A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(7)
“Why? He does it. And he doesn’t seem at all ashamed about it.”
“I can’t explain it. I just know he’d be angry.”
Charlotte considered this, her face as serene as that of an angel on a Christmas card. “That’s not fair, is it?”
“Of course it’s unfair but that’s how it is.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. I hate it. But we have to live with it.”
Charlotte was silent. Down the passage Henrietta’s door opened. The heels of her evening slippers clicked forcefully as she descended to dinner.
“Must we?” asked Charlotte.
This question, somehow, shocked Livia more than the ones that preceded it. She tossed the postcard into the grate and set it on fire. “Yes, we must. There’s nothing else to do but to live with it.”
The matter of Sir Henry’s romantic liaisons and their effect on Lady Holmes wasn’t mentioned again until two years later, when Henrietta, at eighteen, became engaged before the end of her first Season.
Shortly afterward Livia and Charlotte met Mr. Cumberland, her fiancé. With every last ounce of her self-control, Livia managed not to roll her eyes during the encounter—Mr. Cumberland wasn’t nearly as insufferable as Henrietta, but good gracious that man was dumb as a post.
“That poor idiot,” she said to Charlotte as soon as they were alone.
Charlotte opened the drawer of her nightstand and took out her contraband, a large piece of plum pound cake that she’d smuggled out of the kitchen. “I agree.”
Livia huffed. “Anybody willing to marry Henrietta has to be an idiot.”
Charlotte nodded absently, her attention on the cake. Lady Holmes was unhappy that for all the restrictions placed on Charlotte’s diet, the latter had not become any less tubby. Livia used to delight in the trafficking of buns and puddings for Charlotte, as much to defy her mother as to savor Charlotte’s inexpressible joy as she sank her teeth into forbidden fruits. But lately Livia was beginning to be remorseful about her role as Charlotte’s abettor and procurer: The prevailing fashion was unforgiving and Charlotte was going to be awfully uncomfortable in those whale-boned, steel-ribbed corsets the only purpose of which was to manhandle a woman’s body into a wasp-waisted figure.
Well, provided that someday Charlotte could be persuaded to abandon her dedication to her blue broadcloth frock, the only dress she had worn for years, remade every eighteen months or so to accommodate for her growing height.
“Well, don’t just assault your cake,” Livia went on. “Tell me why you think Mr. Cumberland is an idiot.”
It was possible to hold a minor conversation with Charlotte these days, if one was willing to prompt her at every turn. Charlotte didn’t seem to mind being asked to speak, though she often volunteered to take Henrietta’s shift with Bernadine: One didn’t need to say anything, sitting with Bernadine. In fact, the opposite was true—the less one tried to talk to Bernadine, the less frustrating those sessions were.
“He doesn’t lack for money,” said Charlotte, “but the fit of his clothes is terrible—he clearly doesn’t know how to choose a tailor. And he thinks one showy knot of the necktie makes up for bad shoes and trousers that are too short. Besides, his valet is robbing him blind.”
“What?”
“The diamond on his stickpin is paste. Since he wouldn’t have bought a paste stickpin, his valet probably sold the original and put in a cheap replica.”
Livia had been half reclining on their bed. She leaped to the floor. “Shouldn’t we tell Henrietta that he employs a thief?”
“Henrietta was the one who showed me how to tell a real diamond from paste,” Charlotte said, as placid as she always was when she dropped these bombshell observations. “She knows. She’ll make sure the valet’s gone soon.”
“But to knowingly accept a proposal from this moron—I almost feel sorry for Henrietta.”
“Don’t. He’s exactly what she’s been looking for. Henrietta isn’t stupid. She isn’t going to marry someone like Papa. She wants someone she can control and now she has one.”
Livia grimaced. “Are we sure that he does have sufficient funds? Not like us—all appearances.”
Charlotte had first pointed out, a year earlier, that Cook wasn’t putting the correct amount of butter in her pound cake anymore, which led to the discovery that the allowance Cook had for purchasing ingredients had been significantly reduced. But it was Livia who took the audacious step of steaming open a letter for Sir Henry from his bank, and that was how they found out that the house was heavily mortgaged and their parents deep in debt.
(It was around the same time that Bernadine’s nursemaid was let go and the task of keeping an eye on her fell to her sisters, whose governess was also relieved of her duties, with Lady Holmes declaring that the girls were old enough to not need one anymore.)
Livia, already disillusioned with her parents, became even more so: If they must make a mockery of their marriage, couldn’t they at least be responsible stewards of their finances?
“Henrietta was careful,” said Charlotte. “Remember when she and Mamma went on that two-day trip to visit Mamma’s sick aunt—or so they said? I found punched tickets from their journey and the destinations weren’t anywhere Mamma had relations. But Mr. Cumberland mentioned all those places today—locations for his family’s holdings. That’s what Mamma and Henrietta did—they investigated those holdings on the ground, to make sure they were in sound shape.”