A/N: Sorry about publishing another story about Emily when I haven't even posted past the first chapter of WITF yet, but the muse struck while reading my new book on Haunted London. Title is from a quote by Sextus Propertius, for those who want to know. It reads, "There is something beyond the grave; death does not end all, and the pale ghost escapes from the vanquished pyre." And yes, this will be an ongoing series with sporadic updates, sometimes three times a day, sometimes once a month. Anyway, hope you enjoy! -SWS
Chapter 1: Things That Bleed In The Night
"It is against all reason that you waste your time upon this subject." Sherlock Holmes was still attempting to discourage me from visiting the famously haunted areas of London.
It would be fruitless for me to argue that I knew that spirits of the supernatural world existed, so I replied with the same response which I had always given in this situation. "Perhaps it is against reason. But if I spend my night upon this activity, I might attempt to prove the story wrong. Then no one shall bother to waste their time with it."
No matter how many times I used this excuse, it was never denied, for Holmes adored the pastime of proving things wrong.
He finally nodded. "Very well," he said. "But maintain the goal to be back by breakfast time, or we shall send the official forces after you."
John merely smiled. He knew that I was not aiming to prove the tale wrong.
"Watson, don't you seem a bit too decided upon this subject?" Holmes turned to his companion.
"I think she is to be trusted alone for one night, don't you, Holmes?"
"Ah, but she will not be alone. Lestrade is going with her."
"All the better, then."
I smiled, tucked my small revolver inside my cloak, and walked out the door, Lestrade meeting me with a hansom cab just as the bells of St. Marylebone Church struck 12 o'clock at night upon 30th March, 1889.
Arriving at St James's Palace, the guard, a friend of Lestrade, held open the door of the entrance, allowing us to enter.
"I certainly hope this amounts to less than the expeditions my sister forced me to accompany her on as a child," the little Inspector muttered into my ear as we quietly walked the old hallways, moving towards the more famous wing of the palace from which the night's surveillance would be conducted.
"Which expeditions were those?" I asked him as we entered the most haunted section of the old building.
"Just midnight explorations of the old farm next door."
Ah. The usual farm spirits, then. Certainly enough to frighten even a member of the Lestrade family, who were renowned for their tenacity.
"It's no wonder this wing hasn't been touched in 79 years," Lestrade murmured, moving the lantern to secure a pool of light around us.
The hallway we stood in was furnished in pre-Victorian style. Much of the furniture and décor I recognized as Georgian, Tudor, and even Elizabethan.
Tapestries hung on the walls, faded, dusty, and fraying. Tables held vases that must once have contained flowers from Covent Garden, and stiff chairs sat facing the windows, offering a view of one of the four courtyards.
From my pocket I retrieved the police report written following the attack of Ernest Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, and the murder of his valet, Joseph Sellis. I turned to the page recording the location of furniture.
Lestrade shone the lantern on the paper so I could read it. Afterwards I looked up and swept the corridor with my gaze. "You are correct, Lestrade," said I in tones hushed with awe. "Nothing here has been touched or moved since the death occurred."
It was positively chilling that such a dark history was preserved so perfectly.
Just then the sky outside was lit up with a blinding flash, immediately followed by a deafening boom of thunder.
Lestrade and I both leaped in shock, clutching our weapons tightly. After a moment, I spoke, surprised by how much my voice shook. "I take it this is the storm which has been expected."
Lestrade swallowed and nodded. "I believe it is, and a more appropriate time for it we could not ask."
It was after one o'clock by this time, and there was nothing to do but station ourselves in the corridor and wait.
At two o'clock the commotion began with another flash of lightning and ear-splitting burst of thunder.
At first it was drowned out by the sounds of the storm, but after they died away we could hear it: a blood-curdling scream coming from the bedroom which had belonged to the Duke.
Lestrade and I both drew our weapons reflexively and rushed into the room. It was empty, but the sheets were stained with fresh blood. Close to the door, Lestrade bent to pick up an object. He held it up for my inspection. A regimental saber for dueling. And dripping with fresh blood.
The lightning and thunder presented themselves again, and another scream sounded, more of a distance away.
Could it be that the fateful early hours of the morning of 31st May, 1810 were being replayed on the anniversary of the murder?
We rushed to the next hallway over, where Joseph Sellis' bedroom was located.
This time a body lay in the bed. That of Sellis the valet. His throat was slit and a pool of fresh blood was forming underneath him. His hands, as connoted by the legend, were clean. I walked over, heart racing, to look at the washbasin by the side of the bed. The water was stained a dark crimson.
Another flash of lightning, and the body on the bed disappeared, leaving behind the terrible bloodstain.
Then a sound came from outside the room. It was indefinable, almost … inhuman.
We slowly crept back to our original hallway to investigate. Another streak of lightning flickered on the windowpanes, and a figure could be seen walking down the corridor towards us.
It was undoubtedly the body from the bed. His head was still attached but a gaping wound was visible on his neck.
He trailed blood behind him, the scent of the bodily fluid present as well.
He did not seem to acknowledge our presence, but walked to the end of the corridor, where he vanished suddenly in the same way a gas lamp was extinguished.
Lestrade and I checked the Duke's bedchamber. The blood was gone, as was the sword.
Then we returned to the valet's room, finding no body, no blood, and nothing in the washbasin.
Seven in the morning found us still too frightened to doze off. We had sat in the chairs in the hallway since the incident had occurred, discussing reasons it could or couldn't have been real.
Lestrade glanced out the window, and then at his pocket watch. "You are expected back in close to an hour, young lady."
My mind, still processing what we had seen, took a moment to register this. But then I got up and we began to make our way back to where the guard was stationed before the shift changed at eight o'clock.
On the way down, Lestrade looked at me earnestly. "Though the events appear to have frightened us consequentially, I do honestly tell you that it was a pleasure being your sounding board last night, and should you ever plan another expedition of the kind, I would be most privileged to join you."
"Thank you," I told him, and we fell into silence as we approached the guard's post.
"Was your night a successful one?" he asked us politely.
"Quite so," I replied. "Did you by any chance hear any noises about two o'clock?"
"I heard nothing of the kind," said the guard. "Why do you ask?"
Lestrade shot me a warning glance, and I returned it with a look that I hoped carried the message that of course I wouldn't tell the guard that we had seen any ghosts.
"Inspector Lestrade knocked over our lantern and we hoped it didn't create too much of a disturbance."
As we walked away to hire a cab from the stand at the corner of St. James Place and Pall Mall, Lestrade glared at me. "Emily, that man was formerly a Scotland Yard recruit. I trained him! He's observant. He'll have noticed that our lantern had no oil stains on the side, and that it can't possibly have been knocked over."
"Spur of the moment. Besides, we don't have any reason to return there, so it shouldn't be a problem."
In case my flatmates weren't up yet, I used my spare key to let myself into 221, Baker St.
Mrs. Hudson came bustling out of the kitchen at the sound of the door. "Oh, dear, I hope you weren't out in that storm."
"No, Mrs. Hudson."
"Mr. Holmes and the Doctor are up, and have rung for breakfast. Shall I arrange for tea to be sent up as well?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you."
"Not at all, dear," she replied as she took my cloak and shooed me toward the stairs.
Holmes and John both looked up as I entered the sitting room. "Five more minutes and you'd be late," Holmes commented. "So were you successful in proving wrong that nonsensical ghost story?"
"Perhaps," I replied vaguely as I went into my bedroom to record the events precisely as they'd happened.
It was very refreshing to know that I'd proved Sherlock Holmes wrong and he had no idea of it. Perhaps I'd take up Lestrade on his offer so I could feel this satisfaction again.
A/N: Yes, Lestrade is a recurring character in this series, hence the only reason he's marked as a character. I hope this was worth your time. More coming soon ;) -SWS
