A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(63)

“Ma’am—”

Mrs. Watson’s expression turned solemn. “Miss Holmes, I was in the theater. I have seen talented actresses hand over a shocking percentage of their earnings to men who took them on when they seemed to have few prospects. Do not make that mistake, my dear. Do not undervalue what you are ultimately worth because you are at a momentary disadvantage.”

The sensation of having at last met her real mother returned. Charlotte swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. “Yes, ma’am. I will remember that.”

“Good.” Mrs. Watson laid her hands over her heart. “Oh, Miss Holmes, we are going to have so much fun.”




My Dearest Robert,

I know I wrote only two hours ago, but I must let you know that a most delicious box of little cakes has arrived for me, compliments of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his sister. The note that accompanied it explained that you had very much wished for me to have a taste of these madeleines. My sweetling, how I adore you for always thinking of me. (And marvel, as usual, at Holmes’s astuteness, as you would not have expressed that desire aloud.)

Now to business. Holmes asked that I convey to you the significance of the maid not having opened the curtains. He wrote that he had not wished to say too much, in case the chemical analysis came to naught. But now that you have a mandate to investigate, you will want to know that such a thing hints strongly at improper relations between the maid and Mr. Sackville.

I have never witnessed such goings-on in my father’s household and I dare say that my brother, for all his faults, is not one to take physical advantage of his staff—he would be afraid of catching some dread disease. But too many young girls who toil in domestic service must deal with unwelcome advances, as a cost of employment.

Although, as much as I hate to cast aspersion on someone I have never met and of whose circumstances I know very little, Becky Birtle, the young girl in question, seems to have been a willing participant, if indeed there were advances on Mr. Sackville’s part.

Had she entered the chamber to relight the fire before her master awoke, it would go without saying that she need not have approached the curtains—but then neither should she have disturbed him in his rest. But since her purpose was to give him his morning cocoa, she ought to have first opened the curtains and possibly the windows, to let light and fresh air into the room.

That she had approached and touched him without doing so first indicates her duties were hardly foremost on her mind. In fact, it might be the most charitable thing to be said under the circumstances.

But I do hope that this was not the case. Such a scenario makes me worry for the girl and feel all too cynical about the world.

I believe I shall comfort myself with a fresh cup of tea and a scrumptious madeleine that tastes as bright and lovely as a summer day in Tuscany.

All my love,

Alice

Inspector Treadles tapped a finger against his wife’s letter and tried to decide whether the information that he had been provided was useful.

Or, rather, whether it was useful in the correct direction.

The discovery that the supply of strychnine had been tampered with at both doctors’ places, along with Lord Ingram’s disclosure that Lady Sheridan had been seen at Paddington Station, had firmly settled his suspicion on the Sheridans.

The possibility of questionable conduct on Becky Birtle’s part threw a wrench into his theories.

The Sheridans made for great suspects. By ridding themselves of a brother they no longer loved, they would put an end to their perennial monetary worries. They had the sophistication and—despite the hollowness of their financial situation—the means to choreograph an intricate murder that presented as an accidental overdose.

But lucre as a motive did present its problems. The Sheridans’ shortage of funds was chronic rather than acute. They had dealt with it for decades without murdering anyone. Why should they start at this late stage in life?

On the other hand, improprieties between Becky Birtle and Mr. Sackville were far more likely to ignite murderous passions in the here and now. Someone else could have been competing for Becky Birtle’s affection. Tommy Dunn, the manservant who worked outdoors, perhaps. He was much closer to Becky Birtle’s age and a spurned young man could very well turn into a dangerous beast.

Except no one flew into a rage and throttled Mr. Sackville. And Treadles couldn’t see Tommy Dunn as the sort to arrange for an elaborate scheme that would leave no trace of his involvement.

What about the other female servants? What if one of them had believed that she had an understanding with her master, only to discover he was also having his way with Becky Birtle? Might that not provoke a fury that had no equal in hell?

“Inspector, there’s a message from the chemical analyst for you,” said Sergeant MacDonald.

Treadles read the cable. “What?”

“What is it, sir?” asked MacDonald, wide-eyed.

Treadles needed a moment to gather himself. “Remember that I asked for Mr. Sackville’s tissue to be tested for other poisons besides chloral?” He glanced at the telegram again. “They found arsenic.”





Fifteen





A very different-looking Curry House greeted Inspector Treadles upon his return. A fog had rolled in. The house drifted in and out of billows of vapor, a pale, ghostly vessel in a sea of mist.