Page 58 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
The rest of Charlotte and Mrs. Watson’s day was spent checking Mr. Finch’s other two references, both in Oxfordshire. Neither, in the end, proved remotely trustworthy.
The address he gave for his prior residence was indeed a lodging house for single gentlemen, but the landlady had no recollection of having ever hosted a Mr. Myron Finch, let alone written him a letter of character.
The other, a solicitor, had retired six months ago and embarked on a grand tour of Europe and the Levant. He was not expected back for another year and a half, at least.
They returned to Mrs. Watson’s house hungry and stiff from their travels—or at least Charlotte was hungry and Mrs. Watson muttering about her aging back. Mrs. Watson received a massage from Miss Redmayne; Charlotte sequestered herself with a sandwich made with Madame Gascoigne’s secret-recipe pâté.
They reemerged to meet in the drawing room, both commenting on how much better they felt.
“I can only hope that someday I will prove to be as useful as thatpâté sandwich.” Miss Redmayne laughed. “Truly, what heroic service it has rendered.”
“You are young and ambitious, Miss Redmayne,” said Charlotte. “I have already learned that I will never be as valuable as a pâté sandwich.”
“In that case I must have a new objective. Aha, I have decided that my goal is never to be as troublesome as Mr. Finch.”
“Under normal circumstances, I might chastise my niece for being too blunt. But I’m afraid I agree with her tonight. I am very glad, Miss Holmes, that when you were in need of assistance, you didn’t go to your brother.”
For Mrs. Watson, this was strongly worded condemnation.
Charlotte remembered that sensation she had from the very beginning, of something being not quite right about this case. If only she knew exactly what it was. “I won’t defend Mr. Finch,” she said, sorting through the letters that had arrived while they were out, wondering when, if ever, she’d hear from Livia again. “But he is still my brother—and this is a highly irregular situation.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked Miss Redmayne.
“I’d like to take a look inside his rooms. That could give me a better idea of what he’s up to. Would either of you ladies know someone conversant in lock picking?”
“Funny you should ask,” said Mrs. Watson. “When you first met my staff, you warned me that Mr. Lawson had spent some time in a penitentiary. Care to guess what he did?”
Charlotte barely heard her.A note from Livia!
“If you’ll excuse me for a minute,” she said, slicing the envelope open. “My sister might have some information about Lady Ingram to pass on.”
But at this moment she didn’t give a farthing about Lady Ingram. Livia had written, at last.
Dear Charlotte,
Please forgive me for not putting pen to paper sooner.
I encountered ladies Avery and Somersby on Sunday near the Round Pond. As it so happened, Lady Ingram walked by with her children. Her presence made it easy to pose questions about her. The ladies confirmed that indeed, they had heard rumors that before her debut, she had at one point hoped to marry an unsuitable young man.
Which made me sad for everyone involved.
And now for news you were probably not expecting. After Lady Ingram had left the scene and the gossip ladies moved on to greener pastures, a gentleman came up to me and asked if he could speak with me. He then proceeded to introduce himself as Mr. Myron Finch, our illegitimate half brother.
Two days later I still have not found the words to describe my stupefaction. I do not believe his approach was called for. No self-invitation on his part could ever be called for.
Yet I cannot fault his reason for taking this extraordinary step. Apparently, one of Papa’s solicitors had called on Mr. Finch some days ago, when he had been out of town on holiday. It was his understanding, from speaking to his landlady, that the lawyer had not wished to leave a message, as he had come on a private matter of some delicacy.
“I gathered,” said Mr. Finch, “that the visit had been in regard to Miss Charlotte—whether she had sought my help in her exile.”
“You know about her?” I couldn’t help but exclaim.
“I do. Unfortunately, I have not heard from her at all. I hope she is well.”
“We all hope so,” I told him.
“If you can convey a message to her, please let her know that she is welcome to call at any time. And any assistance that I can render her, I will be more than glad to offer.”
With that, he bade me good day and departed. The encounter shook me. I am shaken still. But at least now there is one more avenue of possibilities for you, Charlotte.
