Prompt from goodpenmanship: a mystery involving identical twins

AN: I am not entirely satisfied with this story. I am also tired of working on it and there is another prompt to complete, so here it is. I hope it is not too dreadful.

The Odd Case of the Soileau Sisters

Sitting comfortably beside the fire in our sitting room on a particularly snowy, blustery day, I was catching up on my professional reading when Holmes came in carrying several envelopes and a small package.

"Hello Watson," said he, crossing the room to my side, shuffling through the envelopes. He paused, narrowing his eyes upon one and then another of them. "This is singular."

"What is?" I asked, setting my journal aside and getting my pipe out.

"Two letters, Watson." He held them so that I could read the addresses. "One for you. One for me."

"Addressed by the same hand," I said and took the one with my name on it.

"Not precisely the same." Holmes went swiftly to his writing desk and fetched his magnifying glass. "Yes. Please do not open yours yet. May I see it again?"

I handed the neatly folded envelope back to him and began loading my pipe while he scrutinized the writing.

"Singular," he said in a low murmur. "Very nearly identical. The style of writing is close and yet this flourish on the 'H' in my name is lacking from the 'H' in your name. The lower case 's' is also slightly different, though the 'e's are indistinguishable from each other. What do make of them?"

Holmes handed me both letters and his lens. I attempted to emulate his technique, even smelling the envelopes. To my surprise, one bore a scent while the other did not.

"Sage, Watson," he said. "Burnt sage. Most peculiar."

"Burnt sage?" I considered a moment and could think of no reason other than cooking for there to be the scent of burnt sage on an envelope.

"Burning sage is sometimes used by occultists to purify objects or even a house," he explained. "Also known as smudging. They believe it drives off spirits and disperses energies."

"Poppycock," I said and continued examining the addresses.

"Perhaps to a strictly scientific mind," said Holmes. "There was a time when doctors believed it was necessary to balance the humors of the body in order to stay healthy. The practice of bleeding was widely used."

"No reputable physician believes that anymore," I replied.

"Perhaps not, Watson, and yet some of the remedies those men developed did actually work. Think of inoculations against diseases such as chickenpox. The practice of boiling water to sterilize it and the washing of hands before surgeries. Still practiced today."

"The '2's are also slightly different, Holmes," I said, wishing to change the subject. "Why do you think your letter smells of sage while mine does not?"

"The writer may be superstitious. Perhaps she simply wrote it in her kitchen."

He opened his envelope and I opened mine, being careful to do as little damage to the paper as possible.

'In the company of your friend, bring what was sent,' my letter read. 'The webs are woven and mists obscure. Time is urgent. Come at midnight.' It was signed Angelique Soileau.

"No formalities," said Holmes, examining his letter. "No introduction."

"The same as mine." I held out my letter, such as it was, to him and he took it.

"Yes. Notice the paper?" he asked.

"Good quality rag. A slight blue tint. Unusual."

"Not an English paper, Watson," he said. "Not mass produced, I think. No watermark."

"What does yours say?" I asked.

"A visitor will arrive at two," he quoted. "Your help is needed. Signed 'Charlotte Soileau'."

"Most mysterious," I said and finally lit my pipe.

"Theatrically mysterious, Watson," Holmes said.

"I do not understand what Angelique Soileau means," I said. "Nothing has been sent to me. And where am I to bring it in your company?"

"You do not recognize the name?" he asked, settling in his chair across from me.

"I do not. Should I?"

"The Soileau sisters, identical twins, are the most celebrated spirit mediums on two continents," Holmes said, smirking. "If you believe their billing, at any rate."

"Mediums?" I admit that I scoffed. "Table tipping, ectoplasm and all that rot?"

"All that rot," said Holmes, smiling. "As for what was sent, I think this is it."

Holmes handed me the small package that had come in the post. It was a low, narrow cardboard box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. On it was written my name and our address in the same hand that had written the address on my envelope.

"Should I open it or would you prefer to examine the package first?" I asked.

"It is unremarkable, Watson," said he. "The knots are common and the twine is typical of the sort. No clues there."

I cut the twine and unwrapped the paper. The box was, as I said, cardboard. I noted, though, that it was an old box or had seen much wear. One corner was wrinkled as if it had been dropped at some point and there were discolorations from being handled repeatedly. Knowing Holmes would be interested in these details, I handed him the lid when I removed it. Within was a mass of newspaper, and in this, a knife or single edged dagger as one might find in a curio shop. Disturbingly, the blade was discolored with blood.

"Holmes!" I said, displaying the contents to him. His eyes narrowed instantly and he reached carefully out to take the box from my fingers. I asked, "Think it's human blood?"

"Perhaps," said Holmes. "It seems odd."

"Why would these mediums send me a bloody dagger?" I wondered aloud.

"Theatrics, Watson."

"Could they be hoping to gain publicity from this?" I asked.

"Very possibly." He inspected the box lid and then took the box from my fingers to inspect it as well. "The dagger is usually kept in this box. I would say it is likely that the sisters use this as a prop in their séances. We shall ask Charlotte Soileau when she arrives."

"What about the blood, Holmes?"

"We shall use my test to be certain it actually is blood," he said decisively and took the thing to his chemical table. I joined him. Moments later we watched as the water turned a dull mahogany color and brown crystal formed, slowly falling to the bottom of the jar. "It is blood, Watson. Of course, we cannot say what kind of blood."

"You said it seemed odd. What did you mean?"

"You and I have seen many blades stained with blood, Doctor," he said. "Some are quite liberally coated. The majority have blood on the handle. This one, though it is stained to the guard, has no blood whatever on the handle. Not conclusive but I find it interesting."

"What of the dagger itself?" I asked, peering at the weapon. "Looks Middle Eastern."

"I agree," said Holmes. He carefully lifted the weapon from the box by its pommel. "The blade is of steel, I am certain. The guard is bronze. The grip is likely made of Oryx horn and held in place with copper rivets. The craftsmanship is competent, though not of particularly high quality. The maker's stamp is unknown to me. An Arabic-style letter, but not one I have ever seen before. It is double struck, for some reason."

"What do you mean, double struck?" I asked.

Holmes smiled and got his magnify glass again.

"Ha! The maker's mark may be a forgery, Watson. The Arabic looking letter seems to have been added to obscure an upper case 'S'!" Holmes chuckled and returned the dagger to its box. "I suspect, Watson, someone has or is attempting to defraud someone else."

"It is a fake?" I asked.

"I would need to refer this to Wilson at the British Museum to be certain, but I do not now believe it was made anywhere in North Africa or India." He slipped the lid back on the box and handed it to me. "Possibly it was made in America."

I was beginning to agree with Holmes regarding the theatrical nature of the Soileau sisters and the messages we received. My strong suspicion was that they meant to embroil Holmes and myself in some sort of Spiritualist nonsense in order gain greater fame by tying themselves to Holmes. Perhaps they thought they could fool Holmes into believing that spirits actually spoke through them. If they began some foolery about my late parents, I determined to give them an earful and walk out.

"Watson, we have several hours before Miss Soileau is due," said Holmes, taking the dagger in its box to his writing desk and tucking it into the bottom drawer. "I am going out. There are one or two things I want to know before she arrives. This afternoon, do not mention the dagger or the letter you received."

"Very well, Holmes," said I. "Do you believe Charlotte Soileau does not know her sister sent the dagger and the letter?"

"I am uncertain, Watson," he said judiciously while buttoning his coat. "I must learn more of these sisters before we speak to either of them. I think we should not show any of our cards. If Charlotte knows about the dagger having been sent, I have no doubt she will mention it. And if we are not going to bring up the dagger, there is no good reason to bring up your letter."

"I understand," said I. "Is there anything you wish me to do?"

"Yes. Could you arrange our dining table nearer the center of the room?" he said. "And see how many candles we have. I might want them."

Odd though these instructions were, Holmes has given me far odder in our years together.

"Holmes?"

"Yes Watson?" He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"You seem to know where these women are," I said.

"Of course, Watson," he said with a smile. "They have a suite at the Hotel Lafitte on the fourth floor. For the last five weeks, they have been hosting séances nightly. Expect me before two."

And with that, Holmes was off on his mysterious errand. For my part, I called Billy up and we rearranged the sitting room as per Holmes's instructions. Billy helped me gather candles and then I returned to reading my medical journal, though I found my thoughts wandering to the letters and the blood stained dagger in the drawer.

At half past one, the door opened and in strode Holmes. I could see by the spring in his step that he had accomplished something. What it was, I had little idea.

"Excellent, Watson!" he cried upon seeing the room arranged as he instructed. "You found the candles?"

"Twenty three of them," I reported.

"That many? Well, more is better in this case." He set aside a compact box and doffed his coat and hat. "As it turns out, we shall need only five. I could make do with three, but five is better."

"And what are the candles for, Holmes?"

"They will form a barrier to shield me from distracting energies, Watson!" He said this and laughed, picking up the box. "In point of fact, I intend them only as set dressing for our meeting with Miss Soileau."

"Were you able to learn anything about the sisters?" I asked.

"Indeed." Holmes opened his box, extracted a jet-black bowl with as smooth a finish as I have ever seen and placed it in the middle of the table. "It seems one of them has had a frequent caller at odd hours. I have a few more inquiries in process but I should know more this evening. Please, Watson, close the drapes and light five candles. Forgive me, but I must change clothes before our guest arrives."

When Holmes emerged from his room, he wore his most ridiculous dressing gown. Made from black velour, on either breast were embroidered Chinese dragons in bright reds, golds and greens. An elderly client had made it a gift after Holmes mistakenly professed to admiring one the gentleman owned. In truth, I had only seen Holmes put it on once. After that, it remained in his armoire and never saw the light of day.

"You must not smirk, Watson," Holmes admonished. "Think of this as a costume. I only wish I owned a turban. Would you be so good as to fetch your pitcher of water and fill the bowl? I must arrange the candles."

It was nearly two and we had just done making Holmes's preparations when he cocked an ear towards the door and shot me a look.

"Watson, open the drapes."

"You said…" I began to protest but he made an insistent gesture, so I began drawing back the long curtains.

"Do not rush, Watson," said Holmes as he put out the candles. "We must time this just right."

Unsure of his intentions, I slowed down. I was about to draw aside the last curtain when a knock came at our door. Holmes, standing beside the second to last candle, indicated I should answer. Leaving the drape as it was, I crossed the room and opened the door. The word breathtaking is not one I have often used and yet it is singularly suited to the sight I beheld. Slender and delicate, the woman standing on our threshold could not have been more than twenty. She possessed the lovely tones and features of the mulatto and her eyes were like pools of black glass.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" she asked and her voice was as lovely as her features.

"No. I am Doctor John Watson," I said, stepping aside. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you," she said with a bow of her head.

As I took her coat, I smelled the light scent of patchouli.

"Welcome, Miss Soileau," Holmes said, extinguish the last two candles. "Watson, the drapes."

With the room well-lit, Holmes seated our guest beside the fire, making no mention of his "set dressing". He took his usual seat and I mine.

"Now," said Holmes, puffing his pipe to life. "What brings you to us, Miss Soileau?"

"Are you a diviner, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, gesturing at the bowl on the table.

"You know my reputation or, I suspect, you would not have sought me out," Holmes replied evenly.

She was quiet a moment before saying, "I have seen a danger. I have been unable to convince Angelique of this. She claims were there a danger, Bagadata would warn us."

"Bagadata?" asked Holmes.

"Our spirit guide. An ancient Persian magician. Once, advisor to a king."

"I see."

"I have come to you, hoping you will aid me in fending off this danger."

"This explains much," said Holmes seriously. "Before you arrived, I saw something."

Miss Soileau frowned and cocked her head inquisitively.

"A man. Darkness surrounds him. He is tall and slim. A ring of gold set with a dark emerald upon his right hand."

Though her complexion was naturally dark, Miss Soileau's cheeks paled.

"Is this the danger you have seen?" Holmes asked, leaning forward in his seat and looking the young woman in the eyes.

"My sight is shrouded in mists," she said and I noted her fingers tremble. "Something is blocking me. I do not know specifically what the danger is, but I fear for my life. I feel we must flee London. My sister insists we must stay. If we stay, I am sure one of us will die."

"That is possible," said Holmes gravely and leaned back in his chair. "The signs suggest there will be a death and this man is connected to it."

"Mr. Holmes, will you help me to convince my sister?" said Miss Soileau. "Will you and Dr. Watson join our séance tonight? With you there, I am sure I will be able to see clearly. Perhaps I will then be able to convince Angelique."

Holmes rose and paced to the window, evidently in deep thought. After a long moment, he turned and gave one firm nod.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes!" said Miss Soileau, rising. "I must hurry. Angelique will wonder where I have gone. Midnight at the Hotel Laffite."

"We will find you, Miss Soileau," Holmes assured her.

I escorted the young lady to the door, helped her on with her coat and bid her farewell until the evening.

"What was that about, Holmes?" I asked when I was sure she was down the stairs and out of earshot.

"You saw her reaction?" he asked.

"I did."

"Was that the reaction of someone caught in a lie?" he asked.

"I do not know," I confessed. "It seemed genuine dread."

"Indeed it did," said Holmes. He paced back and forth in front of the window before turning to me. "I must learn more of this man."

"The one you saw in your visions?" I asked with heavy irony.

"My visions come from the eyes of the staff at the Hotel Laffite, Watson." Holmes smirked and began removing his dressing gown. "It is surprisingly easy to prompt a gossip to tell you most anything you wish to know and the ladies at the hotel are as keen as mustard for a good story. You will have to forgive me, Watson, but tonight you will dine alone. I must follow up certain leads."

"Holmes," I said. "What is this bowl and why did you have me fill it with water?"

"It is called a scrying bowl," he said, pausing beside the table. "Some believe such bowls can be used to have visions and to clarify thoughts. Signs and images are often revealed. It does not always have to be a bowl, Watson. A candle flame, a mirror, a crystal or even moonlight on still water can yield the same results."

"Surely, Holmes, you do not believe in such things," I said.

"I do not." He chuckled ruefully. "It would be useful, though. You must admit."

"It certainly seemed to impress Miss Soileau," I said.

"That was what I intended. I must go, Watson!"

Holmes was gone a few minutes later and I set about returning our sitting room to its former arrangement.

Hours later, I had dosed off in front of the fire and was roused by a knock at the door. I rose to answer it. Billy stood upon the landing, a piece of folded foolscap in his hand.

"A message from Mr. Holmes, sir," said the lad.

I thanked him and took the note.

'Watson,' it read, 'meet me in front of the Hotel Laffite at eleven thirty. Do not enter. Do not see the sisters without me. Remember to bring the dagger.'

His initials were at the bottom, which was a sure sign he was pressed for time.

Checking my watch against the mantel clock showed me it was already a quarter to eleven and I needed to rush. At that hour, a hansom cab is no easy thing to find, but I was able to flag one down on the corner. Though the cobbles were slick with ice, my driver was skilled and we arrived in front of the hotel with minutes to spare and without mishap. Holmes, to my surprise, was waiting.

"Good timing, Watson," said he. "I arrived only a minute ago."

"Did you learn what you needed to know?" I asked.

"I learned enough," he said. "Follow my lead and say as little as is polite. You brought the dagger?"

"In my pocket," I said and followed him as he strode for the entrance.

Upstairs, Holmes knocked on the sisters' door precisely at midnight. We could hear the chimes of Big Ben tolling in the distance. The door was opened, revealing a black draped room with a moderately sized round table surrounded by high-backed chairs in the center.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." Knowing the sisters were identical twins, I was unsure which greeted us. "Please enter and be at peace."

The young lady took our coats and hats and hung them on a stand behind the door. She then escorted us to the table where she bade us to seat ourselves while she went to fetch her sister.

"Which was she?" I asked sotto voce.

"Angelique," said Holmes. At my raised eyebrow, he explained, "Her ears, Watson."

Before I could marvel at Holmes's acumen, the sisters stepped through the black drapes and stood side by side, hands folded before them and peaceful smiles upon their lips. To my eyes, they were a double fold vision of loveliness. Holmes and I rose as they approached the table, but they each held up a hand, indicating we should resume our seats.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, we are pleased you agreed to join us," said the pair in unison once they were seated. It was quite bizarre. "Please place your hands flat upon the table and keep them there until the end."

We complied but I noticed my friend's expression shift. He peered intently first at one and then the other sister. The young women did not appear to notice. They began to inhale deeply and release their breath slowly. Gradually their expressions relaxed and the lids of their eyes drooped. Far off expressions suffused their faces.

"I feel the veil yielding," one said.

"The mists roll back," said the other.

"Time is meaningless to spirits," they said in unison. "Bagadata, hear us."

In that instant, Holmes slammed his foot hard upon the floor and threw himself back in his seat, his body as rigid as if it were carved of wood. Startled, I snapped my gaze around to gape at him.

"I see the shape of a man," said Holmes, but it was far from his usual voice.

Uncertain what was happening, I looked to the women. Both were staring at my friend, eyes wide in shock.

"He is tall and upon his finger, a glowing gem of emerald," said Holmes. "He stands beside the water, waiting. The dagger is bloody. He waits for you!"

Holmes's hand lifted from the table, finger extended to point across at the women, though which he indicated, I could not tell.

"I knew it!" shrieked the woman on my left. "You were going to kill me! You were going to kill me and leave with him!"

"What?" cried the other woman, shrinking back from her sister. "No! Never!"

"I found the knife, Charlotte!" the first woman snarled and never have I seen such anger on such a lovely face. "You were going to kill me! Or did you plan to have Richard do it?"

"No!" Charlotte cried, scrambling from her chair and backing away. "I just wanted to leave. We were going to get married! You wouldn't let me. I wanted to go last year and you refused."

"So you were going to kill me?"

"No!"

"Dr. Watson," Angelique said, turning to face me. "Did you bring the knife?"

"I did," I said.

"Get it," she said.

"The knife?" Charlotte rasped, horror struck.

I glanced at Holmes who had now returned to his usual state, though he was clearly intent on the drama between the sisters.

"Yes, Watson," he said. "Bring out the dagger."

I rose, went to my coat and retrieved the box from the pocket. I opened it and laid it before Holmes.

"That's blood, Charlotte," snarled Angelique, pointing an accusing finger at the bare blade. "Were you practicing?"

"No. No, no, no…" Charlotte moaned and buried her face in her hands.

"Miss Soileau, perhaps you should calm yourself," said Holmes. "Allow me to tell you a number of things I learned today."

Angelique Soileau glared at Holmes, her breath coming in rapid pants.

"Please?" Holmes said, gesturing at her chair.

Stiffly, Angelique sat, though she watched her sister from the corner of her eye.

"I first learned that a young man has been visiting this hotel almost daily. He arrives about ten of the morning. At that hour, you are still asleep because your séances run late into the night. Your sister has been meeting him."

"I knew it!" Angelique snarled.

"That will be quite enough of that," Holmes said and his words were like iron. "Sit there and listen to me or some great ill will be done."

Angelique glared daggers at my friend, but she subsided.

In a more relaxed tone, Holmes continued, "Someone in my employ discovered where this man lives and subsequently learned his name is Richard Beaumont. Inquiries on my part revealed he is Canadian and his father owns a shipping firm headquartered in Nova Scotia. With that information, I found out that one Richard Beaumont and wife are to sail on the Whitney Scott for New York in two days."

"You married him?" demanded Angelique of Charlotte.

"Not yet," Charlotte whispered.

"You were going to leave me?" Angelique seemed completely at a loss. The transformation from raving fury to this disbelieving girl was remarkable. And then her voice sharpened. "Why the knife? Were you going to kill me or was he?"

"We weren't going to kill you," Charlotte said. "The knife was for me."

"You?" demanded Angelique.

"You should probably explain, Miss Charlotte," said Holmes.

The young woman looked utterly miserable.

"You would not listen, Angelique. You would not allow Richard near me. We are in love and I am so weary of this. All of these séances and traveling from one city to another. If we simply ran away, how long would it take for you to come after me? You hunted us down in Switzerland. You never let me out of your sight in Spain. Richard and I could not have a minute alone." Charlotte took a deep breath to calm herself. "If we staged a murder scene, we thought you would finally let me go. It was Richard who thought to involve Mr. Holmes. That is the reason I came to see you today, Mr. Holmes. When you said you saw a tall man with his ring in your scrying bowl, I didn't know what to think. Richard said we should brazen it out. He thought you would be more likely to believe a murder had been done if you believed there was a man stalking one of us."

"How am I to go on without you?" Angelique said in a whisper.

"As you always have, Miss Soileau," said Holmes. "Allow your sister her freedom and enjoy yours. You will have all of the spotlight. All of the praise and adoration. Your sister only wants to wed the man she loves and be her own woman." Holmes rose and looked to me. "Come Watson. Let us leave them. I am done here."

"A moment, Holmes," I said. "Miss Angelique, why did you send me the letter and the knife?"

For a moment, I did not think she would answer. Finally, Angelique Soileau sighed and said, "I have read some of your stories, Doctor. I felt you would be more likely to listen to me. And if you came, whether or not Mr. Holmes came, I would be saved from…"

She let her words fade.

"Come Watson," said Holmes, gathering up the dagger. "Nothing more will happen. Nothing you and I need be involved in."

We returned to baker Street, wholly unsatisfied. A pointless case with nothing to show for our efforts.