Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,103

to prevent his crimes from coming to light.”

An awful thought struck Mrs. Watson. She turned toward Lord Ingram and gripped his arm. “The rumors that have been flying—so many of them have been about Inspector Treadles as a jealous husband. But—what if instead he’d been investigating this very matter and had learned about Mr. Sullivan stealing tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of pounds from his wife’s family? That would be sufficient cause to make anyone extremely—”

She stopped. Her hand dropped away from Lord Ingram’s arm—to cover her own mouth.

They were trying to exonerate Inspector Treadles, not to discover more plausible motives for him to have killed Mr. Sullivan.

Lord Ingram, who no doubt understood that her latest line of reasoning did Inspector Treadles no favors, frowned. “What I don’t understand—what I’ve never understood from the beginning—is why Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Longstead were killed together.”

An even more awful idea clobbered Mrs. Watson.

“What if—” she said from behind her hand, “what if Mr. Longstead wasn’t who we thought he was? What if instead of being grateful to old Mr. Cousins for buying out his shares, he resented old Mr. Cousins all these years? Could he have felt that old Mr. Cousins had forcibly separated him from his one great achievement in life? Remember he never offered Mrs. Treadles any substantive help. It couldn’t have cost him much to be kind to Mrs. Treadles to her face, especially if he’d been directing his nephew to siphon away her fortune. A man who is wonderful to his niece and solicitous of his servants can still be a monster to others.”

Lord Ingram looked pained. He gently pulled Mrs. Watson’s hand away from her face and held it in his own. “Unfortunately, this theory also places Inspector Treadles at the very center of the murders—and gives him every motivation.”

Mrs. Watson slumped against the back of the carriage seat. “Poor Mrs. Treadles. If I were her, I’d probably be stark raving mad by now. I am not her and still I feel the hangman’s noose tightening.”

Unexpectedly, Lord Ingram smiled. “I felt that distinct sensation not too long ago, when I was the prime suspect in the case at Stern Hollow. Have I ever told you what Miss Charlotte said to me when she came to visit me in my jail cell?”

Mrs. Watson not only straightened. She leaned forward and took hold of his other hand. “Tell me.”

“I let her know that I was terrified and she said, ‘Don’t forget, sir, that I am a queen upon this board, and I do not play to lose.’”

He held Mrs. Watson’s gaze, his eyes deep yet clear. “I had her in my corner then. Inspector Treadles has her in his corner now. She will not let him down.”

Mrs. Watson felt a smile rising to her own lips. But—“I thought that at Stern Hollow Miss Charlotte had a strong idea from the very beginning as to who was responsible for the body in the icehouse. Here she must be in the dark, the same as the rest of us.”

Lord Ingram pitched a brow, a hint of mischief to his expression. “We are in the dark, absolutely, my dearest lady. But Miss Charlotte? She most likely has a clear idea what happened and is only looking to find out why.”

* * *

After Mr. Woodhollow left her town coach, Charlotte made a close study of Mr. Longstead’s appointment book, which recorded, beginning from the final week of November, numerous instances at the British Museum, several meetings at Cousins, two trips to the chemist’s, and one encounter with his physician.

As Charlotte was already in the neighborhood, she asked her way to Sealy and Worcester, the nearest establishment of pharmaceutical chemists. Both Mr. Sealy and Mr. Worcester knew Mr. Longstead, and had considered him a friend as well as a faithful customer, who, when in town, could be expected to frequent the shop weekly.

“Was there anything he bought on a regular basis?” asked Charlotte.

“I believe those kept him coming back.” Mr. Sealy gestured to a row of large, clear glass jars that contained vividly colored sweets. “My sister is a talented confectioner and Miss Longstead is very fond of our gummy-textured sweets. Mr. Longstead could usually be counted on to buy a packet of her favorite flavors, a packet of my sister’s newer creations, some household items entrusted to him by his housekeeper, and one or two things that simply caught his attention.”

“Mr. Sealy is correct,” said Mr. Worcester, emerging from the back room to