Page 84 of A Study in Scarlet Women
“If she was the one who poisoned Mr. Sackville, she wouldn’t be the first to have attempted murder for what sheperceivedhe did.”
“But what could she even perceive?”
Treadles could not have asked for a better lead-in to his question. “Perhaps unbeknownst to you, she witnessed the incident that caused Mr. Sackville to no longer be there everywhere you turned.”
Becky Birtle squinted at him. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? I can’t tell since I don’t know what happened.”
“Nothinghappened.Nothing.”
“It might not have been nothing to Mrs. Cornish.”
Becky Birtle threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll tell you. It was a few days after Mr. Sackville and I had those horrible tummy troubles. I—I had my monthly and it was an awful one. I could hardly stand,but Mrs. Cornish said it was no excuse—the other women in the house didn’t take to their beds during their time.
“Mr. Sackville saw that I was in pain and he was worried. He thought maybe it was something I ate. So I told him the truth, that it was only my monthly.”
Treadles could only hope he wouldn’t stammer—his face scalded with embarrassment. “That was it?”
“That was it. Mum—my real mum, not Mrs. Cornish—always told me that men hate it when women bring up their menses. I thought it was ridiculous. They love to moan about their own aches and pains, why should they begrudge us a little complaining about ours? But Mum was right. That was the end of anything between Mr. Sackville and me.” The light dimmed in Becky Birtle’s eyes. “Guess he wasn’t a real friend after all.”
Charlotte twisted the black handkerchief with her black kidskin-clad fingers and reminded herself that she must give the impression of frailty and forlornness. It would not do for her to swivel about, scanning the guests who moved through the lobby of Claridge’s: The widow’s veil might obscure her face, but it couldn’t completely disguise the set of her shoulders or the angle of her head.
She glanced discreetly toward the front entrance, followed it with a sideways glimpse toward the staircase. Perhaps now she should lift the handkerchief and give it a helpless flutter. Maybe even—
“My condolences on your loss, my dear lady.”
Her heart thudded—Lord Ingram had materialized out of nowhere. “What are you doing here?”
One corner of his lips lifted. Her heart thudded again: She couldn’t remember the last time he smiled—or half smiled—at her. “And I thought you’d be glad to see me, since you’re always scheming for it.”
“Yes, when I’ve nothing better to do.”
He sat down next to her on the chaise longue. The half smile had disappeared but no forbidding look took its place. How rare and incomprehensible: at the moment he was not actively displeased with her.
“With your penchant for diminishing a man to little more than a shell of his former manhood, it never ceases to amaze me that you managed to receive all the proposals you did.”
She had indeed reaped her fair share, including one from his brother, Lord Bancroft, her favorite proposal of them all.
“It’s my décolletage—when gentlemen stare at my bosom, they don’t hear a word I say. I strongly believe that if trees sprouted breasts tomorrow, they would soon be wearing wedding rings.”
He chortled.
Her nerves tingled.
Some men had that effect on women, as Mrs. Watson declared. But it was Charlotte’s obligation not to respond to said effect when she was in the middle of a surveillance mission—or at least not to respond to such a degree as to diminish her concentration. “So whatareyou doing here?”
He blew out a soft breath. “You are many things, Charlotte, but terribly experienced you aren’t. It was almost too easy to predict that you’d be setting up shop at Claridge’s to see what you can find out about your Mrs. Marbleton.”
Had he come to put a stop to it or... “Don’t tell me you mean to keep me company.”
“Easier than bailing you out of trouble later.”
She wondered whether she ought to object to his presence, but he was right that she had no experience in this sort of thing. And if he was going to take the trouble to make sure she was all right, she’d rather he sit next to her than lurk somewhere unseen.
She smoothed her gloves. “I won’t be here for much longer. I’ve a client to meet.”
“A less troublesome one, I hope.”
