The Continuing Investigations of Holmes and Hove—The Purple Caper:
Writen by A.C. Dale(a pseudonym of Yotna El’toub.)
© Yotna El’toub 2016
WARNING: This story will contain situations and explicit language of an adult nature and should be read only by those of a legal age to do so. If you are a minor or object to stories of an adult nature, leave here immediately. Legal age local to the author is 18+ please abide to your own local laws. All Characters, without exeption, are deemed to be 18 years or older.
Please note and understand the content codes for this story. The characters portrayed in this story are just that, characters in my story. Any similarities to real people are purely coincidental and unintentional. The characters and situations portrayed are pure fantasy; the author is keen to state that in reality adult sexuality should remain only in the adult world. Please do not allow or cause this story to fall in to the hands of minors.
Welcome back to the world of Holmes and Hove. Their intimate investigations have been curtalied for a while. The canon includes The Perversion of Lady Jane Grey, The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna and The Case of the Errant Clergyman. All of these are standalone stories so this is as good as a start point as any. If you dislike mind control, sex, or indeed me—the door is just behind you.
Introduction.
Ned gazed icily through his library window, idly his eyes followed the fog billowing into Baker Street from the Park. A sound stirred him and he twirled with a speed that mismatched his lugubrious state. His eyes settled on the offender, it was merely a sputtering gas lamp.
Impercepably his breathing eased. There was no excitement to be found, but then again he was still not certain of his need for excitement any longer. No, the long confinement had several effects, and a lack of insistent curiousity was one of them for sure. His ears prickled to the sound of voices approaching his sanctum.
“So how is the invalid today?” enquired a familar, if hushed, tone.
“I wouldn’t let Mr ’Olmes hear you call ’im that... Well, better, but still not ’iself. ’E never was chatty, but now... You’ll see.”
Before the door opened Ned deliberately swiveled and let his eyes drift back into the fog that felt so familiar, so comforting.
“Mornin’ sir, Mr Hove is here to see you.”
There was no response.
“I’ll leave you with ’im, I ’ave me own problems to sort...” Nancy curtseyed and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.
Brighton crossed the room towards his old comrade, a few paces away he stopped and issued a polite cough.
After a long minute the figure at the window turned, smiling wanly.
“Hove my dear chap, what news?”
Hove looked deep into the haggard features before answering, when he did his tone was light.
“Nothing to worry you Holmes, the world is at peace. Of more import, how is your world?”
“Bleak my friend, the fog, it troubles me...” came the flat reply.
“The fog troubles us all, but why so you? Surely you are insulated from it?”
“The fog is insidious, it creeps into my bones, then it chills my mind. I tell you that I stand in my library, but the library that matters is all but a void.”
“I guess that you mean your mind palace? That may be no bad thing; recuperation is important, after, well you know...”
Holmes nodded, and swung back towards the misted window. Brighton sighed quietly, and then turned to leave.
“Oh Hove, on the way out please have a word with Nancy and find out what is bothering her.”
“Of course, is something amiss?” Hove asked mischievously.
“Her own problems to sort... Really you should be more attentive Brighton. I mean I picked up on it and I am apparently nought but an invalid!”
Hove grinned inwardly as he shut the door behind him, indeed Holmes was lost in the winter of his mind, but this was the first sign of spring.
His step too took on a spring as he made his way to the scullery.
Chapter One — Of Mice and Men.
“All alone then Nancy? No Norma today?” Hove asked.
“Oh, lordy what a... I would have thought a gentleman like you would knock before enterin’” squealed Nancy, “Nah, our Norma is down the market at this time of the morn’.”
Brighton coloured facially at the rebuke. “I apologise it was unforgivable of me. I am afraid I am so familiar that sometimes...”
Nancy smiled, “Familiar is good, you could always get more familiar, should’n you want...”
Brighton’s visage now took on a purplish hue, his words all but tumbling from his trembling lips.
“Ah, well, yes as may be... I am here on behalf of Mr Holmes, he is concerned that you may have problems?”
Nancy’s face fell, “Oh he heard, I didn’t want to bother him with it, not with... Well you know...”
“It will be no bother if you tell me, then I can see if I can help. We need not worry Ned too much at this point, at least I can filter the truth of it.”
“Please take a seat Mr Hove, this may take a time...”
“Brighton, please,” said Hove as he settled in to the parlour chair.
“Mr Brighton, yes, I like that; now it all began...”
Half an hour later Hove returned to the Library, he tapped lightly at the door.
“Come in Brighton!”
“How did you know that it was I?”
“Elementary my dear Hove, I asked you to talk to Nancy. Now with your concern over my state of mind you were never going to leave without telling me the outcome. As Nancy said, there were problems not a singular problem. As such your conversation was not going to be brief. There is also one loose plank in the hallway that you inadvertently find, and the length of your stride combined with your weight produces a distinctive squeak. It could be no other... So what are the problems Nancy spoke of?”
Hove shifted from one foot to the other, “Oh, just routine household matters, nothing of consequence.”
Ned’s eyes narrowed, a crease formed at the side of his nose, “Really, that surprises me the household seems to run like a well oiled machine. Still, if you assure me that is the case?”
“Of course Ned, you have my word!”
“Very well, thank you for putting my mind at ease. Now if you will excuse me.”
Holmes walked over to his desk, sat and flicked open his journal. On a blank page he wrote 9th February 1889—must talk to Norma, suspect I am more in the dark than even I estimated.
He then sat back with a sigh and wondered where Hove was going, there had been a part hidden glint of purpose in his eye.
Hove strode manfully on, a plan formulating in his mind, as he approached the corner of Lisson Grove, his course was set. Thirty or so paces into the Grove stood the door he needed, a brass plate beside it announced ‘Domestic Staffing for the Elite’. Brighton extended a forefinger and depressed the ivory bell push.
A second later he was ushered in to the main office by a pretty maid in a distinctive purple uniform. A portly man sat at an opulent walnut desk surrounded by papers. His heavily jowled face shifted its gaze from paper to face.
“Good afternoon Sir, Ernest Trimble at your service. How may I assist you this fine day?”
“Mr Trimble, I understand your company finds domestic servants for households?”
“Only for Elite households, Mr... Whom would I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I am Mr Hove, Mr Brighton Hove.”
“Mr Hove how delightful, your escapades in The Strand precede you sir! I do hope our humble organisation is not at the centre of one of your investigations?” A broad smile wiped across Trimble’s face.
“No, no, nothing of the sort—merely an enquiry for a friend of mine.”
“Ah, I see a friend who needs good domestic assistance I expect.” the smile turned a little wolfish.
“Not exactly, my friend has recently lost contact with several of her acquaintances, all at very short notice. She believes that they were placed by your company. All she requests is that she may know how best to get back in touch with them.”
“Your request is impossible I am afraid, I am unable to fulfil it. Confidentiality to our clients you see; our keystone! Anything other of course...” Trimble uttered, as the smile faded.
“Naturally, but this is from the household of Mr Holmes, we are the very souls of discretion ourselves. We are held in trust by Royalty.”
“I appreciate that, but my reply remains. Now if that is all, Mr Hove, I wish you a good day.”
Trimble eyed Brighton one more time, before dropping his head back down to the hypnotic papers on his desk. Then he waited for the outer door to close.
“Maude!” Trimble bellowed.
A second later the maid appeared nervously at the door of the office, “Yes, Mr Trimble?”
“Get a hold of Harry, and get hold of him now! Our Mr Hove needs to acquaint himself with the cellar in the Mulready Street House...”
Harry scurried down Melcombe Street and turned right into Glenworth Street, hoping his hunch was right, and the mark would go back to Baker Street. That way he might just make him on the Maylebone. But what did he know, he was Harry ‘the cosh’ not Harry the fortune teller, and he spat his annoyance into the gutter. Coshing, now that he liked, the running though, he despised.
Swinging left into the open street he whistled low, Harry the fortune teller he was! Walking toward him was a man well suited and booted with a regimental swing to his walk. This must be ’Ove—he knew the sort, one more thing he despised. Slowly Harry walked on towards the mark, calming his gasping breath as much as he could. As he came up to Hove he made a polite enquiry.
“Now Gov’nor I is a bit out of me manor, could you point me toward the Lisson Grove?”
“Of course I have just come from there,” Hove swung around to point the way, “it is not more than a few hundred...”
Brighton’s words stopped as the cosh stroked the back of his head in one swift, practiced blow, slowly he fell into Harry’s welcoming arms.
Harry glanced around, and caught the eye of a passing handsome cab driver, “I don’t know mate, e’s add one too many. You wouldn’t expect it of a Gentleman like wot he is—would you?”
“I wouldn’t know—’arry I saw nuffin’did I.”
Harry smiled and grabbed his mark, half dragging, half walking him towards the Mulready house.
Brighton groaned, and tried to lift his hands to his head, they would not move. For a moment he did not understand, then he felt the ropes bite into the flesh of his wrists. A quick tug of his legs confirmed that his ankles were similarly restrained. He took a deep breath and the catch of hessian made him cough, his head was surely hooded. He thought back, he had been walking back to 221B, then—that man and darkness. A name spun in his mind, Harry—yes that was it—what had Harry done to him?
The sharp scrape of a door interrupted his thoughts.
Someone spoke gruffly “It’ll make a good test for ’er—I fink she’ll make a good ’un.”
“Well, may be his arrival is fortuitous, it will let us test our rapid enslavement methods,” this voice was feminine and melodious.
A savage hand tore the mask from his head, and slowly his eyes focussed in the dim cellar. He could make out his assailant—Harry, together with a well-dressed tall woman, and slumped betwixt them was a naked girl. Groggily the girl raised her head. Hove sat up bolt straight in the chair and screamed—well he would have done, if the filthy rag in his mouth hadn’t prevented him.
“Morma... Morma a.. u...” with a rush of adrenaline he spat the gag across the room.
“Norma, are you all right? Norma!”
“How interesting, he knows her. Now this will be a real test!” her tinkling laugh was cut with a savage cystalline edge.