A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(62)

Fourteen





At noon the next day a cable arrived for Charlotte, sent to 18 Upper Baker Street.


Dear Mr. and Miss Holmes,

I am beyond pleased to inform you that the supply of strychnine at both Dr. Birch’s and Dr. Harris’s had indeed been compromised. The bottles contained no strychnine at all. We now have a case of clearly premeditated murder.

Robert Treadles

By evening the news was all over London. The mysterious Sherlock Holmes had been vindicated—at least with regard to his suspicions concerning Mr. Harrington Sackville. Lady Shrewsbury’s family still maintained strenuously that she died of natural causes and that anything else was malicious slander. Lady Amelia’s family, on the other hand, seemed stunned by this latest development. They were muted in their response.

“You should relish the moment, Miss Holmes,” said Mrs. Watson the next morning. She was in a dress of printed silk, a summery pattern of pastel paisley on a creamy background. “For someone who has the greatest city on earth agog in wonder and speculation, you are far too contained in your reaction.”

Charlotte spread a little too much butter on her roll. “I would feel better if all the hubbub had made a bigger difference to my family.”

Wild theories continued to abound as to what exactly linked those three deaths. Speculation continued as to the identity of Sherlock Holmes. At the same time, however, people were also wondering what connections, unknown to the general public, the Holmeses might have to Mr. Sackville.

But the continued attention to the Holmeses wasn’t solely responsible for Charlotte’s subdued reaction. There were also Lord Ingram’s dire words. Must she leave behind everything—and everyone—she knew for an uncertain future far away? And if she must ultimately make such a decision, did it not behoove her to make it sooner rather than later?

“Miss Holmes, you are fretting again.”

The butter disappeared into the soft, spongy interior of the warm roll. Such a sight had always comforted Charlotte before—and turned her mind blissfully empty when she bit into it. But this was her third roll this morning and, as Mrs. Watson had observed, she was still fretting. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. Do you know what you need, my dear? You need a proper occupation.”

“I have a position.”

Mrs. Watson waved her hand. Morning light streaming into the room caught the lacy cuff of her sleeve. “We both know that being a lady’s companion is not a good use for your time.”

“But what is?”

“Think about what you told me in the tea shop, your ability to distill what others fail to see into startling insights.” Mrs. Watson’s eyes shone. “You lamented that it was a talent of no use whatsoever to a young lady who has been expelled by Society. Which, alas, is still true. But things have changed for Sherlock Holmes. That enigmatic gentleman is now famous in London—and beyond. And his talents need not go unexploited.”

Charlotte forgot all about the roll half an inch from her lips. “Are you suggesting that . . .”

Mrs. Watson pushed a piece of paper across the table to Charlotte. “Tell me what you think.”

Sherlock Holmes, celebrated consultant to the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police, makes available his services to private clients. Reasonable fees. Inquiries received at Box ____, General Post Office.

“You do not have a private box at the post office yet, but we will remedy that before we send the advert to the newspapers.”

The concept shocked Charlotte—her parents would perish on the spot if they learned that she was advertising herself to the public.

“Unless we can individually contact those who might have problems for you to solve,” said Mrs. Watson gently, “how else will they know that they can benefit from your help?”

The idea made sense. Of course she had to proclaim her services far and wide, in order to result in even a trickle of paying customers. And of course it had to be now, before the name Sherlock Holmes faded from memory.

“But I am your companion, ma’am. How am I to fulfill my duties if I meet with clients and whatnot?”

“Ah, but this is so much better than having a paid companion. It would bore you to no end to do nothing but read to me and then listen to me ramble on. And frankly it wouldn’t be all that interesting to me either. This way we embark on a venture together, a venture that has a fair chance of being profitable, too.”

Mrs. Watson all but rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Beyond paid advertisements, you will need an office, some cards and stationery, three quid a year to rent that private box at the post office, and of course all manner of incidentals—people always fail to plan for the incidentals. It is beyond your means now to set yourself up properly, but not beyond mine. The flat can be your office. I will foot the rest of the upfront expenses and take a cut of your fees as my recompense.”

“But we don’t know if I’ll have significant enough fees for you to recoup your cost.”

“It’s business, my dear Miss Holmes. Every investment carries a risk, but this one is a risk I’m more than willing to bear. In fact”—she winked at Charlotte—“you need to be careful in your negotiations, to make sure I don’t take too large a share of your future earnings.”