Page 7 of A Study in Scarlet Women

Wasthatwhat Charlotte had wanted to tell Livia?

“Do you think he’s in love with Mrs. Gladwell?”

Livia couldn’t decide which would be worse, that their father loved someone else or that he was unfaithful to their mother with a woman he didn’t even love.

“No,” said Charlotte decisively. “Come here.”

There was a box inside the bottom drawer of Sir Henry’s desk, a box secured with a dark bronze, strange-looking lock, which Livia guessed to be some sort of Chinese antique. Its shape was a barrel formed by five rotating disks, which bore Chinese characters that had once been painted with gold lacquer but had now faded almost to the point of illegibility.

Livia knew about the box. She’d understood instinctively that the lock would open if she lined up the correct characters. But when she’d tried on a previous occasion, with their parents out of the house, she’d become frustrated after dozens of unsuccessful attempts.

Charlotte, however, peered at the lock and turned the disks one by one with great confidence.

“You tried enough times to find out the correct combination?” Livia marveled.

“No. Papa doesn’t read Chinese any more than we do. If you look at the lock in strong light, you can see smudges of pencil marks around some of the characters. And when you line those up—”

Charlotte drew back the pin, set the lock aside, and held out the now open box to Livia.

The first thing Livia saw was a newspaper clipping, which announced Sir Henry’s engagement to someone named Lady Amelia Drummond.

Next came a wedding invitation. “But this can’t be right. The wedding was on—that’s the day of Mamma and Papa’s wedding. You don’t suppose Mamma is secretly Lady Amelia Drummond?”

Charlotte shook her head and gestured Livia to lift the invitation. At the very bottom of the box lay a small photograph, of a young Sir Henry and a handsome and very superior-looking young lady who was most certainly not Lady Holmes.

Livia stared at the picture. “Did this Lady Amelia jilt Papa? And did he marry someone else on the original wedding day to spite her?”

Charlotte locked the box again and put it back carefully. Then she went to the door, peered out, and beckoned Livia to follow her. Once they had ascended the stairs to their room, Livia sat on the bed, her head in her hands, and tried to cope with the day’s revelations.

“Do you think Mamma found out that he married her on the day he was supposed to marry Lady Amelia?”

“Yes.”

“Before or after?”

Charlotte thought for a minute. “After.”

That made sense. Lady Holmes’s parents had been respectable but short on funds; without the means to afford a Season for their daughter, they might not have kept up with the flood of matrimonial news coming out of London.

Not to mention, Lady Holmes wouldn’t be so disillusioned if she’d known what she was getting into in the first place.

“I wonder why Mamma doesn’t have the equivalent of a Mrs. Gladwell. Do you think she wants to?”

At Charlotte’s placid question, Livia bolted upright. “Have an affair? I’ve no idea if she wants to, but I’m sure Papa would be extremely cross if she were to.”

“Why? He does it. And he doesn’t seem at all ashamed about it.”

“I can’t explain it. I just know he’d be angry.”

Charlotte considered this, her face as serene as that of an angel on a Christmas card. “That’s not fair, is it?”

“Of course it’s unfair but that’s how it is.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. I hate it. But we have to live with it.”

Charlotte was silent. Down the passage Henrietta’s door opened. The heels of her evening slippers clicked forcefully as she descended to dinner.