Page 63 of The Hollow of Fear
Mr. Walsh led the way himself, his gait stiff with disapproval.
Lady Ingram’s rooms, where they stopped first, felt as if they had never been occupied. Dust sheets covered everything, which, in the lamplight, seemed like so many bulky ghosts. Her dressing room, which should have housed a resplendent collection, was three quarters empty. Her clothes, like the woman herself, had never returned from London.
And the décor here had a different feel from the rest of the house, more opulent yet somehow, at the same time, stodgier.
“Empire style,” mused Fowler, “while most of the other rooms we have seen are more modern.”
Treadles recalled what ladies Avery and Somersby had said during their interview, that they suspected a secret oppression on Lord Ingram’s part. They had given as example that Lady Ingram had not left any imprint on Stern Hollow—that it had seemed to belong wholly to her husband.
“Lady Ingram had very little interest in the decoration of domiciles. She was satisfied with how her rooms appeared and didn’t want men traipsing through, changing everything,” Mr. Walsh said with staunch loyalty to his employer, the one who was still alive.
Lord Ingram’s chambers, in contrast, though of the exact same dimension as his late wife’s, felt light and airy. Instead of Old Masters artworks, which populated the public rooms of the house, here on the walls were hung charcoal sketches of archaeological sites. Treadles recognized the one depicting the site on the Isles of Scilly, where they’d all enjoyed such a convivial time—and where he had first heard the name Sherlock Holmes.
The one that had pride of place—over the mantel—was labeled simplyRoman Villa. Treadles recalled that Lord Ingram had written a small volume about the finding and excavation, when he was an adolescent, of a minor Roman ruin on his uncle’s property.
“Inspector, if you would bring some more light here, please?” Fowler called from the dressing room.
Treadles brought in a seven-branch candelabra and lit all the tapers. Fowler was on his knees on the large, luxurious rug at the center of the spacious room. Before him lay a boot box that had been opened.
“I’m sure if you need to inspect any items from the dressing room, his lordship’s valet will be more than happy to assist,” said Mr. Walsh, his voice almost high-pitched with anxiety.
“Thank you but we are capable of helping ourselves,” said Fowler, in a tone that brooked no dissent. Then, more quietly, to Treadles: “I found these at the very back. Take a look.”
The boots were old and worn and seemed thoroughly unremarkable. But when Treadles lifted them up, he saw what Fowler had seen: The soles were encrusted with coal dust.
There had been coal dust on the floor of the icehouse.
Of course, this wasn’t conclusive evidence that Lord Ingram had been inside the icehouse before Lady Ingram was found. Treadles would be surprised if the boy, Finney, didn’t have some coal dust on his soles, from fetching enough coal to power kitchen stoves that daily must cook for a staff of eighty.
But again, this did not look good for Lord Ingram.
Treadles exhaled slowly, trying to contain a rising panic. Charlotte Holmes had better be quick with exculpatory evidence—Scotland Yard was proceeding at a blistering pace.
Fowler, satisfied that Treadles had understood the significance of the boots, went on to search the rest of the apartment.
They left with the boots, which Fowler gave to a constable, since Sergeant Ellerby, according to a most unhappy Mr. Walsh, had gone out with Lord Ingram and Mr. Holmes.
“I think it behooves us to examine the icehouse one more time, don’t you think?” said Fowler.
They’d brought mackintoshes, but that did not make the walk to the icehouse much more pleasant. The constable stationed at the icehouse had retreated to inside the first antechamber, where he sat on a stool, huddled over a brazier that the house had provided.
“Chief Inspector! Inspector!” He leaped up and saluted.
“Why is it so wet in here?” asked Fowler. “Does the door leak?”
“No, sir. Sergeant Ellerby, Lord Ingram, and—”
The door to the second antechamber opened, and out came Sergeant Ellerby, Lord Ingram, and Miss Holmes.
“Chief Inspector, Inspector,” said Sergeant Ellerby, his teeth chattering, “here to have another look at the icehouse? Us, too.”
“Great minds think alike,” added “Sherrinford Holmes,” whose lips were quite blue.
Fowler’s eyes narrowed. “Best get back to the house soon, Sergeant, before you catch a chill. Same for you two, my lord, Mr. Holmes.”
“Thank you, Chief Inspector,” said Mr. Holmes. “By the way, I have heard back from my brother. He will be able to receive us tonight, after dinner. Does the time suit you, gentlemen?”
Fowler raised a brow. “Yes, very much so. Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Though I must say, I had no idea Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in the vicinity.”
