FIC: Gen: The Tale of the Yankee Spinster, Chapters 4 and 5, Holmes
Title: The Case of the Yankee Spinster, Chapters 4 and 5
Author: Alex
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This story is based on a factual case. I do not own the Holmes characters.
Warnings: Description of brutal murders.
Beta: Larry, Larian, Luin
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Watson, Lizzie Borden.
Archive: Oeam, Archive of our Own, Alex’s Story Book
Author’s Note: This is my entry in the 1st annual OEAM Big Bang fiction challenge
Spoilers: Not really
Summary: What if Holmes had been asked to investigate the Borden murders?
~~~
Chapter Four - Lizzie and her Lawyers
“I am well, Miss Borden. Though I am pleased to meet you, I daresay the circumstances could be better.”
She looked at me with a completely blank stare. Was she lacking in intelligence? Not from all the reports I’d read. Maybe it was just old news to her and didn’t shock her anymore. I found that unlikely also since her parents had only been dead since August.
“Oh,” she finally said and indicated that I should sit in the rocker that had obviously been provided for my visit.
I dutifully sat down and pulled my notes from my small case.
“May I ask you some questions?” I asked, realizing how rude it would be to begin interrogating her without asking.
“I thought Mr. Holmes was coming.”
“Holmes will meet with you on another day. He decided to visit your house today and walk around a bit.”
She looked as if she wanted to hit me for a moment. “Why is he looking at the house?”
“He felt like he could deduce more of what happened by taking a look around than just reading about it.”
“But my lawyers already know what happened.”
“They want to do their best for you.”
“I am tired of talking about it.”
This was not going well so far. Lizzie was very difficult to talk to. “Perhaps if I ask questions?”
“I was in London a few years ago.”
“Really? Did you find it to your liking?”
“It was rainy and gray but I enjoyed the museums.”
“Miss Borden, tell me about the day your father died.”
She clamped her jaws shut and sat there for what was beginning to look like forever. Suddenly she got a faraway look in those strange eyes and she began to talk as if she were seeing it as she spoke.
“I got up at nine or so. Hadn’t felt well the night before; I heard Father and Abby sick during the night too. I came down after they had eaten with my uncle John Morse, and I had some cookies. Father left for the bank and Abby made Maggie wash windows. I do wish I’d paid more attention that morning but I didn’t. I read a magazine, mended a sleeve, tried to iron my handkerchiefs but the fire was too low to get the irons hot. Abby went out to help someone. She said she had a note from a boy. Father came home and I went to the barn to hunt for some iron. I went upstairs and Father took a nap then I came down-” she stopped, almost as if rehearsed and dabbed at a tear. “Mr. Watson, I don’t know what I could have done different.”
This was a blend of all the different stories she had given at the inquest. She had answered the same question three or four different ways within the space of two days.
“I have some questions.”
She put her handkerchief away and seemed to compose herself. It was almost as if one part of the performance were done and now she would move on to the next.
“I don’t know how I can help, but I will try.”
“Tell me about the barn. What is in the barn?”
“Just old and unused things. That is why I went there for iron.”
“Did you find iron?”
“Yes, in the box upstairs. I didn’t want to come back to the house so I ate some pears that I’d picked up on the way out to there.”
“What did you want the iron for?”
“To make some sinkers. We were going fishing on Monday.”
“Does your house have a bathroom upstairs?”
“No. We used a chamber pot and went downstairs with our pots.”
“What else is down there?”
“A sink, boxes of broken things that Father saved, the woodpile, the laundry, the furnace, the coal bins…”
“Did you go down there that morning?”
“Right after I got up.”
“Was the outside door locked?”
“Oh yes, we keep all our doors locked. We were robbed several months before Father and Abby were killed.”
“Are you sure Miss Sullivan didn’t unlock it?”
“She got her water from the barn.”
“For washing windows?”
“Yes. Abby made her wash them that morning.”
“Where was she when your parents were killed?”
“She must have been washing windows when Abby died and I think she was asleep in her room when Father died.”
“Was it usual for the servant to nap during the day?”
“She said she’d been sick in the night like Father and Abby.”
“So you sent her to her room?”
Lizzie looked surprised at the question, but she recovered rather quickly. “She asked if she might lie down before dinner. I told her to go ahead.”
I nodded.
“I’m sure it is hard on you and your sister.”
“I am not fond of living in jail. But the food is from the hotel and I go out at least once a day.” I had meant hard for them to lose their father, but Lizzie’s answer was interesting nonetheless.
“Does your sister come often?”
“Nearly every day. I get other visitors too. The Reverend and my lawyers come often.”
“Do you like your lawyers?”
“Mr. Jennings was Father’s lawyer and he is like family. Mr. Robinson is very friendly.”
“I am going to leave you now, Miss Borden. I am going to have a meeting with your lawyers and then dinner with Mr. Holmes. I am sure that we shall meet again.”
I made my excuses and left, more perplexed than ever. Was she guilty? Was she insane? Was she rude and spoiled? I could not decide which she was. Or was she all three? Perhaps Holmes could sort it all out and boil it all down to the truth of what happened in that house in Fall River on the morning of August 4th.
I made my way back to the hotel in Fall River. The two towns were not so far apart that it took long to go from one to the other. Mr. Jennings was waiting there for me. He shook my hand and led me to the hotel dining room. Mr. Robinson waited there for us. We sat and ordered a drink and some food.
“So, Doctor Watson, what did you think of our Miss Borden?” Robinson asked.
I took a sip of my water, trying to stall for some time. I had no idea what to say to them.
“Quite an odd duck, isn’t she?” Robinson asked. “How do you think a jury will see her?’
“I am no expert on juries. Holmes and I help the police and seldom are involved in the court.”
“Do you think she will seem sympathetic?”
I had to tell the truth. “No, I do not. She seems rather -- I am not sure what to call it. - stubborn or even uninterested in the whole affair.”
“She is just tired of the same questions over and over,” Jennings said.
I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you sure?”
He was saved from answering me by the timely arrival of our food. I looked down and it was mutton, the last food served in the Borden house on that fateful day. I pushed the plate away. Suddenly I had no appetite.
~~~
Chapter Five - Down Time
After dining with Jennings and Robinson, I went back to the hotel and to my room. I pulled out the folders of information that we had compiled from newspapers before we came to Massachusetts.
Some papers vilified Lizzie while others made her sound like a saint. I wasn’t sure which was true, if not both. I needed more to go on than just a meeting with Miss Borden. Everyone could have a bad day, but from many accounts, this sullen woman was what Lizzie was nearly always like.
I wrote to Mary and told her of my day and how I found the peculiar Miss Borden, and then I lay down for a nap.
Someone knocking on the door woke me.
“Watson? Are you there?” It was Holmes. I looked at my watch. It was past five. I had been more tired than I thought to have slept so long. Perhaps the sea voyage and time difference were catching up with me. I went to the door and let him in.
“Sleeping? Did you talk to Miss Borden?” He bustled into the room.
I nodded, still not quite fully awake. “I certainly did and I talked with her lawyers as well. They seem awfully anxious for me to think well of her.”
Holmes was excited. I could see it in his eyes. I knew he assumed the case was simple and that he could solve it easily. But something happened that either made it harder to solve or he’d actually found the murderer.
“So how was your day?” I asked.
“Well, for a wealthy family, they certainly didn’t live like it. Or no one but Lizzie did. The house was a bit shabby and the neighborhood was not the best either. The old man’s clothes were old and worn as were the stepmother’s. Not all of either sisters’ clothing was there but from the ones that were, Emma was scarcely better dressed than her elders. But Lizzie, how was she dressed?”
“She had on a very pretty, new looking green gown, one that Mary would have said nice things about.”
“How did you find her?”
“Sullen and suspicious.”
He didn’t say much, just sat down and lit his pipe.
“Did you find anything at the house?”
“It was interesting. I have several theories. I need some more time before I decide how the murders were done.”
“How? Does that mean you already know who?”
“Not completely. The how may give us the who as well.”
“Miss Borden seemed disappointed that you did not come to see her,” I told him as I washed my face in the basin.
Holmes smiled. “I’d have been amazed if she had not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Miss Borden’s room was bigger than her elder sister’s and much nicer. Though I did not see all her clothes, hers were fashionable and well made while her sister’s were dull and there were only a few of them. Miss Borden, it would seem, is quite impressed by the trappings of wealth and she longs to be popular, I believe.”
“I’m anxious to hear about the house.”
“So you shall, over dinner. First, I must do some experiments in my room. I will call for you when they are done.” With that, he let himself out and went to his own room.
I finished my toilet and dressed for dinner then wrote Mary another short letter. I missed her so and worried for her since she was so far away. I had never thought to be a father and now that it was imminent, I felt unreasonably cautious. I wished not for the first time that I’d never brought the letter to Holmes. I’d have been at home with my wife in our cozy little house in London on this cold winter night.
I knew that Holmes would have more questions about Miss Borden so I sat down to think about our interview. She had been nothing like I had supposed she would be. I had thought her to be a dainty spinster from the reports in the papers, but I’d found a rather unpleasant and unattractive woman. She seemed almost oblivious to the fact that she was accused of killing her father and stepmother in a most heinous way and that if found guilty, she would surely hang. She seemed more concerned with her own comfort and how pretty her dresses were than the fact she’d lost her father so recently.
I could easily understand how she had been branded by some newspapers as cold and heartless. I believed her to be more selfish and thoughtless. If she had killed her parents, the newspapers may have been closer to the truth.
I let myself into Holmes’ room through the door that connected our rooms. He was bent over a vial of something.
“Come in and sit. I will be finished with this in a moment.”
“What concoction are you making? It smells awful.”
“I am going to return to Borden house and make some tests.”
I knew he’d told me all he meant to for now. I’d have to wait him out. I was used to such. I was sure he already had an idea of how the Bordens were killed and perhaps even who did the killing. He usually knew these things fairly early in a case. I smiled when I thought of his meeting Miss Borden.
We went to dinner and Holmes asked more questions.
“Did she seem distraught in any way?”
“She seemed inconvenienced mostly, as if the whole thing were just a big bother.”
“I should like to meet Emma too, I think. Is the maid still about the area?”
“I believe so. Perhaps she has some information.”
He looked thoughtful. “Maybe but I am not sure that she would disclose it if she did. There are some who already accuse her though for what reason, I cannot fathom.”
“Why on earth would the Irish girl want to kill them?”
“She wouldn’t but who would? Miss Lizzie? Miss Emma? Some angry business associate of Mr. Borden? That is the puzzle. Then how? How did someone do this and not be noticed? The answer is there. I will find it, Watson.”
I knew he would too. I’ve only known him to ever be bested once so I was sure he would see this to the solution, no matter who was paying our bills.
~~~
Author: Alex
Type: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This story is based on a factual case. I do not own the Holmes characters.
Warnings: Description of brutal murders.
Beta: Larry, Larian, Luin
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Watson, Lizzie Borden.
Archive: Oeam, Archive of our Own, Alex’s Story Book
Author’s Note: This is my entry in the 1st annual OEAM Big Bang fiction challenge
Spoilers: Not really
Summary: What if Holmes had been asked to investigate the Borden murders?
~~~
Chapter Four - Lizzie and her Lawyers
“I am well, Miss Borden. Though I am pleased to meet you, I daresay the circumstances could be better.”
She looked at me with a completely blank stare. Was she lacking in intelligence? Not from all the reports I’d read. Maybe it was just old news to her and didn’t shock her anymore. I found that unlikely also since her parents had only been dead since August.
“Oh,” she finally said and indicated that I should sit in the rocker that had obviously been provided for my visit.
I dutifully sat down and pulled my notes from my small case.
“May I ask you some questions?” I asked, realizing how rude it would be to begin interrogating her without asking.
“I thought Mr. Holmes was coming.”
“Holmes will meet with you on another day. He decided to visit your house today and walk around a bit.”
She looked as if she wanted to hit me for a moment. “Why is he looking at the house?”
“He felt like he could deduce more of what happened by taking a look around than just reading about it.”
“But my lawyers already know what happened.”
“They want to do their best for you.”
“I am tired of talking about it.”
This was not going well so far. Lizzie was very difficult to talk to. “Perhaps if I ask questions?”
“I was in London a few years ago.”
“Really? Did you find it to your liking?”
“It was rainy and gray but I enjoyed the museums.”
“Miss Borden, tell me about the day your father died.”
She clamped her jaws shut and sat there for what was beginning to look like forever. Suddenly she got a faraway look in those strange eyes and she began to talk as if she were seeing it as she spoke.
“I got up at nine or so. Hadn’t felt well the night before; I heard Father and Abby sick during the night too. I came down after they had eaten with my uncle John Morse, and I had some cookies. Father left for the bank and Abby made Maggie wash windows. I do wish I’d paid more attention that morning but I didn’t. I read a magazine, mended a sleeve, tried to iron my handkerchiefs but the fire was too low to get the irons hot. Abby went out to help someone. She said she had a note from a boy. Father came home and I went to the barn to hunt for some iron. I went upstairs and Father took a nap then I came down-” she stopped, almost as if rehearsed and dabbed at a tear. “Mr. Watson, I don’t know what I could have done different.”
This was a blend of all the different stories she had given at the inquest. She had answered the same question three or four different ways within the space of two days.
“I have some questions.”
She put her handkerchief away and seemed to compose herself. It was almost as if one part of the performance were done and now she would move on to the next.
“I don’t know how I can help, but I will try.”
“Tell me about the barn. What is in the barn?”
“Just old and unused things. That is why I went there for iron.”
“Did you find iron?”
“Yes, in the box upstairs. I didn’t want to come back to the house so I ate some pears that I’d picked up on the way out to there.”
“What did you want the iron for?”
“To make some sinkers. We were going fishing on Monday.”
“Does your house have a bathroom upstairs?”
“No. We used a chamber pot and went downstairs with our pots.”
“What else is down there?”
“A sink, boxes of broken things that Father saved, the woodpile, the laundry, the furnace, the coal bins…”
“Did you go down there that morning?”
“Right after I got up.”
“Was the outside door locked?”
“Oh yes, we keep all our doors locked. We were robbed several months before Father and Abby were killed.”
“Are you sure Miss Sullivan didn’t unlock it?”
“She got her water from the barn.”
“For washing windows?”
“Yes. Abby made her wash them that morning.”
“Where was she when your parents were killed?”
“She must have been washing windows when Abby died and I think she was asleep in her room when Father died.”
“Was it usual for the servant to nap during the day?”
“She said she’d been sick in the night like Father and Abby.”
“So you sent her to her room?”
Lizzie looked surprised at the question, but she recovered rather quickly. “She asked if she might lie down before dinner. I told her to go ahead.”
I nodded.
“I’m sure it is hard on you and your sister.”
“I am not fond of living in jail. But the food is from the hotel and I go out at least once a day.” I had meant hard for them to lose their father, but Lizzie’s answer was interesting nonetheless.
“Does your sister come often?”
“Nearly every day. I get other visitors too. The Reverend and my lawyers come often.”
“Do you like your lawyers?”
“Mr. Jennings was Father’s lawyer and he is like family. Mr. Robinson is very friendly.”
“I am going to leave you now, Miss Borden. I am going to have a meeting with your lawyers and then dinner with Mr. Holmes. I am sure that we shall meet again.”
I made my excuses and left, more perplexed than ever. Was she guilty? Was she insane? Was she rude and spoiled? I could not decide which she was. Or was she all three? Perhaps Holmes could sort it all out and boil it all down to the truth of what happened in that house in Fall River on the morning of August 4th.
I made my way back to the hotel in Fall River. The two towns were not so far apart that it took long to go from one to the other. Mr. Jennings was waiting there for me. He shook my hand and led me to the hotel dining room. Mr. Robinson waited there for us. We sat and ordered a drink and some food.
“So, Doctor Watson, what did you think of our Miss Borden?” Robinson asked.
I took a sip of my water, trying to stall for some time. I had no idea what to say to them.
“Quite an odd duck, isn’t she?” Robinson asked. “How do you think a jury will see her?’
“I am no expert on juries. Holmes and I help the police and seldom are involved in the court.”
“Do you think she will seem sympathetic?”
I had to tell the truth. “No, I do not. She seems rather -- I am not sure what to call it. - stubborn or even uninterested in the whole affair.”
“She is just tired of the same questions over and over,” Jennings said.
I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you sure?”
He was saved from answering me by the timely arrival of our food. I looked down and it was mutton, the last food served in the Borden house on that fateful day. I pushed the plate away. Suddenly I had no appetite.
~~~
Chapter Five - Down Time
After dining with Jennings and Robinson, I went back to the hotel and to my room. I pulled out the folders of information that we had compiled from newspapers before we came to Massachusetts.
Some papers vilified Lizzie while others made her sound like a saint. I wasn’t sure which was true, if not both. I needed more to go on than just a meeting with Miss Borden. Everyone could have a bad day, but from many accounts, this sullen woman was what Lizzie was nearly always like.
I wrote to Mary and told her of my day and how I found the peculiar Miss Borden, and then I lay down for a nap.
Someone knocking on the door woke me.
“Watson? Are you there?” It was Holmes. I looked at my watch. It was past five. I had been more tired than I thought to have slept so long. Perhaps the sea voyage and time difference were catching up with me. I went to the door and let him in.
“Sleeping? Did you talk to Miss Borden?” He bustled into the room.
I nodded, still not quite fully awake. “I certainly did and I talked with her lawyers as well. They seem awfully anxious for me to think well of her.”
Holmes was excited. I could see it in his eyes. I knew he assumed the case was simple and that he could solve it easily. But something happened that either made it harder to solve or he’d actually found the murderer.
“So how was your day?” I asked.
“Well, for a wealthy family, they certainly didn’t live like it. Or no one but Lizzie did. The house was a bit shabby and the neighborhood was not the best either. The old man’s clothes were old and worn as were the stepmother’s. Not all of either sisters’ clothing was there but from the ones that were, Emma was scarcely better dressed than her elders. But Lizzie, how was she dressed?”
“She had on a very pretty, new looking green gown, one that Mary would have said nice things about.”
“How did you find her?”
“Sullen and suspicious.”
He didn’t say much, just sat down and lit his pipe.
“Did you find anything at the house?”
“It was interesting. I have several theories. I need some more time before I decide how the murders were done.”
“How? Does that mean you already know who?”
“Not completely. The how may give us the who as well.”
“Miss Borden seemed disappointed that you did not come to see her,” I told him as I washed my face in the basin.
Holmes smiled. “I’d have been amazed if she had not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Miss Borden’s room was bigger than her elder sister’s and much nicer. Though I did not see all her clothes, hers were fashionable and well made while her sister’s were dull and there were only a few of them. Miss Borden, it would seem, is quite impressed by the trappings of wealth and she longs to be popular, I believe.”
“I’m anxious to hear about the house.”
“So you shall, over dinner. First, I must do some experiments in my room. I will call for you when they are done.” With that, he let himself out and went to his own room.
I finished my toilet and dressed for dinner then wrote Mary another short letter. I missed her so and worried for her since she was so far away. I had never thought to be a father and now that it was imminent, I felt unreasonably cautious. I wished not for the first time that I’d never brought the letter to Holmes. I’d have been at home with my wife in our cozy little house in London on this cold winter night.
I knew that Holmes would have more questions about Miss Borden so I sat down to think about our interview. She had been nothing like I had supposed she would be. I had thought her to be a dainty spinster from the reports in the papers, but I’d found a rather unpleasant and unattractive woman. She seemed almost oblivious to the fact that she was accused of killing her father and stepmother in a most heinous way and that if found guilty, she would surely hang. She seemed more concerned with her own comfort and how pretty her dresses were than the fact she’d lost her father so recently.
I could easily understand how she had been branded by some newspapers as cold and heartless. I believed her to be more selfish and thoughtless. If she had killed her parents, the newspapers may have been closer to the truth.
I let myself into Holmes’ room through the door that connected our rooms. He was bent over a vial of something.
“Come in and sit. I will be finished with this in a moment.”
“What concoction are you making? It smells awful.”
“I am going to return to Borden house and make some tests.”
I knew he’d told me all he meant to for now. I’d have to wait him out. I was used to such. I was sure he already had an idea of how the Bordens were killed and perhaps even who did the killing. He usually knew these things fairly early in a case. I smiled when I thought of his meeting Miss Borden.
We went to dinner and Holmes asked more questions.
“Did she seem distraught in any way?”
“She seemed inconvenienced mostly, as if the whole thing were just a big bother.”
“I should like to meet Emma too, I think. Is the maid still about the area?”
“I believe so. Perhaps she has some information.”
He looked thoughtful. “Maybe but I am not sure that she would disclose it if she did. There are some who already accuse her though for what reason, I cannot fathom.”
“Why on earth would the Irish girl want to kill them?”
“She wouldn’t but who would? Miss Lizzie? Miss Emma? Some angry business associate of Mr. Borden? That is the puzzle. Then how? How did someone do this and not be noticed? The answer is there. I will find it, Watson.”
I knew he would too. I’ve only known him to ever be bested once so I was sure he would see this to the solution, no matter who was paying our bills.
~~~