The Haunting of Atterbury Manor

The estate of Mme. Robichaux, neé Atterbury, was situated at the apex of a small rise which one could not quite call a hill, and was surrounded by an ancient forest carrying nearly as much weighty tenebrosity as the manor itself. Holmes and I had been invited to a luncheon one Friday afternoon by the lady of the house herself, and though I understood the social value of attendance, my companion did not.

"Why you insisted upon dragging me to the home of a newlywed socialite is beyond me, Watson." 

I knew well enough to deny him a response, as he would certainly use the opportunity to further disparage my character. Our carriage had been left at the base of the long narrow drive, and late September leaves crunched beneath our shoes. Holmes expressed his displeasure at being made to walk such distance with frequent sighs and pointed comments about the state of his oxfords. I found no such cause for complaint as the dappled sun was shining cheerfully between the dense tree branches above, which were rustling raucously in the chilly breeze; I found the brief inclining walk quite invigorating.

"Messieurs Holmes and Watson, entrez-vous," welcomed our young hostess upon our arrival in the parlor, her English accent clumsily navigating the foreign French language. She floated towards us wearing a creamy white dress replete with layer upon layer of lace and silk, a blue sash about her waist, and a large cameo pinned to her plush lace collar. She introduced us to her younger sister, Mrs. Anthony Brisbane - a woman of considerable girth and exceptionally good taste in ostrich-plumed hats. The Frenchman, wearing a fine pinstriped grey suit, reclined quite comfortably upon a horsehair chaise-longue and puffed repeatedly upon a curved pipe. A wispy grayish white cloud materialized above him while he gestured towards my companion with an incline of his head.

After several minutes of niceties, Mme. Robichaux arrived at the point of her invitation. "Monsieur Holmes," she mispronounced, "I must admit that I have called upon you today in order to investigate a most sensitive and serious matter."

My mind whirred with assumptions ranging from the all-too-common marital infidelity to the perennial suspicion of murder. These ladies appeared to be serious, though not of ill-humor, and I doubted their sensitive matter was one beyond the grasp of my studied companion, though I could not immediately preditct it.

"You have a problem involving spiritual apparitions, do you not, Madame?" 

"Why Monsieur Holmes, that is exactamment correct! However did you guess?"

"Guess? Why, you might as well have confessed it to me before we so much as crossed your threshold! I could not help but notice the rounded table with the half-burnt candle upon it. The drapes are drawn, though it is only midday, and an alphabet board (an unusual device for ladies of high society) is located in a prominent place upon the bookshelf. In fact, the lace about your sister's wrist is stained with photography flash powder, and I highly doubt photography is a regular hobby of yours, Madame. Must I go on?"

Myself, I had indeed noticed the rounded table laid with a fringed velvet cloth, circular mirror, and candle upon it, but of course I could not have guessed it had any bearing upon our seemingly innocent luncheon invitation. It was then that I cast my glance around the room and, with difficulty, spied the board of letters. Further inspection revealed an assortment of crystal balls, phonographs, and other séance paraphernalia. 

"You see, sister? I knew Mr. Holmes would see through the mysteries!"

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Brisbane, "His reputation preceded him."

The Frenchman then piped up. "Messieurs Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, this house - it is not welcoming. Non, the ladies, they are growing quite uncomfortable here."

"You see, gentlemen," continued Mme. Robichaux on behalf of her new husband, "this all began après our father passed away. Dear Mother has been gone for ages, mais Father passed just days after my wedding. Since his funeral, we have been plagued - yes plagued! - by unsettling occurrences here in the manor. Windows rattling, icy drafts in an otherwise warm room, unexplainable odors, footsteps in la nuit--"

"And what's more, things have been moving to and fro! Books fly from the shelves, doors creak open and closed with no draft, and much more." This interruption was brought about by a moustached gentleman who had just entered the parlor without introduction. 

"Yes, darling, and that is why we have brought a flash camera here," supplied Mrs. Brisbane, thereby introducing her husband. “It’s been quite fascinating, the things that have turned up on film. It really is a marvelous invention and over time I’ve become quite skilled at its use.” Mr. Brisbane then produced a series of completed and developed photographs depicting various angles of this very parlor. One photograph, which Mr. Brisbane presented to us most prominently, included a rather transparent-looking gentleman dressed all in white standing just behind Madame and Monsieur Robichaux, who were seated at the round table, hands clasped together, eyes cast downward, and the alphabet board placed in front of them. 

Mme. Robichaux began to weep into her lace handkerchief at the sight of what she described as a photograph of her dear departed father's spirit. 

“I shall never understand why he wishes to frighten me so! Does Father mean us harm? His activity has been increasing in recent weeks. Why, you’ve seen it, dear sister!”

“Oui, there have been many such events," interjected Mr. Robichaux. "Moi, I do not suspect it to be the work of a phantom, but I cannot say what it is, in fact. This house has a certain… feeling." Indeed, the aging manor was host to a variety of dark corners, suspicious shadows, faded tapestries, and innumerable passageways. The surrounding forest supplied further darkness to the secluded estate.

Mr. Brisbane reshuffled his photographs to reveal a snap of a recently-extinguished lamp in front of the sisters, both looking quite stunned, their mouths shaped like letter Os.

Mrs. Brisbane pointed at the photograph. "As you can see here, Mr. Watson, it must have been Father who extinguished this light with a cold wind, as there are no windows or corridors in this part of the room."

“And you wish for Mr. Holmes and I to speak to your father?” The Brisbanes exchanged an inscrutable look. At this time I felt genuinely perplexed, since Sherlock Holmes was not generally employed as a spiritual medium. “Perhaps you require my services. I did carry my doctor’s bag along with me and can perform a cursory examination upon the occupants of the manor, or perhaps I may assess the quality of the air circulation -”

It was at that moment that, at great speed, the rounded table suddenly slid several inches to the left. The half-burned candle upon the mirror was toppled and the fringed cloth beneath ruffled as though a stiff breeze had entered the room. A bizarre moan emanated from the hallway beyond in the direction in which the table had moved. A slow scraping sound rose up from the floorboards beneath the oriental rug, accompanied by a loud, repetitive creak. Mme Robichaux, already quite hysterical and anxious to provide proof of her haunting, shrieked as though a mouse had scurried beneath her voluminous skirts. 

“You see!” cried Mme Robichaux. “It’s Father!”

“Madame, I assure you, this is not a legitimate haunting.”

“But Monsieur Holmes, have you not been convinced? We have displayed evidence and have even been visited by my father himself, right here in this parlor!”

“Mrs. Brisbane, I do believe your sister has invited me here to solve her mystery (if one would deign to call it that) not perpetuate your trickery.”

“Trickery! How on earth could I be guilty of trickery! I have been seated right here next to you in this very parlor. My dear departed Father has come back from the grave to wreak havoc upon this house. His spirit must be mightily displeased and you, a highly logical and educated man, must see this to be true. It is for this reason my sister has called upon you - to confirm this to be true, not to cast about false accusations!” She spluttered, losing her grasp of sophistication, and two pink circles developed upon her cheeks.

“It’s quite simple, you see. In the first place, anyone can plainly see that a very fine thread has been tied to the leg of this table here and was tugged by someone in the hallway, who then created a ghostly moan to frighten you, Madame. One can easily conclude that additives have been applied to magnify the sound of the aged floorboards while a utensil was drawn along its supporting surface below. I suspect the culprits to be some servants of young Mrs. Brisbane, who has come to visit her newlywed older sister. Mr. Brisbane was likely providing instructions to these servants at the time of my arrival. It is quite obvious that it is they who are behind your supposed haunting, not the late Mr. Atterbury. It is the inheritance your sister seeks and she certainly does not wish it handed over to a foreigner. She is preying upon your naiveté and openness to the spiritual world as a way to drive you from your rightful home.” Holmes then shrugged in the direction of the Frenchman as if in sympathy for his having married into such a deceitful family. “Really, Madame, you are haunted only by the spirit of envy.”

The sisters glared at each other murderously, Mr. Brisbane departed from the room with as much fanfare as he entered, and the Frenchman reclined still further in his chaise-longue, from which he had never risen throughout this meeting.

"And now, Madame, if you would be so kind as to ask your sister's maidservants to cease their tomfoolery, I believe I am entitled to a proper luncheon."