A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(75)
Looking back on those halcyon days made her feel old. Certainly enough time had passed for many, many things to have gone wrong . . .
All at once she became conscious that he was studying her. Throughout her recital of the events of the day he had been looking at the top of his walking stick—and occasionally out of the windows. But now his attention was squarely upon her.
She, on the other hand, had been half staring at the carriage lantern outside. Carefully, she held still and did not glance toward him. She wanted to go on luxuriating in the weight and intensity of his gaze. To go on wallowing in that bittersweet mingling of pleasure and heartache.
How had they managed to not realize, for so long, what they meant to one another? And why then must they see the light when it was too late, when they could possess no more than a few moments of ferocious mutual awareness?
He tapped his walking stick against the floor of the hackney, a dull echo that signaled the end of the silence. She inhaled quietly, deeply.
“So . . . the villain in Mrs. Marbleton’s case is too mannered for your taste.” His voice was perfectly modulated.
She, too, took on a brisk, efficient tone. “I’ve constructed Bacon’s ciphers before. It’s tedious work. If I were holding her husband hostage and wanted her to worry, I’d let her stew in her own anxiety rather than dispatch all these clever but not that clever puzzles.”
“You imply this Mrs. Marbleton staged an elaborate ruse. Why?”
“That’s what I intend to find out. I’d like for you to forge a letter for me.”
“You can do that yourself. I’ve taught you well.”
“You are still far better than me.”
He snorted. “I’m better, but not that much better. Whom do you want this letter to be addressed to and what do you want it to say?”
It was not a promise to help but it was a step closer. “I noticed something odd about Mrs. Marbleton: Everything she wore was new. Or at least everything that was visible to the observer.
“I dearly love clothes, but I don’t remember ever going about not only in a new frock, but new gloves, new boots, a new hat, and carrying both a new reticule and a new parasol.”
“Maybe she suffered a fire at her place of domicile.”
“In my former life I happened to be a devoted browser at Harrod’s and saw many of the items she wore on offer there. This evening I made a pilgrimage to that temple of commerce and asked after the newcomer to London who had bought those items, on the pretense that she had given me a card with her address and invited me to call but I’d lost the card and was quite distraught.”
“If God doesn’t want people to lie, he shouldn’t have given the best liars such earnest and innocent faces,” murmured Lord Ingram.
For a quick second, it was almost all incandescent pleasure in her heart. She smiled into the dark. “Precisely. Since God obviously intended for me to prevaricate, to do otherwise would be to thwart His purpose. And so I’ve learned that Mrs. Marbleton currently resides at Claridge’s, as that was where her purchases were delivered.
“Here’s something else I suspect about Mrs. Marbleton: She and I might have a great deal in common. The kind of reversal of fortune she suffered, which caused her to fall from the lap of ease, if not of luxury, straight into a scullery—I can think of very few other instances. Even if she lost her parents and had no older siblings who could look after her, what about aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents? What about family friends? What about more genteel employment as a governess or a lady’s companion?”
“You are saying that she, having been caught in a compromising position, chose to run away?”
“There can’t be too many of us. And I’ll wager someone like Lady Avery or Lady Somersby would know the circumstances surrounding every last one. If you write an anonymous letter to—since Lady Avery is already involved in the Sackville case, let’s spread the wealth and send it to Lady Somersby, and tell her that a lady who has had a tremendous fall from grace years ago has returned to London and can be found at Claridge’s. I dare say within two days we’ll have her identity.”
“No.”
His answer was quiet but implacable. Charlotte tilted her head. “Why not?”
“You’ve not thought the matter through, Charlotte. Setting Lady Somersby loose on this woman and having the former announce her true identity from the rooftops? Should Mrs. Marbleton happen to be in real danger of any kind, you will do her a great disservice.”
“Oh,” said Charlotte. She truly had not thought the matter through.
“However, there is a premiere performance at Covent Gardens. I can still make the intermission if I hurry. Since it’s a night to see and be seen, one of our Ladies of Gossip should be there.”
“Make sure you aren’t too obvious. Don’t let them realize that you’ve approached them only to ask this question.”
He scoffed. “Haven’t you deduced that these days they approach me, and not the other way around? They’re still trying to find out what happened to you, and anyone who knows you to any extent is subject to regular interrogations.”
Charlotte, for the moment, had forgotten about her own scandal altogether. “What do you tell them?”
He leaned back in his seat. Once again she felt the impact of his gaze. What did he think when he looked upon her? What did he want? What pain or pleasure unfurled in the deepest part of his heart?