Sophia Holmes and the Abominable Bride (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Ten

We arrive at the Carmichael's in the late afternoon and immediately get shown into the living room to speak with Sir Eustace.

"Somnambulism," he says upon being questioned, with the exasperating evasion of admitting weakness that seems to be common in men in both eras.

"I beg your pardon?" John asks.

"I sleepwalk, that's all. It's a common enough condition. I thought you were a doctor. The whole thing was a bad dream."

Denial of seeing the impossible. Sounds familiar. 

"Including the contents of the envelope you received?" I ask.

Sir Eustace tries to laugh. "Well, that's a grotesque joke."

"Well, that's not the impression you gave your wife, sir."

"She's a hysteric, prone to fancies."

"No," dad says, suddenly stopping his pacing.

"I'm sorry? What did you say?"

"I said no, she's not a hysteric. She's a highly intelligent woman of rare perception."

"My wife sees terror in an orange pip."

Dad walks closer to Sir Eustace. "Your wife can see worlds where no-one else can see anything of value whatsoever."

Sir Eustace's lip curls as he speaks sarcastically. "Can she really? And how do you 'deduce' that, Mr Holmes?"

"She married you," dad says, and my lip twitches. "I assume she was capable of finding a reason." Sir Eustace begins to angrily surge towards him, but stops short as John moves in closer. "I'll do my best to save your life tonight, but first it would help if you would explain your connection to the Ricoletti case."

His hesitation before speaking is telling. "Ricoletti?"

"Yes. In detail, please."

He pauses again, momentarily. "I've never heard of her."

"Interesting. I didn't mention she was a woman. We'll show ourselves out." Sir Eustace swallows nervously as we start to leave the room. "I hope to see you again in the morning."

"You will not!"

"Then sadly I shall be solving your murder. Good day." As we walk out into the entrance hall, dad pulls a notebook from his trouser pocket and writes out a note. 

"Well, you tried," John says.

Dad ignores him and instead tears out the page and hands it to an approaching footman. "Will you see that Lady Carmichael receives this? Thank you. Good afternoon."

"What was that?" I ask.

"Lady Carmichael will sleep alone tonight, on the pretence of a violent headache. All the doors and windows of the house will be locked."

"Ah, you think the spectre ..." John starts, obviously preferring my theory until dad throws him a disapproving look, " ... er, the Bride will attempt to lure Sir Eustace outside again?"

We reach the door and collect our coats and hats. "Certainly. Why else the portentous threat? 'This night you will die.'"

"Well, he won't follow her, surely?" John asks.

"It's difficult to say quite what he'll do," I say thoughtfully. "Guilt is eating away at his soul."

"Guilt? About what?"

"Something in his past. You saw how he reacted when we mentioned Ricoletti. The orange pips were a reminder."

"Not a joke."

"Not at all," I say, shaking my head. "Orange pips are a traditional warning of avenging death, originating in America. Sir Eustace knows this only too well, just as he knows why he is to be punished."

"Something to do with Emelia Ricoletti."

"I presume."

"We all have a past, Watson," dad says.

"Hmm?"

"There are no spectres in this case save for the ghosts we make ourselves. They are the shadows that define our every sunny day. Sir Eustace knows he's a marked man. There's something more than murder he fears. He believes he is to be dragged to Hell by the risen corpse of the late Mrs Ricoletti."

John looks around thoughtfully for a moment, then turns back to dad. "That's a lot of nonsense, isn't it?"

"God, yes. Did you bring your revolver?"

"What good would that be against a ghost?" 

I grimace. It would do a lot of good, if only we had brought salt pellets.

"Exactly," dad says instead. "Did you bring it?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then come, Watson, come. The game is afoot!"