Page 79 of A Ruse of Shadows
Holmes nodded. “So Mrs. Farr set things into motion to look for Mr. Underwood. But alas, it was too late.”
“You are absolutely certain, Miss Holmes, that he is no more?” Mrs. Claiborne managed.
“I saw his body with my own eyes, I’m afraid,” said Holmes with that same calm authority.
Mrs. Claiborne’s lips quivered, but she accepted that as the final truth.
“Mr. Underwood’s death, among other things, led me to call on Mrs. Farr,” continued Holmes. “And Mrs. Farr, who initially was only too happy to eject me from her house, realized after my departure that perhaps I could be a source of intelligence concerning her sister’s murder.”
Without turning around, she added, “All you had to do was ask, Mrs. Farr. Perhaps you’ve become accustomed to harsher methods, but really, there was no need to kidnap me. No need to put your devoted foster children in harm’s way.”
In the boudoir, Mrs. Farr flinched, as if Charlotte had struck her. Her hand, on Mumble’s knee, trembled.
Mrs. Watson, who had been watching her closely, hesitated a moment, then rounded the divan and touched her on the shoulder.
Mrs. Farr jerked. Mrs. Watson yanked her hand back. But she set her jaw and settled her hand on Mrs. Farr’s shoulder again. This time, Mrs. Farr only removed her hand from Mumble’s knee and gripped the counterpane.
“Mrs. Farr, do you still wish to know what happened to Miss Mimi Duffin,” came Holmes’s voice from the parlor, “and who was ultimately responsible for her murder?”
A teardrop fell from Mrs. Farr’s blind eye. Her mouth opened, but no words emerged. Mrs. Watson glanced at Lord Ingram and then took Mrs. Farr’s arm and helped her get up.
Together they trudged back into the parlor.
Twenty-six
Lord Ingram still wondered how his brother had turned into someone who ordered the killing of others with little compunction.
Many of his most beloved childhood treasures had been presents from Bancroft. The windup toy soldiers that marched in formation, the marble chess set with figurines in correct medieval garb, the expansive train set that, over time, had grown to the size of an entire room.
The terrible thing about being in Bancroft’s orbit was that he wasn’t always or even consistently evil. When it was convenient to him, he was perfectly capable of giving time, attention, and gifts, making one feel valued—loved, sometimes.
But individuals who stood in his way, or who could be sacrificed to achieve a greater goal, found themselves eliminated without a second thought—including those who had once been the recipients of his time, attention, and gifts.
Mrs. Watson, always sensitive to the moods of others, glanced at Lord Ingram several times while Holmes chronicled the events that led to Mimi Duffin’s death. Holmes did not mention Moriarty by name, but spared very little else, including Bancroft’s betrayal of his official duty.
Lord Ingram wished he could stop feeling this scalding shame on his brother’s behalf. Perhaps his robust sense of shame was whatseparated him from Bancroft. But in the meanwhile, it was excruciating to be anywhere near Mrs. Farr, who’d had to bear the human cost of Bancroft’s schemes.
Holmes had relayed the vow of vengeance on Mimi Duffin’s tombstone. Yet instead of blazing with fury at the end of Holmes’s concise account, Mrs. Farr seemed to shrink further into despair.
“So…” she said, her voice so low it could barely be heard, “my Miriam died to provide a corpse. Yet in the end, her body wasn’t even used in the intended manner but was thrown away as rubbish because someone substituted a better body?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
She turned, very slowly, toward Mrs. Claiborne. “And your Mr. Underwood participated in this butchery?”
Her words were not spoken with menace, only a great weariness, yet Mrs. Claiborne blenched.
“He would never have done anything like that!” she cried. And then she looked to Holmes, as if Holmes were Solomon himself, able to settle any disputes. “Wouldhe?”
The anguish in her voice—did anyone truly dare to confront the possibility that a beloved someone could be a monster?
Holmes, her calm unwavering, asked, “What manner of man would you say he was, Mrs. Claiborne?”
Mrs. Claiborne was taken aback by the question. “I don’t know how much my opinion will count, since I desperately do not want him to have had anything to do with Miss Duffin’s death…But since you asked, Mr. Underwood is—was an excellent man.”
After this initial appraisal, her voice grew a little steadier. “He was loyal and took his responsibilities seriously. But he was also kind—and not only to me. He was kind insofar as kindness was possible. I would have a remarkably difficult time believing him of senseless killing—and if you do manage to convince me, I shall be completely devastated.”
Holmes turned to Mrs. Farr. “Your foster children gave good reports on Mr. Underwood, I believe?”
