Page 91 of The Hollow of Fear
“Not when I last saw him.”
“And when was that?”
“At half past seven. Yesterday he asked for a citron tart from the kitchen. This morning I delivered it to the apartment. He looked fine to me.”
“Well, go ask Mr. Walsh, then. Tell him I have news for his lordship—news he’ll want to hear.”
News that would make him downright ecstatic, in fact.
The bomb that had been discovered at Mrs. Newell’s had looked awful enough, but was a dummy that would have never gone off—instead of saltpeter and phosphorus, it had been packed with soot and what most likely would turn out to be baking soda.
Mr. Holmes had suspected that the cisterns had been tampered with. When they turned out not to have been, it had rather knocked a hole in his theory that someone was trying to frame Lord Ingram. But with the dummy bomb, which couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence, that theory had roared back to life.
His mind buzzing with ideas, Sergeant Ellerby paced in the entrance hall, under the startled gaze of the constable who had been left on guard. He ought to send out a bulletin to nearby constabularies and enlist their help in locating the other missing body. He could interview all the staff members again and ask if any of them had put the original lock back on the icehouse door. If none had, then it would bolster Lord Ingram’s testimony that he had been the one to do so. He could—
“Sergeant Ellerby.”
The speaker was the very grand Mr. Walsh, who made Ellerby far more nervous than did his master. “Yes, Mr. Walsh?”
“I regret to inform you that Lord Ingram is not in his chambers,” said Mr. Walsh. “Nor anywhere else in the house.”
Sergeant Ellerby stared at the house steward, who stared back at him—and swallowed.
It occurred to him for the first time that even Mr. Walsh could turn a nervous wreck, under the right circumstances.
“Are you sure, sir? His lordship was given specific instructions not to leave the manor.”
“Unfortunately, I am sure. I have spoken to the outdoor staff. Lord Ingram requested a horse saddled a little after quarter to eight this morning. And neither he nor the horse has returned.”
But Ellerby had such good news! If only Lord Ingram had been more patient. If only he’d had more faith in the universe.
And now he was a fugitive. If he never got caught, then perhaps he might be all right. But if he did—
If he did, he was headed for the hangman’s noose.
19
Chief Inspector Fowlerand Treadles arrived at the Hounslow tea shop a quarter hour before the appointed time. But Miss Holmes was already there. Treadles felt his superior’s momentary disorientation. He was a little surprised himself, because Miss Holmes, for this particular interview, had dressed with considerable simplicity.
No excessive rows of bows on her skirt, no acreage of lace trailing from her sleeves. To him, who had only seen her in splashes of riotous color adorned by a surfeit of trimming, as if her dressmaker had been paid by how much spangle the latter could attach to a garment, her russet jacket-and-skirt set seemed as austere as a nun’s habit.
Were he to view her from Fowler’s vantage point, however, he would see a young woman attired with tremendous propriety, her eyes clear and somber, her demeanor hinting at a gravitas well beyond her years.
Another woman, twice her age but still ravishing, had accompanied her to the tea shop. She was dressed with greater flair but in a way that spoke of wealth rather than wildness.
Treadles was slightly uncomfortable with sitting at a table in public with a woman—or two, for that matter. Things were changing, of course, but for men and women to dine together in public—suffice to say he had never been at the forefront of such changes.
But it would be worth any amount of discomfort if Miss Holmes would give him a sign that all would be well. That Lord Ingram had not entrusted his fate to her in vain.
Not a flicker of recognition, however, crossed Miss Holmes’s features—Treadles remembered that by formal rules, they had never even met. The parties presented themselves. Miss Holmes introduced the older woman as Mrs. Watson. “My patroness, for whom I serve as companion.”
The men exchanged a look. What lady would have a fallen woman as a companion?
Mrs. Watson smiled and said, “I was an actress and as such, not a very good fit for the very respectable young women who usually seek positions as companions. Miss Holmes and I, on the other hand, are a perfect match.”
Miss Holmes inclined her head toward her “patroness.”
Treadles had to marvel at the number of associates Miss Holmes could lay claim to. How did a young woman who ran away from home manage to establish a reliable network in such a short time?
