Page 33 of The Hollow of Fear
She patted tentatively at her cheeks. “Mrs. Watson warned that the glue might be irritating. I’ll have to work fast, so that I don’t do irreparable damage to my otherwise beautiful visage.”
“How fast can you work? Can you clear my name before I head to the gallows?”
“I’m sure Lord Bancroft will arrange for an escape, should your trial go ill.”
All traces of mirth disappeared from his face. “But you think there will be a trial?”
“If you were someone looking at this case from the outside, what conclusions would you draw?”
He crossed the sitting room to where supper had been laid and pulled out a chair for her. “I already know what everyone else will think. But what about the great Sherlock Holmes? What unique light can he shed on the situation?”
“You saw the body. Was it really Lady Ingram?”
“I didn’t go over every inch of her with a magnifying glass, but I’m afraid so.”
Charlotte sighed, sat down, and removed the domed lid from her supper tray. Underneath was a small raised pie and a slice of charlotte russe, with beautifully striated vanilla-and-chocolate layers of Bavarian cream.
She picked up her knife and fork and cut into the raised pie. “Neither Sherlock Holmes nor his brother, Sherrinford Holmes, who is just as brilliant but not inclined to go around solving strangers’ problems, can fathom why Lady Ingram lies dead in the icehouse.”
Lord Ingram sat down opposite. “Even as I stared at her, I couldn’t stop thinking that it was a ruse on her part to have me hanged for her murder so that she could then sweep back in and reclaim the children.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what this is. Maybe that’s her secret twin sister in the icehouse. And the real Lady Ingram is waiting in the wings, cackling with anticipation.”
“If she had a secret sister, whom none of us had ever heard of, I doubt that she is cruel enough to have the poor woman killed so that I could be framed for a crime I didn’t commit.” He raised his chin at her. “And don’t just push food around on your plate. Eat.”
She lifted a forkful of the pie, which had a game filling with a quail egg at its center, to her mouth. “What if the secret sister died of natural causes, and Lady Ingram simply made use of a convenient corpse?”
The game pie was delicious and she did not want another bite.
“Come to think of it, I couldn’t tell how she died. She was fully clothed, and ladies Avery and Somersby wouldn’t let me into the ice well.” He shook his head. “No, we’re speaking nonsense. This had to be Moriarty’s doing.”
“But from his perspective, it makes almost as little sense.”
“Why so little? She was no longer useful to Moriarty. And she was hunted by Bancroft. Moriarty could very well decide to rid himself of such a liability. And then he could decide to make me pay, for disturbing his cozy little arrangement.”
“First, I disagree that Lady Ingram became useless when she could no longer spy on Lord Bancroft. She was beautiful, intelligent, and ruthless. Such a woman would be an asset in many situations.
“Second, while Lord Bancroft is a dangerous man to cross, his reach is finite. Correct me if I’m wrong, but his agents have other missions they must see to, do they not? I imagine that at any given moment, only so many of them can be spared to hunt down Lady Ingram, and perhaps none at all.”
He did not correct her; she went on. “Third, personal enmity exists only between you and Lady Ingram. I am almost certain Moriarty feels no particular animosity toward you—or Lord Bancroft, for that matter—much in the way that a clever criminal is wary of the law but does not hate every constable he encounters.
“To make you pay, as you say, would require him not only to kill a potentially valuable agent but then to concoct an elaborate scheme to transport her body to your estate just when guests, whom you had not planned on having, would be on hand to stumble onto said body. What does that gain him, professionally?”
“Not much,” admitted Lord Ingram. “I have no interest in hunting down Lady Ingram, so that cannot be a reason for eliminating me. And if Moriarty thinks to injure Bancroft by sending me to the gallows, then he doesn’t know Bancroft at all.”
He reached forward and broke off a piece of the game pie’s hot-water crust.
“You didn’t have dinner?”
He shook his head.
“So I not only brought back your sense of humor, I also restored your appetite.”
“Time restored my appetite. You happen to have food in front of you.”
This made her smile slightly. His gaze lingered on her face a second longer than was entirely appropriate.
She pushed the substantial pie toward him. “Have it. But don’t touch my charlotte russe.”
