Page 25 of The Hollow of Fear
Her sister took over. “Then he rushed out so fast he knocked over the wheelbarrow. For all we know, he might still be screaming outside.”
Livia shivered—and not only from the fear that seemed to crawl out of her very marrow. The ice well was at least ten feet across in diameter and probably just as deep. How much ice did it hold? Two tons? Three? Her breaths emerged in visible puffs.
“Shall we”—Lady Avery swallowed audibly—“shall we step forward together?”
They did, inch by inch, as if they were approaching the edge of a cliff. The first thing that came into view was wood shavings on the far side of the ice well, providing insulation for the ice underneath.
And then an outstretched hand.
Herhand, whoever she was.
Livia whimpered. She, too, wanted to turn around and sprint away. But her feet kept carrying her forward.
At last they stood at the edge of the ice well and stared down onto Lady Ingram—Lady Ingram’s body—lying on top of the wood shavings.
Someone patted Livia’s hand—she’d been clutching at Lady Somersby’s sleeve, with fingers that had been chilled to the bone.
“Well,” said Lady Avery, her voice low yet harsh, “I guess this placeisas cold as Switzerland.”
6
Mrs. Watson was disappointed.Two days had passed since their visit to Stern Hollow, and Lord Ingram had not called. Granted, he had a houseful of someone else’s guests. But still, he should have been able to get away for an hour or two and come to pay his respects.
“Really, he ought to know that I, at least, would have been anticipating his presence.”
She fully expected Miss Holmes to make no comments. But Miss Holmes set aside the newspaper she had been perusing and said, “It is rather odd.”
And that, apparently, was all she would say on the subject, for she picked up and glanced through the mail that had just arrived. “Mrs. Farr wrote back.”
Mrs. Watson had to think for a moment to remember the name. Mrs. Winnie Farr, who had been given the idea to write Sherlock Holmes by Sergeant MacDonald, Inspector Treadles’s subordinate.
“What did she say?”
Miss Holmes scanned the letter and handed it to Mrs. Watson.
Dear Mr. Holmes,
Thank you for your kind letter.
My sister, Miss Mimi Duffin, has been missing for almost three weeks. She is a grown woman and leaves London sometimes. But ten days ago my daughter Eliza turned seven. Mimi loves Eliza as her own and has never skipped her birthday before.
When she didn’t come—or send any word—I worried. Her friends hadn’t seen her. Her room was already let to someone else, because she hadn’t paid rent.
Her landlady told me that when she saw her last, Mimi was in high spirits because she was about to take up with a fine gentleman who was going to keep her in style. If I can find this gentleman—if you can help me find him—maybe I will learn what happened to Mimi.
I hope she is alive and well, but I don’t believe it.
Sincerely yours,
Mrs. Winnie Farr
“It would be a difficult search,” said Mrs. Watson. “And most likely fruitless.”
“True,” said Miss Holmes. She tapped a finger against her chin. “Mrs. Newell’s guests will depart Stern Hollow soon. Should Lord Ingram call upon us afterward, I might mention that we are headed to some of London’s rougher districts.”
Oh, that was genius. “He will insist on accompanying us. We won’t wish to trouble him, of course, but who are we to keep saying no to such chivalry?” enthused Mrs. Watson. “Should I write back and arrange for an appointment with Mrs. Farr for, let’s say, three days hence?”
Before Miss Holmes could reply, the doorbell rang. This being the maid’s afternoon off, Mrs. Watson answered the summons herself. A young man who identified himself as a groom from Stern Hollow greeted her.
