Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,65

cash was as sick as a man suffering from severe cardiac disease.

Mrs. Watson’s expression, too, turned somber.

“My brother purchased a number of older factories to be modernized and refitted to our specifications. I concluded that too much money was spent on the endeavor and the returns have not been impressive. Needless to say, the men who oversaw the acquisition and renovation of those factories vehemently objected to that conclusion. They spouted all kinds of accounting reasons, amortization costs, and whatnot to justify why incomes have stagnated.

“I know what amortization costs are. I am familiar with the practice of writing off costs over time. I also understand the advantages of having amortization costs so that we may pay less to Inland Revenue. But cash flow affects operations in the here and now, and cash flow is a problem that no amount of accounting wizardry can explain away.

“The funny thing is, I’d been tentative about my conclusion, since I had so little data. I would have been perfectly happy to be shown otherwise. But instead of concrete evidence, I was given only obstruction, complaints, and temper tantrums. I am now convinced that something is wrong. Very wrong. Had that not been the case, my managers would still have been condescending and patronizing, I don’t doubt that, but not to this appalling extent.”

She realized, only after she’d finished speaking, that she had crushed Mrs. Watson’s delicate handkerchief in her grip.

Mrs. Watson, however, did not seem to mind at all. “Shall we put an end to all that appalling condescension?”

Miss Holmes had said the same, that it was time to take matters into her own hands. And Alice wanted to. How she wanted to. But . . .

“H—how?”

“How else, my dear? You need to present yourself at Cousins and stop this nonsense.”

Alice’s stomach quivered. Many a morning she’d regarded herself in the mirror and told her reflection that this was the day she would stop this nonsense. That this was the day she truly became the owner of Cousins.

Yet that day had kept receding into the future.

“So . . . tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow,” said Mrs. Watson decisively. “Today. Right now.”

“But right now I must look a fright!”

“Given the events of recent days, no one will expect you to look your best.”

How could she make Mrs. Watson understand? “They’ll be able to tell that I’ve been crying.”

Her managers already disdained her so, when she was put together smartly. How could she go before them with puffy eyes and splotchy cheeks?

Mrs. Watson tilted her head a little. “Did looking perfectly self-possessed ever help you in your cause?”

Had it not helped? “I don’t think I was ever perfectly self-possessed. I was probably nervous, impatient, and frustrated.”

“And why is perfect self-possession so important now?”

“If they don’t think I look and act the part, how can they take me seriously?”

Mrs. Watson raised a brow. “Was your father never impatient or frustrated when he presided over the company?”

Alice was startled. But why was she startled by a perfectly reasonable question? “Ah . . . he was impatient at times.”

“He did not suffer fools gladly, you mean.”

“He was never cruel or crude, but he did speak his mind.”

“And why was it all right for him to speak his mind but not for you?”

At least this question she could easily answer. “He built the company from nothing. Of course he was entitled to speak his mind to those he hired.”

“What about your brother? He did not build the company. Was he a beacon of tact or diplomacy?”

Again, Alice was startled. Enough to draw back in the carriage seat. “No, but . . .”

She trailed off.

Mrs. Watson leaned forward. “He was put into place by the terms of your father’s will. You were also installed by the terms of your father’s will. Do you believe you have less right to be there than your brother did?”

“No, of course not.”

Mrs. Watson regarded Alice, her gaze at once sympathetic and penetrating. “May I speak bluntly, Mrs. Treadles?”

Had she not been speaking bluntly all along? Alice’s stomach clenched. “Yes, of course.”

“You may issue denials, my dear, and you may believe sincerely in those denials. But your misgivings tell me something else altogether. They tell me that having been told early and often that you had no place at Cousins, that judgment has seeped into your marrow.”

A loud noise went off in Alice’s head, followed by an awful silence. She’d felt this way once before, a long time ago, when she’d learned that her mother had a