The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Holmes gazed out of the window of the hansom cab, but his usually acute senses failed him. Oh, he could hear the stomping of the horses hooves on the cobbled street clearly enough; but even his keen eyes failed to penetrate the swirling fog. “Have we far to go driver?” Ned called.

“We are nearly there sir, despite this dashed awful weather!” Came the less than cheery reply.

“God alone knows how he can tell Holmes, I can’t see my hand in front of my face.” Barked Brighton.

“He knows these streets well old chap, I expect it’s inbred in cabbies.”

“Indeed, I was amazed he could find us though. I doubt if he has much need to go to Whitechapel.” Brighton mused.

“My dear fellow, of course he will. Don’t tell me you have failed to notice the number of gentry that visit the area for, well—entertainment.”

“Of course I have Holmes, I have eyes. I just don’t like to consider it. Repugnant business if you ask me.”

“Ah, those maiden Aunt’s of yours, they educated you so well. In some respects. But this now is our business, Hove old chap. Our bread and butter so to speak.”

“I’m not sure I approve of it Holmes, I mean if these cases are too ‘tainted’ for Sherlock, why should we get involved?”

“Let me ask you a couple of questions Brighton. Firstly do you like to eat, and secondly do you like our lodgings?”

“The answer in the first instance is yes, but of course in the second ,no.”

“Precisely, as would have been my reply. These cases will fill our plates, and improve our circumstances. Surely that is more important than any ‘taint’". Holmes grinned.

“You make a good case, but I will never like it. Not my kind of game, not my kind at all.”

“Ah well, the debate is over my friend,” said Holmes tapping on the carriage door with the stem of his still warm pipe, “we are here. Now do we take this commission?”

Brighton bent forward and eyed the columns before the substantive house with awe. “I expect we do Holmes, I expect we do.”

“Stout chap! Now let us go see what adventure awaits us.”

The butler escorted the detectives to the study, and there he asked them to wait on his mistress. For a couple of minutes the young men stood admiring their sumptuous surroundings. Neither of them felt out of place, for although they were not too well heeled at present, both of them had received a privileged upbringing. Upon leaving the army neither of them felt obliged to return home, rather they decided they would strike out on their own behalf.

It had been a rocky path so far, life was not as easy as they had imagined. Home life and indeed even the army had been a sheltered existence. The streets of London offered little in the way of shelter or if one was really unfortunate, existence. Holmes and Brighton, his ex-batman, ended up in a run down boarding house in the east end. Here they languished, until today, hoping for good fortune.

The door was opened and a regal, beautiful young woman swept into the room, she smiled briefly before taking a seat. “Please gentlemen, pray be seated.”

“Thank you Lady Helena, please inform us of your concerns for your sister and tell us how we may assist you?” asked Holmes.

“Please understand Mr Holmes that this is a very delicate and difficult matter. It could ruin my sister’s, indeed my very families reputation were it to be come common knowledge.”

“Lady Helena, you and Sir Richard are assured of our discretion.”

“Sir Richard! No, no, my father knows nothing of this, and nor must he. You must guarantee me. I need your agreement to this, both of you.”

Holmes hesitated for a long moment, this was unanticipated. He had assumed he would be working for Sir Richard with his knowledge. Ned felt both Helena’s and Brighton’s eyes on him. Finally he nodded and spoke. “We shall do this, if we have your personal assurance it is essential.”

“Thank you sir, you are indeed most kind. As my tale unfolds you will understand the need for secrecy, this scandal would kill my parents. My Mother is far from well, and without her Father would...” Helena’s voice faltered, and her head slumped towards her bosom.

“Lady Helena do not despair, Brighton and I will work tirelessly to prevent such a circumstance.”

“Thank you, Mr Holmes, you are most kind, and I am quite sure of your diligence,” Helena shuddered, " now let me tell you the saddest of stories.”

Holmes and Hove sat in silence, and respectfully waited for the distressed young woman to begin.

Lady Helena paused, thought briefly, and then imparted her sad story.

“It was just prior to last Christmas, no wait, earlier—I had just heard of the sad demise of the engineer Stevenson—so, early December. Jane returned from one of her jaunts to Oxford where Bertie was studying natural sciences. Bertie is the youngest of us, born a year after Jane, in 1874. Anyway, Jane returned from the dreaming spires in her usual high spirits, but there was more—she was full of chatter about the visiting Professor she had met at a college meal.

Her enthusiasm and interest were obvious, but I thought little of it, I mistook her mood for the natural flippancy of the young. Had I but known, I could have protected her; although she was twenty one Jane was not worldly-wise, not in the least. I was merely glad to see her in such fine fettle; what a fool I was...

Her visits to Oxford became more regular, and her moods more fragile. I would often find her crying without any reason, she offered no explanation. It took me weeks to gain her confidence, but once I did—her confession shocked me. Jane complained of nightmares, disturbing dreams—during which she was visited by phantasms.” Helena paused.

“Lady Helena are you quite well would you like a glass of water?” Brighton asked in kindness.

“No, thank you, I must continue, or I will fail to impart the story at all.” Once more she paused, “Just a touch of the vapours Mr Hove, it will pass. Now where was I?”

“Phantasms...” Holmes added quietly, as his concerned eyes scanned the young woman’s pale features.

“Yes, phantasms—evil ghosts that caused my dear sister great distress, for these ghouls, they—well they molested her in a most intimate way. They would feed from her body, supping deep of her essence and draining her spirit. Worse of all during her dreams a dark figure was always present, orchestrating their devilish assaults. It took me many tearful sessions to get to the truth, and once I did it shocked me to the core.” Helena paused for breath.

“The fact that it was the Professor who was the dark presence?” Holmes asked, raising his right eyebrow slightly.

“Why yes Mr Holmes, you are very astute. That discovery, and the fact that these devilish creatures caused her to spend on a nightly basis were mortifying. I feared for her sanity, and for her soul, I was so anguished. I have a little medical knowledge, and I am aware of the fatal attraction and consequences of unbridled lust. Worse was to come, she confessed to pleasuring herself during her waking hours!”

“Good lord!” Brighton erupted, and shifted uncomfortably, “is such a thing possible?”

“Quiet Hove, I doubt our story has reached its conclusion.” Holmes said, nodding to Lady Helena.

“I only wish it had Mr Holmes. As for your question Mr Hove, it would indeed seem so. I was unfortunate enough to witness my sister in such a wicked act, in the conservatory one Sunday afternoon.”

“On the lord’s day...” Hove was open mouthed.

“As you say on our lord’s day. This prompted me to call our physician Dr Bruebaker, after examining my sister he diagnosed ‘female hysteria’ and suggested a therapeutic break by the sea. I of course complied, and Jane was sent with her maid to Margate to sample the salt air. If only I had known what an error of judgement I had made. If only I could...” Helena faltered once more, and dabbed at her damp cheeks with a lace handkerchief.

“Do you need your servants my Lady, you are very pale?” Holmes interjected.

“No! No, thank you, I will do this under my own will. During the sojourn in Margate there was a most unfortunate incident. Jane, my dear, noble Jane molested her maid. There I have said it, my sister had forced relations with Maudie her lady’s maid!” Helena crumpled slightly and lent forward pressing her face deeply into the lace handkerchief, it seemed to be all that was supporting her.

Brighton moved forward to assist, but Holmes seized his arm. Slowly and with a pained expression Holmes shook his head. “Is the maid still in your employ? May we speak with her?” he enquired calmly.

“To my shame I paid the little hussy off, Maudie threatened to tell the staff of Jane’s ‘perversion’. I dare not risk the servants tittle-tattle reaching my parents, so I acquiesced to the greed of the blackmailer.”

“So you only have Maudie’s word for this?” asked Holmes.

“No, once confronted Jane confessed shamelessly, even daring to venture that Maudie had enjoyed herself. I was rocked to the core, my sister was a common...”

“Please Lady Helena, do not distress yourself. I am sure this behaviour is an aberration, a one off.” Holmes placed his conciliatory hand on Helena’s.

“Were that only case. Alas no, my sister has taken to visiting certain establishments in the east end. Establishments that deal in such... Desires.” Helena paused, “So now you know of our shame. My mad, wanton sister. Can you help Mr Holmes?”

“Of course dear Lady, we can investigate. But if your sister does this of her own free will... It is most difficult.”

“It is not her will! She has been led astray by that man, the Professor.” Helena snapped.

“I’m afraid her dreams will not convict him.” advised Holmes.

“There is one thing I failed to tell you, something that Maudie said. The girl told me that when my sister spent she called out his name. His full name, Herr Doctor Professor Alphonso Burgabiter, and—she thanked him.” Helena added.

“Good lord, the bounder! Was he there?” Asked Brighton, slack jawed.

“Not in person Mr Hove, but I know from Jane that Herr Professor is a student of mesmerism. I believe he willed her to commit this perverted act.”

Hove turned his head to stare at Holmes.

“It is possible, within certain parameters my friend.”

“What parameters?”

“Dear Lady Helena we have taken up enough of your time... If you will permit us we will act on your behalf in the matter.” Asked Holmes.

“I am most grateful Mr Holmes, and I wish you and Mr Hove every success, for all our sakes. If you see Johns on the way out he will provide you with a bankers draft, as small advance to aid you in your enquiries.” Helena paused, “God’s speed gentlemen, for it his work you undertake.”

“Indeed dear lady, and we shall not fail either of you.” Holmes added, as he released her trembling hand.

Back in the carriage it was the flush-cheeked Brighton who spoke first.

“Dash it all Holmes I have heard of some odd capers, but this!”

Holmes did not reply, but instead he placed his right forefinger to his lips and jabbed his left one toward the front where the driver was seated.

Brighton’s voice fell to a whisper, “And you never answered my question, what parameters?”

Holmes’s voice was barely audible, “For a person to act under mesmerism it is necessary that the action is within their nature.”

“Good lord, no wonder you kept that quiet. You mean Jane was already a pervert?”

“Possibly, but having met her sister—I doubt it. No this is not mesmerism, or indeed any stage trick, I think this is the misuse of science.”

“Pretty odd science, mind you I have another more delicate question.”

Holmes grimaced slightly, “Yes Hove, and what may that be?”

“Well Lady Helena, and correct me if I am wrong, Lady Helena said her sister had forced herself upon her maid.”

“Indeed Hove, you were attentive.”

“But how? Such a thing is not physically possible. Lack of masculine equipment old boy.” Hove grinned, and then thought better of it.

“You have much to learn of life. Such affairs are common, and just as Lady Helena suggested there are ‘Tom’ brothels close to us in Whitechapel.” Holmes sighed.

“Tom? What’s a Tom?”

“A Tribade, a follower of Sappho, my friend.”

“None the wiser old chap.” muttered Hove.

“A woman who has congress with women, Hove—a lesbian.”

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” Hove whistled, long and low.

“Tomorrow you will meet some—for our enquiries begin in those very brothels.”

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” said Hove, too loudly.

The driver shifted in his seat.

Holmes furrowed his brow. Decisions were being made.

Holmes sat in his favoured armchair and looked out of the window on to the grimy street, he had an air of contemplation about him; eyes nearly closed, with pipe smoke wreathing his noble edifice. He barely acknowledged Brighton’s exuberant entrance into the smoky room.

“I say Holmes, what splendid day! One would not have expected such a sure herald of spring following on from the foul fog we encountered last eve.” Brighton stopped talking, and coughed.

“Mind you Ned, you are no stranger to noxious fumes—with that odd tobacco you smoke.”

“Not tobacco Hove, just a relaxing herbal plant from the Far East. I soothes my nerves, and helps me to see things with great clarity.”

“So you say, Holmes, so you say. Wouldn’t you rather take up the violin, like Sherlock?” Asked Brighton, hopefully.

“Indeed, I would not.”

“Shame, ah well. Off to the houses of ill repute are we then, old chap?” said Hove, with a downcast expression.

“Not exactly, one of us is—but having given the matter more thought. I have decided to research our illustrious visiting professor.”

“Illustrious? More of a cove I would have thought...” Brighton mused.

“As he may well be. One of my acquaintances Dr Oliver Thomas is well connected at the Royal Society. I’m sure he will have heard of Burgabiter.”

“Excellent, well I don’t know much about science but I expect I will cope.” Replied Hove.

“You will not need to cope Brighton.” Holmes smiled.

“Oh, good—he has a way with the lay man does he? Explaining the mysteries of science.”

“Actually he does, but he will not be expounding science to you Hove.”

“Why not, surely...” Brighton’s face fell for the second time.

“You will be talking to the brothel keepers, gaining essential information Brighton. Does that not stir you?”

“No, Holmes it depresses me. I mean, that way lies temptation, and the path away from redemption.”

“You are made of sterner stuff than that Hove, by George. I do not doubt you in that respect.”

Brighton forced a wan smile at the complement. “I have no idea where to start though Holmes, I have no experience of these ‘houses’.”

“So it is fortuitous that I have prepared a list, is it not?” Holmes grinned.

“Oh absolutely...” Brighton answered, almost inaudibly.

Brighton walked on in a desolate mood, he had a list of notorious pubs and boarding houses to visit, and try as he might he did not have the fortitude to simply throw it away. Ned had always been a close friend, and when times became difficult a good man to stand beside on the battlefield. He could not, would not, betray his mentors—whatever the cost.

However, he did wonder about his friend sometimes, for instance, when Ned had said he did not doubt his moral fibre—was he suggesting there was something he did doubt? Also how did Holmes know so much about the local brothels. Surely he had never frequented them? So many questions, why did they never occur to him at the time? He was uncertain he would ask them if he did. His thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“Sir, I know what you are likely to be in these parts for. But I beg you to reconsider your ways. Please help rather than abuse these lost girl’s.”

Brighton eyed the formidable man who had accosted him with uncertainty, just what was he talking about? He studied the scrap of paper that had been thrust in his hand.

‘The Hebrew Ladies Protection League—Rescuing and protecting the unwary. Please support us in our efforts and make a donation to the Poor Jews Temporary Shelter.’

“Sir, you misunderstand...” Hove started.

“I misunderstand nothing sir! And you will pay with your immortal soul.” The man articulated with an air of disgust. He snatched back his scrap of paper and stalked off, doubtless to accost the next man he met. Brighton stood and stared at the back of the disappearing gentleman. Never had he felt so low, so humiliated. Pure loyalty to Holmes stopped him from retracing his steps and leaving the squalor of the Ratcliffe Highway far behind him.

Half and hour passed and Brighton started to despair. Never had he seen such places, let alone heard the repugnant language that followed on from his every question. Two ragged public houses were behind him, the Globe and Artichoke, and the even more squalid Gunboat. He took a last gasp of cleanish air before entering the ‘Malt Shovel’. As he approached the bar he heard a now familiar refrain.

“’Ere perk up Nancy, we’ve got a Gent in the ‘ouse. ‘Ow can I ‘elp yer sir.” The elderly woman grinned, showing the rotten stumps of her long lost teeth. Brighton almost reeled backwards, away from the blast of gin soaked, fetid breath.

“I wonder if you can assist me, I am looking for an establishment that specialises in entertaining young women. Do you know of any?”

“’Ere, is youse a Tom? That’s a pretty good disguise...” The old crone flashed out a decrepit hand and gripped Brighton’s groin firmly. He winced and moved rapidly to the side slipping his member away from her over-inquisitive grip.

“Youse is a bloke, what are you wanting the velvet tippers for?”

“That madam is between I and my client.” Brighton gasped.

“Ooo, posh ain’t we luvvy... Well cross me palm with some coinage and I might just point you the right way. Too classy to look for her own crack is ‘er ladyship?”

“If I pay you I want accurate information, not lies. You understand?”

“Of course, ‘ere pay us enough and you can have Nance and me for free, seein’ as how you are good-looking and built like a bull.”

“That will not be necessary, just the information thank you.” Hove pressed several shillings into the woman’s grubby mitt. A sudden wave of nausea made him regret his hearty breakfast.

“Shame dearie, and you so pale and interestin’. Still a deal is a deal. You need to go up Shadwell end. Go to the’ Paddy’s Goose’ and asks there, they will tell yer.”

“Paddy’s Goose? I have no establishment of that name on my list, are you sure?”

“She’s ribbing you sir, that’s what we locals call it. The White Swan to you. Are you really built like a bull sir, can I have a squeeze too?” Nancy asked, impertinently.

“Control yourself madam! The White Swan, yes I have that one on my list—thank you and farewell.”

“Jim, Jim, the gent is leaving—you may want to ‘elp ‘im out. ‘E ‘as a heavy fob watch to carry.”

A large man unfurled himself from behind the bar. “’As ‘e now, let me relieve you of that problem sir...”

“I advise you to desist my good man, only ill can come from this.” Brighton warned, his eyes never leaving the lumbering form.

“Ill for you little man, I’ll rip yer head orf and spit down yer neck!” Without further warning, Jim launched himself at Brighton.

Brighton stood his ground, his left hand flashed through the air and sunk deep into Jim’s paunch. Jim buckled, his head swishing down, just in time to meet Brighton’s clenched right fist which stuck hard between the roughian’s weepy eyes. Jim’s advance stopped abruptly, and he flew backwards—bouncing off the bar before sprawling senseless on the floor.

“As I said, no good, only ill.” Brighton turned, nodded to the slack jawed women and left the disreputable public house.

“And ‘e was built like a bull?” asked Nance.

“Oh, ‘e was ‘oo would credit it?” Answered the crone, then she lent to one side, and spat lustily on Jim’s bent neck.

Jane examined the contents of her comfortable bedroom through sad eyes. Who knew whence she would next stand here; if ever. Her hand stroked the soft counterpane and rose to caress the brass ball at the top of the bedstead. She sighed, it was time to forget these childish things, time to move on. She at last knew what it meant to be an adult, the wonder of her own sensual nature had unfolded to show her the ‘secret’ that her stuffy upbringing had denied her.

She was a woman thanks to the kindly Professor, and she would repay his tutelage. She would join her mentor and assist him in whatever way she could in his vital work. Her attachment to him may be purely platonic, rather than the urgent sensuality she felt towards her own sex, but that made it no less strong. In fact she now realised that Professor Burgabiter was her one true master, and that it would take her a life time to repay her debt to him.

All things considered she had no idea why the casting off of her ‘old life’ should cause her so much distress, but it did. She lifted her eyes from the bed and noticed her reflection in the vanity mirror, her reflection pleased her. She swayed a little from side to side and watched intensely as her now unfettered breasts swayed beneath her blouse. The sight was appealing, and reminded her of her new found appreciation of the female form. Indolently she cupped her left breast in her right hand, causing the silk blouse to play seductive games with her sensitive bud. Her nipple stiffened in recognition of what was to follow.

Sighing quietly, Jane flicked her eyes towards the ticking mantle clock. It confirmed what she had hoped, she had enough time to pleasure herself before leaving for the railway station. Her unsteady legs guided her to the bed, each step a delight as her increasing dampness facilitated a most soothing rub from her silken draws.

She sat on the edge of the once treasured counterpane, before sinking backwards into the softness of her mattress. In a marvellous synchronicity her delicate fingers sank into the folds of her silk encased quim. Her other hand was busy tracing a perfect circle around the fully erect nub that tipped her soft left breast. How could something this beautiful have remained a secret to her for so long she wondered idly?

Emboldened the fingers of her left hand stole beneath the gusset of her draws and swept the seeping fluid along the ridged lips of her hungry pudenda. Jane bucked softly against the sensations her body emitted, just as she had against the strange light the Professor had introduced her to. The light that now shone brightly in her lustful mind.

All too soon the feelings became overwhelming and her urgent forefinger sought the spot that would bring on her pleasure. Skilfully her digit probed the small protuberance, bringing small mewling sighs to her trembling lips. Then it was upon her, the light in her mind burst into a thousand stars and she shuddered to her peak, not once but twice. Her eyes opened in recognition of this new development; how delightful. If only she had more time, she would have explore this revelation further. As it turned out she had been a little too tardy. A polite knock sounded at the door.

“Lady Jane, are you quite ready? We should depart if you wish to make the four-fifteen.”

“Yes indeed James, I am coming...” she replied breathlessly, " just give me one second.”

“Fine madam, I will await your pleasure in the carriage.”

Jane smiled to herself as the cabbie’s footsteps receded. James, little do you know, but you have already awaited my pleasure, she thought devilishly.

The journey to Paddington was uneventful, and soon the carriage stopped before the smoke enshrined building. As Jane left the carriage her heart strings plucked once more.

“James, I shall miss you. You have been a faithful servant. I want you to know I appreciate that, very much.”

“Thank you madam you are most kind, but you speak as if you will be away for some time? I thought it was just a routine weekend visit to his lordship?”

“Of course it is, trust me to get maudlin over nothing. Farewell James.”

“Farewell Lady Jane.”

Jane had walked but a few steps when she heard a polite cough behind her, she looked back at her driver.”

“Begging your pardon madam, but which train should I meet on Monday?”

“Oh, the usual one.” Jane replied.

“Indeed, just checking Lady Jane. You are sure?”

“Yes, entirely sure James. Now goodbye.”

“Rather than au revoir?”

“Do not be impertinent James!”

“Sorry madam, I stand corrected.”

Jane felt his steady gaze on her as she walked to the crowded station. She did not look back.

Brighton cradled the scrawled note in his slightly tender right hand. He still found it hard to believe that he had paid a pound sterling to his unkempt informant, the greed of these people was intolerable. No doubt the fool would soon be inebriated under one of the unsavoury tables in the White Swan. Why were the poor so lacking in moral fibre? He pondered this for a while, but he could find no answer to the conundrum, finally he sighed and stopped walking.

He stood gazing at the apparently normal house, he had expected something more, something sinister. It was not, but he knew that once he crossed that threshold he entered a world foreign to his own. Grimacing Hove repressed a shudder and walked towards the apparently innocent door. He knocked stoutly, and gathered his moral fibre. The woman who appear surprised him, she was well dressed, elegant and to his amazement polite.

“Yes sir, how may I assist you?”

“I fear that I may have the wrong address...” Brighton stuttered.

“You may well, we do not have many male visitors.”

“I wondered if Mistress Joan was available?”

“The mistress, well as it happens, she is. Can I tell her who is calling?”

“I am Brighton Hove.”

“Indeed, as in the seaside town?” The woman gave an attractive smile.

“Yes, I am afraid so, my parents were quite smitten by Sussex.” Brighton relaxed, a little.

“Please come in Mr Hove, can I ask you to wait in the receiving room. Mistress will be here to attend you shortly.”

“My thanks, Miss?”

“Scarlet, my friends call me Scarlet.”

“I am obliged, Miss Scarlet.”

Brighton settled on a sumptuous chaise-lounge and waited patiently. Sooner than he thought he was rewarded. An austere middle aged woman entered the room.

“Mr Hove, how can I and my establishment serve you?”

“I am here on behalf of a Lady...” Brighton’s introduction was cut short.

“I expected as much, it is usually the case.” The stern face cracked into a warmer smile.

“I am correct in thinking that ladies can... Well let me see...” Hove stumbled over his words.

“That ladies may be pleasured here, by sympathetic ladies such as themselves? There is no need for embarrassment Mr Hove. Yes you are correct.”

“Embarrassment, why no.” Mumbled a red faced Brighton.

“You know of a Lady who requires our... Touch?”

“No not exactly, I need to enquire of a lady who may have used your services.”

“I’m sorry we offer our client complete confidentially, I am sure you will understand.”

“Oh indubitably, absolutely... I can pay for the information.”

“How very vulgar! I could not countenance such a thing.” The smile was banished.

“I’m sorry, but my client is quite desperate.”

“Husbands often are in my experience.”

“My client is a woman, rather a lady. Lady Helena Grey.”

“Jane’s sister, how amusing.”

“So you know Lady Jane Grey.”

“Mr Hove, I know many people. I am quite well connected.”

“But she has visited here?”

“I can not comment, but Maria maybe able to help you further.”

“Excellent! Can I meet Maria?”

“It is possible. Maria’s rates for gentlemen are rather high.”

“I do not want her services madam, just to talk with her.”

“It amounts to the same thing, of course I can not guarantee you that Maria will have the information you require.”

“I see. What are Maria’s rates for gentlemen?”

“Twenty-five pounds per hour, or part thereof.”

“That is extortionate!” Hove gasped.

“Keeping my girl’s in comfort is an expensive business Mr Hove.”

“I’m sure... But I don’t need her for an hour, I’m sure five minutes would suffice.”

“That is entirely up to you Mr Hove, her rate is non negotiable. Now do you wish to talk with Maria, or not. My time is valuable.”

“Valuable? It is priceless...” muttered Brighton to himself.

“I’m sorry I did not catch that, was that your agreement?”

“Yes, absolutely, I must talk with the girl. Do you want payment now?”

“Mr Hove, we are not savages. Your word will suffice. Scarlet will show you the way shortly. I bid you goodbye Mr Hove, as I will not be seeing you at our establishment again.”

“But, I may have further questions.”

“It matters not, you will never return. To fail me in this respect, would be most unfortunate.” The steel that shone in Mistress Joan’s eyes was unmistakable.

“I will just wait for Miss Scarlet then...” Brighton said, apologetically.

Mistress Joan rose and left without a word.

Daphne shivered, she was so tempted, but the situation was very strange. The man had something about him, he was eloquent and persuasive, but something made her cautious. Was it the environment she wondered? She had never been in a building like this one, or witnessed as many wonders in such a short period of time. The man returned and immediately spoke. He had a strange Germanic accent that had only added to the queerness of the day.

“Well my Lady Daphne is your mind now knowing what it wants? Will you sponsor my important work?”

“Professor, you have been a most diligent an attentive host, but I have grave concerns. I can not completely account for these. However, I feel I must refuse your interesting proposal.”

“Madam, please, I do understand, and I fully accept your choice.”

Daphne visibly relaxed, presuming her natural fearfulness had once again misled her. The Professor had reacted as any gentleman should. She reached forward confidently to grasp his offered handshake. As their hands touched a bolt of pure energy jumped from one to the other—in a mighty resounding crack. Daphne wobbled, and then slumped forward into the Professors waiting arms.

“Dear Lady if your feeble mind can not reach the correct conclusion... I Alphonso Burgabiter have the cure.” Burgabiter swung his head in a gesture of triumph, and swished his long blond hair around his slight shoulders. With a strength that belied his size he swept Daphne off her limp feet and transferred her bodily to the nearby chair.

He positioned the unconscious young woman with great care, and then clipped the restraints on each of her limbs closed. Burgabiter turned swiftly and almost ran to the large lever positioned in front of the closest engine. The engine coughed and spluttered to life, with another twist of his arm the Professor engaged the gear. His expression grew wild. The start of a new experiment was always his most exciting moment, the second he existed for!

Burgabiter stepped back, and watched joyfully as the whole building shuddered. Amidst the steam and grinding the entire room began its 180 degree rotation. Calmly the diminutive academic reached under the left arm of his jacket and unbuckled the device. With great care and precision he slid the static tube generator from his wrist and placed it on the top of the throbbing engines frame.

As the pistons located into the locks, the room completed its grumbling rotation. Burgabiter’s eyes now shone brightly; he threw the master switch with a theatrical flourish.

Brighton followed Scarlet’s lithesome form along the narrow corridor. He tried to keep from watching her elegant feminine gait, but his eyes betrayed him. She was most restful to the eye. When finally she halted he almost ran into her back, fortunately his did not; and she never realised his excited condition. She turned, her smile once so welcoming had disappeared. Her tone was grave.

“Maria is within. Please despatch a courier with our draft as soon as you return to you office’s. Please under no circumstances return with the funds yourself. Not if you value your life.” Scarlet turned the door handle and walked away. She was silent.

Hove poked his head through the door frame to assess the situation. His military training kicked in and he made a swift recce. Nothing could be ascertained, for after the brightness of the rest of the house this room lay in semi-darkness. Other than a peculiar musky smell that was unknown to him, but oddly enticing, he had no information. Moving slowly he entered the room. Panic seized him, it was a trap! Desperately he fought the swaddling cloth that held him, suddenly it parted. He was in hell, surely this was hell.

Daphne woke, for a moment she was unaware of her situation, but the bright girl soon understood. “Sir, release me! This is an outrage, I am a citizen of the British Empire—you can not treat me in this abominable way.”

“British Empire! Pish, pash, posh to your recent empire. I come from true Imperial stock, as does your Prince Consort. Europe is the hub that shall shape the world, not this tiny island. Your Empire will soon pass, Prussia will rise once more.”

“Sir you are a cad, how dare you insult the might of Britannia. I shall personally see to your expulsion from our country!” Daphne snapped.

“You have a sharp tongue madam, but you may yet change your mind about me.” Burgabiter leered.

“Sir, my opinion of you could not be lower. You can never change my mind. Do you worst you devil.” Daphne retorted.

“Oh, madam I can change you mind. I can change anybodies mind. Look around you, see the large containers, they are storing an enormous electrical charge.

Electricity! The very thing that powers the wonders of the human brain is generated by those steam rams, they produce static charge when they drag the animal fur collars across the pipes. The containers are ‘Leyden jars’ they store the charge and dissipate it through the wonders of the Tesla coil. The charge will sweep a copy of your electrical brain activity into my invention, which supersedes all the other technology. The Burgalator! A fine instrument that allows me to modulate and adjust your electrical brain activity.

Unfortunately you will remember none of this splendour. When you awaken it will be as if none of this had happened, until I activate the alteration to your brain pattern. Then Daphne, you will be mine. All mine!” Alphonso cackled with glee.

“You are insane. A monster!” Daphne screamed.

“You call me a madman. Let us hope I am not, or this will surely kill you.”

Burgabiter flicked the main switch from ‘store’ to ‘release’. The Tesla coil bristled with electric blue sparks, which danced in swirling patterns before arching across to the polished brass restraint on Daphne’s left wrist. Her scream split the fizzling air and faded in time with the blue plasma glow.

The devils writhed and moaned before him. They were joined in their odd mating cavorting. The top devil screamed suddenly and pressed down on the hidden head of the reclining one. Despite his repulsion Brighton could not pull his eyes from the apex of the blonde devil’s thighs. The fleshy organ that dangled there was being probed by the long tongue of the lowermost form. The top devil stopped her gyrations and turned to gaze to Brighton.

“Did you enjoy the show? I would have preferred you to have knocked first, it is customary.”

Brighton worked his mouth, but no words would issue from his lips. After a long pause he croaked one word “Scarlet!”

“Scarlet? Oh, so you are here for information. Who do you need, me or Maria.” The speaker nodded towards the gasping reclined girl.

“That thing is Maria?” Hove gasped, his eyes wide.

“Sir...” Maria puffed, “... that is most impolite. I am not a thing!”

“She is correct sir, please offer my sister some respect.”

“Your sister. Your own sister was doing this ‘thing’ to you...”

“Indeed sir, we have need to practice. And the ‘thing’ was most pleasant for your information. I also see it had some effect on you sir.”

Brighton glanced down to the point of concentration of the girl’s rapt stare. His member was a clearly defined large bulge in the front of his breeches. His face coloured desperately.

“Please sir, bright pink does not match the décor of our room.” Maria giggled, and wiped some form of secretion from her face.

“I have some questions for you madam. I apologise for my indescretions. Please can you tell me if you know of Lady Jane Grey.”

“Oh I know of Lady Jane, quite intimately as it turns out. So does my sister Georgina. She was friendly with us both.”

“Both?” Hove creased his brow, “You, you mean at once?”

Georgina laughed. “Does this shock you?”

“I’m unsure if I am capable of any more shock.” Brighton blinked.

“She became insatiable, she was timid at first. But she became a real little vixen. It was as if she was possessed.” Said Maria.

“If she was possessed, it must have been that Burgabiter chap.” Replied Georgina.

“She mentioned him?” Asked Hove.

“Only everytime her passion peaked. sometimes she would ramble on about him afterwards... Calling him her ‘master’. Most odd as she was clearly not interested in men.” Maria mused.

“Thank you ladies, that information is most useful—my client will be most pleased.”

“The prehaps they should also know she intends to join him for good. On her last visit she bade us goodbye.” Confessed Georgina.

“Good lord! I must prevent that... Ladies, I must leave.”

“Not in that condition you do not! We can not have rampant gentlemen leaving the premises. We have our reputations to consider.”

“Ladies, I have no intention of using your services.”

“And I assure you we have no intention of offering them. No matter how grand—the male organ has no enticement for us! There is however a bowl of icy water on the dresser, it may help you... Reduce the swelling?”

Brighton regarded his enlarged organ, even covered it caused him dismay. He crossed to the bowl. Gingerly he bathed the offending member. At his first intake of breath he was aware of the giggling behind him.

“Hurry sir, we feel the need for more practice. There is no doubt it would only enflame you further...”

Bravely Brighton ignored the wet slurping behind him. He thought of England, and wished away his raging erection.

Holmes walked into his living room, his mind full of his discussions at the club. Ollie had been most forthcoming on the subject of Burgabiter. His words of endorsement however, rang some warning bells in Ned’s active mind. He could, of course, recall the conversation word for word.

“The chap is brilliant, do you know he has already reproduced some of the more difficult aspects of Tesla’s work? His knowledge of electricity is second too none. Mind you Holmes, I was surprised to learn of his commercial activities. An odd mix commerce and academia. It would be frowned on here I expect, maybe it is commonplace for these European types?”

“Maybe, I would not know. I do have a fascination with science and its methodology. But I curb my enthusiasm to the work of the noble Society. Commerce though, what form of commerce is the astute Professor involved in?”

“He has an interest in a steam driven plate steel stamping works, just to the east of Oxford. He assures me steel fabrication will a be key to all our futures. Can not say I see it, what horse could pull a steel carriage?”

“A train, carriages for trains?”

“Oh no, nothing so mundane. He insists there is a great future in ‘personal transportation’. I say Holmes—could you imagine a world in which we all travel in our own steel boxes?” Ollie chuckled.

“It sounds perfectly awful, not my idea of the perfect future. Then—I am not a visionary.”

“Visionary! Now that is a very apt word for our Burgabiter. Mind you he can be a trifle odd.”

“Odd you say, in what respect odd?” Asked Holmes, with interest.

“Well for example he once took a wager that he could have any woman he wanted. Old ‘Squiffy’ Warrender he suggested a well known local songstress. Alphonso virtually bit his hand off, wagered him one hundred pounds. Very odd, in particular as Burgabiter is somewhat less than inspiring in his appearance. As I say the man is odd.”

“Did he win the wager?” Asked Holmes.

“No idea old man, I have no interest in such foolishness.”

Holmes still wondered what made the Professor so certain of being able to seduce any woman. He also mused that not many Oxford Don’s would have one hundred pounds to wager, let alone have a material interest in a factory.

Further thought was stymied by a loud rap on the outside door. Holmes sighed, and made his way to the door. He opened it and gazed upon a familiar figure.

Lady Daphne prepared to leave, her carriage awaited.

“Professor Burgabiter, my thanks for your hospitality, and a most interesting day. My only regret is being unable, personally, to support your worthy venture.”

“As I say, it is of no concern madam. I salute you in knowing your own mind. It is a quality seldom found in such an attractive woman.” Burgabiter lowered his head to kiss her proffered hand. There was a slight crackle just before his pursed lips approached the pale flesh. “Now I believe you have something to tell your driver?”

“Of course, I shall return presently.” Daphne replied.

Daphne walked towards her carriage, just in time to see another draw up alongside it. She smiled broadly when she saw the person who descended from the hansom. “Jane, Jane Grey! What brings you here? Are you a supporter of the fine professor as well?”

“Daphne, it has been an age. How pretty you look. Yes I support the Professor in his work, can I assume you have joined our happy throng?”

“Oh yes, how could one resist such a man? Excuse me a moment, I must pass on some instructions to my driver. I will catch up with you soon.”

Jane nodded, and walked towards the factory door, her gait was most purposeful.

Daphne turned to her driver. “I am sorry to inconvenience you Giles, but I have decided to remain here for a while. I will send for you when I am ready to leave. It may be several days.”

“No difficulty madam, I am, as ever, at your service. Enjoy your stay.”

Daphne walked back to the factory beaming, she paid no heed to the sound of the carriages departing. That life was in the past, here she would experience the future. Her heart beat wildly at the prospect.

Holmes continued to pack his Portmanteau, but once again he was interrupted. This time it was a puffed, red faced Brighton that was the cause.

“Holmes... Holmes.” Hove breathed in deeply, “I believe Lady Jane is in grave danger. She is about to make a great error and join the nefarious Professor.”

“Calm yourself Brighton, I am well aware of this. Lady Jane has already left. And we are packed for our journey.”

A mixture of confusion and disappointment flashed across Hove’s handsome face. “Ho... How could you know?” Brighton gasped.

“I had a visitor. James, Lady Jane’s driver called on me to tell me of his concerns. He delivered her to Paddington less than three hours ago.”

“Then she, and we are truly undone. The man has her in his thrall, no good can come of this elopement.” Hove’s head fell.

“Have good heart Hove, we shall rescue her and end the Professor’s unwanted influence.”

“You sound very sure Ned. This is however unlike anything we faced in Khartoum. I dare say Burgabiter will not be attempting to spear us!”

“No, I anticipate his means will be more subtle than the Egyptian tribesmen. But we my friend will survive it, just as we always have.”

“In my case only thanks to yourself Holmes, a fact I will never forget.”

“We stood shoulder to shoulder as brother soldiers Brighton. Each of us did his worth that fateful day.” Holmes’s eyes misted slightly,” Still we must not waste time reminiscing; James will be here to collect us shortly. We will talk further on the way. I am certain we both have much to impart.”

Burgabiter stood erect and watched Daphne with interest as she closed the door behind her.

“Come to your master, and serve him!” He ordered.

Meakly she acquiesced, and settled on her haunches in front of him. She was very still, yet her hands were busy. Urgently they unbuttoned Alphonso’s britches, and extracted his flexing organ. Her cool hand swept the wrinkled skin back from its purple head, and for the first time in her life Daphne observed the single glistening eye of a mans member. She bent her head forward and swallowed the cock-stem, as if she had been born to it.

Burgabiter tipped his head back, and enjoying his moment of triumph he closed his blue eyes. He could feel his completion approaching, soon his fine Prussian seed would anoint Daphne’s questing mouth. Daphne’s sudden motion encouraged him to open his eyes once more. A splendour awaited them, Lady Jane was crouched behind her noble friend. She pawed Daphne’s breasts with gusto, her fingers ripping the buttons from the ruined silken bodice.

Burgabiter laughed gleefully! He, Herr Doctor Professor Alphonso Burgabiter, was being served by two fine English ladies; who fawned for him like simpering whores. He had arrived! He would bring this repressed nation to their knees. Soon they would all serve him, not only would they eat his manhood, they themselves would eat from his very hand. The Burgabiter dynasty had begun. His cock-stem signalled the event with a pyrotechnic single-gun salute of massive proportions.

As was his habit, Holmes was thinking, planning his next step. He slipped the letter Ollie had given him out of his breast pocket, unfolded it, and refamiliarised himself with the contents.

“Dear Alphonso,

I do apologise for not being in contact for some period of time, and I hope your excellent research progresses well. I recall you mentioning a need for sponsorship of a new project you were undertaking. The bearer of this letter Mr Ned Holmes is a personal friend of mine, and a valued contributor to the coffers of the Royal Society. His interest in electrical sciences is considerable, and as a man of independent means he is potentially very interested in adding your undertaking to his portfolio of supported investigations.

Please consider this note his formal introduction, and I trust your negotiations with him will be mutually beneficial.

Your trusted and humble friend,

Dr Oliver James Thomas, St Bartholomews Hospital, Medical School,

Giltspur Street, Smithfield, London”

Ned smiled at the phrase ‘a man of independent means’. He spoke softly to himself. “One day, one day!”

“What, who the devil...” Brighton spluttered.

“Ah excellent—you are awake Hove. We are close to Oxford station now, and it is but a short journey to our hotel from there.”

“Hotel? Dash it all Holmes—this is a rescue mission! We should be straight after this bounder—surely?”

“Ever impetuous my friend. No, in this case our arrival in the late evening would only attract the Professor’s suspicion. This is a delicate undertaking requiring some stealth.”

“Stealth, yes, I can appreciate that.” Brighton mused, as he cradled his right hand in his left.

“How is the hand now Hove? Better I trust?”

“Better then that blaggard’s head. I will wager you that, Holmes.”

Ned laughed lightly " I do not doubt it! I am not foolhardy enough to bet on a certainty.” Holmes paused, interrupted by a loud metallic squeal, “Come Hove, we have arrived, and the Randolph Hotel awaits us.”

Bernadette Machin busied herself,as she hated to be unproductive. The feather duster flicked efficiently across the reception desk. Distracted she paused.

“Gentlemen may I be of service?”

“Good evening Madam, I trust you have a reservation for myself and my colleague. I wired the information ahead, Holmes & Hove of London?”

“Indeed, welcome to the Randolph, Oxfords finest hotel. We do have rooms for you this evening, but your wire was a little unspecific about the length of your stay?”

“Alas I was, I anticipate at least tonight and tomorrow, after that I am a little unsure. I apologise for the inconvenience.”

“We shall be happy to accommodate you, I understand the vagaries of business Mr Holmes.” Mrs Machin smiled.

“You are most kind.” Ned replied.

“Here we are; rooms 107 & 108, I trust you will find them comfortable. I could see if the chef is still available, it may be a little late for a meal—but some light refreshments?”

Brighton, who had been more attracted by the nuances of the room than the conversation, suddenly took an interest. His hopes were soon dashed.

“Thank you for the offer but Hove and I have an arduous day in the morrow. A fast will clear our minds, and ready our spirits.”

“As you wish gentlemen, I bid you a good night.” Smiling graciously, Mrs Machin handed the keys to Holmes.

Minutes later Holmes relaxed in an armchair and lit his pipe. He studied the street below through the window. It was interesting that even away from the hustle of London life was still very evident, even in the late evening. Ned considered this as he drew on his pipe. He filled his expanding chest with intoxicating fumes. Humanity took too little time to reflect. It seemed to want to rush headlong from the cradle to the grave. This was life’s greatest mystery, and one he struggled with, what was the imperative? The reason for the rush escaped him.

Suddenly, he found his own imperative. For someone was outside his room! Even slightly drugged Ned’s senses never failed him. There was an intruder, or rather there soon would be. Holmes moved swiftly from the chair, and in an instant dimmed the gas mantle, casting the room into semi-darkness. He grabbed a solid looking vase and positioned himself close to the hinge of the door. Silent and stealthy he waited.

Alphonso was neither stealthy, nor silent. Despite his wealth of qualifications and careful upbringing, he acted more like an impetuous schoolboy. As Daphne bounced on his lap, her once pure body swallowing his sore, but happy manhood, he plucked grapes from a bunch held aloft for him by a gloriously naked Jane. Burgabiter soon reached his crisis, and he spayed grape juice liberally from his mouth. Other juices he deposited elsewhere.

“Jane, take her, play with her. Calm her passion, I must work. The adjustment is still not correct, she seems completely insatiable. A little too liberated, just as with you—the modulator has worked—but with unpredictable results.”

“You mean I am not perfect, I have failed you master?” Jane’s lower lip trembled.

“No, no please don’t fret child. I am sure I can repair the damage.” Alphonso cooed.

“Damage, I am damaged?” Fat tears rolled down Jane’s cheeks.

“Jane, I am a foolish master, you are almost perfect. Here look at Daphne does her body not stir you? Would you not like to touch her?”

Jane dried her tears and nodded slightly. Burgabiter took her hand and ground the grapes she held onto Daphne’s heaving breasts. Thick rivulets of juice ran down Daphne’s sculpted abdomen and mingled with her pubic hair. Smiling, Alphonso slid from under Daphne and manoeuvred himself free. He stood for a moment, watching Jane’s busy tongue grazing across the curves and slopes of Daphne’s generous bosom. He found it incredibly hard to drag his eyes from the spectacle.

“Work Professor work! Once we have this process refined, the whole of female kind will be yours to plunder. Science and logic, must rule the beast.” Alphonso chided himself.

The diminutive man pulled himself to his fullest height, straightened his stained clothes, and walked back toward his desk. Soon even the most urgent gasps and shouts from his cavorting slaves were ignored. His quill flew across the page jotting down formulae, much needed corrections to his modulator algorithm. Tonight he would find the final solution.

Holmes brought the vase down heavily, but then just managed to still his hand. One instant later and he would have laid open the cranium of the maid that entered his room.

“Mr Holmes, Mr Holmes.” She whispered urgently.

Holmes wrapped his hand around her mouth and pressed. Having stifled her scream he spoke quietly into her twitching ear.

“I do apologise, I presumed you to be an intruder. Ned Holmes at your service, how may I assist?” He gradually unclasped his hand.

“Oh I feel quite faint. Assist me to the chair...”

“Of course, I am sorry to cause you such distress. Please sit.”

“Thank you. What is that odd smell?” The maid asked.

“My pipe. Capital idea, please take a couple of puffs of this, it will calm you.”

Bemused and confused the girl picked the pipe and sucked in powerfully. Half way through inhaling she spluttered, ejecting clouds of thick white smoke from her spasming mouth and nose.

“God that is repulsive.” She coughed.

“Initially yes, but it will calm you. Soon—it is always effective.”

The girl observed Ned through watering eyes “Did you say Ned Holmes?” She asked.

“Yes I did. I am Ned Holmes.”

“Then all this is in error. I was hoping to find a Mr Sherlock Holmes. I saw the name in the guest book and thought...” The maids face crumpled, and she burst into tears.

“I am Sherlock’s cousin, Ned. Maybe I can assist you? Or give a message to Sherlock?” Holmes asked.

“My sister has vanished, a few weeks a go after a performance. I have heard nothing from her. I had hoped the great detective...” The girl sobbed once more.

“I am a detective too...” Holmes stopped in his tracks, “Wait did you say a performance? What sort of a performance?”

“A soiree, my sister Constance sings. She is quite renowned.”

“Really, and where did this performance take place, may I ask?” Holmes queried.

“It was at one of the Colleges, I can not recall which one...” The girl paused, “I feel most odd, very hot and...” Using both hands she pulled the neck of her dress open, baring the tops of her pale breasts.

“C-Constance, yes and your name is?” Holmes gazed down, his eyes motionless.

“I am Ruby sir, will you help me?” Ruby gazed up pouting, her breathing uneven.

Holmes lent forward, his lips barely brushing Ruby’s.

“Yes Ruby, I will help. And please call me Ned.”

“Ne...” Ruby’s words were cut off by Ned’s soft mouth.

Hungrily they kissed and soon they were exploring each others bodies. It was going to be yet another long, sleepless night for Holmes.

Holmes awoke in the darkened room—what a dream his pipe had caused; maybe Hove was right, and the substance was too noxious? Holmes moved his right leg, it collided with something warm, soft and very undream -like. The body next to him stirred.

“Dear lord, how did I? This is ... What’s the time?” Ruby’s voice asked, in confused concern.

“One moment,” Holmes rolled over and retrieved his hunter from the bedside table, “Twenty past one.” He answered.

“What happened Mr Holmes? How did we... End up in bed.”

“I’m unsure, I think the pipe smoke influenced us. I usually indulge alone. I never realised the herbs effect on... Well darker desires.”

“I want you to know I am a respectable woman, I do not creep into gentlemen’s rooms for—assignations.” Ruby said seriously.

“Ruby, you are blameless—this is my stupidity. I trust you are quite well.” Holmes sighed.

“Oh I should be, I have some Pinkham’s vegetable palliative. Not you understand that I habitually partake...”

“No, no, indeed, sensible precaution though,” Ned smiled, calmly, “I do most humbly apologise.”

“Well maybe as we have already sinned, it is not inconceivable that we could have some more—pleasure?” Ruby asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Do you think we should? It has been so long since I...” Holmes stuttered.

“It has only been a few hours since we...” Ruby giggled.

“You, my girl—are incorrigible, a bad influence on me.” Ned laughed, his hand rising to tousle her hair.

Ruby moved forward and welcomed Ned’s embrace once more.

Jane meekly followed Daphne, who in turn, trailed behind Burgabiter; he walked confidently ahead of them, guiding them to the rear of the steam-driven factory. Eventually he paused before a bare door.

“Your quarters, I doubt they will be up to your normal standards, but that is of no concern is it?”

“No concern at all, master.” came the simultaneous reply.

“Excellent,” laughed Burgabiter, “I wish you a good night ladies, and do try to get some rest!”

Jane heard the key turn in the lock, she was surprised that it caused her no concern at all, but after all—she was finally home. To her relief Daphne did not want still more caresses, her wanton friend slumped onto bare iron bedstead and seconds later was fast asleep.

Jane sighed, and relaxed sitting onto the second spare bed. Her eyes now focussed on the figure hunched in the furthest bed from her. The mumbling figure swayed from side to side, even in the half light the distress on her face was clear.

Jane decided to investigate the strange behaviour of the unknown room mate. As she approached the bed it became clear that the distressed woman was avidly pleasuring herself. The half-crazed eyes met Jane’s.

To her amazement Jane recognised the madness within; she shuddered. Why was this woman so distraught? The sweat coating her skin, together with her flexing muscles spoke of how close she was to spending. The woman forced out a few words between her guttural grunts.

“Please, uh, uhn—help, oh, ahh—me!”

“Help you spend?” Asked Jane, laying her hand softly on the woman’s twisting shoulder.

“No, um, huh—help, urgh, oh—me stop!”

“You can not stop?” Jane asked incredulously.

“Not, um, ah—for days, oooh, ooooh—weeks even,” the excited female reached her latest peak, “I lose track of time.” She puffed wearily, “Any second it will begin once more, I am powerless to resist.”

Jane said nothing, but she knew. She knew she should feel something other than excitement. Something more than the desire, more significant—Jane felt the need to fight. But what was she fighting?

Confused she wandered away from the nameless woman, she ignored her cries—starting once more in response to her unquenched desire for self-loving. Jane lay down and raised her hands to her wet cheeks. She looked at the tears on her fingers with sullen, yet blank eyes. Her final thought before exhaustion claimed her resonated through her slumbering soul. ‘Something is wrong. Very wrong.’

Brighton sat in the well appointed dining room, he was half way through his breakfast when Ned arrived.

“Good Morning Holmes, a little late this morning are we not?”

“A trifle, but I have my reasons Hove. I discovered another lead last night. A renowned local songstress has vanished.”

“Really. Just as in the wager you were told of, fascinating. How did you winkle this piece of information out Ned?”

Before Holmes could reply, the breakfasting pair were joined by a third person. The attractive young woman spoke quietly to Ned.

“I wanted to give you my address Ned, in case you do find any trace of Constance. My thanks to you for last night...” Ruby stumbled over her words, and the colour of her face reflected her name, “Thank you for your offer of help last night.”

“My pleasure Ruby, and of course I will try to locate and help Constance. May I introduce my associate and friend Brighton Hove. Brighton, this is Ruby, the sister of Constance—our missing songstress.”

Brighton rose, and after dabbing his mouth with his napkin he grasped Ruby’s hand. “Delighted to meet you Ruby. I can assure you that Mr Holmes will use every fibre of his being to find your sister.”

“I had no doubt Mr Hove, but thank you for your added reassurance. Good bye Mr Hove, Ned.” Ruby nodded briefly and walked away.

“I say, Holmes old man, you did not... Ahem... If you ...” Brighton’s query descended into arbitrary gestures.

“You need a little practice in framing your investigative questions Brighton. Also you should realise, that whatever, there are some questions which will never be answered.” Holmes smiled slightly.

“Of course, well I did not mean to infer anything unsavoury, Ned.”

“I expect not. Besides which it was quite savoury, and I shall relish the memory.”

“Hah! Now I know you are teasing. I should have known better than suspect you. I apologise.” Hove replied, earnestly.

“Not that it was needed, but apology accepted. No offence taken, my dear Hove,” Ned paused, and looked at the grandfather clock on the far side of the room, “Still let us hasten our breakfast, the dastardly Professor awaits us—even if he does not expect us.”

Alphonso was not pleased, he disliked being disturbed when he had planned a new experiment. He strode past his foreman and marched up to the factory entrance.

“Yes!” He barked at the man that stood framed in the doorway.

“Herr Doctor Professor Alphonso Burgabiter, I assume?”

“Was that not who you asked for? Yes, yes, it is I. Please state you business and leave, I am a very busy man...”

The man held out a letter. Burgabiter snatched it away with ill-grace. As he read his expression softened. “Now this is quite a different matter. You have and interest in electricity, and my work?”

“Oh yes, I would value the opportunity to support your research.”

“Please come in Mr Holmes. You are in luck, I am about to run an experiment. Would you like to observe?”

“Professor, are you serious? I would be delighted!” Ned replied.

Brighton crouched low in the bushes, surreptitiously observing the factory entrance. He smiled as Holmes disappeared through the doorway. Hove pulled his fob watch from his pocket, Ned told him to wait a couple of minutes. His keen eyes watched the second hand as it swept around the face of the watch. At the appointed time Hove made his way along the side of the building, keeping well away from its grimy windows. His task was simple, gain access to the rear, and lie in wait in case his services were needed.

Hove edged his way along the wall, as he did, he mused about the sign on the factory. ‘H. Clark & Sons—Steamworks’. Why would Burgabiter not have his name on the building? He did not seem the kind to be overly shy. Brighton put away his his thoughts as he made it to the rear wall, and he edged up to an inviting looking door. He turned the door knob gently, it open with ease. Brighton sighed, and then slipped into the steamworks.

It was oppressively hot inside the building. Hove guessed correctly that he must be close to the boilers. Cautiously he walked down the small vestibule towards the adjacent corridor. He poked his head into the corridor and glanced both left and right. All clear, all Hove now had to do was find a hidey-hole. He moved to the left and into the cluttered corridor. As he stepped over some loosely strewn packing, his blood froze.

“Start up the boiler Fred. Stoke the boiler harder Fred. Close it down quickly Fred. I wish this foreigner had never bought the place from Harry!”

The voice was coming directly towards Hove. Time for evasive action! Brighton gingerly reversed, and then he saw it. A door with a key sticking out of the lock. He prayed this was not the boiler room, and dashed to the door. A quick turn and the room was unlocked, Brighton hastened into the room. Once there he locked the door behind his back, and stood, eyes tightly closed waiting for the footsteps to pass.

Pass they did, and Hove relaxed with a huge expulsion of breath. He opened his eyes—and his exhalation stopped -abruptly. Before him were three beds. One of them was empty. One was occupied by a mad woman doing something unspeakable to her body with a clenched fist. And on the final one two naked women lay head-to-toe, their faces buried deeply between each other legs. Despite his horror Brighton felt his manhood rear its unwanted head. Desperately Brighton fumbled the key behind him, it fell from his desperate grasp and clattered to the floor.

The uppermost woman reared her head, and gazed lustfully at the nervous man. She wiped her wet face with her forearm, and rose from her gasping partner. “Well what do we have here? This looks like a tasty morsel...”

In seconds Daphne closed the distance between them, she fell to her knees before a trembling Hove.

“Madam, control your desires...” Brighton’s voice became shrill.

Skilfully Daphne extracted the object of her interest from Hove’s britches. She opened her mouth widely, and strained her lips to engulf his girth. Our upright hero shuddered, and closed his eyes once more. He was—undone. He had fallen into the hands, and from thence—the succulent mouth of the debauched Lady Daphne.

Holmes looked around the engine room with an analytical gaze. The large engines were expected, but some items were not. In particular the odd pipes on the end walls, and the scorch marks that adorned them. It looked for all the world as if the end wall had beeen subjected to a lightning strike. Holmes walked over and scratched at the sooty deposit with an extended digit.

“What you see are the side-effects of my experiments in high voltage static charges. To the side of you are the results.” Burgabiter said.

Holmes turned and looked at the various sized containers, some linked to one another by brass rods. The outside of the large jars were covered with a thin metallic foil.

“Ah, in the Leyden jars. They store the results of your experimentation?”

“Most astute! You obviously are well read in scientific methodology. Excellent I shall enjoy our collaboration.”

“You wish me to sponsor you?”

“I anticipate a favourable outcome to our discussions Mr Holmes.”

“Gratifying, most gratifying...” Ned nodded. He then bent to read the labels on the three largest jars.

“I see you name your experiments Professor, let me see ‘Constance’, ‘Jane’ and ‘Daphne’. Why do you choose ladies names?”

“A mere foible of mine Mr Holmes, they are my children. If we collaborate well you may meet them one day.”

Holmes fought against the wave of disgust rising in him, he smiled.

“I would very much like to, at an appropriate time—as you determine, Herr Professor.”

Burgabiter beamed, and his enlarged ego flew.

“Then Mr Holmes you shall, but you must understand—sacrifices must be made for science. Painful one’s sometimes.”

“Naturally sir, just as long as it is one with less of a shining intellect than ourselves, why should it matter?” Holmes replied, swallowing his bile.

“A man of my own heart, such vision is unusual in the British; in my sad experience. But I can see the hand of the creator has rested on your brow. As indeed it has on mine. I shall gather my creations for your amusement, one moment Mr Holmes!”

Ned watched in seething, silent fury as the Professor scurried away. He, Ned Holmes, would ensure that this madman faced the authorities, he would indeed answer and atone for his sins!

Burgabiter strode along the corridor with a spring in his step, then he abruptly halted. The key was missing from the door! Alphonso crept the final few steps to the doorway, once there he swept back his hair and pressed his ear to the door. The unmistakeable sound of a man deep in the throes of pleasure drifted through the thick wood.

“Fred! I will personally tear you limb from limb.” Alphonso growled.

“Why?”

Alphonso jumped at the sound of the voice behind him.

“Why will you tear me limb from limb? I was doing as you asked, and firing up the boiler...”

“If you are here, then who...” Alphonso’s eyes narrowed, his mind snapped shut like a man-trap, “Go fool, attend to the boilers. I have more urgent work.”

Alphonso gathered his thoughts, as Fred wandered away scratching the back of his head in confusion; an unannounced visitor and a interloper in one day. Too much of a coincidence, to neat. Life was not neat.

His decision made Alphonso smiled evily, his right arm pumped up and down. The repeated motion was soley designed to charge the concealed generator. His face grew ever more stern, his pupils mere pin-pricks, and he turned; ready to return to his unwanted guest.

“Mr Holmes, my creations are just preparing themselves to be presented to you. Maybe you could assist me, I have some settings to change.”

“Of course how may I help?” Ned asked.

“I need to access far into the engine, could you hold my other hand. It would be safer that way.” As he spoke Burgabiter opened a door on the larger of the two engines; he reached in with his left hand, leaving his right dangling freely.

Ned move forward and grasped the wavering hand. The shock he experienced on contact hurled him across the room, and from consciousness to insensibility.

Burgabiter straightened up, an awful smile played across his twisted lips.

“I mis-judged you, you Holmes are an imbecile. So be it! When I have finished with you, Mr Ned Holmes, you will be a drooling imbecile!”

Brighton gasped, he found it increasingly hard to resist the maddening nibbling, sucking attention the wanton woman subjected his organ to. Added to this, she pawed and jiggled his testicles in a most ambrosial way. Despite his control and attempted gentlemanly conduct, he feared for his sanity. His body seemed to be approaching some climatic event, the result of which he dare not consider. Desperately searching for distractions his fevered eyes scanned the dingy room.

Unfortunately the scene they settled on only acted to enflame him further. The madwoman had ceased pounding her lower region with her fist, her hand was now relaxed and lay atop her other hand. This hand was cupped around the rear of the neck of the third inmate, while she vigorously threw her head from side-to-side. This wild motion brought her extended tongue into rough and repeated contact with the nether lips of the madwoman, who melwed her approval. The lapping hussy lay face down, with her legs akimbo. This gave Hove’s incredulous eyes a perfect view of her lustful manipulation of her normally hidden treasure cove.

He snapped his eyes shut, but the scene remained, as if burnt into his eyelids. Every detail, from the deep coral gashes to the liberal quantities of secerment smearing their glistening skin. Why did these things tempt him so? What was their appeal?

A sudden change of tactic in the ministrations teasing his manhood, sent all thoughts spinning from his mind. Daphne was using her fluid tongue in long sweeps, skittering along the underside of his shaft. It was all too much! He bucked and groaned Daphne swallowed him deeply, filling her questing mouth with his emissions.

His mind cleared.

“Did I just feel the earth move? He asked.

“No,” Daphne replied in a splutter, “it is just Alphonso, he is running another experiment. He must have trapped another unwary soul.”

“Holmes! Oh my god! Ned!”

Brighton pushed Daphne away roughly, and grabbing the key he freed himself. His bulbous man-stalk bounced from one pounding thigh to the other; on each bounce it deposited a large blob of jism. Hove cared not, he cared not for his condition, he cared not for the hussies he left in his wake. No Hove only cared for one thing, His friend Ned. Hove ran, and as he ran he prayed. He prayed he was not too late!

Burgabiter lent forward, ready to throw the master switch. The twist of his wrist was never made, he was thrown sideways away from the switch by the arrival of a bullish Brighton. Alphonso struggled against his assailant, while trying to regain his breath—which had been unceremoniously blasted from him. A trio of naked women arrived to witness the flailing Burgabiter’s momentous endeavour; to throw off a livid Hove.

Try as he might he could not overcome the other mans athletic ability, then he spied a brass rod if he could just reach it...

“Jane, pass me the rod, help me to dislodge this lout.” Alphonso screamed.

Jane hesitated, her face a mask of confusion, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Now girl, your master commands it!” Alphonso barked, angrily, “Before this dolt chokes the life from me.”

Jane moved with surprising speed, she retrieved the rod and placed it in an outstretched hand. The fingers closed around it thankfully. The rod crashed into a skull with a resounding thud.

Alphonso rolled to one side, and the figure beneath him stood. Hove gazed at Jane open-mouthed. “Thank you, most helpful...”

“I had to, there is something wrong. And he is the cause of it.” Jane pointed a dispassionate finger at the slumped professor.

“You are correct, will you attend to the others while I check on Ned?”

Jane nodded, and returned to the others who cowered in fear having seen their master felled.

Hove ran over to Ned and proceeded to rouse him, by delivering stinging slaps to his face. On the third slap Ned grumbled, lifted his head, and from his seated position gazed into Hove’s midriff. “Good lord Brighton! Put it away... What a sight for a chap to awaken to.”

Brighton glanced down, his right hand cupped his ‘crown jewels’ and returned them to the inside of his britches. “Sorry Holmes, I forgot I was in a state of dis-array.”

“Apology accepted, if you can just assist me in getting out of this damnable chair...”

Holmes stood staring down at Burgabiter, contempt distorting his normally handsome face. He swung his head and steadied his gaze on Brighton. “My thanks to you Hove, I doubt if this blighter had pleasant plans for my mind. Thanks to your action I am still whole.”

“A pleasure Holmes, what do you intend to do with this madman?”

“Hand him over to the authorities. But first we must return these ladies to their virtuous selves. It is our duty before god!”

“Well said Ned. I can not agree more, none should have to suffer the ignominies these poor ladies have.”

“I think it should be a simple task to connect the correct jar and reverse the electrical flow. This will return the unaltered brain patterns back to our mis-guided girl’s.”

“Capital, if you say so Holmes.”

“Which of you is Jane?” Asked Holmes.

Jane stepped forward.

“This is the girl that saved us Holmes, she handed me the weapon which felled the villain.” Hove explained.

“Impressive, even controlled by the nefarious Professor her basic humanity surfaced. Madam I am in your debt.”

“I feel that I am more in yours Mr Holmes.” She replied smiling.

“Please take a seat in the chair, I will make this as painless as I can. Hove go back and see if you can retrieve the ladies clothes. I anticipate their nakedness will cause them some embarrassment, once they are returned to their natural state.”

Hove nodded, and walked past the huddled forms of Constance and Daphne. He smiled down at them kindly. “You will soon be restored ladies, fear not.”

Jane and Constance sat fully clothed, if a little shame-faced by the side of the steam engine. It was clear to Holmes that they had sufficient memory of their adventures to find them deeply disturbing. Ned turned and walked up to gather Lady Daphne.

Despite the short distance he never arrived at her side. As he approached her, an unknown stout man appeared, he acted quickly and with obvious technical knowledge. He activated a couple of levers, and in doing so flooded the engine room with choking steam. All in the room were blinded, although a commotion could be heard, none saw what was happening. When the steam finally thinned, Hove could make out Holmes, Ned was waving his arms furiously—in an attempt to clear the scene.

“Holmes! They have escaped! Burgabiter and the girl are gone!” Hove shouted, then he rushed after the disappearing detective.

Holmes and Hove stood side-by-side, as they watched the carriage hurtle away from the building. In the distance they heard Daphne’s voice. “Faster Fred, we are almost free!”

Holmes slapped a hand to the back of his neck and sighed.

“Never mind Ned, we can’t win them all.” Said Hove.

“True my friend, but I can’t help but think we shall meet the Professor again. Only next time he will be a more formidable opponent.”

“It may be, but for the moment—good riddance! Let us gather the ladies and leave this den of iniquity. Holmes our task is done.”

“You speak with great sense Hove, wisdom beyond your years. We have won the battle, we must await the war.” Holmes set his jaw, and walked back into the steamworks.

Holmes and Constance conversed amicably in the relative comfort of their Hansom cab. Hove and Jane had been dropped at the Randolph, and by now Hove would have accommodated the reformed lady. Constance finally asked the question that had burned in her mind.

“Why did you do it Mr Holmes? To risk you life for three mere women?”

“I have risked my life for much less worthwhile reasons. Besides which I feel that each of us, regardless of our created gender has the right to be free and happy.”

“You are a most uncommon, and very agreeable gentleman Mr Holmes.”

“Thank you Constance, you flatter me. Ah, we have arrived. Let me assist you down dear lady.”

Ruby ran along the path and enveloped her sister in a gay embrace. Together the young women escorted Ned into their home.

Holmes sipped his tea, and delighted in the girlish conversation of the pretty sisters. Ruby turned to him at last.

“Ned, I do apologise. I did not intentionally ignore you, I am just so relieved to have my darling Constance back.” She paused, a more sullen look clouded her face, “What are your plans now Mr Holmes?”

“Tomorrow I reunite another pair of devoted sisters. This time in London.”

“So this eve is your last in Oxford?”

“For the foreseeable future.” Replied Holmes.

“That is sad, for us I mean. We shall miss you.”

“The feeling is mutual Ruby. But such is life...” Ned’s voice trailed off.

“Ned do you have your pipe and odd tobacco with you?”

“As always, why do you ask?”

“There is a tinder-box on the side. I feel the need for some... Calmness. I am sure Constance would benefit from some as well.”

“But the side-effects, the dark desires.”

“I have a plentiful supply of Pinkham’s...”

Holmes smiled wistfully, he should resist. He really should.

Hove waited impatiently on Platform One at Oxford’s steam railway station. It was no fault of the GWR, no, their splendid service was running to time. It was Holmes who was late, unbearably late. Brighton stood beside Lady Jane alone, just as he had dined with her last night.

As for the embarrassment upon leaving the hotel, that had been intense. Hove had been unable to settle the bill, and had no option other than to leave a personal guarantee with a sour-faced Mrs Machin. He very much doubted that they would be welcome in her establishment once more. These dark thoughts thundered through Hove’s mind, right up to the point when Holmes finally deemed it necessary to arrive. He carried an elongated parcel wrapped in brown paper and his customary Portmanteau.

“I say Holmes, just where the merry hell have you been?” Hove burst out.

“Brighton, please! There are ladies present. I apologise profusely, I was unavoidably detained. The other reason for my lateness is stopping off to settle the account at the Randolph. I should apologise again for the circumstances I left you in. But you coped admirably as I knew you would. Mrs Machin was most understanding, once I explained about ‘the vagaries of business’".

“Is that what it truly was Ned, business matters?”

“Matters that arose subsequent to business, to be more precise.” Holmes smiled.

“Well, I personally doubt that. It is my belief that you have been over-indulging, you are late, you appeared washed-out and tired. I detect a case of over-indulgence.”

Holmes’s eye widened, “Ahem, over-indulgence in what Hove?” he asked, in a whisper.

“That damnable pipe Ned, you imbibed and lost all track of time. Probably spent the night on some cold, hard park bench—most unsatisfactory.”

Holmes sighed. “Brighton your powers of deduction are a near match for your bravery.”

“Thank you Holmes, I am glad you finally realise it,” Hove’s sentiment was interrupted by the arrival of the ten-fifteen t London Paddington.

They were greeted at the station by James. His smile of welcome extended very nearly from ear-to-ear.

“Lady Jane, welcome home! I have polished the carriage and livery in your honour.”

“Really James, such a fuss! Anyone would think I was the prodigal son.” Jane smiled.

Once Jane was ensconced in the carriage, James turned to Holmes and Hove. “Gentlemen, I and the family are deeply in your debt.”

“Pleasure James, Hove and I are just pleased to see this matter resolved. You are at least in part responsible, and you serve her ladyship well.”

James said no more, he merely touched the brim of his hat and clambered up to his seat.

Soon Ned and Brighton were back in the delightful company of Lady Helena, this time with her younger sister.

“Words fail me gentleman, you have saved not only the honour of the Grey family name, but very likely my parent’s very lives. We carry a debt, to you both, that we can never fully repay. But I trust this may compensate you for your labours.” Lady Helena handed over the draft to Holmes.

Hove’s eyes widened at the sum. “Good lord! Are you sure, why this is a small fortune.”

“Which we humbly accept with good grace, your ladyship,” Holmes glared steely-eyed at Hove, “our business is concluded. Farewell dear ladies and thank you.”

Helena watched sadly as Holmes and Hove departed.

“Jane I only hope you can meet an equivalent man of suitable standing. Then my desires for you would be complete.” Helena smiled at Jane, and then winced holding the back of her neck.

“Helena, are you all right?” Jane asked.

“Oh, it is just the stress of the past few days I expect.” Helena winced once more.

“Stress which I have caused and I will relieve. A soothing massage will assist.” So saying, Jane rose and moved to stand behind her sister. Her elegant hands descended toward Helena’s slim, pale neck. Just before they touched, the slightest of crackles caused the hairs to stand up on the back of Helena’s neck.

“Oh, that is most soothing Jane, almost stimulating.” Helena sighed.

Jane smiled and broadened the sweep of her flexing hands. As she lowered them into the folds of Helena’s dress her lips found her sisters for the first time ever. The kiss welcomed Helena into the sisterhood of love.

The two men settled back into the carriage for the journey back to Whitechapel. Holmes called out to the driver.

“Home James, and don’t spare the horses!”

“Right you are Mr Holmes.” Came the cheery reply.

“Not that it will be home for much longer...” Holmes mused.

“What do you mean Ned? And do tell me just what is in the package you have been carrying so dutifully?”

“The answer to your first question is that as of tomorrow we start looking for a suitable venue for our new venture. Belgravia I fancy. In response to your second question, well you may unwrap the package.”

Holmes passed the parcel to a somewhat befuddled Hove. Impatiently he tore away the brown paper to reveal a fine brass plate. Engraved on it in stylish copperplate script were the words:

‘Holmes & Hove Private Investigators’.

A trace of wetness glinted in Brighton’s eyes. “I say Ned this is most civil of you, most civil.”

“I wanted it to be clear that we are partners, true equals, as in fact we always have been. Any debt you felt you owed me from the battlefield was fully repaid, and more, in our contretemps with Burgabiter.” Holmes smiled, and reached in his pocket for his other faithful companion, his churchwarden.

“Holmes would you awfully mind not smoking in the carriage? Those fumes in combination with confined spaces, and yourself, make me feel most peculiar.”

“Of course my dear chap, in fact I have been considering taking up another hobby.”

“Really, which one may I ask?”

“Oh, a musical one.”

“Musical eh, capital idea!”

“Violin lessons.” The glint in Holmes’s eyes combined with the set of his mouth communicated much more than the simple words.

Brighton released a mighty guffaw, and Ned responded in kind. The carriage was filled with great mirth for a long time. Laughter born of the truest of friendships.