Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,92
rest of the work fell on the younger women, with Charlotte not leaving her station until well past four o’clock, after she had completed a neatly written overview, accompanied by supporting documents.
And now she and Miss Redmayne were reviewing, at a somewhat sluggish pace, the notes the latter had taken while speaking to all the Longsteads’ neighbors.
“Miss Hendricks to see Mrs. Hudson,” announced Mr. Mears, with a clearing of his throat.
Charlotte and Miss Redmayne exchanged a look.
The previous evening, while arranging for small notices in the papers that invited members of the public to write to Sherlock Holmes should they possess information about the events at 33 Cold Street, Charlotte and Miss Redmayne had also placed a different small notice, this one promising a significant reward for the return of a jeweled comb bearing the inscription, To my beloved R.
The claimant, a woman in her late forties, had not come alone. With her were two girls of around eight and six, respectively. They looked about the morning parlor, Mrs. Watson’s seldom-used formal drawing room, curious at this change of scenery but also appearing a little disappointed that it was only another room. The woman, on the other hand, studied everything with a wretched intensity, as if she found herself in a crime scene where those she loved had met their end.
“Miss Hendricks?” said Charlotte. “Good morning. I am Mrs. Hudson and this is my sister-in-law, Miss Hudson.”
At her appearance, a wave of pure misery crested upon Miss Hendricks’s face. But she rallied, greeted her hosts courteously, and introduced the girls as her charges, though without giving the girls’ names.
Miss Hendricks’s reaction intrigued Charlotte. She was dressed for another day out and about as Sherlock Holmes’s sister in a dowdy brown dress and the same brunette wig she’d worn the day before. Her appearance was lackluster, certainly, but hardly revolting.
“I love having young guests in the house!” enthused Miss Redmayne to the girls. “Alas, I have no idea where my childhood books and toys are to be found, but I do have some bonbons I recently brought back from Paris. What say you, ladies, that we open a tin of those bonbons and demolish them? With your governess’s permission, of course.”
Miss Hendricks tensed at the suggestion that her charges be parted from her, but Miss Redmayne’s guileless request was difficult to refuse. And—thought Charlotte—the woman really wanted to speak to Charlotte alone.
And so Miss Redmayne made away with the children. Mr. Mears delivered a tea tray and poured the remaining women each a cup.
As soon as he had withdrawn, Miss Hendricks pulled out a bundled handkerchief and untied its corners to reveal a sparkling jeweled comb.
Charlotte examined the comb. Only half of the inscription had been given in the small notice, so as to make authentication easier. The one on the comb read, To my beloved R, from your faithful M.
Rebecca and Mortimer Cousins, Mrs. Treadles’s parents.
“Is this the item you are looking for, Mrs. Hudson?” came Miss Hendricks’s anxious and unhappy question.
Charlotte set the comb down on the tea table. “May I ask, Miss Hendricks, where you came upon it?”
“At the park.”
“Oh? Which park?”
“A small park in our neighborhood, ma’am. I’m sure you wouldn’t know.”
The comb glittered amidst plates of biscuits and sliced cake. Miss Hendricks regarded it without a single shred of covetousness. And yet she stared. Stared and stared.
And then she looked at Charlotte, gazed at her full on for the first time since Charlotte came into the room. After a second or two, her expression, that of a similarly all-encompassing heartbreak, took on a hint of bafflement.
“This is a beautiful house,” she said tentatively. “Wonderful address, too. Is it yours, ma’am?”
“It is.”
The confusion in her eyes deepened. “Is . . . is the comb yours, ma’am?”
Charlotte took a leisurely sip of her tea. “Indeed it is not. I am only an intermediary, seeking it on behalf of its owner.”
“Oh,” said Miss Hendricks. She relaxed slightly, only to tense again. “May I ask—may I ask . . .”
Her voice trailed off. “No. Of course I shouldn’t ask anything about its owner.”
Charlotte set down her teacup. “But I have been asked to verify the time the comb was found, as well as its precise location, as it was lost under rather perplexing circumstances.”
Miss Hendricks clutched at her now empty handkerchief. “Surely it wasn’t stolen?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose that. But I must have the information before I may dispense with the reward.”