Page 94 of A Ruse of Shadows
“We could not flee—he was careful never to put any money in myhands. Had I known Mrs. Harcourt better at that time, I’d have sought her help. But there was only one idea in my head, and that was I must kill him, so that he could not do this to Miriam.”
She looked weary and hollow.
Mrs. Watson thought of that young woman, on that ice-cold night, struggling across a ledge as narrow as her own feet, with nothing to hold on to except the ivy on the wall that could not have supported her weight.
She had made it back to her room and she had almost carried off the whole enterprise, except…
“Did the inspector find the letter?” asked Miss Charlotte.
“In my husband’s private safe in our house in Manchester, along with all the jewelry he’d bought so I could look pretty and shiny in front of his friends. The chief inspector also found chloral in the bottle of brandy my husband drank from on Christmas Eve, and I was the only one in the house who used chloral to sleep.”
Miss Charlotte glanced outside—they were traveling past a row of factories, spewing black smoke high into the air. “The immediate assumption would be that your beauty and your plight melted the inspector’s heart. But I don’t believe that was what happened, was it?”
Mrs. Farr’s voice turned rueful. “I didn’t have the first idea how to use my plight—or my beauty. I only knew that he was the greatest threat I’d ever faced. He seemed implacable, and I did not want to stand trial to defend myself, because then it would become public knowledge what my husband intended, and I couldn’t bear for Miriam to find out.
“So I threatened the detective inspector. I said if he charged me, I would tell everyone he fabricated the evidence because I’d rejected his inappropriate advances.”
Mrs. Watson grimaced.
“Would you like to learn something about feminine wiles, Mrs. Farr?” said Mrs. Claiborne. “It’s not too late, and I’m an expert.”
Her unexpected interjection made Mrs. Watson titter. Even Mrs. Farr chortled, a rusty sound.
“But he would have the last laugh. A few years later, I’d lost my eye and was living in the greatest squalor I’d ever known. He saw me like that and demanded to know if this was all I’d made of the second chance he’d given me.” Mrs. Farr exhaled. “It was—a most excruciating moment.”
A mountainous load of cargo pulled by a pair of dray horses, muscles straining, hooves echoing, teetered past them in the opposite direction.
“Speaking of your presence in London,” said Miss Charlotte, “and your departure from Manchester—were you being blackmailed by your brother-in-law?”
Contempt entered Mrs. Farr’s countenance. “He knew that Mr. Meadows had bankrupted my family. For years, he’d used that over Mr. Meadows, threatening to tell me if he wasn’t given another hundred pounds. Then one day Mr. Meadows said, ‘No more,’ and he did as he threatened: He told me the truth that I’d known since the very beginning.
“That was just before Christmas dinner. When my husband was found dead, this brother-in-law of mine became absolutely convinced that I’d done it in vengeance for my parents. He held his tongue before the inspector and blackmailed me by post afterward.”
“There is one thing I do not understand about the case,” said Miss Charlotte. “When you left Manchester, you did so resolutely, telling your husband’s estate that you’d married again so that no one would look for you to give you your dower. But why did you wait so long? You would have been in better financial shape had you shaken off your brother-in-law sooner.”
Mrs. Farr’s jaw moved. “I stayed because I meant to eliminate the man who had wished to purchase my sister. Miriam was safe from him, but what about all the girls who did not have sisters willing to kill for them?”
The carriage drove over a big bump in the road, but Mrs. Farr’s words jarred just as much.
“I know—I did say I’ve only ever resorted to extreme measures,didn’t I?” Mrs. Farr smiled in self-mockery. “But the man lived in a great big estate that I couldn’t get inside. And then one day he died of undisclosed causes—perhaps someone else had succeeded in ending his life—and I left Manchester within days.”
Mrs. Watson couldn’t help herself. “I know this is a terrible question, but have you never thought of doing away with Mr. Ephraim Meadows so that you and your sister could have lived in peace in Manchester?”
At her words, Mrs. Farr’s hands shook. Mrs. Claiborne rubbed her arm, trying to exert a calming influence.
“I’m sorry!” cried Mrs. Watson.
Mrs. Farr shut her eyes for a moment. “It’s all right. I had such episodes often after I killed Mr. Meadows. They went away after some years but returned again after Miriam died.
“It was terrible, cutting his throat. I always knew there would be a high price to pay. My brother-in-law’s extortion was but a part of it. My eye. The other difficulties in our first years in London, too.
“I lived looking over my shoulder. I tried to expiate for my great sin by helping as many people as possible. But I always feared that the worst was yet to come. When I found out about Miriam and those postcards, I had a terrible premonition that she’d exposed herself to the evil gaze of the world. The moment I couldn’t locate her I knew—I knew that my sins had come home to roost.”
“She did not die because of you. She died because of Lord Bancroft,” said Mrs. Claiborne, her teeth gritted.
Mrs. Farr, her shaking now under control, nodded at her. Then she looked at Miss Charlotte and Mrs. Watson. “I went wild when I thought I could finally find out who had killed Miriam. But when I learned that you had Mumble and Jessie—
“Miriam was infinitely precious to me. But so are Mumble and Jessie—and everyone else who became my children over the years. If anything had happened to them, I would not have gained Miriam back, I would have only lost Mumble and Jessie.”
