A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(17)

Livia gasped in shock—and hiccupped at the same time. “You saw his derriere?”

“I saw his everything.”

“Even the . . .”

“Even the parts usually covered by a fig leaf in the British Museum.”

“Did it . . . did it hurt?”

“If you speak of the act of penetration, it wasn’t exactly pleasurable but it was no agony. Far more unpleasant was the fact that I had to go through such extreme measures in a bid for a modicum of freedom.”

Livia rubbed her eyes. “Do you really think that would have got you what you wanted? Our parents don’t strike me as the sort to reward what they’d consider gross misconduct with what they weren’t willing to provide when you were being an obedient daughter.”

“Which is why I’d have blackmailed them.”

Livia choked mid-swallow. “What? How?”

“By threatening to reveal to the general public that I’d been ruined—and hope that they’d cough up enough hush money for me to be educated.”

The audacity of Charlotte’s plan made Livia lightheaded. Or was it the madeira? She set down the bottle. “Oh, Charlotte.”

The tears that had long stung the back of her eyes at last spilled down her cheeks. “You won’t be all alone in that horrid cottage, Charlotte, I promise you. I’ll come around every time Mamma and Papa aren’t looking. I’ll bring you books and newspapers. I’ll bring you cake. I’ll bring you—”

Charlotte peered at the curtain gap. “Papa is leaving to visit Mrs. Marsh.”

Mrs. Marsh was Sir Henry’s current paramour. She, like Mrs. Gladwell, enjoyed rubbing the fact that she was sleeping with Sir Henry in Lady Holmes’s face.

“I hope she gives him something dreadful,” said Livia vehemently.

“No, then Mamma might get it too, and that wouldn’t be fair to her.” Charlotte looked back at Livia. “Anyway, Papa going out means Mamma has taken her laudanum and gone to bed. Will you please check to make sure she’s fast asleep, Livia?”

Livia rose unsteadily to her feet. “I can, but why?”

“Can you check first, please?”

Livia did as she was asked, her brain foggy. But there was no doubt about it: Lady Holmes was snoring.

She reported her findings to Charlotte, who led her to a room at the back of the house. There Charlotte opened a window. “Moo as loudly as you can, please.”

“What?” Livia was extraordinarily good at imitating animal sounds—a most useless talent for a lady except for entertaining her baby sister when they were little. She hadn’t mooed in years.

“Please. It’ll be a signal to Mott.”

Mott was their groom and coachman—and gardener, too, when the family was in town.

“But why do you want to signal Mott?”

“I’ll explain. But please hurry. It’ll be past his bedtime soon and I don’t want him to go to sleep thinking he’s no longer needed.”

Livia wondered if she were roaring drunk. Or perhaps Charlotte was. The moo emerged with surprising vigor, if also plenty of unintended tremolo.

She moaned. “I sound like the bovine version of a fishwife, toward the end of an argument.”

“But a victorious one,” said Charlotte.

An unconvincing baaa came back from the mews. Charlotte nodded. “Mott’s heard us.”

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

“All right,” said Charlotte, guiding Livia back to their room. “But you must promise not to say anything to anyone.”

“I promise. What is it?”

Charlotte shut the door and began to unbutton her dress. “I’m leaving.”

“I know that.” Her suitcases had been packed for the rail journey on the morrow that would see her confined to the country for the foreseeable future. “I wish Mamma didn’t have such a bee in her bonnet about my staying put for the rest of the Season. To prove what point? I’d rather we be locked away in the country together.”

“We will neither of us be locked away in the country,” said Charlotte. “Mott is bringing round the carriage. He’ll take me to one of the bigger hotels near Trafalgar Square, where the clerks won’t find it so strange that an unaccompanied woman comes to ask for a room at this hour. Tomorrow I’ll find a place in a boardinghouse.”

Livia shook her head. Was she hearing things? “You can’t be serious. You’re running away?”

“I am not. I am of age. I am free to leave my parents’ home and set up my own establishment. It only appears as if I’m running away because I don’t want our parents interfering with my plans.”

“My God, you’re running away.”

For the first time, Charlotte raised the glass of madeira Livia had poured for her hours ago, an odd little smile on her face. “All right, I’m running away. I prefer being on my own to being locked up in the country.”

“But Charlotte, how will you know where to find a boardinghouse? Or which ones are suitable for a lady?”

“Work and Leisure publishes a curated list from time to time—it’s a magazine aimed at women who work or are seeking employment. I’ve memorized the most recent list, since we only hire a house for the Season and I knew I must live in London year-round if I was to be educated here.”