Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,100
was debating whether a second one was called for immediately—or better deferred to later in the day—when she heard footsteps coming to a stop outside the carriage.
An entire minute passed before two rapid, agitated knocks came at the door.
“Come in.”
The man who opened the carriage door was in his midthirties, tall, well-built, and remarkably handsome. He wore the black garments of a butler, crisp and well-ironed. Were he in more fashionable attire, a casual observer might have believed him a gentleman. But he was without the assertiveness and assurance of those accustomed to deference from others. Instead, he blinked a great deal and stood with his shoulders hunched, exuding dread and diffidence.
“You’re—you’re not Miss Hudson.”
He would have remembered Miss Redmayne, who, as Miss Hudson, had called on all the nearby houses the day before, abovestairs and belowstairs.
“No, indeed, I’m Miss Holmes, Sherlock Holmes’s sister. Pray come in and close the door, Mr. Woodhollow.”
He glanced about warily and then, with surprising speed, did as Charlotte asked. “I don’t know why you sent me the message, Miss Holmes, but I’ve never—”
“Miss Hendricks, from 36 Rengate Street, went into 33 Cold Street that night, because she thought she saw you enter.”
Mr. Woodhollow recoiled, as if Charlotte had slapped him. “Miss Hendricks would never have—she—she wouldn’t—”
“Indeed she wouldn’t have discussed this matter with a stranger. But when she entered number 33, she discovered an item on the floor of the dining room, a lady’s jeweled comb. There could be dozens of explanations for the presence of that ornament in an empty house, but the only conclusion she came to was that you must have been meeting someone else.”
Mr. Woodhollow stared at Charlotte. “That’s preposterous. Miss Hendricks is kind and patient and terribly learned. That she deigns to spend time with me—I have no words to express my gratitude. How could she possibly think I would arrange to meet anyone else in a place that belonged to us?”
The words left him in a surge. And then, realizing what he’d said, he flushed scarlet.
“Perhaps Miss Hendricks believed you to be meeting someone else because she doesn’t consider herself as young or as handsome as you.”
“And I can never be as clever or as erudite as she.” He bit his lower lip. “I hope I have not got Miss Hendricks in trouble with my admission.”
“Not with me. I do not believe you and Miss Hendricks had anything to do with the murders and therefore I do not intend to involve either of you in the official inquiry. But I would like you to tell me what happened that night, because what you might think of as irrelevant to the case could very well contain what I need for my investigation to proceed in the right direction.”
The butler’s voice trembled. “I have your word that none of this will get out?”
“You have my word.”
He panted a few times, eventually bringing his breathing under control. “Very well. I had some trouble falling asleep that night. So I went out for a cigarette. Mrs. Norwich wouldn’t have liked it if I’d been seen loitering outside the front door, so I stood by the back door, a few steps into the garden. When I was done, I was about to go inside when I saw a woman going into number 33.”
“A woman, you say?”
Mrs. Treadles?
“Yes, a woman. There was enough light from the side windows of number 31 that I couldn’t have made a mistake about her silhouette.”
“And what time was this?”
“Five minutes to midnight. I looked at my watch when I saw the woman.”
Excitement shot through Charlotte. “You are certain about that?”
Mr. Woodhollow nodded. “Mrs. Norwich is very particular about punctuality and my watch is the same kind carried by railway guards.”
He pulled out his pocket watch to show Charlotte. She checked the time it displayed against that on her own, even as her mind leaped in all directions.
Five minutes to midnight. The woman Mr. Woodhollow saw couldn’t have been Mrs. Treadles, who went inside 33 Cold Street at half past twelve. Nor could she have been Miss Hendricks, who entered only after Mrs. Treadles had left.
“Could you tell the woman’s identity?”
Mr. Woodhollow returned the watch to a pocket on his waistcoat. “She was already halfway in when I saw her, so I didn’t see her face, and her movement was too quick for me to discern what she was wearing, except that it was dark in color, which was what Miss Hendricks usually wears.