It was as we sat, enjoying our tea and slices of delicious honey cake, that Holmes leant forwards and asked, "Tell me, Mrs Watson...um...Aunt, how long have you been wearing your crucifix?"
As I watched, my aunt's hand went instinctively to her neck and she held it there. After a few moments, she removed her hand to reveal a fine gold chain and cross hanging around her neck. It was something I had not noticed and something that I had never seen her wear before.
Aunt Rachel blushed slightly and lowered her head, saying, "I have had it since I was a girl... but I have only recently chosen to wear it."
Holmes’ voice was now softer, asking, "Since this business with your friends in St. John's Wood?"
Aunt Rachel nodded, adding, "Yes, since Elsie died. I thought, due to the circumstances... but you must think that I am a silly old woman and..."
The sentence remained unfinished as Holmes bent forwards and gently patted my aunt's hand. It was a sign of compassion and affection, an emotion I had rarely seen surface in my friend. "Not at all, Aunt, but you must tell me all, leave nothing out, no matter how small."
Aunt Rachel dabbed her eyes with a small lace-edged handkerchief and smiled at Holmes. "You are very kind, Sherlock. You and John have given me the strength to go on. It all began around Christmas time. My friends, Stephen and Elsie Grainger had moved from Lymington some years past to be nearer to their daughter and her husband. They had bought a nice terraced house in St. John's Wood and Elsie would pen a letter to me every quarter with their news and I would respond in kind."
Holmes nodded and began to fill his pipe as he waited for my aunt to continue.
"It was her December letter that raised my concerns. Elsie had always been quite a strict Methodist but, in this letter, she said she had gone to some kind of séance at the request of her husband and it had been most disquieting."
Holmes’ brows furrowed slightly as he lent forwards, asking, "Did she say in what way it was disturbing?"
My aunt shook her head. "In this initial letter there was nothing specific, she just said she felt uncomfortable and that the spiritualist had asked for a contribution towards the meeting. My friends were not well off, Sherlock. Two guineas was a lot to them."
I almost choked as I heard this. "Two guineas? For what, pray, a meeting with someone who can supposedly receive messages from beyond the grave? Outrageous!"
Holmes frowned and raised his hand slightly, in a calming gesture. Although still ruffled, I settled back once more in my seat.
"Did Mrs Grainger write more on this in her subsequent letter?" pressed Holmes.
Aunt Rachel nodded. "I received the last letter from Elsie in late April. I had been expecting it for some weeks and I fear that I was becoming anxious. It was a dreadful letter, Sherlock. Stephen had forced his wife to attend further meetings and it seems that he had become a believer and had fallen under the spell or influence of the person who had led them, a Doctor Daniel Garton. She talked of seeing things at these meetings and of being frightened, being exposed to a strange smell and seeing a green mist when the spirit appeared to them. Over the previous month they had paid over ten guineas to attend these meetings."
I was appalled and my dear aunt was again in tears after recounting this. I looked towards Holmes. His face was now grim and he was sitting back in his chair with his thin fingers steepled against his lips. I was becoming increasingly angered by what my aunt had said and could not restrain myself, crying out, "This is dreadful, Holmes! We must seek out this Doctor Garton at once and have it out with him!"
Holmes wagged a reproachful finger in my direction, saying, "No, Watson. We will do nothing in haste. There are people amongst us who genuinely believe that they have been given a gift whereby they can communicate with departed souls. They share their gift freely and, I believe, they assist those whose mourning continues in this world. Whilst this is not my belief, they are, for the most part, harmless and they provide some solace to those seeking it."
Holmes now sat forwards slightly, his expression changed as his jaw tightened and his eyes burned like red hot coals. "However, there are charlatans whose sole purpose is to exploit the vulnerable and take money from those desperately seeking to fill the void left by a departed loved one. This is, I believe, what we are dealing with here."
Holmes’ paused and his face softened as he once more leant forwards towards my aunt, asking, "Tell me, Aunt. What do you know of the circumstances surrounding the death of Elsie?"
My aunt again dabbed her eyes and I could see that she was becoming emotionally exhausted by this ordeal. I put out my hand towards her and she grasped it briefly and smiled. She looked towards Holmes and I could see that, whilst weary, she was indeed determined to finish her story.
Clearing her throat briefly, she continued, "Well, I know very little other than what I have read in the newspapers. I was informed of her death on the 27th of May by Stephen. He wrote to me briefly from his hospital bed-"
"Hospital bed?" interrupted Holmes.
My aunt nodded. "Yes, Stephen recounted in his letter how they had both been struck down by what he called 'The Emerald Spirit' and that Elsie had perished because she was weak and did not fully believe."
At this, she slumped in her chair, her hands went to her face and she sobbed. I moved quickly to her side whilst Holmes raced to ring the bell to summon Mrs Hudson. It took several minutes for Aunt Rachel to regain her composure but, having done so, she was able to walk unaided to her room, accompanied by Mrs Hudson.
Alone now, we were able to reflect on what had been said. Holmes had taken up his favourite briar pipe and was sitting in his leather armchair, eyes closed and deep in thought. The only sign of any conscious activity being the odd plume of smoke which appeared from his thin lips. Opening his eyes slowly, he asked, "Tell me, Watson, do you have the newspaper report of the death of Elsie Grainger? I would have thought that a death attributed to 'The Emerald Spirit' would be most noteworthy and part of your collection."
I thought for a moment but could not bring any such report to mind. Frowning, I rose and began to look in my scrapbooks for any mention of the death of Elsie Grainger in cuttings after the date my aunt had mentioned. "Bless my soul, Holmes. Here it is... On the 27th last, Mr and Mrs Stephen Grainger of fifteen, Boundary Road, St. John's Wood were admitted to Marylebone Hospital. Once there, Mrs Grainger was found to be dead from asphyxiation and her husband grievously suffering from the effects of monoxide poisoning. The alarm had been raised when Mr Henry Todd, a neighbour, who was emptying some ashes, saw what he describes as "a strange, green, ethereal glow that filled the whole of the Grainger's sitting room window." Fearing that it might be a fire, Mr Todd approached and looked through the window where he saw the bodies of his neighbours prostrate on the floor. At the subsequent inquest into Elsie Grainger's death, no explanation could be put forward for the observed green glow and no fault could be found in the chimney of number fifteen. A verdict of 'death by misadventure' was recorded."
Holmes frowned, saying, "I think, Watson, that it would be beneficial if we were to speak to Mr Stephen Grainger as he is clearly in awe of this Emerald Spirit." With that, Holmes reached for his notebook and dashed off a telegram.