Sherlock Homes and the Case of The Cuckoo's Eggs

by Clayton Overstreet

A young woman who refuses to give her name asks Sherlock to investigate the deaths of several members of a group she refuses to discuss. Is it an inside job or is something far more sinister afoot?

Sherlock Homes and the Case of The Cuckoo's Eggs

By, Clayton Overstreet

There are some tales that have to wait to be told. Sometimes because a person is too young or inexperienced to understand or accept them. A story might give a child nightmares or ideas that those in charge of them think are wrong. Other times because the whole world is the same way. So it was with the following case. Sherlock decided long ago that this would never see the light of day until the world was ready for it and left instructions with my family to that effect. I have finally determined that the world is as ready as it ever may be and have thus turned this secret copy of one of Doctor Watson's journals over to the author named above.

- Gregory Gregson (Descendant of the head of Scotland Yard)

Sherlock Holmes was pleasantly surpised when the lady who made the appointment was in fact slightly early instead of fashionably late, as most of his high class female clients tended to be. Mrs. Hudson led her inside and showed her to a chair by the fire. Sherlock stood near his own chair and Doctor Watson sat at the writing desk in the far dorner of the room.

"Madam, it appears you have both a problem and a passing aquaintance with some of my own associates. It is not often that they bring me a case, particularly one in which my client has refused to divulge her identity."

The woman smiled. She had long dark hair that was ina tight bun behind her head. Her face was beautiful and required no makeup, though there was the touch of rouge, powder, and lipstick that was in fashion amongst the high class visible under her back veil. Likewise her clothes were block and she wore expensive diamond and gold engagement and wedding rings upon her hand.

"Have you recently lost someone close?" Watson asked.

She nodded. "My husband."

"Nonsense," Sherlock scoffed.

"Holmes," Watson said in shock.

He shot his companion a look. "Watson you need to stop taking the surface for granted, particularly where women are concerned. This woman has never been married and it seems highly unlikely that she will be any time in the near future."

"Sir I assure you that I was married to a brave young man who I fear died at sea…"

"Nonsense," he said again. "Your 'wedding rings', while eye catching, are hardly the type of thing a young man putting out to sea could afford and if he could would have no reason to be going off to sea, at least not on a craft that would easily sink. In addition when you move your hand the rings reveal a bit of skin under them and there is no tan line, which would be there if you were wearing them long enough to even receive confirmation of a young man lost at sea. Which means you also have not been wearing them much since the supposed death. In addition your lack of emotion, other than perceived anger at my declaring that your husband is a convenient fiction, combined with your attempt to mimic the look of a widow at your young age implies that you have gone through a great deal of trouble to avoid marriage."

The woman sat there silently for a moment and then nodded. "I see your reputation for deduction is well deserved sir," she said in a calm voice. "Is your reputation for discretion also as firmly based in fact?"

"Ma'am, provided my clients are not engaged in anything distinctly illegal and harmful to others I can assure you that Doctor Watson and I can keep a secret. I see that you have such a secret and wish to make absolutely certain that it does not get about. Yet at the same time you have already come here seeking my help, so I assume the situation is grave enough that you are willing to gamble on my silence."

"Indeed," she said, frowning. "And it is not only my own secret, but many others. I am a part of a group that appears all to often in the public eye, but at the same time have a shared relationship that could cause a scandal of epic proportions… possibly enough to bring down England itself… should it be revealed. I need assurances Mr. Holmes that you will not speak of anything we may show or tell you, should you accept our case."

Watson saw his companion's smile spread and knew the woman had said the magic words. "Miss I cannot swear that your secret will remain inviolate until I know what it is. You are already perpetrating a major deception upon all and sundry and refused to give me your name even through my trusted associate. That you are clearly concerned enough to risk the secrets you so prize, which you claim could bring down this very country, implies a grave and immediate danger. So I will instruct you to either tell me now and trust me to decide what needs to come to light or leave now and go to your backup, which I doubt either exists or is a better option."

Even through her veil the look the woman bestowed upon the great detective could have melted glass. "Very well." Mrs. Hudson came in then with a tray containing tea and biscuits. She set it down and left without a word. Holmes served the lady while she composed herself. "As I said I am a part of a group. Several members of that group have been turning up dead lately. More than sheer coincidence."

"Have you contacted the yard?"

"They are aware of the deaths and are investigating. However they have no idea that the women involved are connected in any way and the methods of death vary considerably, so it seems to us that there is a killer targeting our group, but without the knowledge that the victims were members they are unlikely to figure that out."

"And you cannot tell them of your group? Are you involved in seditious or illegal activities?"

"Not at all sir. I guarantee you that nothing we do there is currently illegal or an attempt to damage the Brittish Empire, though like many people we do hope to improve it. However socially and personally public knowledge of our groups very existence, let alone the things we are involved in, could destroy the lives of many aristocrative families, their businesses, and might cause our activities to become illegal should they be known."

Holmes picked up his pipe from a nearby table and lit it, puffing a few times while he considered. "You said 'the women involved', implying that only ladies have been killed. Does your group have ties to the groups which have been rather insistent on women's rights?"

"Among other things," she admitted. "We are extremely focused on freedoms for women and most of our members are quite well known and could lose a great deal if our association is known. Which means that unless we wish it plastered across the front page of the newspaper we need someone to investigate this without letting anyone know of their connection."

"I see," Watson said. In English law property was only held by a woman until they were married or had a male child. Until then they often could not even gain access to it unless specified ina will or other document by the man who intentionally granted her the moneys, titles, properties, and so forth. Some small groups were trying to change that, especially since Queen Victoria had assumed the were meeting with stiff opposition from many sides and women associated with such things, especially among the aristocrac, were often either shamed or sometimes attacked.

"I suspect there is more to it than that," Holmes said. "But that we will only discover what it is after I have agreed to investigate and too keep quiet of your activities. As you have assured me that you are breaking no laws, I will give you my promise of silence provided that you too are not lying to me or it is not absolutely necessary to solve the case. Does that satisfy you?"

She glanced at Watson who stood and bowed. "I too give you my word that I shall tell nobody of anything that may cause you any social discomfort madam, leaving all such decisions to Sherlock here."

She sighed. "Very well. Know that I am only here because the only thing more important to us than our secrets are our lives. Personally if there were a woman with a reputation to match yours…"

"Madam, nobody on Earth has a reputation to match mine," Sherlock said proudly. "And truthfully I am undecided on how far I support a woman's rights, having only met one woman who came close to matching myself and she was a criminal." He smiled a bit at that woman's memory. "However since lives are in danger I am willing to help you. Now tell me what you can."

"There are five women in our group who have turnd up dead over the last three years under mysterious circumstances," she said. "Mrs. Sandra Everscott, Miss Irene Dumont, Lady Deidre Fanning, Baroness Evelyn Scott, and Lucille Garret."

Holmes rubbed his chin and puffed his pipe. "I see. An elderly heiress whose husband had connections to the East India trading company, an unmarried young woman, a widow whose husband died mysteriously about a year before her, the wife of a baron, and a known agitator for women's rights who was killed only a month ago when her horse spooked and her carriage landed in the Thames."

"Holmes, you know these women?"

"Certainly Watson. Our client here, who I note has yet to reveal her name, did mention that many of her group's members are well known and as you know I do keep up with the news." He looked at the woman.

"Quite impressive Mr. Homes. Am I to take it that you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"I would prefer to be called Miss Lily. Not my name of course, but…"

"Yes, discretion. I understand." He took out his pipe and said, "Very well. I will do my own research on these women as Scotlandf Yard. Rest assured I will keep you and your friends out of it, though I will have to suggest a connection to the police."

"I have no choice but to trust you Mr. Holmes, as you have pointed out." She stood up and genteelly brushed a few biscuit crumbs from her dress.

"Please return tomorrow at noon so that you can lead Mr. Watson and myself to your group that I can do a proper investigation."

The woman balked, looking almost panicked. "Is that really necessary?"

"Madam you have told me that all of these women are involved in your group, but otherwise so unconnected that Scotland Yard will otherwise never connect them any other way. True I may find another connection between them or solve the case by tracking the murderer to any one of them, but any good detective would go to the obvious connection as soon as possible. Especially if there may be another murder at any time."

Her shoulders slumped briefly with defeat before the lady stiffened. "You are correct and I apologize for trying to make your job more difficult than needed. You have no idea how dangerous the world is for women such as us."

"Oh I know. Women's Rights advocates have been beaten or even killed merely for supporting such ideas. Husbands have turned on wives, brothers on sisters, and even other women will raise their hand to defend the status quo, if only because such upsets could ruin their own situations rather than for religious or political reasons." He narrowed his eyes. "The high positions of the women you've named plus your own obvious wealth, which I assume your 'husband' had ceded to you, indicate a well organized group of powerful individuals who might be seen as an immediate and great threat to such people who would rather see you all dead or at least denounced before you can genuinely affect the Brittish Empire and it's close allies."

"Mr. Homes I understand your need for information, but I would like to see if you can solve this crime with the information you get from the yard."

'Before you reveal any more than you have to," he said. "And I agree. If I can so do without having to get more involved with your group than need be, all the better."

"Are you certain Homes?"

"Of course Watson. If I were hired by a white supremacist group, a cult, or other group I would feel the same way. I would be interested in solving the murders of such people as I would anyone else, but have no interest on becoming immersed in their political agendas. Far too messy for me. Give me a murder any day."

The lady curtsied. "Then I shall leave you to your job and will see you again tomorrow, hopefully to hear that the case is solved." With that she turned and left.

When the door closed behind her Watson said, "Quite a forthright and self possessed young woman."

"Indeed. But what would you expect from Countess Amesbury, thirteenth in line to the throne?" He smirked. "Though her new name is Janes, since her brief 'marriage' to a young man two years ago which her family violently opposed at the time. Bit of a relief when only a few weeks later the boy was declared dead leaving them with no need to annul the marriage, though she has been in mourning ever since so a new better approved marriage has been impossible for a while."

"But you said the lad never existed!"

"Indeed. Leaving the young lady in charge of a quite large fortune, various business interests, and the title of course. So far she's managed it so well that nobody has complained much or been able to wrest it away from her. I suspect the lady has various other methods to ensure her continued good fortune as well."

"Seems awfully sketchy to me," Watson muttered. "We've seen more than a few women who have bent the law to the breaking point and done much damage in the process."

"True, but that is hardly our business at the moment. The lady could be involved in these murders I suppose, but it seems unlikely."

"Indeed," Watson said. "If she or anyone she knew was involved it would have been easier to not let anyone know of the connection between them in the first place."

"So let us go and find what we can of these deaths, as we told Miss Lily."

"Of course, though I wonder what the police will think."

000

Detective Inspector Lestrade placed the files upon his desk and eyed the other two men. "What makes you think these deaths are connected?"

"Nothing in particular," Holmes said. "At least nothing I have proof of quite yet that I would bring to the yard. I need to see the details before I even begin to out it all together."

Lestrade snorted, not believing it for a moment. "Don't think you're the only person to put together the death of notable ladies. We haven't announced it to anyone yet, but we do see patterns ourselves sometimes you know. Seven aristocrative women have been killed over the last five years that we know for certain were murdered."

"We only asked about five—" Watson began.

Holmes raised a hand, cutting his assistant off. "Meaning there may have been others?"

"Even the aristocracy dies and sometimes suspiciously," Lestrade said. "As do their servants, friends, and associates."

"True, a full search of all such people would be time consuming and pointless. If I can find a real connection between these seven you've provided and track the perpetrator down I suspect it is likely that you and the rest of the men at Scotland Yard will be able to close a few other cases as well. You are certain these were all murders?"

"Yes. Some obvious murders and others made to look like accidents, but with some mistakes. Lucille Garret for example would have been considered that if we had not noticed the small bullethole in her horse's flank when it was dredged from the river. We had to look into her death quite thoroughly. She has… had… connections. Though until you mentioned it we had not connected her to these others. Nor the heiress Sandra Everscott. Neither of them are royalty after all and we had nothing to connect them to the others."

Holmes flipped through the two additional files, Jean Le Pouf and Veronica Stanwick. An unmarried descendant of French nobility whose title and lands technically stopped existing durring the French Revolution, but whose family had remained solvent and in high society regardless, and a lady whose husband's ancestor was a minor duke in Ireland who had made quite a splash with various scandals in the papers usually involving large parties with lower classes.

"Aside from being women what could possibly connect them? And why would any one person want to kill all of them all?"

"If I knew that I would hardly have to investigate," Holmes said sardonically.

"Yes, I suppose it would be easier if the killer came in and confessed, but sadly those kinds of cases are few and far between."

Watson picked up Lucille Garret's file. "I see that Ms. Garret has had more than a few run ins with the police."

"Nothing we cared too much about," Lestrad admitted. "Mostly agitating crowds and openly advocating women's rights She was only arrested and prosecuted because she upset some very powerful men and little came of it. To tell the truth the lady made a lot of sense, especially about women being beaten. At the same time nobody was too surpised to find out she had been killed. Unfortunately we have no shortage of suspects and very little evidence to go on. Her driver was found drugged in the stable, though nobody noticed anything wrong when the carriage left, and since she was not where anyone expected her to be we think whoever took his place was involved." He paused. "You don't think Moriarty might be involved, do you?"

"No, I do not," Holmes said. "While several people, maybe even a large network, may be involved this has been going on for at least five years. Moriarty has never taken that long to bring one of his plans to fruition and if he had that kind of time to waste, I doubt any of us would be here now because no evidence of such deaths would have ever been found. The man may be a deviant fiend, but stupid he is not. The only reason I could see for him to even be involved in this would be to gain wealth or other property, but then why kill the women who by the laws of the land gain nothing? The unmarried women left their wealth to nobody I can deduce would have anything to do with such a criminal and the surviving husbands have given you no reason to believe they needed their wives dead for their money or any other reason except possibly the personal, correct?"

"No," Lestrade said. "With no other suspects we of course looked into the husbands, some of whom had cool relationsips with their wives and others who were quite congenial. None of them had outstanding debts or any others we could find or suddenly transferred any large sums of money to anything suspect."

Holmes frowned. "Lucille Garret's death strikes me as done in haste. As you said most of these could be accidents, except the first Miss Jean Le Pouf, who was shot and robbed in an alleyway after a night at a theater in London. Hmmm. I see she's from Paris…"

"Something on your mind?" Watson asked.

"The begnings of a suspicion Watson, but nothing solid yet." He looked at Lestrade. "I may need more information as I find more victims of this perpetrator, but for now I will simply think on these files. I am becoming convinced that these deaths are indeed connected."

Lestrade nodded. "If you think you can find whomever it is behind all this I for one would be grateful. We've had a lot of complaints from on high and a few people worried about who may be next. We're only left alone because the rich think us all idiots down here and because nobody else suspects they are connected. If they did the nobility would be in a panic."

"Indeed." Holmes shook hands with Lestrade and he and Watson left. On the street Holmes said, "It seems that our young lady may not have been exagerrating the dangers of this case."

"You mean that someone may be trying to eliminate the aristocracy?"

"No, that would hardly be an issue. Once something like that got far enough along the culprit would easily be caught or at least thrwarted. No, I suspect that there is some secret at the heart of it all that would cause much more trouble for our supposed 'betters' as a whole."

"What could that be?"

"I suspect that we will find out tomorrow Watson, when Miss Lily takes us along to meet the rest of her group. I'm afraid our attempts to stay out of their private business has failed."

000

Miss Lily stood in the doorway of 221 B Bakerstreet. Holmes said, "Miss, one thing before we begin. Are either Jean Le Pouf and Veronica Stanwick members of your group?"

"Not that I know," she said. "Though we have been in existence since the sixteen hundreds and currently have over three hundred members."

"Do you keep a list of members?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then I will have to see it," Holmes said. "I have a cab waiting. You may give the man directions."

Miss Lily stood up straight. "I will give your man directions most of the way. We will have to walk the last mile. We can take one of the carriages at… the place we are going… to return home."

"Someone you trust," he surmised. She nodded. "Very well. The occassional walk does a man good, especially in the country."

She gasped. "How did you know it was not in the city?"

"In the city it would be less conspicuous to be dropped off outside the place, even if you switched cabs once or twice along the way. Besides with your dedication to secrecy connecting walls and busy streets would be intolerable when, with the kind of pocket money the women we already know about have, a priavate place in the country, which could be more easily monitored for unexpected visitors and watchers, would be much more to your liking."

"Yes, though there were other reasons. Privacy is one. Openness is another."

Watson nodded. "I understand completely. In the army rigid rules were one thing, but you would be amazed what the boys got up to on leave that they would never admit to officers or even the general public."

"The army has nothing on the aristocracy."

Sherlock nodded for her to lead the way to the waiting coach, curtailing any discussion or argument.

000

The sign over the door of the large estate was small and carefully carved from wood. "Carson's Boardinghouse For High Society and Noble Ladies. No Men Allowed." Sherlock spent several minutes staring at the front of the house and the thick line of trees, vine covered spiked fenses and bushes, at least twelve feet high in the lowest spots, that went from the edge of one wall to the other. Beautiful and well maintained, but he noticed that even the lowest tree limbs were high enough that a ladder would be required to reach them and that the plants were all covered in sharp thorns including the trees. Peering through the leaves Holmes saw layers of them that extended probably the entire depth of the house.

"Quite the fortress you have here." Holmes looked at the lady who was sweating, wearing black with heels and walking a mile from a crossroads even on a cobbled road not being easy. "I suspect that even if one got past the bushes you have other defenses less kind."

"The Burmes tiger traps were dug mostly out of interest. The tigers we use to guard the grounds at night are kept out of them." Miss Lily looked at the two men. "I assume you two will be perfect gentlemen."

"Of course," Watson said instantly.

Sherlock nodded. "My friend and I are never anything else."

"Sadly that's probably the best we can expect of you," she said cryptically and lled the way to the door. Next to it was a small bell, which she rang.

A peephole opened and an eye peered through. "Did you come along the cobble path?"

"Not today," Lily said. "I wasn't in the mood."

There was the sound of a series of heavy locks and bars being undone. A middle aged woman in a nun's robes with a face like a bulldog Neither man could help noticing that she also had impressive muscles that her loose robes failed to hide when she moved. Not unusual when you knew the nuns, many of whom did hard labor in their convents or spent their free time on healthy exercise. It was more than a little intimidating, especially if you ever attended a school where such women were allowed to cane anyone who stepped out of line.

"Do we have to let them in?" She growled.

"Full access. All three levels, Sister Georgina. Victor's orders." The nun reluctantly stepped aside and let them in.

The house was big and the first floor mostly empty except for two large stairways that led up and out of sight. Muffled sounds came from upstairs, barely audiable and probably from behind closed doors with additional soundproofing. Holmes and Watson had been in louder monastaries when the residents were practicing vows of silence. Only a few candles were lit, implying that on a regular basis the first floor was rarely used.

"I will need the complete list of your members," Holmes said. "Past and present."

"I'll have to get them out of the library," the nun said, as if she were being put to great inconvenience. "It'll take a little time."

"I'll show them around the grounds," Miss Lily said. "Best to get it out of the way, don't you think?"

"I think we should kick them out the door now," Georgia grumbled. Then with one last venemous look she turned and stomped off.

Without a word Lily led them through the house, past the doors leading to servant's areas and kitchens, behind which voices could actually be heard. Watson saw Holmes taking in every detail as they came out of the dim room and into the bright sunlight.

The outside was much different than the inside. There was a large patio with the kind of tables and chairs one might see outside a french café, dozens of women sitting at them. All in excellent clothes except for maids and other female servants moving between tables or standing at their mistress's sides to serve tea or perform other duties. Their ages ranged from young girls around ten to old women wrinkled and bent with age. In the distance was a small playground where younger girls, toddlers and babies, were playing while governesses and turtors and the occassional parent watched. Mixed in among them in dark suits were maybe a half dozen men.

A quick look back at the house showed the other side of the hedge followed by a deep pit that went all around it, as well as several feel of susiciously smooth grass that Watson's insticts told him looked like they rarely saw footprints for a reason. He followed it with his eyes until it disappeared into a second layer of trees and bushes, not as thick as the first, but definitely concealing. Between them were glimmers of reflected sun off of some kind of pond of lake and movement that implied people were back there too.

The women stopped talking for a moment and stared at the two men, some with fear and others with at least as much distaste as the nun who had "welcomed" them in. Lily waved them off and defiantly the women turned back to their tea and talk, pointedly ignoring them hough with a few glances from all corners. "Forgive the interest, but you are the first men to be allowed in here in four hundred years."

"What of those gentlemen?" Watson asked.

"Watson, notice the lack of Adam's apples among them," Holmes said, walking through the tables as the other two followed him.

"Oh," Watson said as a few gave him dirty looks. "But that one has a moustache…"

"False," Holmes said. "Though that one appears to be real, if a bit whispy. However bearded ladies are not unheard of, even outside of a circus side-show." He looked at Lily. "The young lady in the corner… wearing the white lace dress and the lace choker around her throat. I believe she violates your "No Men" policy?"

Lily blushed. "It's more an honorary thing. She was raised in Belgium as a woman and enjoyed it so much that when her parents revealed the truth she preferred to stick with it. Men loved her and she had many suitors. By sheer coincidence the man she eventually chose to marry turned out to be a crossdresser himself and was actually a woman raised as a man from Australia. The two have three children and are quite happy."

"My word!"

"Watson, I am surprised at you. When dealing with women in search of equality the wearing of the clothing usually reserved for the opposite gender is hardly surprising. In Ireland and Scotland men wear kilts after all and in Japan men and women both wear Kimonos. The Greeks and Romans wore togas whatever their gender. I myself have dressed as a woman when a case required it of me. I believe in some ladies' schools they have dances where a full half the girls must dress in men's evening wear to accompany their "dates" and while practicing dancing."

"Ah, those were the days," Lily sighed.

Holmes looked around. "Why are there so many young women paired with the older ones?" At some of the tables there were as many as three to five young girls daintily sipping tea with one older woman of at least twenty-five and often quite older.

Lily blushed. "It is not my preference. I prefer companions my own age, but younger ladies are often… taken care of by the older. We call the elder women nightingales and the young canaries."

"I see," Holmes said. "On a case some time back we learned a great deal about the training of canaries. Not all sing well so they are often taught to do so. Sometimes a person plays a flute for them to imitate, other times better singing elder canaries are introduced to teach them, and commonly they are placed with a nightingale which naturally sings better than them so they may learn from that." He looked at Lily. "Were you such a canary in your youth?"

"No, I was introduced to this group by a tutor of mine one day when I accidentally held my fan backwards. She immediately chastised me and accidentally revealed that such was used by certain women as a sign. She resisted telling me more until I threatened to go to my parents. Then she revealed everything. Some time later while taking dancing lessons I realized that I… belonged among such women."

"Didn't like dancing lessons, eh?" Watson asked. "Can't say I cared for them myself."

"Quite the contrary Watson, I believe she liked dancing with the other girls in her class quite a bit. Particularly up close and slow dances."

"Oh more than that," Lily said with a mischevious smile. "I see you begin to grasp. Perhaps your confused friend will understand when we reach level two." She led them away from the tables and towards the trees. There was a dirt path between them and once they got inside the world was different. There was indeed a small lake. Around it there were blankets spread out in a few places, where two or more women were picnicing. They seemed happy and care free, not even noticingf the group that had joined them. In the lake there were ladies swimming and Watson blushed as he realized that many of them were doing so without clothes. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. Many of the women were holding hands and to his shock, some exchanged kisses.

"Holmes! My word, those ladies are…!"

"Indeed they are Watson. And suddenly the need for secrecy becomes more than clear." He looked at Lily. "You are all—!"

"Inverts! Lesbians! Perverts!" Lily giggled as if she were a young girl caught using a bad word. "Oh yes Mr. Holmes. Gaze upon a world blessedly free of men. Where a woman doesn't have to wear a corset unless she wants to. Or give up her life to have children and sew lace or be nothing but an ornament unless she wants to!"

"No desire for a husband?" Watson asked.

"Oh yes, husbands are quite useful," Lily said.

"Dead husbands with no family who can make no demands on your wealth," Sherlock said. "Husbands who are like you and to hold off suspicion need a wife they can trust… and as such give them free rein in their own endevors. Husbands who, under their suits and bowler hats, are just as female as their wives though the world suspects nothing and could hardly prove it if they did. Husbands who are constantly absent leaving their wives in the company of other ladies, be they friends, servants, or aquaintences from the tea room we walked through to get here." He paused. "Or husbands who can be bumped off if they become a problem."

"My god," Watson said. "I… I never imagined such a thing."

"So few do," Miss Lily told him. "And fewer still could prove their suspicions if they did. Look at you and Mr. Holmes, two men constantly in their own company. You would be much more suspect than any of the women here, some of whom even have their own children."

"Do you hire whores as well?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

Lily shook her head. "Some ladies may do such things, but we have our positions to think of and secrecy. No such woman would be allowed here."

"True. I see what you mean now. You have a select membership, do you not? Ladies of society, nuns, royalty… all vetted by your more experienced members and tested before they get this far. Younger girls raised in the lifestyle and taught caution, possibly as daughters or as servants. None shown anything past your demure tea parties until they are completely trusted, if then?"

"At level one, propriety is our watchword. Nothing anyone could prove is done anywhere there, though there are little plays."

"The women dressed as men. The ladies I noticed who switched places with their servants." He caught her eye. "A maid's uniform and subservient attitude do not a servant make madam. One look at their hands and one could tell that some of th eladies had switched roles, obviously for their own amusement. No different than those who take on the role of man. Each to her own tastes?"

"Freedoms are certainly explored here, Mr. Holmes. Things that a proper lady could never do in public or even in their own homes."

"But which they can do on these grounds and in the sound proofed rooms on the second and third floors of the boarding house. The first area is where they practice their proper behavior, under strict control, save for the children who are carefully watched and gently encouraged in your ways. This area," he gestured around the lake. "Is more for young lovers and their respective… mates? Where they can have outings as any young couple might. Nothing too untoward or objectionable… just incase anyone should see but also as training and tests, to see if they really feel that way. You have to earn your way to level three, correct?"

"With time and experience."

"And making certain that they have done enough that revealing any of this to anyone else would implicate them too," Watson said.

"Oh yes. Can you imagine the pains we must go through to keep that secret? What would happen if we were explosed? Legal or not a woman can get killed."

Sherlock nodded. "Oh yes. I see it clearly. You are at war."

"War Holmes?"

"Call it what you like Watson. I don't know where these feelings come from among men or women, but you do encounter them in histories and legends from time to time. Men in the Trojan war were often said to have partners among the other soldiers. The Amazons of greek myth. The churches and England itself have had laws on the books for years, including the Buggery Act."

"So it is illegal," Watson said.

Lily laughed. "No!"

"Sorry Watson, but while Queen Victoria did outlaw male inverts she did not do the same for females."

"Because according to her, women would not do such a thing." Lily fluttered her eyelashed. "Awfully naïve for such a powerful and intelligent woman."

"Are you implying that her majesty…?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Lily said. "Queen Anne visited these very halls with some of her lovers in the early days."

"Regardless of her Majesty's proclivities," Sherlock said pointedly. "I note that while nowhere near all of England's noble families are represented here, and I doubt that even a huge percentage are, but there are enough that should this be discovered many families and their associates would indeed be shamed. Husbands would be forced to abandon their wives, who may retaliate by telling of their own desire for other men, or simply by saying that said husbands could not satisfy them where women could. Other men would be revealed to be women in men's clothing. Not to mention the questions surrpounding their maids, associates, friends, and children… any of which could be completely true."

"How bad could it be Holmes?"

"If the world were a rational place?" He shook his head. "Watson you fail to see the reach. We were met by a nun. Imagine the… the inquisition that would fall upon England and her colonies. The witch hunts. They would eventually discover what they were looking for. In India and further colonies they would not even wait for proof before killing those they suspect, at least the women. Here mobs would take the law intot heir own hands and do the same, some because they truly feel it is wrong and others because they would do anything to someone else to avoid suspicion falling on themselves." He shook his head. I might even go so far as to use the word 'genocide' to describe what would result."

"The French don't have a problem with it," Lily pointed out. She raised her veil and looked at them. "Would you like to see level three? We've found all kinds of new uses for old torture deviced like the rack or pear of agony that some old castles just had lying around the place."

"No need," Holmes said. "As entertaining as it would be to see women cavorting among the trees…"

"Hedge maze," Lily said.

"… like forest nymphs," Sherlock continued. "I have seen more than enough to grasp the situation and surely by now the records I requested are available. As for torture devices I too have worn a corset, so nothing including a cat-o-nine-tails would impress me either for inflicting pain or recreation. Let us return to the mansion."

They did, walking through the ladies at the tables, Watcson looking at them in a new light. "Do you think we should ask questions of them?"

"It would be pointless. Anyone involved with what we are looking for has kept their secrets in an environment of paranoia among skilled liars who have kept their own secrets publicly for their whole lives. No, we won't find what we seek out here." He strolled on inside where a table had been set with stacks of books and papers. "Miss Lily do you keep the records?"

"No, only trusted older members keep those. Though us younger girls add to the library with books and poetry. This month it's Sister Georgia."

Holmes picked up a piece of paper and ran his fingers over it. "I see… you soak the paper in scented oils so that it both smells so that you know who has accessed the library on the way out and so that it will burn quicker in the ebvent that you need to destroy the books and papers." He was obviously impressed. "Georgia, sit with us. Lily, we'll call when we are ready to leave. Open a few of those windows on the back wall and let the light in will you? I don't think we want cndles and lanterns near these papers."

They spent hours pouring over the records of the group's members. Some of the names were, to say the least, memorable. Famous women and people they had always thought were men. An impressive number over nearly three centuries, a fraction of which any historian would have given limbs to know. Sherlock pointed out that even these were probably only a fraction and Georgia admitted that some convents had similar women among many of their own numbers and all had rules against women making love to women… which Holmes said indicated that it happened enough that they needed such rules.

"Dear lord,: Watson said. "It's like we've found a whole new history of England. It's too bad we can't tell anyone."

"Agreed, but of course we gave our word and will stick with it. I think though that I have found what we are looking for." He placed a book not unlike a hotel registry before Watson. "Look here, roughly ten years ago. Then here, here, and here."

Watson's brow furrowed and then his eyes widened. "I see!"

"See what?" Georgia asked. She peered where they pointed. "They're all different names. What's the point?"

"The point is, I think we can trace where this killer is based if not who it is yet. I can say that it is possible that several of yur members are either involved or in danger. Tell me, these marks and the names under the names. They indicate certain things about your members, correct?"

"Oh aye," she said. "This indicates how long they have been here, who they have relationships with, who introduced them to the group, who they mentored, or if they have earned their way from one level to the other."

"This one indicates Nightingales and their Canaries, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"How does that system work?"

"Well some women bring their own children or other family. Girls who need to be raised in our ways."

"To both continue the practices in the next generation and to ensure that your own daughters do not betray you."

"Yes, but after a certain age they're often… given away. Some of them to tutors or teachers, but mostly to other members who are interested in younger women. Girls really." She frowned. "Most don't make it a physical relationship until they are older, but we don't condemn those who do. This is war after all and sometimes things need to be over looked in your allies. Most at least wait until the girls are of marriagable age."

"It's still practiced for forty year old men to marry twelve year old girls and treat them as work horses or to arrange marriages for newborn babies," Sherlock said. "I doubt that, given the company, many of your ladies are as badly abused as many women and even if they are I doubt it would last too long in an environment such as this. The world is hardly a perfect place madam. There was rumor about a decade back that a man called Rumpelstiltskin was calling in debts by taking women's children in exchange for loans he had given them. The fact that you women adopt and raise girls in your own image is hardly going to make me blink an eye."

The Sister looked down. "You should see what goes on in the church sometimes and is never spoken of. Say what you want of the toffs, they're nicer to the kiddies than some back alley man or women who pays for a few hours of fun with such or a powerful man who knows nobody will speak against him. At least around here. Some of them go home and do all sorts of nasty…"

Sherlock tapped the books. "I don't care about gossip and I suspect that your own people will do their own housekeeping if the system becomes too corrupt. My interest lies in this lady right here. You see the long list of names following hers? Quite a number of them in fact, especially when you consider this…"

Georgia frowned. "I suppose. But what does it all mean?"

"It means that Watson and I need to return home and make another trip to Scotland Yard and then we need to explore the source of all your problems. I suggest you and Miss Lily keep silent, for from the looks of things you still have a few cuckoo's eggs among your canaries and nightingales." He looked at her. "One more question, this one about how you people identify one another…"

000

Holmes arrived at The Sykes Theater two days later. He went to the manager's office and saw mr. Harold Sykes, a thin man with short brown hair, shaved chin, and a a sardonic grin. He was in his early forties, his hair not even graying yet. "Mr. Sykes, I hgope you don't mind if I look around your theater a bit."

"The message you sent did ask that. I have to wonder why."

"Oh I enjoy the theater, but I like to take the time to pick a particular seat before I decide on tickets. Do I sit up front, in the balcony, or somewhere in the middle among the rabble." He smiled innocently. "I won't be in the way, will I?"

"No, not at all," he said. "It's just an unusual request."

"I understand. You've been in this business long?"

"Since I got out of the army," he said cheerfully. "It was my dad's place before that. I've managed to make it quite a bit better with some variety. Dad used to insist that we only do Shakespeare and other British plays, but I opened it up to Italian opera, Russian ballet, and just about anything else you can see on stage besides burlesque. Now I've got a waiting list of some of the greatest performers in the world rotating through here."

"So I've read. Looking over your theater's history I've seen quite a few impressive shows." He turned to leave and then pause. "By the way, you have something on your cheek."

The man reached up and touched his face, peeling away a bit of wax. "That's a bit of makeup. One of the extras was out sick and I filled in."

"Do you do that often?"

"When I have to. Growing up I thought I might be an actor, but my father made such a big deal out of it, I thought I'd show him by leaving and joining the military. Then I spent five years waving flags on a ship. I realized I'd made a mistake in the first six months, but by then I was signed up and had to finish."

"We all make mistakes and have to live with the consequences," Holmes said. "Please excuse me. I know you have a show tonight and wouldn't want to interrupt anything."

Out in the theater proper Sherlock walked among the seats, sitting in some and circling others. He stood on stage, moving behind the curtains and gazing out over the imaginary crowds. Then he went back and climbed the stairs to the balconies, looking down and around, going from place to place until he had been everywhere and seen it from every angle. "So that's it."

From down blow Mr. Sykes came out from behind stage. "Mr. Holmes before you go, can I show you something?"

"Why certainly Mr. Sykes." He hurried down and over to the stage. "What do you wish me to see?"

"I like a man who takes his theater seriously," Sykes said. "I'll let you in on a little secret. Often it's hard to push your way out through the crowds when the show is over. Because I like you Mr. Holmes I'd like to show you the side exit that usually only the actors use and not until long after the show is over." He led holmes to a small door behind the stage. Just head out here and you'll be out before you know it without being stampeded by the crowds. Would you care to look?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Certainly." He stepped past Sykes and out the door. "My what a deep dark alleyway. It's like a cave in here."

There was a click of a gun behind him and he felt the barrel poke into his back. "You'd be amazed how hard it is for anyone out on the street to even hear a shot or a scream Mr. Holmes."

"So I was right. You are the one behind the murders of those women."

"If you can call them that," the man sneered. "What tipped you off?"

"A number of things, but it was the early murders. The ones that I assume were connected with blackmail. Not against the women of course, but their husbands. I already knew about your military carear in communications. Not an overly strenuous job, but one that lends itself to learning about codes and different ways to communicate. A lady of my recent aquaintence recently mentioned how she had been warned about how to hold her fan lest she give other women the wrong idea. Or the right one. In either case a fan and even a kerchief is not much different than a flag and how you hold them, wave them, or wear them… oh they can mean so many things that seem normal unless you are looking for them.

"You began to notice that some of the ladies in the audience were signalling one another. Why? I doubt you knew at first but a man who spends his time behind the stage watching people to see if they enjoy his shows and who worked in naval communications… I'm certain you broke the code soon enough and caught them meeting up to make arrangements during intermission or after the shows. Then you realized the potential for extra money to improve your theaters, get better shows, and of course your own bank account. It costs a lot to hire the best performers, even with a reputation. Money you got by threatening women and their husbands with exposure."

"Why me? It could have been anyone."

"Far from it. I was confirming that today. Most people attending a theater of obstructed views of the other patrons and would unlikely notice any such signals, let alone be able to watch them being used for any length of time. The same would be said of those on stage, both the performers and stage hands. Those in the balconies could I suppose, and they are the ones mostly using the codes, but while such rich people might expose such things as a rather viscious way of dealing a blow to the reputation of another aristocrat and blackmailing one person in your social circle for money might be conceivable. Yet not a continued effort over many years.

"Jean Le Pouf, the young French lady you killed and made to look like a simple robbery was a mistake on your part. A young lady with no man from a place where they do not condemn such things, she would have refused to be blackmailed so you killed her and took what you could get. It's happened a few times as my friends from Scotland Yard found a few records of other women in the area who went the same way. A common enough crime and one that rarely gets solved, but when one looks a pattern evolves."

"So you can't prove a thing."

"On the contrary," Holmes said. "You got greedy, didn't you Rumpelstiltskin?"

"What?"

"I don't know if you ever heard the name, but it is use being mostly among the police as a moniker ascribed to a loan shark who began lending money to young women who were able to put themselves up in the world with his money and then rather than money, which they could never hope to pay back, taking his pay in the form of young children. It was presumed they were sold to brothels or as indentured servants." The gun at his back pushed a little harder. "You had by then discovered Carson's Boardinghouse and the extremely well off clientel that frequented the place. You even moved among them for a little while in disguises. I myself have dressed as a women when needed and for you, raised among the theater as you were, it would have been easy as long as you did not draw too much attention. I don't know if you seduced or blackmailed your way in and I suppose it doesn't matter. There you were surrounded by women who were well off enough that they might pay you, but could also cause problems or even have you killed without much effort. Exposing them would be rather like throwing away money.

"Still at the same time you had grown used to the golden goose and seeing all that wealth and power in the hands of women, let alone women such as they, you began to covet it for yourself. Ah, but how to do it? Murder was unlikely to be the goal, since they could not leave you much if they wanted to and marriage was out save for careful arrangements. Such might work with others but these women have their own systems to choose their apparent spouses as well as their actual mates. Trying to mix with their husbands would either be a failure or worse you'd have to uh… join the old boy's club as it were."

"Not worth it at all," the man said. "I did a bit of spying and the things the men do… never. Not that the ladies are any better, but I could sleep with them."

"Yet they would quickly discover your true gender no matter how much makeup you used. Which is why you never made it past level one."

"How do you know that?"

"The records at the club. I know you knew I was there. The girls you have left would hardly have failed to report my arrival there." He looked over his shoulder at the glaring man. "Not that it has been easy. You've had dissention in the ranks and had to eliminate seven of the ten girls you planted among the nightingales. Only three of your little cuckoos posing as canaries remain. One of whom was the maid of a certain dead baroness whose husband I suspect will soon be looking for a new wife and who better than his ex-wife's long time lover, raised by her from a child to blossoming womanhood? An understanding young lady who already knows the Baron's own proclivities and need for a suitable wife to draw away suspicion. A wife whom I suspect will be quickly a widow and then remarry you, transferring to you the title of Baron." Sherlock turned and faced the man, the gun pointed against his chest. "And the other two as well… did the others realize what that would mean for each of them over the years? You are working on a long game that would have landed you multiple titles and fortunes, which might even make you powerful enough to influence the rest of the Carson's Boardinghouse women, transferring money, business holdings, and anything else you could ask directly into your hands."

"A possibility," Sykes said. "I hadn't actually decided yet. I may have been satisfied with the barony and of course three women at my beck and call."

"Not that it matters now," Sherlock said.

"I don't know. I pull this trigger and all your little deductions go away."

There was the sound of another gun cocking and Syke's eyes widened as he felt the barrel pressed into his head. "Pull that trigger and your corpse will fall only seconds behind Sherlock's. A man might survive a shot to the body, but rarely one into the skull."

Sykes sighed and uncocked the gun before slowly lowering it and dropping it softly to the ground. "I was so close."

Sherlock might have said something at that point, but they were interrupted by a gunshot. Syke's jerked to the side and fell to the ground. Holmes and Watson looked at the gun on the ground, unfired as was the one in Watson's hand. Looking around they saw a dark figure step out of the shadows, a smoking revolver held in her dainty hand. "Miss Lily." Instead of her black dress she wore a dark suit and bowler hat over a fake handlebar moustach.

"Mister Holmes." She looked down at the body and sneered. "It hardly seems fitting that he should die so easily, but as they say, dead men tell no tales."

"I assume you've been following me for quite some time."

"Since two days before we actually met. I have worked as an investigator myself. I'm not as good as you, but I can usually get a feel for people and I had hoped that if nothing else I might see the clues you discovered and solve the case myself before you could. We have women in Scotland Yard both in dresses and in uniform, more than able to pass for men."

"Actually you gave me many of the clues I needed. Mentioning both France's acceptance of women who love women and the fan code the way you did confirmed what I suspected about this starting somewhere other than your club. The fact that at least two of the early victims and more I discovered at the yard yesterday were not members meant that the perpetrator had to infiltrate you later rather than being a member from the start." He cleared his throat. "In the future you might want to check the credentials of the ladies who join a bit more throughly, since no doubt others might devise similar schemes. Speaking of which you should know that you have three spies among your ranks…"

"Taken care of," she said. "Once Georgia told me what you were looking at recognizing that the signatures of several of our members that never made it past level one were identical was elementary, despite using different names. Miss Dawn Gooseberry who notably had ten canaries, adopted daughters or so 'she' claimed, that she passed off on different members in the few brief months she was among us before leaving on an extended trip and never coming back."

"I think of them as cuckoos, both for the fact that such birds leave their young to be raised by other birds, much to their detriment and the way the word resembles cuckold. Well trained like street urchins that have been taught to pick pockets or play at being orphans so that the rich will adopt them and they can loot the house for their master. Some gypsies have done the same thing. Not ideal, as evidenced by his eliminating the ones who eventually turned on or otherwise failed him. I take it the last three were killed?"

"No, but they have been shipped off to homes in other countries that do not speak English under the watchful eye of some very strict mistresses. I'm sure they will be rehabilitated or at the very least kept from causing trouble."

"Which leaves us with a problem," Holmes said. "You promised me that your group was not doing anything illegal. Murdering Mister Sykes does rather break that oath."

"So would murdering you and Mr. Watson," Miss Lily said, the revolver in her hand, which still had four more shots, steady as a rock. "Something I would do…" Watson started to turn toward her with his one-shot pistol, but stopped as she flipped hers around and handed it to Sherlock, handle first. "Had not our current leader 'Victor' decided you were too useful. For now. But I am keeping my word. The group has not done anything illegal. Those girls… well they are girls and peasants at that and thus mostly property under the current laws. Shipping them off is surely not illegal, especially since they went willingly once their options were explained. I will take full responsibility for Mister Sykes' death, on the grounds that he did murder a woman of my aquaintance. No need to go into details after that, particularly with two witnesses.

"Meanwhile I hope you and Doctor Watson will keep the secret of Carson's Boardinghouse to yourselves. I would hate for something to happen to either of you should you speak of it to anyone."

"Was that a threat?" Watson asked.

"A friendly warning," the lady said. "As I said, I'm letting you have a pass. But who knows who might take offense if you were to start spreading unsubstantiated rumors? Maybe your housekeeper? A maid? A policeman? Or a man who asks no questions about why he's killing someone other than how much a lady in an alleyway is willing to pay." She looked down at Sykes's body. "Think of how this man died gentlemen and then think upon the benefits of silence."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Never the less dear lady, you need to worry about that. I promised discression and as long as you take full responsibility for your crime, I see no reason why Watson or I would tempt fate. However, what of you? You will be convicted without a doubt."

Miss Lily smirked. "Yes, of killing a murderer whom you will probably be called upon to testify about. As I am a countess with many connections I suspect I won't spend more than a few months let alone years in prison at most. If that happens it will likely be a minimum security prison for women, which are rarely crowded. I will probably do well there, don't you think?"

Holmes and Watson shared a look. "Madam, I suspect you will thrive."

She extended her arms and each man took one. "Then shall we go to jail? A lady can't just walk about. though if you don't mind escorting me I would like to stop and change into a dress. The police and judges do go so much easier on a lady."

"It would be our honor to escort you," Watson said.

"We always feel magnanimous when we close a case," Sherlock added. With one last glance at the body the three of them walked from the alley, arm in arm.

000

Later back at home the two men sat and thought about the things they had learned. Neither spoke of it, but it was indeed something to consider. All of those women, powerful and basically unfettered. There could be very little that they could not accomplish with time.

"It makes me think of that case we had a while back," Watson said at last. "Remember all that business with Thor's Bridge?"

"Ah yes, with the man's wife and his servant."

"Yes, where she sent the other woman a note to meet her on the bridge. We thought she was jealous of her husband possibly having an affair with the servant, but suppose the mistress wanted such and was refused."

"All things are possible Watson. I suspect both that the women of Carson's Boardinghouse will make a great deal of change in the world, whether anyone knows it was them or not, and that we may run into them again one day. However I've never been one to judge people as anything but individuals and will not start now." He smiled a little. "I will say that from now on I will be on the alert, maybe for a case or even if it is just for my own curiosity, should such a woman cross out sights again."

"Particularly if we are sitting in a movie theater and see a woman holding her fan the other way around," Watson said.

"True enough. But for now may I suggest we not risk the ire of those women. I have recently been contacted about a new case involving a family curse and a rather large dog…"