A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(43)

Lord and Lady Ingram were two strangers who happened to live under the same roof.

This was probably not news to anyone who knew the couple. But Treadles still felt as if he’d witnessed something he ought not to have—an insight into Lord Ingram’s marriage that the latter had not chosen to share with him. Embarrassment further pummeled him when he realized that he and MacDonald were too close to turn aside, that he might put Lord Ingram in a situation of having to introduce a pair of coppers to the lady wife.

Lord Ingram spied him. “Inspector, what an unexpected pleasure.”

They shook hands. Treadles, praying his face wasn’t as red as he imagined it must be, introduced Sergeant MacDonald to his lordship, who then turned to his wife. “Lady Ingram, allow me to present two of the Criminal Investigation Department’s finest, Inspector Treadles and Sergeant MacDonald.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” said Lady Ingram with a fixed smile. “I will leave you gentlemen to discuss important affairs. Good day, Inspector. Good day, Sergeant.”

Treadles and MacDonald bowed. Lord Ingram inclined his head. When Lady Ingram had disappeared into the house, Lord Ingram asked, “Are you on duty, gentlemen?”

“We are, but we have completed our interview—for now.”

“Excellent. If you have a moment, I’d like my children to meet you. They are in the park.”

The children, an elfin girl of about five and a sturdy-looking boy maybe a year younger, were busy building what looked to be a miniature tent with small twigs, under the supervision of a nanny. At the sight of their father they rushed toward him and excitedly told him about their castle.

Lord Ingram did the honors. The two policemen and the two Ashburton children shook hands, warmly on both sides, for the children were friendly, curious, and full of pep.

Lord Ingram promised his children that he would return and help them with the castle, and then he walked the police officers out of the park.

“Any headways in your investigation, Inspector?”

Treadles shook his head. “I’m afraid not. A few tantalizing glimmers here and there, but nothing that translates into solid evidence that would persuade any jury in the land.”

Lord Ingram looked disappointed, but not surprised. “This was never going to be an easy case. I can’t thank you enough, Inspector, for taking it on.”

“For Sherlock Holmes, it’s the least I could do,” said Treadles, feeling warm and bolstered by Lord Ingram’s words.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“There is, in fact.” If Treadles had not run into Lord Ingram, he would have sent round a note very soon. “I’d be most obliged if a discreet inquiry could be made to the cause behind Lord Sheridan and Mr. Sackville’s estrangement. The families of the deceased ladies have categorically refused to be of any help. So Mr. Sackville is our only opening.”

Lord Ingram thought for a moment. “There is someone I can approach for this purpose.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Treadles had every faith Lord Ingram would see to the matter promptly. “Have you any news from Holmes, by the way?”

Treadles had asked to see the letter to the coroner while he’d been in Devon. While the letter itself was undated, the postmark was two days after Holmes’s misfortune. Most likely, someone close to him had discovered the letter afterward and dispatched it to its intended recipient. But Treadles still held out hope that Holmes might have recovered.

“No, I’ve had no news at all from Holmes,” said Lord Ingram. Then, for the first time in their acquaintance, he asked of Treadles, “And you, Inspector? Have you heard from Holmes?”

Treadles shook his head. After he’d taken on the investigation, he had indeed sent a note to Holmes—to the General Post Office, as Lord Ingram once mentioned he had. The letter might as well have been dropped into the Thames, for all the response he’d received. “But I plan to carry on and do as much as possible.”

In the little time that remained.

“I am most grateful.” Lord Ingram shook Treadles’s hand. “And Holmes would be, too, if Holmes but knew.”





Ten





Charlotte did know of Inspector Treadles’s involvement—she’d received his letter—but sometimes gratitude wasn’t enough to get a woman out of bed.

She had not packed an umbrella when she left home. Of course not. A parasol was an accessory for a lady. An umbrella, not so. When she’d had a bit of money in reserve, there had been no precipitation. And now that one cloudburst followed another, she could no longer afford any rain gear.

Or so she told herself, for an excuse not to go out to be met with further disappointments.

All the better options had been taken from her. Had she prowled the city with energy and determination, she’d still have returned footsore and empty-handed. The schools were closed to her. The professions were closed to her. Just about anything that had a possibility of a satisfying career was closed to her.

She could go into domestic service, but her age factored against her: Women who spent their working life in service often started when they were eleven or twelve. Someone as old as she should have already worked her way up to the position of a lady’s maid or an underhousekeeper. She didn’t mind scrubbing pots and pans alongside tweenies, but that didn’t mean the person who did the hiring, the housekeeper or the cook, would want her about.