Bonds of Time

Giselle sighed as she ran a hand through her golden locks in frustration and paced in her bedroom.

She couldn’t believe the man had the gall to send her on a mission without even one word of advice. All she could get out of Holmes was the location of where Captain Basil would be spending the night and that he was not an authority figure but a trader.

She had no idea how to approach Captain Basil.

She threw herself on her bed and frowned at the ceiling, hoping that inspiration would hit her soon.

She wondered about how she would approach the Captain.

She knew she couldn’t force him to give her information by brute force; she simply wasn’t strong enough. And anyway, Sherlock had not been specific as to what information she had to bring.

So she concluded that he wanted general information, such as about his trips to and from England, his trading business and maybe, if he was drunk enough, even information about his personal life. She stood up and started pacing once again.

So she had to ensure that she kept him in a busy way with alcohol and hope that it loosened his mouth.

She wondered as to how she would obtain the information about his voyages, and the answer came to her like light from a light bulb.

“By posing as a young man applying for a job, of course.” She said as she turned towards the door and hurried out of her room.

Her stride was quick as she made her way to Sherlock’s room and knocked quickly, her fidgeting betraying her impatience. She could swear that she heard a whispered curse amidst the shuffling of papers and tinkle of breaking glass and a moment later the door opened a few centimetres.

A bright brown eye peered out at her and from the slight frown that she could detect in Sherlock’s face she could conclude that he was annoyed at the disturbance. However, Giselle paid no heed to his irritation. After all, she decided, it was his fault for dropping the situation on her instead of preparing her for it. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to articulate her reason for disturbing him.

“I was wondering, about this Basil fellow of yours. Do you know if he’s looking for new additions to his crew?” she asked.

“Maybe, why?”

“Just planning for tonight.” She stopped and shuffled, staring at her bare feet in discomfort.

“I presume that you have more requests to make of me?”

She looked up at him and nodded.

“Come in,” he said as he opened the door wide enough for her go through and motioned towards his cluttered couch.

She sat at the edge, trying to avoid all the papers and books he had piled.

“I need to borrow some clothes. Men’s clothes.” She said, adding the last part as he was about to question her.

A slight chuckle escaped his lips, drawing her attention to his small crooked smile.

“Cross dressing?” he said as he picked up a pair of clean breeches and a crisp white shirt from a small rickety table, half hidden in the shadows. It almost seemed as if he had anticipated her asking him for male clothes.

Her gray eyes quickly scanned the overly messy room. She caught sight of a stained slightly faded green coat on a chair near the window and a black waistcoat with dull buttons almost entirely buried underneath a pile of heavy books. She quickly concluded that he had been waiting for her to ask him for clothes.

“Working on my disguise.” She replied as she took the clothes he handed her.

She bit her lip, even more uncomfortable at what she was going to ask for next.

“You may borrow the money beside that lamp.” He said, seeing her discomfort and guessing the reason.

Giselle’s relief must have showed in her expression, because his lips twitched again in a slight smile.

“Thank you.” She whispered as she stood up and turned to go out, taking the money with her.

“Miss Elmer, you should take this with you.” Sherlock said as he took a pistol and handed it to her.

She stared at the fire arm in his hand, her delicate eyebrows meeting in a frown. Her gray eyes met his brown ones, trying to find a hint of humour in his seriousness.

“Is it that dangerous?” she said finally.

“You never know, that is why you always have to be prepared.” He replied, as she took the pistol from his hand. She looked at it, noting how the light played on its metallic surface. She swallowed and nodded, holding the pistol as if it was about to burst into flames as she turned and walked out of his room and back to hers.

She quickly stripped and put on Holmes’ clothes and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her hair still looked very much like a woman’s; it was too curly and lustrous to belong to a boy. She looked down at the trousers’ pockets and put her hand in them, hoping to find a piece of string.

Luck was on her side as she felt a piece of twine entangling with her long delicate fingers in the first pocket she searched, and again she wondered if Holmes had guessed right for the second time. Giselle knew that she should have expected it, but she was impressed nonetheless.

She quickly shook her hair and braided it, thanking her luck that the short braid looked just like a boy’s with hair longer than usual.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, scrutinizing everything she saw.

Her slim frame and too large clothes contributed to her looking more boyish than usual, but her breasts destroyed every attempt. She searched in the pockets again, wondering if Sherlock had guessed this problem as well. And this time a small roll of fabric met her searching fingers.

She quickly discarded the uncomfortable corset from underneath the shirt she was wearing and bound her breasts. This time, the sight that greeted her in the mirror was that of a too clean boy with feminine facial features and a curly blond short plait.

Now, all she had to do was fabricate a story to the identity of her disguise and smudge her face, hands and feet with dirt.

She threw herself on the bed once more, the cogs in her head whirring at full speed, this time to come up with a convincing story.

***

The evening progressed and the flaming setting sun disappeared to give space for the marble moon.

The light it cast bathed London in its silver glow, making the city look like a scene out of a dream. However, Giselle could not stop to admire the night’s beauty.

The light breeze ruffled her tattered old skirt, which she had managed to convince Mrs Hudson to lend her. She drew the cape, this time belonging to Holmes, tighter around her, hiding her golden plait and her bare feet as she hurried towards The Ale House, a tavern where, according to Holmes, Captain Basil would be spending the night.

It was quite close to Baker Street. However, her refusal to step out doors for two months had rendered her incapable of mapping out that particular area in London.

She shivered and drew the threadbare cape even tighter around her, risking the thin cape tearing in two.

Giselle heard the raucous laughter coming from the tavern before she saw it, so she slipped behind a corner, where she removed the skirt and cape and searched around for dirt. The mud beneath her feet was more than enough, however, as she felt the dirt squishing around her bare toes she shuddered in disgust. And she knew that no matter what, she’d never be able to put that on her face.

She sighed, as she rested her forehead and hand against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. And that was when she opened her eyes quickly. She removed herself from the wall as if burned, and examined her hand. The lamp was too far away for her to be too sure, but she thought she saw a slight smear of dirt; barely noticeable, but perfect for what she wanted.

A moment later, she walked out from behind the corner with her hands and face slightly dirty and her feet muddy. She swallowed and frowned as she saw walked towards the tavern, her discomfort increasing.

She hated being unprepared for anything, and at that particular moment she felt the most unprepared she had ever been in her life.

The weight of the pistol, which was tied to her leg inside the too large trousers, increased her discomfort. She had no idea how to use it and the idea of asking Holmes to show her how made her cringe. She knew she needed someone to show her how to use it, but her pride wouldn’t let her.

The doors wood was rough against her skin as she pushed open The Ale House’s wooden door. The stink of alcohol, unwashed bodies and tobacco almost choked her, but she willed herself not to make a fool out of herself and hurried down the three steps and into the tavern.

She was in a room with a low ceiling, which was stained with the excessive amount of smoking. The small windows were open. The curtains that concealed what occurred in the tavern were made of a heavy faded grey material, patterned with small blue flowers. The tables where the customers were seated were simple and unelaborated. Their tops were scratched and it was obvious that they were quite old, but they were sturdy and of good quality.

The customers were mainly men. She could tell from their clothing that they were not rich men. However, they were not so shabbily dressed to be considered poor either. No one was looking at her, so after wiping her feet on the rug in front of the door, she hurried towards the counter and sat herself on a high stool.

A young man, not older than twenty two, who was wiping a glass with a clean cloth looked at her, waiting for her order. “Ale, please.” She said, trying to deepen her voice to hide her femininity.

He nodded, and a moment later she found herself staring at a mug of frothing ale. The barman continued wiping his dry glass, staring at her with his green eyes all the time.

His skin was pale and his freckles stood out even though the light emitted by the kerosene lamps was dim and his forehead was covered by his shaggy matted red hair.

“New around these parts, boy?” he said. His voice was as frail and reedy as his appearance. Giselle nodded her head, as she sipped some of the ale in her mug. She looked at her drink, trying to escape his questioning eyes, her mind buzzing and plotting on how to find Captain Basil.

And that was when it hit her; she looked up, directly to the barman and motioned him to move closer with her fingers.

“What’s your name?” she asked; her voice normal. He stared at her, his jaw going slack. The glass almost slipped out of his fingers, but he managed to catch it right before it fell.

“Are you a he or a she?” he asked.

She chuckled.

“I’m a woman. But right now, I’m a man.” She said as she winked.

“Um sure. My name’s Simon.” He said as he extended his hand.

“Mine’s Lucy. But for tonight, I’m Peter.” She replied.

Simon’s mouth twitched as if about to smile. He put down the glass and extended his hand towards her.

“Nice to meet you, Pete.” He said, as she chuckled.

A slight chuckle escaped her lips as she raised her drink to her mouth, taking another sip.

“Simon, I need your help.” She said, as she looked up again at the barman, who was wiping another glass. He nodded to show that he was listening.

“This stays between us. Do you know of a certain Captain Basil?”

He put down the glass and rested his arms on the bar separating them, resting his chin on two fingers.

“Captain Basil, you say? Why yes, I know him. He comes to The Ale House sometimes. Nice fellow. Always pays for ‘is drinks and never starts a fight. He’s not one to back down though.” He said as he stepped back and took another glass.

Giselle nodded and busied herself with her drink again.

“You know ‘im?” he asked.

Giselle looked back up.

“No. Not really. But I need to talk to him about something tonight. Do you know at what time he’s supposed to come?”

“I don’t know if he’s coming, lad. Rumour has it; he his crew’s troubling him.”

Her curiosity was piqued and her ears were wide open.

“What happened?”

“Last night, one of his sailors said that he’s firing the ship’s cook. He was caught stealing and it seemed as if he had been going at it for months. Now the Captain’s busy trying to keep his crew from ripping the cook’s throat out long enough to convince them that the cook will give retribution. Problem is they’re due to sail tomorrow morning. And I’m not sure they’ll be able to settle the scores by that time, do you?”

She nodded and scratched her head.

“Well, that’s put a hitch in my plans.” She muttered frowning at her ale.

“Anything I can help with?”Simon said.

“Well you could help.” She said tentatively as she looked up at him.

“Tell me about him, this Basil character. Anything you know or think about him.”

He frowned and opened his mouth to say something.

“Why?”

“It’s better if I don’t tell you. Don’t worry, it’s not illegal and most probably I’ll tell you in the future.” She said, trying to reassure him. However, his frown remained.

“He won’t get into trouble, will he?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

His frown still remained in place as he took another glass and started wiping it.

“I don’t know.” He muttered.

“Come on, please Simon? Look, there aren’t a lot of people. Take a break; I’ll buy you a drink. And I’ll keep quiet about where I got my information.” She said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Simon bit his lip and turned to look at the small curtained door in the corner. “Oh alright, fine.” He grumbled as he fixed a drink for himself, wiped his hands on a grubby cloth and sat on a stool next to her.

“What do you want to know?”

“This Captain Basil, what is his full name? Where is he from?”

Simon shrugged as he took a long drink.

“I don’t know. Everyone just refers to him as Captain Basil or the Captain. Now that I think about it, we hardly know anything about him. Doesn’t seem shady though. He’s from Whitechapel, you know the area where Jack the Ripper used to attack the women?”

“He used to live there? Or was he born in those areas?”

“I don’t know. He said his father was born there, no mention of his mother. Doesn’t seem to like women much.”

Giselle frowned.

“What do you mean exactly?”

“Oh, not implying he’s a mandrake or anything, but-“

“Wait, wait. A mandrake? What’s that?”

Simon’s hand shot out, closing her mouth. “Quiet! You don’t go shouting about these things!” He hissed, peering around to check that no had heard her.

She frowned as she removed his hand.

“I didn’t shout. And what are we talking about anyway? Isn’t that some type of plant?”

He stared at her, an unbelieving stare that had her squirming in her seat. “I don’t know about any plants, but you don’t go screaming about mandrakes in public.”

She sighed. “Are you going to tell me, or am I going to ask those two gentlemen behind me for the meaning?” his eyes popped open.

“No, no, I’ll tell you. A mandrake is a...well when a man likes another one like himself.”

Her frown instantly cleared.

“Oh. So he hates women, or does he avoid them because he already has one?” Giselle said, pushing the conversation even further in her search to glean information about the mysterious captain.

“Hate is a strong word, doesn’t like or trust them seems more like it. You know, no one knows if he’s got a little lady. At least, no one that I know knows.”

Silence covered them like an uncomfortable blanket, as Simon fidgeted with his drink.

“He seems like a quiet chap, from what you said.” Giselle commented.

Simon nodded his head.

“He is; likes to observe a lot he does. Always sits in that corner in his green coat, puffing at his pipe with his hat low over his bright eyes, looking at everything and missing nothing.” He said, taking another long draft from his rapidly diminishing drink.

“What about his travels? Where does he go to mostly?”

“Oh, he goes everywhere. He’s a trader. He buys and trades and trades and buys. And then he sells his goods to shops and other traders. Makes quite the profit, he does. At least, according to his ship mates.”

“That’s interesting. What does he trade, mostly?”

“Everything; spices, jewels, cloth, books, seeds and bulbs, ivory, furs, perfumes, food...everything that’s tradable.”

Giselle nodded.

“What about his dealings? Who does he usually deal with?”

“Traders and occasionally shop keepers. Mostly he deals with one Peter Stanton, another trader.”

“And what about this Stanton character, what can you tell me about him?”

“Nothing, really. He doesn’t come here much. Don’t really know him. Although, other frequent customers say he’s a cheat. Likes to cheat during games. From the little I heard, he doesn’t seem to be like the captain much. He likes the ladies a lot, obsessed with them seems more like it. You keep away from him, he’d smell you out like a hound dog and make a fool out of your disguise.” He said as he put his mug to his mouth and drank till it was empty.

He stood up, stretching his back and looking around the pub as he made his way behind the bar once again as Giselle looked around. Simon leaned forward, resting his fingers against the surface of the bar, brushing lightly against her forearm.

“You’re in luck. The Captain seems to have gotten hold of his situation aboard his ship.” He whispered as he leaned back and started wiping more glasses and mugs. Giselle turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of a familiar faded green coat.

She frowned as she turned back, not quite able to put her finger on where she knew that coat.

The knots in her stomach, which had subsided a lot during her talk with Simon increased to a tenfold as she tried to turn inconspicuously, in order to be able to observe the captain which was bringing her so much nervousness and discomfort.

He was dressed in a green coat. It was slightly faded at the edges and stained. The white shirt beneath the black dull buttoned waistcoat was slightly creased, but quite clean. His black breeches were quite new as was his black bowler hat. His hair was long and of a brownish colour, tied at the nape of his neck.

She couldn’t see his face clearly, all she could notice was that his cheeks were clean shaven and his moustache was quite generous, and his eyes. They were a piercing bright brown. She could see that the hat was not enough to hide the intelligence that shone through.

However what shocked her most was that he was looking directly at her, straight into her eyes almost as if he had been waiting for her. He curled his finger, beckoning her towards him. She passed a couple of coins towards Simon and slipped from her stool.

She walked slowly towards the seated captain, trudging and dragging her while digging her hands deep in her pockets, hoping that the slight sway in the hips that was always present when she walked would not be so evident.

“New around these parts, boy?” he asked.

His voice was gruff, almost like someone who smoked too much. But she couldn’t help but notice that there was something odd in the tone of his voice; like it was forced. However it was so subtle and unclear that she doubted whether she was noticing things that weren’t there.

She nodded and dug her hands deeper, trying to hide her nervousness as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

“Sit.” The captain ordered, as he motioned towards the empty seat next to him with his hand, as he snapped his fingers towards Simon, who dropped the cloth from his hands and hurried over to their table.

“Get us a round of ale, young man.” Captain Basil said as Giselle seated herself meekly in the seat he had pointed out.

“Yes sir,” Simon said as he gave a brief but meaningful look to Giselle.

The captain turned back towards her, his piercing gaze reading her from top to bottom.

She couldn’t help but notice how the hat was still hiding most of his face inconspicuously.

“What’s your name, boy?” The captain said.

“Peter, sir.” She replied.

He nodded as he motioned with his head towards the other people.

“Anyone your relative? How come you’re this side of London?” he asked as he took out his old pipe from his pocket.

She swallowed. It was time to test the story she had came up with. The soft light flickered at the edges of her vision as she looked directly at the captain, ignoring the strong feeling that she knew him somewhere else and dived headlong into her story.

“No, sir. I don’t have any relatives in London anymore. My mother used to work for a rich man as a maid, but when she died he threw me out.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I look like him?” she offered timidly.

He nodded as he lit the tobacco in his pipe with a match and put the bitten end of the old wooden pipe in his mouth.

She could see that he was not fully convinced with her story, she didn’t know how she reached that conclusion, but she knew she was right. She breathed in deeply, preparing herself for the next ‘stage’, as the captain downed the rest of his drink and signalled Simon for another one.

“Are you Captain Basil?” she asked as she took a sip from hers.

His eyes shifted to her as he nodded.

“Why do you ask?”

“I heard that you’re in need of a cook, for your ship and since I also am in need for an occupation, I was wondering if maybe I’d find employment with you?” she winced inwardly; she hated begging even though she was disguised and not planning on taking the job.

He puffed at his pipe, as his eyes fixed on her, examining and reading her inside out. Her feeling of discomfort was increasing; dread that her disguise would be found out was eating away at her stomach. Her eyes automatically went down to her twitching fingers, trying to calm and steady herself. She clasped her fingers together in attempt to hide her nervousness and looked up at Captain Basil, trying hard to bring forth a look of hope on her face.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, she knew his stare, that she had already been at the receiving end of his penetrating gaze.

“Why would you want to work on a ship? It’s hardly the place for a boy.”

“I know, sir. But I’m in desperate need of funds, and I’d rather have no ill-gotten gains.”

“And why would a boy like you need funds?”

“Because at the moment I have no one to go to.”

“Have you ever cooked before, boy?”

She nodded her head in response as he knocked back his ale.

“Good enough.” The Captain replied gruffly.

He passed some money to Giselle.

“Go bring me another one, lad.”

She quickly stood up and went over to Simon, the mug held tightly in her hand.

“Did you get what you need?”He asked as he took the mug out of her hand and refilled it.

“Not exactly. But you gave me most of what I needed so...” she shrugged as she took the mug in her hands and made her way back to the table.

Giselle pushed the mug towards the Captain, chipping a couple of splinters from the table top. He took the mug, holding it tightly in his hand. She frowned as she sat down.

She had expected that they would be rougher, given that his line of work was on a ship. However, she was not familiar with the works of a captain.

“Drink up.” He said, his eyes almost pinning her to the wall behind her with their intensity.

“What are you thinking, boy?” He said as soon as she had taken a gulp of her drink.

“Life at sea.” She replied.

“Tell me Captain. What is it that you do exactly?”

“Trading.” He said. She faked interest and surprise, acting as if she did not know.

“That’s interesting. What do you trade, sir?” she asked, leaning forwards.

He chuckled, seeing her enthusiasm.

“Spices from the orient. Silks from India. Gems and jewels from Africa and America. Coal from America as well. And ivory. I get that from Asia and Africa.” He said, as he took another gulp from his mug.

He chuckled at her wide-eyed stare, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Would that mean that I would see those countries? If work with you.” She said, aiming for child-like curiosity, as he nodded.

“Come to the docks tomorrow morning, son. We’ll talk then.” The Captain replied, as he downed his drink and stood up, waiting by the table.

She stood up as well, her heart beating fast, glad that she was going to make it out of there, her feet itching for her to run out of the inn. However, the captain showed no sign of moving. His eyes kept darting from her face to the drink she left on the table, and she realised that he was waiting for her to copy him and down her drink.

She coughed, hiding her slight grimace, not really wishing for the bitter taste to flood her taste buds, however, she took the mug and downed what was left of her drink. He nodded to her and left to go to another table, clearly wanting to speak to another person.

She nodded to Simon and walked out of the pub, picking the cloak and skirt she had hidden in the alley and hurried away back to Baker Street.

Giselle shivered, drawing the cloak tighter around her in the chilly night air.

She was suddenly tired.

The tense and anxious feeling which had been accompanying her the entire night left her suddenly leaving her drained so much that she didn’t notice a shadow trailing her steps, or the shadow suddenly disappearing in an alley just before she turned the corner to Baker Street.

The front door creaked as she opened it; however, she paid it no heed as she quickened her pace up the stairs.

As she passed by Holmes’ room, she knocked on his door twice. However, no one opened or answered her.

Her head turned slightly to the side involuntarily, trying to listen to what was going on inside. A smirk made its way on her face; the room was oddly quiet. She skipped to her room, to wash off the grime and change into a long and warm night gown.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she closed the door behind her and lit the oil lamp. Sherlock Holmes had just confirmed her suspicions.

Moments later, she found herself sitting in front of Holmes’ fireplace, stroking a snoozing Gladstone.

The door opened softly and someone walked into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She recognized the footsteps and hence their owner; Sherlock Holmes. She had listened to them countless times during the nights that sleep eluded her.

“It did not work.” She said, without turning to look at him.

There was a soft thump, indicating that he had thrown something soft to the side of the room and moments later he was seated her; on the tiger skin in front of the fireplace.

“What didn’t work?”

“Your disguise. I recognized you, Captain Basil.”