A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(18)
Of course Charlotte would have committed such a list to memory. But the discussion made Livia feel as if she were suspended high in the air by nothing more than embroidery threads: Neither she nor Charlotte knew anything firsthand about life outside the boundaries of their upbringing. “But—but you’ll have to pay to be lodged, won’t you?”
“Yes. I have a few pounds put away. But I also plan to find work.”
“What kind of work? You’ve become notorious, Charlotte. You won’t ever become the headmistress of a school. You won’t even be able to work as a governess or a lady’s companion.”
“True. But there are positions that do not require me to take charge of other people’s daughters—or pollute someone else’s home with my infamy. Plenty of firms need typists. And more women have become secretaries of late. I can type. I’ve practiced shorthand on my own for when I’d have to transcribe at school. I’m qualified for many positions.”
Livia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment—the idea of Charlotte’s flight into the wilds of London was utterly overwhelming. “I don’t doubt your qualifications, but—”
“Then there’s nothing to fear.” Charlotte stepped out of her summery frock and reached for a traveling dress of russet velvet. “I’ll be fine. I should have done this long ago, as soon as I came of age.”
“But Charlotte, how much money do you have? A few pounds won’t get you very far if you don’t find employment right away.”
Livia hoarded the miniscule allowance she received from Lady Holmes, but Charlotte had a tendency to spend hers on books, bonbons, and odds and ends like a typewriter or a chemistry set. If she had more than five pounds to her name, Livia would be shocked.
“I’ll be fine, Livia. I expect the process to move quickly.”
There wouldn’t be “the woman question” if it were so easy for a female to leave her home and achieve independence. Granted, Charlotte’s mind had to be one of the finest in the land, but she was and would forever be a woman who had lost her respectability. A pariah. That had to be a monumental impediment, even away from the froth and vanity of the Upper Ten Thousand.
That said, Charlotte’s steely confidence was inspiring. Good old Charlotte, who knew everything, observed everything, and deduced the rest, if there were still anything left to be deduced. If anyone could succeed at this mad endeavor and live—no, prosper—to thumb her nose at her hidebound parents, it would be Charlotte Holmes.
However, at the thought of their parents . . . “What about Mamma and Papa? What will they do once they learn that you’ve run away?”
“Mamma will be hysterical. Papa will be furious. Mamma will wish to tear the city apart to find me, so she can slap me some more. Papa will agree with her initially, that I should be brought home to be firmly dealt with.
“But whether he decides to confide his troubles to the police or a private investigator, before he’s dressed to go out, he’ll change his mind. Why should he take the trouble to haul me home when I’ll most likely run away again? Why not let me be defeated by London—and life outside his sphere of protection? That way, when I come knocking, in helpless despair, he’ll be sure I’ll stay put in the country for the rest of my life.”
Livia clutched at her temples. “That’s heartless.”
“That’s logical and our father considers himself a clever man. Besides”—Charlotte marched to the window and peered out, straightening her cuffs as she did so—“Mott’s here. It’s time.”
While Mott secured Charlotte’s luggage to the top of the carriage, Charlotte said her good-byes to Bernadine. Livia wasn’t sure whether she would have taken the trouble: All Bernadine ever did was spin things, spools on a wire, wooden gears, paper windmills. She never spoke to anyone and Livia sometimes wondered if she could distinguish members of her family from strangers on the street.
She watched Charlotte with Bernadine, but for only a moment. It always made her both dejected and angry—at God himself, perhaps—to see the futility of anyone trying to interact with Bernadine. Charlotte was less bothered by Bernadine’s condition and spoke to her softly and calmly, an adult to another adult.
Livia waited in the passage until Charlotte was done. Then she accompanied her sister to the carriage—and climbed in first. “If you think I’ll limit myself to saying good-bye here—”
“I never thought that.”
During the ride Charlotte told Livia about the registries and societies that helped women find employment, lodging, and companionship, which was somewhat heartening—Livia had no idea there were so many resources available. But all too soon they came to a stop before the hotel where Charlotte would spend the night.
Panic assailed Livia. She gripped Charlotte’s wrists. “Are you sure, Charlotte? Are you sure you can do this?”
Charlotte nodded. In the light from the carriage lanterns, she seemed to be made of granite, all cool, solid strength.
Livia pressed a small pouch into her hand. “Take this.”
In the pouch were a crumpled pound note, several shillings, and three pairs of gold earrings. “This is all the money I brought with me to London. I have more in my bank account. If you’re in trouble, let me know. I’ll funnel you funds.”