Page 26 of The Art of Theft
He’d protested that he hadn’t been a romantic in a long time.
She’d corrected him.Being disappointed in love does not change a man’s fundamental nature. You are more cautious, you wonder whether you can ever make a good choice, but you do not question the validity of romantic love in and of itself.
She was right. For someone whose own love story had ended catastrophically, he was nowhere as cynical as he should be. He feltno scorn at all toward Mr. Marbleton’s undisguised sentiments, only concern for the obstacles he and Miss Olivia faced. He wanted to shield them from everything that could damage or pollute their affections.
From life itself.
He could see in Mrs. Watson’s indulgent and slightly anxious expression that she felt the same. Holmes, on the other hand, was almost aggressive in her neutrality.
He felt a pang in his chest. What did a man who still believed deeply in “the validity of romantic love in and of itself” do with a woman who believed deeply otherwise?
The company was dispersing. He must first take his children to his brother’s place, but everyone else would take the tidal express service from Victoria Station that evening. Mr. Marbleton slipped out first, via a service door. Lord Ingram accompanied the ladies to their waiting carriage in front, but Holmes surprised him by seeing them off and then asking if he would take her home in a hackney.
“Yes, of course,” he said, his heart thudding.
She was wrapped in a midnight blue mantle with prominent streaks of light green. Pedestrians on both sides of the street craned their necks to get a better look at it. Years ago, the sight of this very garment had made him ask why she chose to array herself in such a cacophony of colors.
His irritation had been building with regard to her wardrobe. She possessed a fine figure and eyes that could fetch a man from across a ballroom. Why did a woman with such obvious assets—and a frightfully perceptive mind to boot—feel the need to wear garish and frequently over-festooned clothes?
She’d looked at him for a minute and said,Unbroken stretches of a single color or texture, especially in clothes and interiors, overwhelmed me as a child. I had to close my eyes to ward off headaches. I’m no longer affected to the same extent, but I still have an instinctive preference for more colors and textures over fewer.
Until then he had thought of her clothes only in terms of theunnecessary attention they’d precipitated—he himself greatly disliked unnecessary attention. It had never occurred to him that those multitudes of hues and trimmings could serve any purpose besides making both men and women whip around for a closer study.
But he’d been arrogant and self-righteous in those days. Rather than feeling ashamed for having been so wrong in his assumptions, he had instead become annoyed by just how strange she was. And by the fact that he was and would continue to be friends with a girl so far from normality she’d need a sextant and an ocean voyage to find it.
“You still have this mantle,” he said softly.
“Livia brought it from home. She hates it, so she knows it must be one of my favorites.”
“It’s striking.”
“You hated it, too.”
Not so much anymore.
A hackney arrived. He handed her up and gave Mrs. Watson’s address.
“What do you think of the situation with the maharani?” she asked, once they were on their way.
This was the discussion he’d expected; still he felt a sharp kick of disappointment. Already he wondered whether their days of greater intimacy were behind them; her demeanor, all coolness and efficiency, certainly gave him no hope otherwise. He sighed inwardly, feeling like a child separated from an avalanche of sweets by the largest, thickest display window in the entire world.
“I wish we knew what the maharani is being blackmailed for—and who is her blackmailer,” he said. “That would shed a great deal of light on the situation.”
“I posed those exact questions to the maharani and received no answers,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Mrs. Watson actually named her?”
“Not initially. But I told Mrs. Watson that I must know the exact identity of this friend of hers.” A man became a little more suspicious after his wife turned out to be Moriarty’s agent.
“And did knowing her identity ease any of your concerns?”
“Somewhat. No one meets the queen without a clean dossier. I read hers last night. She was considered a fair and forward-thinking regent who made substantial improvements to her realm. It is solvent and stands in good stead with its neighbors and with the government of India.”
The government of India being the British.
She nodded slowly. “Do you not find it strange that someone like her is being blackmailed?”
Her hat was veiled. The netting did not truly conceal her features, but directed attention to her full lips, the only exposed part of her face. He stared at her mouth a moment too long, before he lifted his eyes to meet her veiled gaze. “No stranger than someone like you becoming one of the biggest scandals of the decade.”
The tiny jet beads on the netting caught and refracted the grey light of an overcast afternoon. “Any theory on what her misstep might have been?”
