Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,12
the earliest possible date. And I refuse to hear a word about how such a shaft might undermine Britain’s natural defenses.”
He smiled. “And how are your studies?”
“Demanding and fascinating. I’ve become an ever more indelicate individual, by the way, having by now eaten pastries and cheese sandwiches next to still-open cadavers,” she answered, sighing. “My friends say that my coarsification will be complete when I will have consumed a serving of rognons à la crème under the same conditions—which, of course, will never happen as I don’t care for kidneys, even without human remains nearby.”
He laughed. She was a second-year student of medicine at the Sorbonne in Paris and enjoyed making light of her anatomy classes.
“But enough about me. How did Mrs. Treadles look to you, my lord?”
“Indeed,” echoed Mrs. Watson. “Is she all right, that poor woman?”
He glanced at Holmes, who nibbled on a slice of cake and said, “I told them she wouldn’t buckle under yet.”
“No, not yet,” he agreed.
“But . . .” prompted Penelope.
“But it’s also true that Inspector Treadles is in significant trouble.”
“Surely it can’t be anything except a huge misunderstanding,” murmured Mrs. Watson, not sounding entirely convinced.
This time everyone looked at Holmes, who drank her tea and said nothing.
It had so often fallen to her, to be the harbinger of ill tidings. He decided to fill that function this time. “We are all hoping it will prove no more than a misunderstanding. However, given that Inspector Treadles was, until last night, as far as we knew, a member of the law-enforcement community in good standing, I cannot help but think that Scotland Yard wouldn’t have arrested him unless he was standing over Mr. Longstead’s dead body, the murder weapon in hand.”
Mrs. Watson recoiled. “That bad?”
“That would be my guess. Holmes?”
“A likely scenario, yes.”
“Is there any chance that he did do it?” asked Penelope, who’d met the inspector only once.
Lord Ingram shook his head. “I can’t see him taking a life in cold blood. Or even in a rage. That said, he himself once told me that he had seen, in the course of his career, the most unlikely individuals turn to murder, when the stakes became high enough.”
“And what would have been his reason to turn to murder, if it had indeed come to that?” mused Penelope, as if to herself.
His wife, thought Lord Ingram.
He did not peer in Holmes’s direction this time, for fear that Mrs. Watson would take one look at their exchange and read his mind. Mrs. Watson was an integral part of any Sherlock Holmes investigation, but he did not want to lay bare his friend’s entire private life before her.
Not yet.
Mrs. Watson broke the silence. “My dear Miss Charlotte, have you a concerted strategy for us?”
She must be recalling the case at Stern Hollow, where Holmes, upon learning of a dead body found in the icehouse, had immediately formulated a detailed master plan, a large part of which she’d entrusted to Mrs. Watson to execute.
Holmes shook her head. “Not at the moment. I must at least speak to Inspector Treadles in person before I’ll know where to concentrate our efforts.”
“When will that happen?” wondered Penelope.
“When the papers get wind of the murder. At which point, Scotland Yard will need to respond. And if they already have Inspector Treadles in custody, that, too, will become public knowledge. Then they will have to allow him counsel and visitors.”
Mrs. Watson drained her teacup. “And how soon will the story be in the papers?”
“By tomorrow morning, at the very latest. If Scotland Yard suppresses this for too long, it will seem as if they are deliberately shielding the guilty, especially if the only suspect they have is one of their own.” Holmes turned to Mrs. Watson and Penelope. “You may enjoy another evening of reunion before Miss Redmayne’s holiday is interrupted by the work of the investigation.”
A few months ago, when Penelope had come home for her summer holiday, she had been eager to take part in any and all Sherlock Holmesian adventures. But the complicated nature of real cases and the toll they took on real lives had sobered her. Now the young woman who nodded did so with a hint of trepidation, as if already bracing herself for unhappy outcomes.
Mrs. Watson rose, pulling Penelope up with her. “My dear, let’s go back to the house. Mr. Mears has obtained bags of cuttings from the Christmas tree seller and we have much garland-making to do.”
Penelope gave her a quizzical glance before agreeing heartily.