Page 12 of A Study in Scarlet Women
Charlotte wrapped her hands around the bedpost. If it were Livia, she’d be imagining the bedpost to be Sir Henry’s throat. But Charlotte retained her usual tranquility as she replied, “No, I won’t let it pass without a suitable response.”
“Good!” cried Livia. Then, a little less certainly, “But what kind of response would do the trick? How can you both punish him and still extract the necessary funds for your education?”
“I have an idea. I will think about it.”
“Can I be of help?”
“It’ll be best if I handle it myself.”
Livia was taken aback. “You aren’t going to—you aren’t going to put arsenic in his tea or anything like that, are you?”
“No, of course not. Besides, his death would offer no financialadvantage to us at all. That’s when his creditors will pounce. Mamma will have to sell the house to satisfy them and I will not receive a penny for my education.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s done.”
A chill ran down Livia’s spine: Her sister could be ruthless in her own way. “Will you at least tell me when you’ll implement this diabolical plan of yours?”
“Soon. Within weeks, I should think.”
Livia took Charlotte by the shoulders. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
Charlotte’s lips stretched into a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Would that someone had given Papa that warning.”
In the following days, Livia pestered Charlotte for more details about The Plan. But Charlotte only smiled, shook her head, and carried on as usual. It was the Season, with its attendant rounds of afternoon garden parties and evening dances. The whirl of merrymaking, however, had long ago lost what little appeal it had for Livia: The ultimate purpose of this yearly assembly wasn’t fun and games; it was for unmarried ladies to find husbands and married ones to jostle for social prominence.
Livia wouldn’t say she’d never met any gentlemen who appealed to her. But those of lofty enough qualities to interest her never seemed to be interestedinher. And those who did bother to pay attention to her failed to spark the least reciprocal warmth on her part.
A sorry outcome, to say the least. After Charlotte’s thoroughly unromantic analysis of the institution of marriage, Livia had been on guard against runaway emotions that might lead to regrettable choices. But this resolutelackof runaway emotions was dispiriting in its own way. One ought to fall in love at least once, oughtn’t one? Ifonly to understand what Elizabeth Barrett Browning had meant when she’d written,The face of all the world is changed, I think / Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul.
Yet this common, practically universal experience evaded Livia everywhere she went. And of course for her mother, Livia’s failure to garner a single proposal in seven and a half Seasons was a shameful burden to bear, a burden that Livia must hear of weekly, sometimes daily.
Lady Holmes’s latest tirade lasted the entirety of their ride home—they were alone in the carriage, it being Charlotte’s afternoon at the Reading Room of the British Museum, and the brougham was stuck in one of London’s horrible traffic logjams that took an hour to clear. Livia was exhausted by the time she escaped to her room. She feared she was coming dangerously close to the point when she would begin to encourage anyone, anyone at all, with a matrimonial interest in her—to get away from her mother, if nothing else.
If Charlotte would only succeed somehow in her endeavor. But every passing day sapped Livia’s confidence that any good would come of Sir Henry’s betrayal, that Charlotte would somehow rise triumphantly, phoenixlike, from the ashes of her hopes.
The sound of metal tires coming to a stop drew her to a window. Charlotte usually walked home from the British Museum and the hour for ordinary calls was well past. Who could be pulling up to their front door?
An unfamiliar town coach disgorged Charlotte, followed by... what in the world was Charlotte doing with the Dowager Baroness Shrewsbury? Lady Shrewsbury was the last person who would set foot in the Reading Room, so Charlotte couldn’t possibly have met her there. And even if she had, ever since Charlotte had turned down a marriage proposal from Lady Shrewsbury’s son, Lady Shrewsbury had been chilly toward the Holmeses, finding it an outrage that agirl from a family of lesser pedigree and standing had decreed her Roger to be not nearly good enough.
From her vantage point, Livia hadn’t been able to see Charlotte’s face properly, but something in her posture didn’t feel right. Livia opened the door of their bedroom, but there was no indication that Charlotte was coming upstairs. What could Lady Shrewsbury possibly want with Charlotte?
Below, her parents were headed for the parlor, exchanging whispered words with each other, sounding just as baffled as to Lady Shrewsbury’s presence: After all, Roger was now married—all the baroness’s sons were married—so she couldn’t have good news to announce involving Charlotte and any kinsman of hers.
They entered the parlor. Lady Shrewsbury’s voice called firmly for the door to be closed. She also instructed the footman that there would be no need for tea. Livia’s heart dropped a few rungs. What was going on?
She took a deep breath, tiptoed down the stairs, and sidled as quietly as she could to the door of the parlor.
“...an absolute disgrace. What girls these days think I have no idea. To turn down Roger’s proposal, only to indulge in a shameless affair with him six years later—as an unmarried woman, no less!”
Livia covered her mouth. Dear God, no. This couldn’t possibly have been Charlotte’s response to Sir Henry. Lady Shrewsbury raged on, her words sloshing in and out Livia’s hearing, a tide of undifferentiated syllables, carrying no meaning except wrath and ruin.
At some point Lady Shrewsbury stopped and Sir Henry spoke, his words too soft for Livia to hear. Lady Shrewsbury laughed derisively. “Keep it from spreading? No, my good sir, that horse has bolted the barn. By dinnertime tonight everyone in London will know what your daughter has been caught doing today. But even if that weren’t the case,Iwould make sure that she is shunned fromevery respectable drawing room in the land. Her conduct is beyond the pale and no good family should tolerate any association with a girl of such abominably loose morals.”
“My daughter has committed an unforgivable sin,” said Sir Henry, his voice tight yet defeated. “But has your son fared any better? No gentleman would take up with an unmarried young lady from a good family. Does he not share some of the blame?”
“He does.” Lady Shrewsbury sounded as if she were speaking through a mouthful of sand. “And he will hear from his wife and myself. But men are creatures of unbound lust. It is the duty of good women to keep them in check. For your daughter to lure my son from home and hearth, for her to—”
