Page 9 of Murder on Cold Street
But at this moment, Mrs. Treadles could scarcely have any real interest in the color scheme or furnishings of 18 Upper Baker Street.
Even with the catastrophic turn of her own fortunes, she didn’t want him to feel awkward.
“Yes,” he said. “A very cozy place.”
Although—the last time he was in this parlor, Holmes had managed to overturn his life.
“Have you eaten anything since Sergeant MacDonald’s visit?” he asked.
When she had first appeared in Mrs. Watson’s home, wild-eyed and short of breath, he’d thought she must have just learned of herhusband’s arrest and rushed over. But hours had passed since that heart-stopping moment.
She shook her head. “No, but I’m not hungry.”
“I understand not feeling hungry. And I understand that at the moment, everything else feels more important than nourishment. But please believe me when I tell you, Mrs. Treadles, that these will be some of the most demanding days of your life. And it is theleastyou must do, to treat yourself with as much care and courtesy as you would a horse carrying you on an arduous journey.”
He set a plate of holiday cake before her. She liked a good fruit cake, she’d once said in his hearing, because the taste made her remember happy childhood Christmases. “Allow me to be useful as a nursemaid, my dear lady, since I cannot do anything else at the moment.”
She blinked rapidly—he realized with astonishment that she was holding back tears at his utterly insignificant gesture. She picked up the piece of cake and took a bite, smiling bravely. “I’d like to say that I’m following your sage advice because I’ve come to my senses. But right now I’ll probably blindly obey any kindly voice of authority, if only to no longer be responsible for everything myself.”
His heart ached for her: She had been exhausted long before catastrophe struck this morning. “Decisions are taxing—far more than I ever imagined they’d be, in those days when I longed to make all the decisions.”
She took another bite of her cake. “I hope Sherlock Holmes is excellent at decisions.”
He nodded with wholehearted endorsement. “Extraordinarily so. As is Miss Holmes, in fact.”
“Do you have any guesses as to what Mr. Holmes will have us do?”
“No, but I’ve come to expect the unexpected.”
She turned her plate in her hands, as if she wasn’t sure whether she ought to ask her next question. “Robert said you wereimpeccable in your conduct at Stern Hollow. But were you—were you at all afraid?”
He also didn’t answer immediately—the memories brought back a sensation of cold that had nothing to do with the December day outside. He suppressed a shiver. “I was deathly afraid.”
“Even though Mr. Holmes had sent a brother to help you?”
Even though Holmes, in the guise of that brother, had been there in person, fighting for his life.
“Had I been an outsider looking in, I would have had full confidence in Holmes’s capability. But I was the prime suspect, I was the one all the evidence pointed toward, and I felt as if I were drowning. Even having Mr. Sherrinford Holmes at Stern Hollow didn’t change the fact that I was barely holding my head above water in rough seas. But he was the lifeline I held on to and eventually he pulled me ashore.”
Mrs. Treadles looked toward the door through which Holmes had disappeared. “Do you think,” she asked tentatively, “that Sherlock Holmes can do the same for Inspector Treadles?”
Yes, but you must place your complete trust in her. Tell her everything. Do not withhold any more crucial information.
Before he could answer, Holmes returned. “Ah, I see you have put more water to boil, my lord. Thank you.”
“May I ask what Mr. Holmes counsels?” asked Mrs. Treadles, her voice sounding both eager and nerve-stricken.
Holmes sat down and arranged her skirts so that they cascaded with greater flair about her. “In situations like this, it is always advisable to know all the facts as soon as possible to avoid wasting time on unnecessary avenues of inquiry. My brother recommends a multipronged approach. We will need to know everything about Mr. Longstead, look into the doings of Cousins Manufacturing, and seek to speak and otherwise communicate with Inspector Treadles.”
A commonsense—and commonplace—set of recommendations that Mrs. Treadles could have come up with on her own.
She tried valiantly to conceal her disappointment. “I see.”
“In the meanwhile, can I count on you to be home tonight?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Treadles, rising wearily. “Thank you, Miss Holmes. And you must please convey my gratitude to Mr. Holmes.”
Lord Ingram rose, too. “I will see you out, Mrs. Treadles.”
