Page 45 of Murder on Cold Street
Under normal circumstances.
“If I could see—not a problem. But wasn’t it all fogged up that night?”
Was that why Inspector Treadles had been at the window but had never left? Because it had been too dark and foggy to see his way down?
When Lord Ingram turned around, Holmes was inspecting the dust sheet that covered the bed. “Can I trouble you gentlemen to lift this cloth so I can have a look underneath?”
The men obliged.
He had to give her credit. She positioned the young constable on the far side of the bed, holding up the cloth with both arms above his head and therefore having no idea that she was going over the mattress with her magnifying glass.
He refrained from asking, as he and the bobby put the cloth back, what she’d been looking for.
Or whether she’d found it.
“May I make a quick sketch of this room?” she asked the bobby.
“I don’t see why not, miss.”
She was not what one would consider an accomplished artist; certainly she hadn’t the output of one. In an age when almost every lady could managesomethingwith watercolor, he’d never seen her render as rudimentary a subject as a vase of flowers or a country landscape.
But she had the makings of a draftsman. When other tourists at the beach painted seascapes, she made blueprint-like drawings ofsailing vessels and changing cabins. Once she’d sent him a sketch of a cross section of a nautilus shell, a beautiful image, at once organic and profoundly architectural. He still had it in a portfolio in the back of his dressing room at Stern Hollow, along with most of the letters he’d ever received from her.
Within a few minutes, Holmes had a decent diagram of the room, along with the location of the windows and the positions of the dead men. She put her sketchbook back into her large handbag. They walked out of the room and Constable Lamb began to go down the stairs.
“What of the attic, Constable?”
“Oh, that’s been locked again. Mrs. Coltrane, the housekeeper at number 31, asked Inspector Brighton if they could lock it up again. She said she felt too awful with it open and she was sure Miss Longstead would feel even worse. So Inspector Brighton said yes.”
“Well, then,” said Holmes, “I guess it’s time for Lord Ingram and I to visit number 31.”
Their hostess at number 31 was exceptionally beautiful.
Her African ancestry was evident in the light brown of her skin and the texture of her hair. Her European ancestry was equally evident in the color of her skin, and her golden green eyes.
Eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed from crying.
“Do please forgive us for intruding on your grief, Miss Longstead,” said Lord Ingram.
Miss Longstead gripped her handkerchief, black-bordered but still stark white against the black parramatta silk of her mourning gown. “I wish I were better able to master my emotions, but it’s been a terrible shock losing my uncle. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“We are very sorry,” said Holmes.
“Today I walked all the way to the door of his study—to say something to him—before I remembered that he is no longer withus. Even now I expect him to walk in and demand to know what is all this ridiculousness.”
By “ridiculousness” she no doubt referred to the black drapes that now covered windows and mirrors, making the drawing room look not only somber, but slightly macabre. The woodsy scent of fresh evergreens still lingered in the air, but the Christmas tree—and all other decorations put up for either Christmas or her coming-out party—had disappeared.
Miss Longstead wiped away fresh tears. “I’m sorry. I’m not typically so useless.”
“Please, Miss Longstead, you must not apologize for your sorrow,” said Holmes. “Someone you loved has been taken from you most cruelly and yours is the most natural reaction possible.”
“Thank you, Miss Holmes.”
A servant brought in a tea tray. Miss Longstead poured for everyone.
As Holmes added milk and sugar to her own, Miss Longstead tucked her handkerchief into her cuff and said, “I agreed to meeting with you at this time, Miss Holmes, because of the name Sherlock Holmes. We’ve been in town since summer and I was absolutely fascinated by his brilliant detection in the Sackville case—from afar, no less. So even though at the moment I shouldn’t be receiving anyone, I still wish to hear what the great sage has to say about what happened.”
Lord Ingram was grateful that Miss Longstead was diplomatic enough to omit any mention of the Stern Hollow case, which had been no less a feather in Sherlock Holmes’s cap.
