A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(54)

“I hate to tell you this, Miss Holmes, but I just learned that—that your father quarreled with Lady Amelia the evening before she died. A bad quarrel. And—and he was heard to make threats on her life.”





Twelve





Lord Ingram stood on the curb, studying the solidly constructed redbrick edifice with a singular concentration. Unlike Inspector Treadles, his lordship didn’t seem to approve of the place. But more surprisingly, Treadles could not detect any trace of gladness in his lordship’s countenance.

Treadles, on the other hand, had leaped from his desk upon the arrival of Holmes’s cable, gasping with marvel.


Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be delighted to receive you at seven tonight and discuss the Sackville Case. 18 Upper Baker Street.

Taking advantage of Scotland Yard’s telephonic systems, he had immediately rung Lord Ingram. His lordship was not at home, but a message had come for Treadles not long after: Lord Ingram had heard from Holmes and would meet Inspector Treadles at 18 Upper Baker Street this evening.

The two men shook hands. “My lord, you seem more concerned than pleased. But Holmes’s recovery is terrific news, is it not?”

“I’m afraid the news is less optimistic than you believe, Inspector.”

“So he hasn’t recovered?”

Lord Ingram exhaled. “Not by any standards you and I would consider recovered.”

“Then . . .”

“We’ll know more inside.”

They rang the bell. Treadles held his breath. Despite Lord Ingram’s less-than-sanguine words, he remained excited at the possibility of meeting the great Sherlock Holmes.

A large, stooped woman in a starched white cap answered the door. She peered up at them through a pair of wire-rim glasses perched at the tip of her nose and said in a broad Yorkshire accent, “You’ll be the gentlemen Miss Holmes is waiting for. Come in, then.”

Miss Holmes? Inspector Treadles mouthed to Lord Ingram, as they followed the woman’s plentiful behind up the stairs.

The sister, Lord Ingram answered.

This surprised Treadles. Of course Holmes was at liberty to have any number of sisters, but Treadles had always envisioned him as a solitary creature, not someone who shared a house with female relations.

They were brought into a cozy-looking parlor, with rose-and-ivy wallpaper, chintz-covered chairs, and a grandfather clock ticking away quietly in the corner. Miss Holmes, who had been standing before the window looking out, turned around at their entrance.

Treadles’s eyes widened—he had not expected Holmes’s sister to resemble an advertising illustrator’s idea of ideal femininity. He glanced at Lord Ingram. The latter appeared unmoved—but of course he would have met Miss Holmes before, since he was acquainted with the latter’s brother.

Miss Holmes came forward and shook hands with her callers. “Good evening, my lord. Good evening, Inspector. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” said Treadles. “I’d have dearly wished for us to meet under happier circumstances but I’m nevertheless encouraged that Mr. Holmes is well enough to be consulted.”

Miss Holmes sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “My brother’s health has long been a burden to him. This latest episode was the most terrible yet—we truly lost hope at one point. Even at the moment he is barely able to communicate.”

“Still, thank goodness.”

“Yes. It’s truly a miracle that he has recovered as much as he has,” said Miss Holmes with feeling. “Unfortunately he is bedridden and therefore not able to receive you in person.”

“Oh.” Treadles hoped his disappointment didn’t show too plainly. “Then he will not be able to discuss the case with us.”

“While Sherlock will not be able to discuss the case, he will most certainly be able to contribute—we have rigged this room in a discreet manner so that he can see and hear everything from his sickbed.”

The woman who had opened the door for Treadles and Lord Ingram returned, carrying a tray of tea. Miss Holmes poured a cup and handed it to her. “Will you take this to my brother, Mrs. Hudson? And will you stay with him to make sure he’s comfortable?”

“Yes, miss,” said Mrs. Hudson.

She waddled off with the cup of tea. Lord Ingram stared after her, a strange grimace on his face.

Miss Holmes poured for the rest of them and passed around a plate of curious-looking biscuits, fluted like seashells. “Madeleines,” she said. “They are very good. The recipe is said to come from Madame Durant herself.”

Treadles had no idea who Madame Durant was, but the biscuits were indeed good. In fact, by his third bite, he realized they were spectacularly delicious. He looked down at the plate and wondered whether it would be possible to pilfer one undetected to take home to Alice.

“I understand time is short,” said Miss Holmes. “We are ready to proceed whenever you care to start, Inspector.”

Treadles glanced toward the room that held the invalid. “You are certain, Miss Holmes, that this arrangement will prevail?”

“I have no doubt.”

“But Mr. Holmes, if he is as indisposed as I imagine him to be—what if our discussion should prove too taxing? Out here I would not know when to stop.”