Page 89 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
“What do you think? These have been the worst months of my life.” grumbled Miss Marbleton as she shook first Miss Charlotte’s hand, then Lord Ingram’s. The glove on her right hand had a small hole on the index finger, completing the image of down-on-his luck man just scraping by.
Belatedly, Mrs. Watson also offered the young woman her hand. “I’m sorry about your family. I’m glad, though, that you are still at large.”
“I’m not. I follow Moriarty around, but I don’t know whether I’m trying to rescue Stephen or to get myself caught too. And Moriarty knows it. He parades Stephen around, so that I’d think he’s thrown in his lot with Moriarty.” Anguish darkened Miss Marbleton’s eyes. “And sometimes I believe it.”
“He hasn’t thrown in his lot with Moriarty,” said Miss Charlotte quietly. “I do not believe he would.”
Miss Marbleton covered her eyes. With a start Mrs. Watson realized that she was weeping—or trying very hard not to.
“Did you manage to see him?” she asked in a quavering voice. “How did he give you the cipher to contact me?”
“We recently discovered that he had sent us two letters before he left England to turn himself in to Moriarty,” answered Miss Charlotte. “And affixed to each letter was an identical bit of microphotography.”
Mrs. Watson had been more than a little astonished that Mr. Marbleton wanted them to seek his sister—she had thought the latter to be in Moriarty’s custody too. Miss Charlotte had explained that before he’d surrendered himself to Moriarty, Mr. Marbleton’s precise words had been,Moriarty has my parents.
Nevertheless Mrs. Watson had argued that they ought to be circumspect about what they told Miss Marbleton. What if some sort of understanding existed between Miss Marbleton and Moriarty? It was better not to mention that Mr. Marbleton managed to leave them a note right under Moriarty’s nose.
Miss Charlotte, although she had agreed to Mrs. Watson’s advice, had pointed out that they would still be discussing a photograph stolen from Moriarty’s collection that Stephen Marbleton intended to pass onto Mr. Finch, someone Moriarty considered a traitor.
In other words, if Miss Marbleton was in league with Moriarty, then their goose was cooked.
Miss Marbleton dragged a sleeve in front of her eyes, sniffled, and cleared her throat. “Right. Microphotography. We do use that to communicate with one another.”
Mrs. Watson had her hand on a handkerchief, ready to extend to Miss Marbleton. But Miss Marbleton, though her eyes were red-rimmed, seemed to be done with tears.
Miss Charlotte drew the Stanhope from her reticule. Mrs. Watson gripped the handkerchief. She wanted to trust Miss Marbleton, but she felt as if she were on a tightrope. Or perhaps she had already fallen off the tightrope, and the bottom of the abyss was rising to meet her.
“Last summer Mr. Marbleton told me that the Marbletons were looking for Mr. Finch, because you as a family believed that he had something of vital importance,” said Miss Charlotte, seemingly free of the misgivings that buffeted Mrs. Watson. “I remember his exact words. ‘We want something on Moriarty. Something that would make him anxious about us instead. Something that would force him to leave us alone, because it would destroy him first.’”
“Ah, those halcyon days.” Miss Marbleton laughed softly, the sound full of self-mockery. “I know what Stephen said had all the hallmarks of hyperbole, but we did believe it.”
“Moriarty has managed to evade prosecution for his crimes for a long time. How would this something have made a difference?” asked Lord Ingram.
Miss Marbleton picked up her walking stick and thumped it on the floor. “The law cares very little for the powerless. When Moriarty preys on those less powerful than him, he can always find a way to escape justice. But have you ever wondered how he reached his current position?”
Lord Ingram glanced at Miss Charlotte and said, “He has a patron? A paymaster?”
“He always did.” A trace of pleasure came into Miss Marbleton’s expression. “And we are sure he has double-crossed his paymaster. Now this is a crime from the consequences of which he would not so easily escape, provided, of course, that the paymaster is made aware of it.”
Mrs. Watson wiped the back of her hand across her brow. Moriarty had always seemed such a monolith of iniquity, she couldn’t fathom that he too had to answer to someone.
“How did you deduce that Mr. Finch might have such evidence that would at last condemn Moriarty?” asked Miss Charlotte.
“Because of the vigor with which he has been pursued. We have been running from Moriarty for decades, but that’s because my mother was his wife and my father his kin—the betrayal was personal. And the longer we eluded him, the worse he looked for still not having captured us.
“Most other defectors aren’t chased with such zeal. Moriarty has minions who are devoted to eliminating defectors and they are very good at what they do. But in Mr. Finch’s case, people and resources have been diverted from other parts of the organization and dedicated to the hunt. And that, as far as we know, has never happened before.”
Mrs. Watson’s head spun. “Did Mr. Finch ever confirm to you that he had this kind of earthshaking intelligence?”
“No, but he did ask what we were willing to trade for it. We said anything in our power. First we offered him a sanctuary where he would be safer—but he said he already knew about the sanctuary and it was not suitable for him. Then he asked whether we had information on das Phantomschloss.”
Mrs. Watson had only the most rudimentary grasp of German. “What’s that? The Phantom Castle?”
“It is said to be the headquarters for a part of the organization that is hidden from the rest of the organization.”
Then was the organization still one organization? Or two separate ones?
“Do you know why he was interested in das Phantomschloss?” asked Lord Ingram.
