Page 77 of Murder on Cold Street
As soon as he had withdrawn, Miss Hendricks pulled out a bundled handkerchief and untied its corners to reveal a sparkling jeweled comb.
Charlotte examined the comb. Only half of the inscription had been given in the small notice, so as to make authentication easier. The one on the comb read,To my beloved R, from your faithful M.
Rebecca and Mortimer Cousins, Mrs. Treadles’s parents.
“Is this the item you are looking for, Mrs. Hudson?” came Miss Hendricks’s anxious and unhappy question.
Charlotte set the comb down on the tea table. “May I ask, Miss Hendricks, where you came upon it?”
“At the park.”
“Oh? Which park?”
“A small park in our neighborhood, ma’am. I’m sure you wouldn’t know.”
The comb glittered amidst plates of biscuits and sliced cake. Miss Hendricks regarded it without a single shred of covetousness. And yet she stared. Stared and stared.
And then she looked at Charlotte, gazed at her full on for the first time since Charlotte came into the room. After a second or two, her expression, that of a similarly all-encompassing heartbreak, took on a hint of bafflement.
“This is a beautiful house,” she said tentatively. “Wonderful address, too. Is it yours, ma’am?”
“It is.”
The confusion in her eyes deepened. “Is... is the comb yours, ma’am?”
Charlotte took a leisurely sip of her tea. “Indeed it is not. I am only an intermediary, seeking it on behalf of its owner.”
“Oh,” said Miss Hendricks. She relaxed slightly, only to tense again. “May I ask—may I ask...”
Her voice trailed off. “No. Of course I shouldn’t ask anything about its owner.”
Charlotte set down her teacup. “ButIhave been asked to verify the time the comb was found, as well as its precise location, as it was lost under rather perplexing circumstances.”
Miss Hendricks clutched at her now empty handkerchief. “Surely it wasn’t stolen?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose that. But I must have the information before I may dispense with the reward.”
Miss Hendricks looked down at her lap with an air of defeat. “I found it in a park on Rosmere Road, not far from where my charges and I live. And I found it three days ago, when I took the girls out for their morning constitutional.”
Three days ago. In the morning. The day of the party, butbeforeit had taken place.
Charlotte had brought a pocket map of London with her to the morning parlor. She opened it to an already-familiar page: Rosmere Road was four streets to the east of Cold Street.
“This park?” She pointed to a spot of green.
“Yes, that one.”
Charlotte wrote down the information on a piece of paper, as if she really were making the inquiry for someone else. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the finding of the comb, Miss Hendricks?”
Miss Hendricks shook her head.
Charlotte looked at her a moment, then handed over the tenpounds promised in the small notice. Miss Hendricks stared at the banknote for a while. Again, with no covetousness, only pain.
She murmured a quiet thank you and bade Charlotte a pleasant day.
When Miss Redmayne returned to the morning parlor, Charlotte was standing before a window, watching Miss Hendricks and her charges squeeze into a hansom cab.
“Did you find out the children’s address?”
