Page 101 of The Hollow of Fear
They drank their tea in silence.
“What do you think of what you are being asked to do here?” she asked, tenting her fingers underneath her chin.
It took him a moment to grasp the thrust of her question. “Oh, I will go to jail before I give up my virtue, you may depend on that.”
She smiled a little, a sight that never failed to do worrisome things to his heart. He set aside his tea. “That said, I still don’t think you have told me everything. Far from it.”
She gazed at him for some time. “You are right. I have not told you everything.”
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“So... you have sacrificed me in your opening gambit,” said Lord Ingram to his extravagantly mustachioed visitor. “How is your game progressing?”
“Patience, my lord,” she answered. “I nearly starved, by the way, waiting for you to return with tea and supper. Had to go to Harrod’s myself for a basket.”
She’d known, of course, that once he stepped out of the house he would be nabbed by the police—he had timed his departure from Stern Hollow so that Chief Inspector Fowler would be informed in time for her carriage to be followed, after she left the interview. At first she thought he had come too soon—their original plan had called for him to remain in Stern Hollow for as long as possible. But once he explained everything that had taken place, she had agreed that he had chosen the right time.
And now here he was, behind bars, the basket from Harrod’s his only companion for the long night to come.
He had been in worse surroundings—the jail cell, out of consideration to his station, was not too filthy; even the smell in the air was not too foul. But he had never been in worse circumstances, even if he had allowed himself to be put up as bait.
He had trusted his fate to her. But if she was wrong...
“Don’t worry,” she went on. “I brought two other baskets for the guards, so they should leave yours alone.”
As if he would worry about a food basket at a time like this. “They can have mine.”
“So speaks a lordship who’s never had to dine oncuisine de prison. You will be denied bail. Guard your basket with your life.”
He set a hand on the basket, his fingers digging into its wicker exterior. He wanted out of this place. He wanted to see his children. He wanted a wall behind which to hide, damn it, and not be exposed to every passing guard’s curiosity.
“Come here,” she said.
He rose and went to her. “I’m afraid.”
Terrified.
“As you should be. As am I. But don’t forget, sir”—she reached through the bars and took hold of his hands, her own hands steady, her gaze clear and calm—“that I am a queen upon this board—and I do not play to lose.”
Livia grabbed the envelope.
It was the day after she’d made the devastating discovery at Moreton Close. She’d arrived home in numb despair and had to spend the rest of the day fending off her mother’s angry comments about Mrs. Newell’s inconsideration at not providing a maid to accompany Livia on her trip.
She wrote Charlotte a letter, begging her sister to do something. Anything. She hoped to be able to post it away from Lady Holmes’s prying eyes—and feared it would be just like a peevish Lady Holmes not to let her out for a day or two.
But the early post had brought a letter from Charlotte. The short note was written in the code that they’d devised for themselves—not the one Charlotte had made up for her to give to the police, but the modified Caesar cipher they had been using since childhood.
Translated, the message read,
Dear Livia,
My apologies. B is with me and has been all along. Please do not worry anymore. I will explain everything when I see you next.
C.
P.S. Until then, please make no decisions with regard to Mr. Moonstone.
Inspector Treadles had donehis best to ensure that Lord Ingram was put up in a clean cell and treated with due respect and courtesy. But still he felt guilty, as if it had been his machinations that had put his friend behind bars, and not Chief Inspector Fowler’s.
