Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,96

few days.”

Henrietta, of course, had never invited her younger sisters to stay with her, but Lady Holmes had not complained greatly about that, given that Henrietta remained her favorite.

“Hmm,” said Lady Holmes, walking faster as if her excitement grew.

“And what is Abbotts going to do?” Livia struck while the iron was hot. “Question your word? Write to Henrietta to ask if I indeed stayed with her?”

“And what am I going to do about it? Actually leave you in London by yourself?”

“You’ll be leaving me at a reputable, respectable establishment for ladies, remember? And nobody will know. That’s the best part. Once we are away from this village where everyone’s nose is always in somebody else’s business, no one will know or care what you do or where I am.”

“But—”

“Do you really think I will get into any trouble, Mamma? I’m not Charlotte. I don’t like people and I have no gentlemen friends. And what have I ever done in life, except reading and taking long walks?”

“I—I need to think about it.”

They were almost at the house. Livia let out a breath. Maybe, if she was lucky, she and her mother might in fact head for London. But at least she’d managed to neutralize Lady Holmes’s anger and set her mind on a different course. Which was not badly done of her at all!

“There’ll be no Society in London, this time of the year,” mused Lady Holmes as they entered the front door. “But I do wonder if the Openshaws might be there. Where did you say they were going to be on Christmas?”

Livia stilled. Openshaw was the name the Marbletons had used, when they’d come to visit the Holmeses. Or rather, when they had come to see Livia for themselves, because Stephen Marbleton had been that serious about her.

And he’d severed all ties with her, a mere fortnight later.

Despite the warmth inside the house, Livia felt cold. Not because of what Mr. Marbleton had done, but because the questions she hadn’t allowed herself to ask had at last surfaced.

Why had he lied to her? What was the real reason he had cast her out of his life? What had happened to make him come to that terrible decision?

“Did you not hear me, Olivia?” said Lady Holmes, a little peeved.

“Sorry, Mamma.” Livia squeezed out a smile. “The Openshaws, my word, they are going somewhere wonderful.”

* * *

Cousins Manufacturing was best known for its production of locomotive engines. The Cousins factory in Reading did not make locomotive engines, but specialized in steam boilers and conical boiler tubes. Before Mrs. Treadles had gained control of her own company, when she had come to see the works, the foreman had turned her away, telling her firmly that it was no place for a lady and that she ought to send her agents instead.

Mrs. Treadles had now sent her agents, which included Lord Ingram; Mr. Bloom, an expert Lord Ingram had engaged; and Mrs. Watson, once again a woman.

Mrs. Watson had come dressed in dark gray, though she remained eye-catching for her aura of warmth and vivacity. The same foreman, a broad man with salt-and-pepper hair named Fogerty, was clearly wary of her. But the sacking of Messrs. White, Kingford, Ferguson, and Adams seemed to have had a dampening effect on his own enthusiasm for keeping out interfering women. He received his three callers with cautious civility and made no mention of Mrs. Watson’s gender.

Lord Ingram might have found his wariness amusing, were it not for the fact that the same wariness had led to Mrs. Treadles’s inability to enter her own property.

He addressed the matter directly. “Mr. Fogerty, I understand that earlier you refused Mrs. Treadles entry.”

Mr. Fogerty nearly choked on his tea. He coughed. “It was . . . it was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Do please elucidate us on how the misunderstanding arose,” said Lord Ingram coolly.

“We, ah, we acted out of concern for Mrs. Treadles, of course.”

Lord Ingram raised a brow. “And who would be this ‘we’ you speak of, Mr. Fogerty?”

“That would be myself and the late Mr. Sullivan.”

“Do you mean to say Mr. Sullivan specifically told you that you should, out of concern for Mrs. Treadles, refuse her entry?”

Mr. Fogerty’s eyes didn’t quite meet Lord Ingram’s. “Y—yes. It really is no place for a lady, the inside of a factory, grease, soot, and noisy machines everywhere.”

As if trying to underscore his point, a great din erupted on the factory floor, its volume only partially muted by the walls of Mr. Fogerty’s