The Case of the Left-Handed Lady (3 page)
Read The Case of the Left-Handed Lady Online
Authors: Nancy Springer
“None. But the girl, as I have said, is thought to be in London.”
I put down my pencil to face him. “Very well, Dr. Watson, I will inform Dr. Ragostin of the particulars. But I must warn you that he is unlikely to take the case.” My very first case, an impossible predicament: to find myself? I could not possibly touch it.
“Why ever not?”
I had already worked out the answer. “Because he does not care to deal with intermediaries. He will ask why Mr. Sherlock Holmes has not come here himself – ”
Dr. Watson interrupted with some heat, although his strong feeling was not directed at me. “Because Holmes is too reserved, too proud. If he would not even tell
me
the reason for his distress, do you think he would divulge it to a stranger?”
me
the reason for his distress, do you think he would divulge it to a stranger?”
“But a fellow investigator,” I remarked mildly.
“Even worse. He would consider himself humiliated in the presence of – ” Rather abruptly Dr. Watson broke off, then asked, “For the matter of that, one must wonder, who
is
this Dr. Ragostin? Begging your pardon, Miss, um . . .”lay
is
this Dr. Ragostin? Begging your pardon, Miss, um . . .”lay
“Meshle.” Take the name
Holmes
, reverse its syllables –
Mes hol
– then spell it the way it is pronounced,
Meshle
; absurdly simple. Yet he would never guess. No one would.
Holmes
, reverse its syllables –
Mes hol
– then spell it the way it is pronounced,
Meshle
; absurdly simple. Yet he would never guess. No one would.
“Miss Meshle. I mean no offense, but I have made inquiries, and nobody has heard of Dr. Ragostin. I came here only because he claims to specialise in finding persons who are lost – ”
“Anything that is lost,” I interjected.
“But I have found no one who can vouch for him.”
“Because he is making his start, just as your friend once had to do. Dr. Ragostin has yet to earn a name for himself. But you will be interested to know that he is a keen student of the methods of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
“Indeed?” Dr. Watson appeared mollified.
“Yes. He idolises Mr. Holmes, and will be most surprised to hear that his hero has been unable himself to locate his missing mother and sister.”
Sitting forward as if his armchair had suddenly become uncomfortable, Dr. Watson cleared his throat. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “it might be because Holmes lacks interest in such cases normally. He finds them commonplace and featureless, and generally will not look into them. Why, just yesterday,” Watson added, “as I was going in to see Holmes, out came Sir Eustace Alistair and Lady Alistair, who had been there to beg him to inquire into the whereabouts of their daughter, and he had sent them away with a flea in their ear.”
I ignored the logical impossibility of one flea in one ear for two people, because my attention was all taken up by the substance. “Sir Eustace Alistair? His daughter is missing? But I have seen nothing in the newspapers – ”
Watson put his fist to his mouth and coughed. “It has been hushed up to prevent scandal.”
They feared the girl had gone off with a seducer, then.
I must investigate this matter. I knew that Dr. Watson would tell me no more – already he considered that he had said too much – but he had brought me my first case after all. I would find the missing daughter of the baronet.
Looking none too happy, Watson stood up; the interview was at an end. Reaching for the bell-pull, I rang for Joddy to come see him out.
“I wish to meet Dr. Ragostin personally,” Watson told me, “before he takes any action.”
“Of course. Your street address? Dr. Ragostin will be in touch as soon as he has reviewed my notes,” I lied.
After I copied the address, I stood to see my visitor out the door.
And after he had left, I seated myself in the armchair he had vacated, by the fire, and rather paradoxically began shivering.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
I SHIVERED WITH FEAR.
Of my brother Sherlock, whom I adored.
He was my hero. He was my nemesis. I very nearly worshipped him. But if he tracked me down, I would lose my freedom forever.
Yet – he was distraught on my account?
I could no longer tell myself that I had hurt nothing except his pride.
But what to do? If I gave Sherlock Holmes the slightest hint of my well-being, he would somehow use it to entrap me.
There was Mum to consider, too. How much time did she have left to enjoy freedom and happiness, away from the constraints of propriety and “a woman’s place,” before she departed this life? Were men the only ones allowed to have any pride?
My other brother, Mycroft, entered my thoughts only briefly; I did not care whether his pride were hurt. Although quite as intelligent as Sherlock, otherwise he rather resembled last night’s left-over cooked potato, cold and inert. He did not care for me enough to try to find me.
But there was another consideration: Why should Mycroft have troubled himself to tell Watson about me?
What if it were all a lie? What if Dr. Watson’s visit were a ruse, and Sherlock had himself sent his friend to spy upon me?
Nonsense. My brother couldn’t know –
But he somehow
did
know what he should not remotely know, that I had money. And he had perhaps noticed that Dr. Ragostin had taken the offices of the so-called “Astral Perditorian” whom I, Enola Holmes, had helped to send to prison. What if Sherlock Holmes sensed a connection?
did
know what he should not remotely know, that I had money. And he had perhaps noticed that Dr. Ragostin had taken the offices of the so-called “Astral Perditorian” whom I, Enola Holmes, had helped to send to prison. What if Sherlock Holmes sensed a connection?
Unlikely, I decided after weighing this thought in my mind. More likely, if Sherlock Holmes himself had sent Dr. Watson to spy, it was out of curiosity, to assess whether the “Scientific Perditorian” might afford him competition as a detective.
In which case, might it be untrue that my brother was suffering?
But I could have sworn it was genuine concern I had seen in Dr. Watson’s eyes.
Confound it, how was I supposed to know what to do about
family
? Spiritualist levitation seemed less mysterious to me.
family
? Spiritualist levitation seemed less mysterious to me.
I wished I could consult with Mum. However, I had not seen her since the fateful day last July when she had taken her unexpected departure. Indeed, I did not know exactly where she was. I had been in touch with her only through the personal advertising columns of the
Pall Mall Gazette
(her favourite newspaper, cultured yet more progressive than the
Times
),
Modern Womanhood
, the
Journal of Personal Rights,
and a few other publications, using either ciphers or codes. For instance, when I had hypothesised that she was wandering with the Gypsies, I had placed the following:
Pall Mall Gazette
(her favourite newspaper, cultured yet more progressive than the
Times
),
Modern Womanhood
, the
Journal of Personal Rights,
and a few other publications, using either ciphers or codes. For instance, when I had hypothesised that she was wandering with the Gypsies, I had placed the following:
My Chrysanthemum: The fourth letter of true love, the fourth letter of purity, the first letter of thoughts, the fourth letter of innocence, the first letter of fidelity, the third or fourth letter of departure, and the first letter of the same. Correct? Ivy
The chrysanthemum had become our code word for “Mum,” and the message itself referred simply to certain other blossoms as put forth in
The Meanings of Flowers,
a reference book Mum had given me – such symbolism was common knowledge amongst people who exchanged floral greetings. In my personal advertisement, then – a reverse bouquet, so to speak –
true love
stood for the forget-me-not,
purity
stood for the lily, and so on to include pansy, daisy, ivy, sweet pea, and sweet pea again. The fourth letter of
forget-me-not
was
G,
the fourth letter of
lily
was
Y,
et cetera, to spell out
Gypsies.
The chrysanthemum had become our code word for “Mum,” and the message itself referred simply to certain other blossoms as put forth in
The Meanings of Flowers,
a reference book Mum had given me – such symbolism was common knowledge amongst people who exchanged floral greetings. In my personal advertisement, then – a reverse bouquet, so to speak –
true love
stood for the forget-me-not,
purity
stood for the lily, and so on to include pansy, daisy, ivy, sweet pea, and sweet pea again. The fourth letter of
forget-me-not
was
G,
the fourth letter of
lily
was
Y,
et cetera, to spell out
Gypsies.
Within a week Mum had replied, by a similar code of flowers, “Yes. Where are you?”
And I had answered in like wise, “London.”
Such had been the extent of our communication. I very much wanted to see my mum, yet hesitated due to the strength of my feelings towards her, not all of them kind.
Not all of them sure, either. Therefore, I would rather have located her in my own good time and on my own terms.
But now, such upsetting news of Sherlock . . . it was necessary, I decided, to put my own reservations aside.
I wanted to consult with Mum. I
needed
to consult with Mum.
needed
to consult with Mum.
But I must contact her most cautiously.
I waited until I got home, away from Joddy and the other servants.
While I could have lodged in the comfortable upper floors of the Gothic edifice that housed Dr. Ragostin’s offices, for caution’s sake I did not. Instead, “Dr. Ragostin” rented those rooms to a variety of rather Bohemian lodgers (thus stabilising my finances), while I had found a quite humble room in the East End, where my brother was not likely to look for me – he would not think his sister would ever venture into such slums. In my run-down place of residence, a decrepit house cramped between smut-coloured tenements, I was the only lodger. The landlady, a sweet, elderly widow named Mrs. Tupper, was blessedly deaf, requiring one to shout into a speaking trumpet she held to her ear. Therefore, she could ask me few questions. The only servant was a daily girl-of-all-work whom I never saw. In every regard the situation was ideal for concealment.
Therefore I waited until evening when, safe in my modest bedchamber, comfortably divested of corset, bust enhancer, and the frills, false hair, and facial inserts of Ivy Meshle, I relaxed near the fire in a dressing-gown, with my feet up on a hassock to escape the cold draughts along the floor.
Pulling a candle closer to my side, I began to compose a cipher to Mum.
DOGWOOD FOUR IRIS TWICE THREE VIOLET AND APPLE BLOSSOM HOW MANY?
This message must be, I had decided, different than previous ones and more difficult. How did brother Sherlock know I had money? This worried me greatly. As he knew that much, had he somehow deciphered, and attributed to Mum and me, earlier communications in the “agony columns” of the
Pall Mall Gazette
?
Pall Mall Gazette
?
I took what I had written so far and broke it into groups of three letters:
DOG WOO DFO URI RIS TWI CET HRE EVI OLE TAN DAP PLE BLO SSO MHO WMA NY?
I hadn’t mentioned Ivy, for caution’s sake, but hoped that Mum would nevertheless recognise the cipher as being from me by its code of flowers.
Iris
symbolised a message.
Iris
symbolised a message.
But also – fervidly I hoped Mum would grasp how the code had changed this time – an iris was unique for having three large petals on top and three on the bottom, a dogwood bloom just as unique for having four petals, and a violet and an apple blossom both had five. I had mentioned the violet because it stood for faithfulness. And the apple blossom because sometimes when I was a little girl Mum would cut an apple crosswise to show me the five-pointed star inside, and explain how the apple and its seeds grew from the five-petalled flower.
Having broken up the message, I reversed it:
NY? WMA MHO SSO BLO PLE DAP TAN OLE EVI HRE CET TWI RIS URI DFO WOO DOG
Scowling, I eyed the question mark. It would make the cipher too easy to solve. I replaced it with what Mum would call a “null”:
NYX WMA MHO SSO BLO PLE DAP TAN OLE EVI HRE CET TWI RIS URI DFO WOO DOG
There. I imagined Mum would solve this easily, as it was not unlike the first cipher with which she had perplexed me. But this was a mere preliminary to make Mum think about the number five.
I hoped she would then understand that one can take the alphabet and divide it into five parts:
ABCDE
FGHIJ
KLMNO
PQRST
UVWXYZ
And each part has five letters, except the last; but Z is used so seldom that it can be lumped together with Y.
I then wrote my real message to Mum, LONDON BRIDGE FALLING DOWN URGENT MUST TALK, and enciphered it thus:
L
is in the third group or line of letters, and it is the second letter there: 32.
O
is in the third line, fifth letter: 35.
is in the third group or line of letters, and it is the second letter there: 32.
O
is in the third line, fifth letter: 35.
And so on.
323534143534 124324142215 2444 21113232243432 14355334 514322153445 33514445 45113231
I considered running all the numbers together and letting Mum separate the words afterward, but decided against it. She would have enough difficulty with the cipher (third letter second line, or third line second letter?) and decoding the London Bridge reference, meant to tell her where the trouble was and where I wanted to talk with her.
My final draft read: NYX WMA MHO SSO BLO PLE DAP TAN OLE EVI HRE CET TWI RIS URI DFO WOO DOG 323534143534 124324142215 2444 21113232243432 14355334 514322153445 33514445 45113231
This I copied several times for several different periodicals, triple-checking each copy for accuracy before folding both ends towards the centre and affixing the overlapping edge with wax – ordinary white candle-wax, as I had no colourful sealing-wax. After addressing the blank sides of the papers, I set them aside.
Other books
With Love and Quiches by Susan Axelrod
Rich Man's Coffin by K Martin Gardner
Sands of Sorrow by Viola Grace
Juice by Stephen Becker
The Overlord's Heir by Michelle Howard
Bones of Paris (9780345531773) by King, Laurie R.
Armadillos & Old Lace by Kinky Friedman
Mary Roberts Rinehart & Avery Hopwood by The Bat
McDonald_MM_GEN_Dec2013 by Donna McDonald
Roads to Quoz: An American Mosey by Heat-Moon, William Least