Page 71 of The Hollow of Fear
“Cranky, as usual.”
“The Good Lord ought to consider making non-cranky geniuses, for a change.”
“At least heisa genius. Plenty of men are cranky without the least bit of brilliance for excuse. Gentlemen, do please sit down.”
A maid came in and brought a considerable tea tray. Miss Redmayne poured for everyone. Charlotte Holmes and Fowler each accepted a biscuit.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Treadles heard himself say, “is Mr. Holmes’s sister not here today?”
“She has been in Scotland, visiting friends. Part of the reason Sherlock is rusticating in the country, instead of solving cases in London.”
“And part of the reason I came here,” said “Sherrinford” Holmes. “Someone has to be the great genius’s eyes and ears and able interpreter.”
“Exactly,” echoed Miss Redmayne. “This past summer Miss Holmes was also away from London for some time, and dear Sherrinford couldn’t be spared, so I stepped in to help for a fortnight.”
Fowler set aside his tea. “To help as...”
“I told clients I was Sherlock’s sister,” said Miss Redmayne. “I thought it would be something fun to do, a change from dissecting cadavers, and—”
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Redmayne. Did you say, dissecting cadavers?”
“Yes, I’m a medical student at the Sorbonne. I’m afraid by now I’ve more than a nodding acquaintance with human anatomy.”
“I see,” said Fowler, taken aback.
“As I was saying, I was home on holiday and thought it would be a lark to receive Sherlock’s clients, pour tea, and listen to their problems. Little did I know Lady Ingram would turn up at our door, seeking help.”
It made sense, using someone else in the role of Sherlock Holmes’s sister, as Charlotte Holmes was known to Lady Ingram.
Lord Ingram rose. “I believe I will take a stroll outside.”
Fowler waited until the door had closed behind Lord Ingram. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not refuse to help Lady Ingram after learning of her request, even though Lord Ingram is his good friend?”
“I was both astounded and a little dismayed, I must admit,” said Miss Redmayne. “But Sherlock’s view was very much that just as I wouldn’t refuse to treat Lady Ingram, if she came to me bleeding and in need of medical help, he ought not to turn her down simply because she was the estranged wife of a friend.”
“Lady Ingram bleeding to her death and Lady Ingram wanting to meet the man she once loved—those are not equivalents,” Treadles said, less to Miss Redmayne than to the other woman in the room, the one calmly turning her biscuit on a plate.
After Lord Ingram had admitted that he loved her, Fowler had asked whether his sentiments were reciprocated. And Lord Ingram had said, after a moment,I cannot tell. Sometimes I am not sure that she understands the full spectrum of human emotions.
And here she was, demonstrating precisely that lack of understanding. Even if she’d felt nothing in the summer, shouldn’t she be racked with guilt now, for going behind his back like that?
“Nevertheless,” said Miss Redmayne, “we took on Lady Ingram as a client.”
Her account accorded with what Lord Ingram had said, that they had been making progress when Lady Ingram suddenly called off the search. “We were relieved but also suspicious, which was why we finally decided to tell Lord Ingram, in case unfavorable changes were coming his way.”
Treadles had no idea who Miss Redmayne was, in truth, but he found that he believed her. Had he been wrong about Lady Ingram not loving any man enough to run away from her entire life—or was there something else at work?
“How did he take it?” asked Fowler.
“As well as anyone could be expected to take such news.”
“And this would have been...”
“The day before the ball in honor of Lady Ingram’s birthday.”
“During which she disappeared.”
“During which shedeparted,” corrected Miss Redmayne, amiably yet firmly.
