Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,87
also not entirely facetious quest not to add to her collection of wrinkles. She never prevented herself from laughing, but she did from time to time stop mid-frown.
Penelope reached over and pretended to iron out Mrs. Watson’s forehead. “There now. Taken care of.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Watson chortled, before her expression once again turned somber. “Nothing obviously wrong at Cousins, but nothing, if I were Mrs. Treadles perusing these accounts, that would set my mind at ease either. In fact, I must say that Mrs. Treadles has an excellent sense about these things. She is almost exactly right about the firm’s financial position.
“But for a company created a generation ago, the founders of which are no longer involved with its operations, and which for some years was run by an heir who was neither as brilliant nor as interested—are we looking at a natural state of decay?
“The reputation of Cousins products seems to have diminished since old Mr. Cousins’s passing. Sales and income have become stagnant, while there are large loans to service, loans taken on to renovate and modernize some of the firm’s older factories. So it isn’t doing terribly well, but not so badly that one would question—yet—whether it would continue to be a going concern.”
Lord Ingram hadn’t expected Mrs. Watson to find instances of glaring fraud in a matter of mere hours. Still he was disappointed. “Do the accounts seem genuine to you?”
“I’m not the best judge of that, but the age of the documents feels correct. Documents dating from the beginning of the decade are yellower and more brittle than more recent ones, and the ink on them has faded more. And the spines of sewn volumes also seem to have come by their creases naturally, from having been consulted over time.”
“But why,” asked Miss Redmayne, “if everything seems aboveboard, did Mrs. Treadles have so much trouble accessing this information?”
“Why indeed?” murmured Holmes, cutting into an oyster patty. “Her brother was neither competent nor attentive. The managers could have blamed everything on him.”
“But since everyone knew that he was an inept heir, wouldn’t the blame then fall on those who should have known better?” asked Lord Ingram.
“You mean they tried to keep their failure from Mrs. Treadles because they were loath to look bad before her?” mused Penelope.
“I’m not saying these men did,” said Lord Ingram. “But I’ve seen men do far more stupid things for the sake of their pride.”
Mrs. Watson and Miss Redmaye nodded in contemplation. Holmes glanced at him from across the table. The other ladies did not know him as she did. They thought he was merely relating his observations from a life lived among boys and men. They did not think that he, too, had needed to appear invulnerable and infallible. Or that he, too, had done very stupid things for the sake of his fragile pride.
But Holmes knew—and still loved him, in her way.
He smiled at her.
She speared a piece of oyster patty and put it into her mouth. After a moment, the corners of her lips lifted.
His heart floated.
The topic soon moved on to other facets of the investigation, as the true health of Cousins was not a debate that could be resolved by mere discussion. After dinner was put away, the accounts were again spread on the dining table, and everyone joined in the search for potential irregularities.
As a man with some expertise in archaeology, over the years Lord Ingram had been presented with a number of old letters purported to have been written by notable historical figures, from Charlemagne to Shakespeare.
He was no true paleographist, but he did happen to have made a close study of handwriting, was able to write a number of scripts fluently, and could credibly imitate the penmanship of others on short notice. Out of curiosity he had also inquired into historical papermaking.
He set aside yet another box of documents he’d riffled through. Mrs. Watson moaned and rubbed her temple. “My poor head. And my poor old eyes. Any luck on your part, my lord?”
He shook his head. “Upon closer examination I might come to a different conclusion, but a cursory look has not revealed any flagrant instances of fraud.”
Nothing particularly suspicious, even.
Holmes, at the other end of the table, was no longer looking through the accounts but at the envelopes she’d brought back from Mrs. Treadles’s house, the ones upon which the postal marks were at variance with the addresses listed inside.