Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,25
tone conversational.
Mrs. Treadles’s answer was muted. “At one of Lord Ingram Ashburton’s archaeological lectures.”
“And that led to your marriage.”
“In time, yes.”
“What manner of man would you say Inspector Treadles is?”
“Honorable, dutiful, sensible,” said Mrs. Treadles with anxious pride. “He is also a voracious reader, very keen on broadening his horizons and understanding the flow of history—of British history in particular.”
Inspector Brighton let a moment pass. “And what manner of husband would you say he is?”
That he had begun with the class difference between the Treadleses was a clear indication, to Charlotte at least, of the thrust of his inquiries. But Mrs. Treadles still seemed caught by surprise.
Or perhaps it was because she could never adequately prepare for this particular question. Because no matter how she braced herself, the unhappiness of having to answer it truthfully would always shake her to the very foundation.
“He . . . is a very good husband. As I said, he is honorable, dutiful, and sensible, so I never need to worry about dalliances on his part. Since we have no children, we spend a great deal of time together, reading side by side, sometimes aloud to each other, and generally treasure the quietness of domestic contentment.”
“Most marriages begin well. The passage of time, however, puts all heartfelt wedding vows to the test. How would you say your marriage has changed over the years?”
If Livia were here, staring at the back of Inspector Brighton’s head in the mirror, would she have imagined a sinister smile on the man’s lips? Charlotte was less prone to such flights of fancy, but she very much felt that Inspector Brighton was enjoying himself at Mrs. Treadles’s expense.
Mrs. Treadles swallowed. “I . . . Well, he has been made an inspector in the time we’ve been married. And I inherited my father’s enterprise after my brother unfortunately passed away.”
“Let me be more specific, Mrs. Treadles, since you mentioned your family. Your dowry, dear lady, could have served as a tremendous asset to your husband’s career. You yourself, a cultured, handsome, and personable woman, could have been a similar boon. Why do you suppose he never put either to use?”
Mrs. Treadles raised her teacup to her lips—Charlotte was reminded of her nervous tea drinking at 18 Upper Baker Street. “I—I must assume it stemmed from his sense of fair play. It would be unfair to his colleagues if he were to advance faster due to his wealthy wife.”
“Is that so? I understand that Inspector Treadles has risen as fast as he has because he has had the good fortune of being associated with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, whose insights have led him to solve several puzzling cases.”
“That is . . . true.”
“And he did not consider that an unfair advantage?”
“But he hasn’t consulted Mr. Holmes of late. Not since summer.”
Not since he’d found out that Sherlock Holmes was a fallen woman, thought Charlotte wryly.
“Nevertheless,” Inspector Brighton hammered on, “he didn’t mind help from a man, but he didn’t want help from a woman, not even if that woman was his wife.”
Mrs. Treadles stared down at her teacup.
Charlotte sighed soundlessly. As soon as she had learned of Mr. Sullivan’s death, she had wanted to see Mrs. Treadles, to put those exact same questions to her. Both to wring out the truth, if possible, and also to prepare her for a similar extraction from Inspector Brighton.
Inspector Brighton was quick to press his advantage. “When did you realize that he was not happy about Cousins Manufacturing having come to you, Mrs. Treadles?”
Mrs. Treadles’s head snapped up. “Did he say that to you?”
“You need not concern yourself with what answers your husband may or may not have given. Answer my question, please.”
Her gaze dropped away. “It’s true he was not greatly pleased. But he did nothing to hinder me from assuming my rightful place at the head of the company.”
“Did he inquire into how you were doing at the company?”
Her voice grew smaller. “Not initially.”
“And how long was that interval you referred to as ‘initially’?”
“Three months or so.”
This time, her answer was barely audible.
“A long time to go without asking questions of one’s beloved as to how she fared at her monumental task. Would you have said that his resolute lack of curiosity was a strong rebuke of your choice to run the company yourself?”
Mrs. Treadles was silent.
Inspector Brighton tutted, as if he were speaking to a recalcitrant, yet none-too-bright child. “And how did you fare at Cousins Manufacturing, by the way, my dear lady?”