Page 22 of A Study in Scarlet Women
You knew all this. And you lied through your teeth. And I aided and abetted you in this hopeless venture. If I had shoved you in front of an oncoming omnibus, I could not have done worse as your sister.
Oh, what have you done, Charlotte? What havewedone?
Livia
P.S. I wrote the above shortly before luncheon, but have not been able to leave the house to post it. I hope I will have better luck in the afternoon.
P.P.S. You were right about our parents’ reactions. Mamma was in a state and Papa coldly angry—and he changed his mind after first saying he would bring you back, exactly as you had predicted.
P.P.P.S. As you instructed, I told them I did not know when or how you had left. I said I had too much to drink and went to bed early in a stupor and you must have stolen out at night. I do not know how much Mamma and Papa believe me. They questioned Mott, too, and Mott turned out to be a tremendous liar: He looked them in the eye, and his expression remained frank and naive throughout.
P.P.P.P.S. Mamma has forbidden me to leave the house. I will try to entrust this letter to Mott.
P.P.P.P.P.S. An awful realization: If I cannot leave the house, then I cannot withdraw any money from the bank. Charlotte, promise me you will not let yourself starve to death on the streets—or worse. No, forget that. There is no worse fate than your starving to death on the streets. Do not let your pride be your end. If things go ill, come home. Please.
Charlotte met Miss Whitbread, who carried a heavy-looking satchel, outside Mrs. Wallace’s.
“Why, hullo, Miss Holmes,” said Miss Whitbread. “Back home early?”
“Yes,” Charlotte answered, opening the door for Miss Whitbread. “I have my own typewriter and the firm doesn’t mind if I brought some work home.”
Charlotte had always been a good liar. According to Livia, her expression didn’t change at all as she slipped between truths—having her own typewriter, for example—and falsehoods—in this case, having a firm that paid her for clacking away at said typewriter.
“That’s capital. I’m doing the same here—bringing work home.” Charlotte remembered that Miss Whitbread painted silks and cards for a living. “My employer’s got only the shop on the Strand—everybody who works for him takes their pieces home. It’s nice in a way, but to tell you the truth I wouldn’t mind if he had a studio somewhere, so I’ve a place to go during the day and people to see.”
“Yes, staying put in your room all day can become tedious.” Charlotte didn’t mind it so much, but Livia became antsy if she couldn’t get out for a daily walk.
“That, and not having anyone around for a good chinwag ’til supper.” Miss Whitbread set her satchel on a chair in the empty common room and rolled her shoulders. “That’s why I stopped to see my cousin today. We had a cup of tea and she gave me the latest about the scandal.”
Charlotte’s hand tightened on her reticule. “Do tell.”
Miss Whitbread needed no further prompting. “You won’t believe it. Apparently, the girl’s sister had a flaming row with the dead woman only hours before she died. Aflamingrow. They said she told the woman to her face that she, even more than her son, deserved to die for ruining her sister’s life.”
Charlotte felt as if she’d been hit in the stomach by a cricket bat.
“Oh, dear,” she said, praying her suitably interested face was holding together.
“That’s what I said.” Miss Whitbread nodded sagely. “I told my cousin, ‘Abby, this is going to be interesting before long. Real interesting.’”
The moment Charlotte had finished reading Livia’s letter, a weight had settled in her stomach. Not because of Livia’s dismay and anxiety at the realities of Charlotte’s employment prospects, but because the former had not said a word about Lady Shrewsbury’s death.
Now she knew why.
Just as she had concealed the truth from Livia, Livia was concealing the truth from her.
She didn’t believe Livia would be in any trouble from the law: Even if the Shrewsburys suspected that something might be awry, they would not let matters proceed to an inquest, where under questioning Roger Shrewsbury’s seduction of a virgin he could not possibly marry would become a matter of public record, carried in all the papers of the land.
Lady Shrewsbury would return from the dead first.
But Livia did not need to be wanted for murder to suffer. If rumors and speculations persisted long enough, Society would come to believe that she hadsomethingto do with Lady Shrewsbury’s death. And that would be enough for her to become marginalized, if not outright ostracized.
At least this time Charlotte had some food on hand. She had asked for an extra sandwich when she’d bought her lunch—and also some apricots sold at a discount because they’d been bruised during their travels.
She finished the sandwich first, washing it down with a cup of weak tea. The apricots came wrapped in crumpled newspaper. By habit she scanned the columns of print. Her eyes widened. She read the small article again, this time more attentively.
Mr. Harrington Sackville of Curry House, Stanwell Moot was found unconscious yesterday morning, from an apparent overdose of chloral. Unfortunately, he could not be revived and was pronounced dead on the scene.
He was a well-respected gentleman, said to have been in good health and spirits before his passing.
