Page 76 of Murder on Cold Street
She trembled, but her back was straight and her arms around his back strong.
“Robert, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You... you seem better.”
There was a smile in her voice. “I sacked four of Mr. Sullivan’s most staunch allies yesterday. Thank goodness for Mrs. Watson, who gave me enough spine for it.”
Mrs. Watson? Charlotte Holmes’s Mrs. Watson? The woman who had been a stage actress and goodness knows what else?
But those filaments of dismay were buried under an avalanche of relief. Every single person who aided Alice now would forever have his gratitude.
He pulled back to look at her.
She set her palm on his cheek. “Now I finally have all the Cousins accounts. Miss Holmes says that they are important because if you didn’t do it, then it’s most likely because of something at Cousins and—”
His entire body shaking, he stopped her words with his lips on hers.
She must have sensed his tremors. She pushed against him, trying for enough distance to see his face. “Robert, what’s the—”
“Alice, listen to me.” He spoke directly into her ear, an urgent whisper that he prayed would not be overheard. “Be very, very careful about inquiring into the doings at Cousins. Don’t, in fact. Don’t look into it at all!”
Silence.
He let go of her.
“Why?” she mouthed, her face ashen, her eyes fear-stricken.
He shook his head. He dared not tell her. He dared not breathe a word of the reasons. He could only take her hand and place it over his madly beating heart. “Please, Alice, trust me. And please, proceed no further!”
“I don’t think I’ll need any makeup today to look ten years older,” said Charlotte sadly, over her third cup of tea.
Livia possessed the ability to stay awake—and alert—for two entire days. Charlotte was almost as fond of her beauty rest as she was of cake. When she’d returned the night before, after having clarified matters with Mr. Bosworth, instead of finding a somnolent household, she’d come across Mrs. Watson and Miss Redmayne still bent over the loot from Cousins.
Apparently, during Charlotte’s outing, Mrs. Watson had realized that there was no proper summary of how much the renovation and modernization at each factory cost. Despite the hour, she had immediately proceeded to sort through hundreds of invoices and receipts, as well as to audit all the accounts for relevant entries, in order that she could arrive at her own rough estimate.
At one o’clock Miss Redmayne had shooed her aunt off to bed—Mrs. Watson had an early train to catch in the morning to Reading. The rest of the work fell on the younger women, with Charlotte notleaving her station until well past four o’clock, after she had completed a neatly written overview, accompanied by supporting documents.
And now she and Miss Redmayne were reviewing, at a somewhat sluggish pace, the notes the latter had taken while speaking to all the Longsteads’ neighbors.
“Miss Hendricks to see Mrs. Hudson,” announced Mr. Mears, with a clearing of his throat.
Charlotte and Miss Redmayne exchanged a look.
The previous evening, while arranging for small notices in the papers that invited members of the public to write to Sherlock Holmes should they possess information about the events at 33 Cold Street, Charlotte and Miss Redmayne had also placed a different small notice, this one promising a significant reward for the return of a jeweled comb bearing the inscription,To my beloved R.
The claimant, a woman in her late forties, had not come alone. With her were two girls of around eight and six, respectively. They looked about the morning parlor, Mrs. Watson’s seldom-used formal drawing room, curious at this change of scenery but also appearing a little disappointed that it was only another room. The woman, on the other hand, studied everything with a wretched intensity, as if she found herself in a crime scene where those she loved had met their end.
“Miss Hendricks?” said Charlotte. “Good morning. I am Mrs. Hudson and this is my sister-in-law, Miss Hudson.”
At her appearance, a wave of pure misery crested upon Miss Hendricks’s face. But she rallied, greeted her hosts courteously, and introduced the girls as her charges, though without giving the girls’ names.
Miss Hendricks’s reaction intrigued Charlotte. She was dressed for another day out and about as Sherlock Holmes’s sister in a dowdy brown dress and the same brunette wig she’d worn the day before. Her appearance was lackluster, certainly, but hardly revolting.
“I love having young guests in the house!” enthused Miss Redmayne to the girls. “Alas, I have no idea where my childhood books andtoys are to be found, but I do have some bonbons I recently brought back from Paris. What say you, ladies, that we open a tin of those bonbons and demolish them? With your governess’s permission, of course.”
Miss Hendricks tensed at the suggestion that her charges be parted from her, but Miss Redmayne’s guileless request was difficult to refuse. And—thought Charlotte—the woman really wanted to speak to Charlotte alone.
And so Miss Redmayne made away with the children. Mr. Mears delivered a tea tray and poured the remaining women each a cup.
