Page 18 of The Art of Theft
Miss Charlotte lifted a pile of newspapers from her spare chair and swung a kettle into the fireplace. Mrs. Watson closed the door and, with rather heavy steps, crossed the room to take the seat Miss Charlotte had just cleared.
“I do apologize, Miss Charlotte, for intruding on you so late.”
“No apologies necessary,” said her young friend, putting out a plate of madeleines. “As you can see, I was expecting a visit.”
Mrs. Watson laughed, both embarrassed and relieved. “I can see that indeed.”
Miss Charlotte waited for her to continue.
“You were correct, my dear, in your advice that Sherlock Holmes cannot take on everyone’s problems. Still, I can’t help but feel that Imust help the maharani, now that I know she is in need. And of course by that I mean I shall need you to participate in this mad endeavor of mine, because I can’t imagine attempting it without you.”
Miss Charlotte extended the plate of madeleines toward Mrs. Watson. When Mrs. Watson declined, she rose and exiled the plate to her vanity table. When she returned, she asked, “So you will go to Her Highness and tell her that you learned of her problem because you are in fact one of the animating forces behind Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective?”
Mrs. Watson nodded.
“She was already somewhat suspicious about the existence of Sherlock Holmes. After learning of your involvement in the inner workings of our enterprise, she may very well come to the correct conclusion that Sherlock Holmes doesn’t exist.”
“She will not be the only one who knows. Three of the four Ashburton brothers do. Inspector Treadles does. As do the Marbletons.”
“But their knowledge has either been unavoidable or gleaned on their own. We have never simply walked up to someone and confessed the matter. What makes you willing to set that precedent, ma’am?”
Mrs. Watson took a deep breath. “Would it shock you to know that we were once in love?”
Miss Charlotte’s expression remained perfectly unaffected. “No.”
Of course not. Mrs. Watson bit the inside of her cheek: The next confession was more difficult. “I hope you will also not be surprised that I was a mercenary soul back then.”
“If by mercenary you mean that you demanded to be paid your worth, then yes, I can see that.”
“I mean that I was serious about how much money I could extract from my nubile years. I adored the theater; I was a decent singer, a decent dancer, and a decent actress. But I never had it in mefor theatrical greatness, to give the kind of performances that would live forever in an audience’s memory.
“So from the beginning I was clear-eyed about my chances and my true goals: I wanted roles that would distinguish me from the other girls long enough to get me noticed by rich men in private boxes, men who might be looking for their next mistress.
“I had only so many exploitable years and I was determined not to waste a single day. Which meant that even though I had an occasional flirtation with a woman, I didn’t cultivate them, since my time was much more profitably spent on men.
“But then I met the maharani and... it was love at first sight.” She sighed. “Perhaps if I hadn’t been so mercenary, if I’d had some real affairs by that point, I wouldn’t have been so swept off my feet. But I hadn’t. I was pretty enough and sought after enough that I had a choice of protectors and I never had to settle for one I didn’t like. Still, all of them were business arrangements. Until I experienced what the French called thecoup de foudre—with her.”
Before she quite realized it, she’d laid a hand on her own cheek, as if she were once again that young woman whose face flamed with the intensity of her own feelings. She dropped that hand rather hastily.
“You cannot imagine—even I can barely imagine, nowadays—how consumed I was. I wanted to look at her all day, listen to her all day, and hold her all day. From a blasé sophisticate I became a lovestruck cliché overnight.
“Inconceivably, she returned my feelings. She, a queen, and me, not only a commoner but a woman of very questionable morals. We spent every possible moment together and couldn’t wait for doors to close before hurtling into each other’s arms.
“But the day came for her to return to India. I was heartbroken, of course, but I’d always known that we were on stolen time. That she must go back to her life and me mine. And then she did the impossible: She asked me to leave with her.
“She had thought of everything. To others I would be an employee, her children’s instructor in Western etiquette. But in private I would become a member of her immediate family, as well as her closest companion and confidante...”
She could still feel the maharani’s hands gripping her forearms, and see the light burning in her eyes.Come with me. We have our entire lives ahead of us. Let’s spend them together. Let’s grow old together.
The kettle trilled, yanking her out of her reverie. “What she offered me, in reality, was marriage,” she said slowly, the words heavy on her tongue.
Miss Charlotte brought the hot water to the desk, made tea, and said, coolly, “The inner workings of which were never to be divulged.”
Mrs. Watson shook her head. “She had a difficult enough task ruling in her son’s stead. The last thing I wanted was to make her the subject of malicious rumors.”
“Which meant you would have had no recourse whatsoever, should things have gone awry. I have little interest in matrimony myself, but being a man’s wife does confer certain rights and powers upon a woman. And even his official mistress enjoys a number of benefits, not the least of which being the recognition of her position.”
“Oh, that I knew well.”
