed suitable for her? Didn’t she give her life to their love, their marriage?”

He knows she is right.

“How well did I sing?”

“Uh …” he recalls her beautiful voice, her racy song, “… very well.”

“I may actually take to the stage. I’m guessing that more than surprises you. But I want to do something different, and it is a worthwhile life, not disreputable as old-thinking snobs feel. The theater will be properly respected in the future – it not only addresses issues, explores true human emotions, it makes folks happy. Malefactor knows people who know people in the profession – powerful people. Perhaps I will go to America in a few years, create a whole new existence for myself, a whole new biography to put in the play programs and papers. Did you know that I had a wild American upbringing?”

She laughs, but Sherlock doesn’t.

“I shan’t marry someone my father chooses, either. I will marry whom I choose … or perhaps I won’t marry at all! There is so much fun to be had.”

Sherlock frowns.

“Oh, Master Holmes, you are so straightlaced! You need to bend a little. I am learning to, so can you. No matter what happens, I will still be me.”

“I have a career path too, Irene. I think it not only worthwhile, but absolutely necessary. It is what I am destined to do.”

“Then we both have our goals.”

“You are under the influence of a blackguard.”

“I am under the influence of myself, and a bad boy is not necessarily an evil one. Sometimes they are the most fun of all. But I tell you, Sherlock Holmes, I still know what is right and wrong. I will always help others, in my own way.”

“Malefactor is fun?”

“Yes, fun. Shall I sing for you?”

“But the last time I heard you, you –”

“Didn’t want to? I was shy about it, wasn’t I? You will see I have changed. Just sit there and listen.”

She stands up and tosses her hair. She begins to sing in that gorgeous voice he heard from the window at Christmas time last year. It is a love song, just as bold as the first one. She moves about in front of him, expressing the words with her actions. He feels uncomfortable, but also drawn in. The way she walks, lifts her arms, sticks out her hips, all makes him excited inside, though he tries to hide it. But when she lifts her dress to display her leg all the way up to her knee, he averts his gaze. She keeps smiling at him, looking right at him, making him look back, her face so happy it seems she will break down and laugh.

I have a secret deep in my heart

A little surprising

And a little smart

I enjoy a cigar

I want to go far

Ah, there’s so much bliss

In a stranger’s kiss

Sherlock has sneaked into penny theaters before, heard comic belters sing rough songs, listened at the Royal Opera House to great voices with his mother … but he has never heard anyone sing like Irene Doyle. It isn’t perfect, it isn’t trained, but it conveys exactly what it intends.

And then she does it.

As she reaches the finish, she struts right up to him, places one of her heeled boots on the arm of the settee, leans down to him, bending like an acrobat … and kisses him … on the mouth. Her lips feel warm and a shock goes through him, starting in his chest and going down to his stomach. He knows he should pull away but he sits there and receives it. Only when she is done and smiling at him, does he jump to his feet.

“Irene!”

“I want to live, Sherlock. And I will.”