Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,120

in the drawing room.

Lord Ingram, the brooch in hand, looked toward Charlotte. She inclined her head. The investigation had entered dangerous waters, but they had to sail full speed ahead—and avoid both Charybdis and Scylla. He returned the nod, bade Miss Longstead good night, and saw himself out.

Miss Longstead gazed another moment at the door through which he had disappeared, as if still puzzled by the speed with which the mourning brooch had been gathered and handed over, before she shifted her attention to Charlotte. “Miss Holmes, please don’t tell me you’ve been working since when Mrs. Coltrane saw you this morning.”

Charlotte blew out a breath. “I started my day well before that and I’m afraid my work still isn’t done yet.”

The hours had fled all too quickly. She still didn’t have her hands on any evidence that could change Inspector Treadles’s fate. But she hoped to change that. Very soon.

“You must be hungry and tired,” said Miss Longstead. Behind her glasses, her green eyes were bloodshot but kind. “Let me ring for a plate of sandwiches for you. And please, sit down.”

Charlotte took her seat but Miss Longstead didn’t. “I just remembered that there is something I wanted to show you. Let me go fetch it.”

She returned as the food she had asked for was brought in. Charlotte, though her stomach nearly gurgled at the sight of the sandwiches, took the letter Miss Longstead handed her.

“Last night, when I came across a condolence letter from my friend Miss Yates, I remembered that I had spoken to her exactly four dances after I returned to the house,” explained Miss Longstead. “Since I felt bad about not being able to supply you even an approximation of the time I saw the woman enter number 33, and since Miss Yates always seems to know exactly when something happens, I wrote her and asked if she remembered when I spoke to her. This is her reply.”

The letter read:

My Dear Louise,

It is no bother at all. In fact, I do remember when we spoke as someone behind me had just asked for the time. It was five to one. I hope that will be of some use.

I’m afraid I wept when I read what you wrote about finding the Christmas present from your uncle among the detritus in the studio at number 33. It made me remember that at the party I had in fact jokingly asked him whether he’d already done the gift-hiding this year. He had answered, with a twinkle in his eyes, that of course he had.

I wanted to know if it was a clever hiding place. He chuckled and said that it would either be the last place you looked—or the first. But that I was, of course, not to breathe a word to you. I further inquired whether there would be a cipher waiting when you did find your present and he declared ruefully that alas, he’d given up on making you adore cryptography as he did and would henceforth only give presents that furnished you undiluted pleasure.

Again, I’m sorry that such a horrible thing happened. And that you were robbed of the joy of discovering your present under better circumstances. Do remember his love for you always and the happiness he derived from your companionship all these years.

Yours faithfully,

Eliza

“This is helpful indeed,” said Charlotte.

Though perhaps not for the reason that Miss Longstead had originally intended, solely to establish the time she saw the woman—Mrs. Treadles—enter number 33.

Charlotte gave the letter back to Miss Longstead and picked up a prawn salad finger sandwich. “I believe you mentioned the intruder to your uncle after you spoke with Miss Yates?”

“That is correct.”

The sandwich was refreshing and slightly piquant. Charlotte allowed herself a moment to enjoy the very great pleasure of eating something delicious while she was hungry. “Miss Longstead, are you acquainted with Miss Hendricks, who lives and works at 48 Rengate Street?”

Miss Longstead’s eyes widened with both surprise and pleasure. “Do you also know her? Lovely woman. She and my mother had known each other when they were young girls in Freetown, in Sierra Leone.”

“I learned from her that she had seen Mr. Sullivan tour number 33 in the company of a letting agent in the later parts of last summer, a day after the Sullivans called on this house. Before she could speak to you about it, you told her that the house was no longer for let, so she didn’t mention Mr. Sullivan’s visit, knowing that for