Page 32 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
Charlotte tapped her fingers against the side of her teacup. “The staff would have realized that she’d left and immediately reported it to Mr. Baxter?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, according to Mr. Baxter himself, he did not learn that she had absconded from her grandmother’s house until some months later.”
Moriarty’s precise words had been,When she was twenty-one she did just that, moving to England and taking up residence in the old house. But she did not stay there for long. Some months later, I learned that she’d packed up her worldly goods and joined a group of Hermetists who had formed their own community in Cornwall.
Thatsome months latercould be interpreted to mean that Miss Baxter had stayed some months in her grandmother’s house before leaving or that Moriarty did not learn of her flight until after some months.
De Lacey blinked a few times before saying, “Perhaps you misunderstood, Miss Holmes. I’m sure Mr. Baxter meant something else.”
“Oh?”
De Lacey considered the fireplace to Charlotte’s left then looked back at her. “I’m sure he meant that he met with Miss Baxter months later, not that he only learned of her departure then.”
Interesting.
Charlotte nodded, letting this particular detail go—for the moment. “To go back to our point, I can imagine Miss Baxter heading into the commune in a state of rebellion. But at some point, one must think of one’s welfare and not just the satisfaction of chopping off one’s nose to spite one’s face, no matter how irritating said nose must seem at first. Does Mr. Baxter believe that Miss Baxter remained in the Garden of Hermopolis, to her own eventual detriment, solely because of her continued resentment of him?”
De Lacey stroked his neatly groomed beard. There were scars on his hand, but otherwise the hand appeared well cared for, at least in recent years, with soft-looking skin and beautifully clean nails. “If her circumstances worsened dramatically, she might have been jolted out of that false sense of security. But I have observed that people can become accustomed to almost anything. When changes are subtle and gradual, they adjust to the new state of affairs and carry on until the moment it becomes too late for them to do anything.”
Charlotte only looked at him.
De Lacey scuffed one elbow against an armrest and added rather reluctantly, “I suppose it behooves me to mention that part of the compromise between father and daughter was Miss Baxter’s agreement that if she left the commune, she would return to Mr. Baxter’s care.”
As Charlotte had thought. “Would you be more specific as to what this ‘care’ entails?”
“It would be similar to what she’d known at her grandmother’s place. She would have a choice as to where she lives and he would appoint the staff that would look after her.”
A gilded cage.
“So in the end, you—and Mr. Baxter—believe that she chose to remain in deteriorating conditions at the Garden of Hermopolis rather than live under Mr. Baxter’s surveillance.”
This sounded better thanShe would rather die than have anything to do with her father ever again, but still de Lacey winced. “Miss Baxter was—Miss Baxter has always been very proud and yes, Mr. Baxter does believe that, in this case, she unwisely opted to place her pride above her well-being and is paying a price for it.”
Charlotte pounced. “At the beginning of your reply, you spoke of Miss Baxter in the past tense, Mr. de Lacey. Do you or Mr. Baxter believe that Miss Baxter is no more?”
De Lacey’s expression turned grave. “It is a possibility that we have considered but not yet one that dominates our thinking. We would be acting very differently if we indeed believed that Miss Baxter had met with an untimely demise.”
Would you?
The day before, Charlotte’s suspicion that Moriarty had given her a highly incomplete picture had been largely based on an analysis of the man’s character and his position vis-à-vis Charlotte. De Lacey, not as gifted a liar as Moriarty, had in fact let something slip: that Moriarty had not removed his daughter from the Garden of Hermopolis as soon as he’d learned of her new allegiance, but only sometime later.
Was it an important detail? She didn’t know enough to judge. But it buttressed her hypothesis that she had been kept as much in the dark as possible about Miss Baxter, the Garden of Hermopolis, and Moriarty’s ultimate aims.
She wondered whether de Lacey knew of Moriarty’s true plans. “Have you ever met Miss Baxter, Mr. de Lacey?”
“I have not had the pleasure of being presented to her, but I’ve served Mr. Baxter long enough that I know the general outline of her story. Not to mention, one of my duties has been to keep an eye on her safety.”
Charlotte adjusted the lace of her cuff. “Did Mr. Baxter discuss her with you either yesterday or today?”
It was a simple question, yet de Lacey again scuffed an elbow on the armrest. “We did not have a discussion per se. I received a note last night informing me that I am to call on you this morning and facilitate your investigation by answering any questions you may have and furnishing you with Miss Baxter’s photographs.”
As if to prove his sincerity, he handed Charlotte an envelope. Charlotte glanced at the three pictures inside. Miss Baxter, perhaps a year or two senior to Charlotte in age, did not resemble Moriarty as Mr. Marbleton did. Hers were haughty and angular features, those of a woman who suddenly found herself a beautiful adult without having ever been a pretty child.
She looked back at de Lacey. He was warier than he had been earlier—he’d pulled his feet in and crossed his ankles and his hands were on his lap now, instead of the armrests. Because of what he’d unwittingly told her?
“I still find it astonishing that Mr. Baxter left the discussion of such private matters to someone else.”
