Page 18 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
Little wonder that as a younger man, Lord Ingram had not courted Miss Holmes. In fact, Mrs. Watson wasn’t sure that present-day Lord Ingram would have been able to bear this verdict without flinching.
“But otherwise I understand your concern, ma’am,” continued Miss Holmes. “We cannot betray Lady Ingram’s confidence. Yet to keep her confidence appears as if we are betraying Lord Ingram. But please understand that, in this case, appearances are merely appearances. Were he to know everything, the situation would still remain what it is. He cannot undo the past, he cannot prevent Lady Ingram from fretting about Mr. Finch, nor can he demand that Mr. Finch leave his wife alone, since that is exactly what the latter is doing, willingly or not.”
She turned back to the window. “We might as well leave Lord Ingram out of all consideration and carry on as before.”
Dear Charlotte,
You must have seen the execrable article in the paper about Sherlock Holmes. My word. The Sackville case is barely solved—thanks toyourinsight and audacity—and they would already pour slop on SherlockHolmes’s good name, because he dares to help ordinary people with problems that perplexthem?
I would have ripped the paper and thrown the shreds into the fire, had there been a fire lit. Am now determined to make your nom de guerre a hero for the ages, with such invincible, godlike mental acuity that no one would ever dare publish another word about him in disrespect.
The problem, as always, is that it is easier said than done. Not sure how to proceed on my magnum opus, I turned to reading the work of others, in this case, novels by Mr. Wilkie Collins. And the oddest thing happened.
Mamma and I went to take some air in the park. She fell asleep and I opened one of the books to read, only to have a gentleman return the other one to me, which should have remained securely in my handbag.
But never mind that. He had read both of those books. And we had a brief but gratifying conversation on books and reading.
Of course it would be just my luck that when I at last cross paths with a man I would like to know better, he should turn out to be someone I have no hope of ever seeing again. How I wished you had been there. You would have given me his name, address, and genealogy.
And then he could disappoint me at leisure.
Oh well.
I hope it has been an uneventful Sunday for you.
Love,
Livia
Livia dropped her pen back into the inkwell and glanced at the other occupant of the room. Bernadine sat with her back to Livia, her face practically pressed into the far corner of the room, wordlessly spinning small wooden cylinders that had been strung on a string.
It would feel like an insult if Bernadine was capable of it. Or ifshe hadn’t already been sitting in this exact same position when Livia had entered the room.
Bernadine had been almost eighteen when she learned to use a spoon. And she wielded that spoon on food that had already been cut into small pieces with no more grace and accuracy than a two-year-old. But that had been progress for Bernadine, mind-boggling progress.
Three days after Charlotte left, Bernadine had stopped feeding herself, once again needing to be spoon-fed. And Livia, who thought she’d given up on Bernadine long ago, had wept, hard, racking sobs that would not stop, all the despair in her heart condensing into a singular misery.
Charlotte was doing better these days. But Bernadine had yet to recover any lost ground.
Livia glanced at the untouched bowl on a stool next to Bernadine. She glanced at Bernadine, seated on the floor, staring at where the walls joined, barely two feet away from her, and felt a burning desire to be out in the wildest, most sweeping space in all of Britain.
It was going to be a long evening.
Five
Mrs. Watson couldn’t stop shaking her head.
Miss Holmes had brought up the previous week’s papers from the domestic offices in the basement of the house: Newsprint, terrifically useful for all kinds of household purposes, was never thrown away. And it didn’t take her long to find and decipher Lady Ingram’s messages to Mr. Finch.
M, are you well? Your silence worries me more than your absence. I pray for your health and well-being. A
M, a word is all I need. Let me know you are well and you need say nothing else. A
M, I can neither eat nor sleep. Please do not keep me in ignorance. A
M, my heart still flickers with hope, but the flame thins daily. A
M, am I truly never to hear from you again? A
