Young Sherlock Holmes_ Fire Storm - Andrew Lane [46]
‘Thinking of a career in the theatre?’ Stone asked, indicating the book. ‘I advise against it, the way I would advise against sticking your hand inside a dog’s mouth and pulling on its tongue. The pay is bad, the hours are long and unsociable and society does not value those who entertain it. I should know – I’ve spent more time than I care to think about in darkened theatres playing for small, unappreciative audiences.’
‘I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up,’ Sherlock said honestly, ‘but I like the idea of being able to change my appearance so that nobody knows that it’s me.’
‘To be honest,’ Stone admitted, ‘there are times when I’ve been grateful for the ability to slip past an irate landlord or a former girlfriend without them realizing.’
‘You know about theatrical make-up?’ Sherlock asked, intrigued.
‘I’ve picked things up, over the years, working in theatres – or, more accurately, spending time in dressing rooms with young and beautiful actresses. Working for your brother, as well. There are some striking similarities between acting and spying.’ He smiled, but there was little humour in his expression. ‘Of course, dying on stage in front of an unappreciative audience is nowhere near as painful as dying in a back alley of a foreign city with a knife between your ribs.’
‘Can you teach me?’ Sherlock asked.
Stone shrugged. ‘I could give it a go. You’ll need a certain amount of raw artistic talent, and a lot of practice – not a million miles away from what you need to play the violin properly, in fact. Tell me what you already know, and I’ll see what I can add.’
They spent the rest of the journey with Stone giving Sherlock tips on the art of theatrical make-up. He brought the dry facts in Sherlock’s book to life with funny anecdotes of times when he’d seen false moustaches slide off actors’ faces or watched their make-up streak as they perspired until they looked like some bizarre striped animal. Sherlock found himself laughing, but also learning at the same time, and the rest of the journey seemed to flash past in moments.
Arrival at Waterloo was becoming a regular occurrence for Sherlock by now. The station, with its soaring iron arches and its glass panels, was a familiar sight, as were the crowds of people in all kinds of clothes, from black tailcoats to bright red-and-yellow checked jackets.
Rufus Stone led the way outside. ‘We need to get to King’s Cross,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It’s on the other side of London. Trains leave there for the north of the country.’
Sherlock looked back over his shoulder, wondering if he would see the two Americans, but if they had been on the train then they were hanging back, keeping out of sight. Perhaps they had stayed at Guildford to ask questions about a big American and a girl who would have been travelling a day or two before.
A cab was waiting directly outside the station, ignoring the traffic that was struggling to get past. Its driver kept shaking his head at the various people who tried to hail it or climb in. Sherlock assumed that it was waiting for someone important, and he was prepared to walk right past it, but Rufus Stone walked straight up and opened the door. Instead of waving him away or shouting at him, the driver jumped down and took his bag, then looked at Sherlock and Matty expectantly, obviously wanting to take their bags as well.
Sherlock had been encouraged by his brother Mycroft never to hail the first cab that he saw – just in case it was a trap or a trick of some kind – so Stone’s behaviour surprised him. The violinist was so confident, however, that Sherlock found himself leaving his bag on the pavement and following him inside. Matty did the same.
Everything became clear when Sherlock found that he was settling himself opposite the impressive bulk of Mycroft Holmes.
‘Ah, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said. ‘Welcome. Please make yourself comfortable. And young Mr Arnatt – perhaps you could squeeze yourself in beside me. I believe there is enough room, if you don’t mind pressing yourself up against the far side. Do be careful of my top