#though every time arthur was described as having copper hair i was like

[arthurtaylorlester]

I only just. got around to reading whiskey old fashioned sour and oh god one of my instant favourites

[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 2

Characters: Elaine, Arthur x Theo, Vincent

Pairing: Elaine x Isaac (eventually)

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ @lady-moonbroch​

A/N: This chapter turned out nothing like the first draft XD Enjoy some Elaine spending time with her Uncle and she meets a boy!

Four days into her new job as Theo’s assistant, the mood in their home had drastically lifted. Elaine never complained and paid close attention to every task given to her, exceeding all expectations. She quoted things he’d said to her years ago and questioned smartly, craving the knowledge he had. Having her along had proved quite useful with prickly clients, smoothing over situations with a charming smile and sweet words, likely emulating Arthur. 

Theo enjoyed having time with her. In recent years, they’d grown strained. The teenager wanted more freedom and broke rules in place to protect her because she believed them unnecessary. Now, at nearly eighteen in only two days, she’d fought harder. Being able to keep an eye on her put the art dealer at little more at ease.

His daughter sat across from him, glancing at him out of the corner of her vision. Elaine hadn’t taken the news that she couldn’t accompany him today well. Instead of anger, she’d pouted silently all morning.

“I take it that you aren’t happy with today’s agenda,” Arthur piped up with an amused grin not quite hidden by his cup of steaming coffee. The previous night Theo had informed him of the impending unhappy teenager.

Elaine stuffed the fork full of pancakes into her mouth, enough to make her cheeks puff out to match her frown. She’d gotten up extra early and made pancakes and extra sweet coffee, but the answer remained unchanged. Now, she wanted to drown her sorrows in syrup and butter until she got sick.

“Vincent has asked for you to help him today while I’m gone.” Theo could easily see the motive behind his brother’s sudden request. He’d promised to make her do some work instead of spoiling her the entire day.

The teenager flinched at those words. She couldn’t very well turn down her uncle, as she adored him so much. Help isn’t the word she’d choose to describe what the day would entail. He’d likely ask her to do a small task or two, nothing that required much effort. “Fine. I guess I can do that.”

Working didn’t bother her. She assisted around the house with the chores without complaint. If Comte asked, she would readily agree. It irritated her that this client wouldn’t allow her entrance to his home, prompting this sour mood. No promises of being quiet or staying outside had swayed Theo. He couldn’t risk spooking the man.

“If you find yourself in need of something to do, I can have you proofread for me.” Her grimace only made the mystery writer chuckle again. Her disdain for that job well-known. Though she enjoyed his stories, playing editor didn’t appeal to her. A tedious thing.

Theo cracked a grin, rising from the table. “You better thank Vincent for saving you from that.” One check of his watch ended the conversation. He bid his family farewell before heading into town alone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help your Papa with his work?” Arthur teased further. He had been a tad jealous that she eagerly wanted to assist Theo over the course of the week. Ah, but he was also grateful that the two were more understanding of each other.

Elaine stacked all the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. “I love you but no.” Her curt reply still amusing. Setting the dishes in the sink, she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers.

“Off you go then. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

The young vampire didn’t need to be told twice. Housework didn’t appeal to her either. She did her part, pitching in when needed, but if told she didn’t have to do it... the teenager bailed as quickly as she could.

Inside the mansion, the hallways were quiet and empty.  At this hour, everyone should be awake, except for Leonardo perhaps. Rapping her fist against Vincent’s door, she cast confused glances down the hallway.

“Goede morgen, Elaine,” Vincent greeted with a bright smile. He laughed softly at her confusion. Since Arthur and Theo had moved out of the mansion with her when she was only 4 years old, daily happenings didn’t reach their house as quickly as it spread through the mansion. “We’re the only ones here today.”

“I’m okay with that.” She flashed a disheartened smile, unable to shake the dark cloud hanging over her. Her normally mischievous and lively attitude disappeared. The others might have tried to make her understand. She understood perfectly fine.

That didn’t make it less saddening.

“Come here.” He’d barely open his arms and invited his niece to find comfort with him when the teenager stepped forward and accepted the warm hug. Vincent stroked his fingers through her copper hair. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him so much of Theo when he was a child. “You know, he couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were on the job.”

“Really?”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t said so to her. Theo would give praise often, especially when she came up with new ideas. Telling the others about it, that was rarer.

Vincent hummed in response, a gentle smile on his lips as she peeked up at him. “I’d say he was outright bragging. I’m not surprised. You’re his daughter after all.” Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he laughed softly at her uplifted mood.

Elaine lingered a little longer before releasing him, soaking up his sunshine-like warmth. “I guess I could stop pouting about it.” Relenting her sad feelings, she sighed softly before questioning. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?”

“I finished the final painting and I thought I’d ask for your expert advice on where to put it in the gallery space. That is, if you want to.” His request was well-received with a glowing smile from his niece. Theo had mentioned that he’d given her the sole responsibility of choosing how to use the space to best showcase the art. The uncle looked forward to seeing what she’d done.

***********

The paintings on the wall were shrouded in black cloth, to hide the precious items from view until the day of the showing. Only a select few knew what was beneath, ones trusted by Theo to make this a success. Elaine had been gifted one of the only keys to venue, a testament to her importance.

“I believe I’m looking forward to this event more than any other,” Vincent commented, allowing the staff to hang the framed piece in its designated spot.

The heat in her cheeks caused the teenager to turn her gaze anywhere else. “It’s not much different from how Vader does it. I’ve been to more of these than any other event in the city.” The location changed but ever since she learned to walk, she’d been toddling around, observing, and learning how it works. Before she’d even realized, she’d begun understanding color theory and composition.

“It wasn’t too long ago that you were only a few years old and correcting patrons on the medium or style of the art. You always had this incredibly serious expression, much like Theo.”

“That was so long ago! I’m almost eighteen!”

Vincent chuckled with a loving smile. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

The chime of the door timed perfectly with one of the staff calling to speak with Vincent. Elaine stepped away to investigate the newcomer. Violet eyes narrowed at the sight of a boy, likely no older than herself, attempting to take a peek at the portrait veiled by the black cloth. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.” Her tone less than polite, Elaine thrust her palms against his chest to push him away from the art piece.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ve been most curious about why there are staff entering but it’s never been open for business.” His emerald eyes filled with hidden intent that didn’t quite match the half smirk on his lips. The boy never resisted her pushing him back to the door and onto the street. “A secretive operation, I presume, miss?”

“Elaine and we don’t open for another two days.”

Her biggest fear was that he was a spy for le academia and all of her father’s hard work would go to waste if they were discovered. He didn’t fit the typical appearance of a high bred family, usually scrawny and uptight, and he wasn’t either of those things.

“I’ll have to pop in when you are open. My name is Leon Autry.” He flashed another brilliantly smug smile and winked. “Might I inquire your surname, should I have any future questions?” The reason lost on the recipient. He’d yet to ask anything relevant to the gallery.

Elaine turned on her heel to return inside. “It’s Doyle.” Even though she didn’t quite like the boy, she couldn’t risk turning away a potential buyer. Her cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. The young pureblood didn’t have many friends her age, and that led to a bit of awkwardness when around humans her age.

“Ah, like the writer.”

The girl stilled, hand hovering above the door handle. Perhaps she’d heard him incorrectly.

“You might not know of him. He’s a British writer, mystery, I think.”

Or perhaps not.

“I believe it’s Arthur Conan Doyle. Any relation?” Leon asked as if he already knew the answer, like playing a game of truth or dare in order reveal a secret for confirmation.

Elaine relaxed her shoulders. Although she could hardly admit that she was indeed was the daughter of that very Arthur, albeit the vampire one, she wouldn’t allow him to glean that precious information from her. “No, but you aren’t the first to ask. But wouldn’t that be grand? Imagine being related to someone as talented as that.” Her dreamy smile fowled his for a moment.

“Imagine.” The façade of his grin had ghosted away for a split second, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Elaine, are you ready to head back?” A third party interrupted, much welcomed by the girl. Vincent approached the two, protectively a half step in front of his niece. The tension between the two children enough to worry him.

Her head bobbed once in response. “Yes, let’s go home.” The way Leon’s eyes followed her unsettled the girl. Elaine settled back on the seat in the carriage, mulling over the strange interaction. Was it so unusual for someone to draw a connection between her name and the human Arthur from this era?

Whatever the case, she now had a proper mystery on her hands.

[holmesoverture]

The Telegraph Boy, Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Be Here Chapter 4 Be Here

Three-quarters of an hour after that nonsense with the watch, which transpired precisely as Holmes predicted it would, the train pulled into the Gravesend station.  I slept the entire journey, but I’m certain Holmes didn’t shut his eyes except perhaps occasionally to blink.  He never slept while on a case.  One particularly thorny problem took us nearly a full week to resolve and left Holmes jabbering about blue spiders in his pipe by the end.

From the station we took a cab to the Kendall Estate, an elegant rectangular building of grey stone with a small wing jutting from either side.  A wide gravel path brought us directly to a set of stairs and then to the front door, where a maid let us into a lavish entrance hall with a gilt staircase and gold-framed paintings upon every wall.  From here she directed us to the drawing room and curtsied as she left, promising to inform Lord Kendall of our presence without delay.

The drawing-room was just as worthy of being a part of that grand house as was the entrance hall before it, though the wallpaper was a shade of green so vivid as to make me glad we would not be staying long. The ornate glass above the fireplace reflected most of the room, including the windows of stained glass depicting key scenes from Homer’s Iliad, the gleaming upright piano, and the plentiful pot plants that would have lent the place a cosy atmosphere had they not been of that variety of fern for which I have already documented my dislike.  Holmes, to my relief, was far too engrossed in the examination of a book that had been left upon a side table to concern himself with trivial matters like harassing his keeper.

“Another clue?” I asked.

“On the contrary.”  He closed the volume and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself looking at the cover of the 1887 Beeton’s Christmas Annual in which had been published A Study in Scarlet, the first and at that time only one of my works available to the general public.

“At least someone appreciates my efforts,” said I.

“Temporarily setting aside the fact that we have no evidence to show whether Lord Kendall liked or disliked this particular story, I feel as though that remark was intended for me.”

“You said you could not congratulate me for publishing my book and that I had overshadowed your brilliant deductions with unnecessary romanticism.”

“And you took my criticism to mean that I did not appreciate your efforts?  You misunderstand me entirely, my dear fellow.”

“Do I now?”

“Of course.  I was most flattered by your creative endeavours.  I simply meant that your chronicle would be improved by removing the bits about the Mormons.”

“‘The bits about the Mormons,’ as you refer to it, happens to be the entire second half of my book.”

“Yes, that.”

“You hated half my book.”

“I would not say I hated it, merely that I think the paper used to print those bits would have been put to better use as gift wrapping.”

“That means the same thing!”

“There is a subtle difference—”

“There is nothing subtle about—”

The door opened, bringing an abrupt end to our literary debate and signalling the arrival of Lord Reuben Kendall.  He possessed a crop of copper curls and a conspicuous predilection for the colour orange, as well as a turned-up nose, sharp cheekbones, and exceedingly shiny shoes.

“You are fortunate to find me in residence,” he remarked once the customary introductions had been attended to.  “I am generally at my club at this hour.”

“Something has thrown you off your schedule?” Holmes asked, innocently.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all.  You simply chose a convenient day to visit.  That is all I meant.  And glad am I that you did so, for it gives me the opportunity to tell you how keenly I admire your work.  That is to say, both of your works.  You are both a credit to the empire!  In fact, I have your book here upon the table.  Could I perhaps trouble you for an inscription?”

I fulfilled his bashful request, though not without a conflicted conscience.  Our errand in Gravesend was not a happy one and might very well cause Lord Kendall such grief that I felt like I was providing an advance on a consolation prize.

“Now how may I be of service?” Lord Kendall asked when he finished his effervescences.

“Some facts will more than suffice,” Holmes replied. “For instance, have you by any chance heard of this morning’s unfortunate events at Shrewsbury House?”

“If they happened only this morning, I hardly see how I could be expected to receive news from there so quickly.”

“Perhaps you have had a visitor from the area and that is why you are not at your club.”

Lord Kendall gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles retained not a trace of colour.  “You present a most interesting theory, no less so for its incorrectness.  I have had no visitors today, from Mayfair or anywhere else.”

“Not even Lord Walmsley?”

“Especially not Lord Walmsley.  He took a train to Cheltenham this morning.  He wrote me yesterday of his intention to do so, and unless the misfortune to which you earlier alluded has prevented him from acting upon his plans, I imagine he is taking the waters as we are sitting here conversing.”

“Lord Kendall, I fear you may have misheard me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked how you could be of service and I replied that facts would suffice, but every statement you have uttered thus far has been a lie.  I cannot blame you for your deceit in itself, only for its poor execution.  Had my companion asked me to prevaricate on his behalf I should have done so without a moment’s hesitation.  But never mind.  Perhaps Lord Walmsley would like to speak for himself.  Pray come in, sir.  It is the height of impropriety to linger in doorways, so I’m told.”

Lord Walmsley was not a large man, though his proud bearing and rich dress gave him the appearance of one.  He was about thirty years of age and had a well-trimmed beard, two shades darker than the sand-brown hair atop his head, and the smooth pale complexion so common among men of leisure.  His eyes, the same soft grey as the sky before a snowfall, held an element which I could not measure, but Holmes evidently believed it to be perplexity and took the opportunity to elaborate upon his earlier statements.

“I heard someone much heavier than the maid descending the stair,” he said.  “You then briefly ventured too near the doorway of the drawing-room, allowing your shadow to pass through the gap between the door and the carpet.”

Lord Walmsley tucked his hands into his pockets. “It would seem I owe you an apology, Dr Watson,” he said.  “Reuben had me read your account of the Jefferson Hope affair and I dismissed it as fantastic hyperbole, a judgment I now realise was hasty and unfair to you both. Your Mr Holmes is in every way the master detective you described him as.”

My manners overcame my surprise long enough to insist I utter a thank you.  Lord Walmsley turned to our host.

“Reuben, would you be so kind as to give us some privacy?”

Lord Kendall’s gaze skittered from Holmes to Lord Walmsley, not unlike a mouse mistrustful of which wall will provide the safest refuge. It was with no great hurry that he finally left us.

“I will happily confess every detail of the events of last night,” Lord Walmsley said when we were alone.  “All I ask in return is that you not implicate Reuben Kendall in any way.  He was in no way party to my actions and is only dimly aware that some catastrophe has chased me here, though I have not yet divulged to him its true nature.”

“I have no interest in Lord Kendall.  He will face no harassment from either myself or Dr Watson.”

Lord Walmsley, thus assured, invited us to sit as he made a few false starts at commencing his narrative, overwhelmed by the length and the intricacy of it, before deciding upon the following.

-

Chapter 6 Be Here

-

Notes of Interest

Vivid green wallpaper – Victorian wallpaper, particularly varieties made with green dye, frequently contained dangerous levels of arsenic.  The hazards were well-known by 1888, but lawmakers did nothing and people thought it looked cool, so it was totally worth the risk of putting yourself in a coma in exchange for an awesome drawing room, right?

Pot plants – “Pot plants” is Brit speak for “potted plants.”  Seriously, stop giggling.

Could not congratulate me for publishing – Holmes’ rather rudely expressed opinion of A Study in Scarlet can be found in the first chapter of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Sign of the Four.

Mormons – No spoilers, but the second half of A Study in Scarlet is really weird, man.

Cheltenham – A popular spa town in southwestern England.