Disclaimer: I don't own Enola Holmes. I don't own Sherlock Holmes.
THE CASE OF THE LEFT-HANDED LIAR
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
I spent the next two days wrapped up in blankets and communicating to Mrs. Tupper using hand signals. She was quite worried about me and kept making her special horrible oyster and chicken soup. Mrs. Tupper assumed that I was simply having a bit of a sore throat, as it was very common from the terrible cold these days.
My neck still pounded with pain, and now there were visible bruises lining up and down. Luckily, I happened to own quite a few turtleneck shirts; I wore them whenever Mrs. Tupper was bound to come up.
My little old and deaf landlady was mothering me more than my own mother ever did. While my Mum does mean much to me, she never babied me or showed me a lot of affection as a child. She was withdrawn in a way, almost an introvert. But she did give me something, I reminded myself grimly.
She gave me a chance for my freedom.
I leaned back against my pillows and pulled up the small laptop I had bought a few weeks after I bought Dr. Ragostin's offices. I now had a small income from the boarders that lived above his office.
I needed to act quickly on Cecilly Alistair, the missing heiress. Mr. and Mrs. Alistair had approached my brother with the case of finding their lost daughter. He had turned them down.
Perhaps it was time to give them some good news.
I clicked on the file I had complied on their case.
The Alistairs were a respectable family company, which grew from just a family company, into almost hundred employees. It was a shipping company of sorts, I recognized their logo from some trains I had seen before.
Cecilly Alistar was their eldest daughter and had gone missing Tuesday of last week. Her bedroom window was found open, the lock was forced open. A ladder was placed below the window.
Upon questioning by the police, several of Cecilly's friends had said that they had seen Cecilly talking with a 'handsome young boy' at school. They reported him not wearing a uniform from the school, and was dressed casually.
They checked messages on her phone and found out nothing, there were no mysterious texts or calls going or coming from the phone. However, when they searched the desk, they found letters. A small part of me filled with pride that a young girl figured out a way to get around her parents reading her messages on her phone and computer.
Sadly, Cecilly did not seem to think that they would ever search her desk, and they found all of the letters. There was nothing on what the letters said though, just that there were bundles of them.
I must get my hands on those letters. A corner of my mind began to plan on how to approach the Alistairs, while I continued to refresh my memory of the case.
Cecilly never mentioned a last name, only "Alexander". Still, with only that to go on, the police found him, a store-keeper's son, who was well above Cecilly's age of 16 by 5 years. When questioned, he immediately denied having anything to do with the missing daughter-and the police could not find any evidence indicating that she was with him.
Oddly enough, the only thing that connected them were the small sighting of by the friends, and the letters. There were no photos, no scheduled dates, no other sightings.
Alexander, Alexander Finch, is still being investigated and watched by the police.
I sighed, it did not escape my attention the irony of me trying to find a missing daughter.
No matter how little I was truly a daughter.
There had been no reply yet from Mother, I had checked each day since I sent the message. Still, I wanted-
I scolded myself harshly. What good would I do in this situation? I was acting like a child!
"You'll do very well on your own, Enola."
A statement that I accepted as a compliment from Mother. However, now, I wished for some sort of companionship.
I didn't want to be alone.
My wistful face was whisked away. I could not afford to form relationships. Already, everyone I had ever talked to was a liability.
Mrs. Tupper, the cashier at the coffee shop I frequented in the mornings, Jody, the boarders, Flo who was the all-around work girl that Mrs. Tupper hired. All of them could lead to my freedom's demise. My demise.
Sighing once again, I realized that in the state I was about to step into, I would not be of any use at all. I set my shoulders straight, raised my chin and got out of bed with a jump.
It was time for the Alistairs to meet Dr. Leslie T. Ragostin.
Or rather, his wife.
I waved off Mrs. Tupper's loud protests of bed rest by shouting "FRESH AIR! FRESH AIR MRS. TUPPER!" directly into her hearing aids. Ah, the wonders of having a near deaf landlady.
After catching a cab and arriving at my offices. I entered the offices, making sure to lock the door behind me. Dr. Ragostin's personal offices were rather grandeur, as they used to be used for seances and 'spiritual readings'. A large and well-built desk was at the farthest point of the room, facing the door. A small fireplace was at the side, for heating. A lush rug laid over nice hardwood floors, big windows for light, and tall sturdy bookcases lined most of the walls.
The bookshelves were the only feature that remained from the original owner's design.
I walked with purpose towards the farthest bookcase. I pulled on a particular book and the shelves suddenly swung forward, revealing the secret room.
While I'm sure that the medium's accomplices hid in here, aiding the special effects, I would use this small space for something other than cheap tricks. Well, I mean, my tricks weren't cheap, in anyway.
I fitted a small vanity and lamp in there. My cosmetics and some basic disguises were hidden in here. I closed the door-there was another way out-and began to make Ivy Meshle disappear.
I needed a transformation.
Before I left my flat, I looked nothing like Ivy Meshle, I did not wear the skirts and blouses that she loved, nor did I have the red-gold hair that she wore. I went through the whole process of becoming Ivy Meshle just for the ride here, and now I will remove everything that is the fashionable secretary, and become someone completely new.
A mousy child wife.
Child wife, of course, is a term that is completely outdated. I wasn't really going to be a child wife. Well, not completely.
After I had removed Ivy Meshle's jewelry, patterned skirt, white blouse, red scarf, red-gold wig and other beautiful but cheap knock-offs, I was left simply with Enola Holmes. A tall, bean-pole of a girl, with sallow skin, swampy eyes, and dreadfully thick and greasy hair.
I needed a bath desperately.
I removed the carefully and painstakingly painted make-up I had applied earlier, and settled down to create another disguise.
While it was meticulous, and somewhat irritating at time, there was a certain thrill in disguising oneself so thoroughly that one's own family members would not recognize. That was the goal I set every time I stepped outside dressed as someone else.
I will spare you the long and boring details of creating Mrs. Ragostin, Dr. Ragostin's mousy and timid younger wife and instead will jump right into my appearance.
I was wore no wig and had my head pulled back into a somewhat respectable ponytail. I wore white-washed jeans that flared slightly around my ankles and I paired that along with small flats that pinched my toes. My shirt was a white turtle neck, the bruises had yet to fade so I was stuck with them, and with a grey cardigan. Small and metallic glasses hung off my nose, not prescription of course, my eyesight was perfect. A few finishing touches were added-neutral make-up, a fake wedding ring I got off a pawn shop, a faded pleather bag.
I left the room, by a hidden lever and a small hallway that led to a secret door that led to the streets, as Mrs. Ragostin.
It was time to solve my first official case.
"The game is on!"
I paused, taking a moment to realize how silly that sounded when said out loud. I needed for something a bit better, a bit more original.
THE END OF CHAPTER THE FOURTH
Maybe I should put chapter titles, what do you think? In the original books, she labeled them as chapter the -insert number-.
ATTENTION NEED HELP:
Great, now that I have about 40% of y'all's attention, let me continue. I want to come up with a catchphrases for Enola, but not quite sure what would fit. Sherlock has "The game is on!" I'd something similar to that, but with her own unique twist on it. Right now, I've just got "Adventure Awaits!" But that doesn't sound like Enola.
So, if you have any suggestions, please tell me!
That's it, onto the guest reviews!
Lily: I accept your apology, and thank you. I know that you did not mean it in that way. Thank you for reviewing. Also, thank you for that compliment, that was very kind of you. This chapter is dedicated to you.
With that out of the way, it's time to say-
-GP2 OUT!
