Page 23 of Murder on Cold Street

Mrs. Treadles remained silent for some more time; then she set her jaw. “Not as well as I’d have liked to have done.”

“Why not?”

“My brother’s lieutenants did not welcome me.”

“Oh, how did they not welcome you?”

It was obvious to Charlotte that he already knew the answer and was only toying with Mrs. Treadles.Mrs. Treadles must know it, too, and yet she must still give an account of her unhappy powerlessness.

Her throat moved. “They resented that I was there, asking questions about how they did things. How they’d always done things. When I gave my opinions, they acted as if they hadn’t heard. At every opportunity, they insinuated—nay, stated outright that I should return home, that my presence at Cousins was a waste of time for both myself and the men who had been entrusted with looking after that great enterprise.”

“You were made to feel an intruder in your own domain.”

“That is correct.”

Inspector Brighton combed his fingers through his hair—he’d been laying siege, but now he was getting ready to storm the castle gate. “How did your husband react when he learned of your difficulties?”

Mrs. Treadles set down her teacup—was she too tense now to even drink tea? “I—I never told him anything of my difficulties.”

“Not for three months or thereabouts that I can understand. But when he did eventually ask how you were doing, why did you not tell him?”

“There was nothing he could have done to help me. And I didn’t want to worry him.”

“Perhaps he couldn’t have taken any direct measures to influence your subordinates, but surely his moral support would have been appreciated.” Inspector Brighton paused. “You did not wish for even that?”

The question was uttered softly, as if in concern, but his voice was devoid of warmth.

“I was too proud. I didn’t want him to know that I had trouble handling my own company.”

“A man who disapproved strongly of your undertaking shouldhave guessed that he wouldn’t be the only disapproving man you’d encounter along the way.”

“He did guess, but I glossed over my difficulties.”

Inspector Brighton shifted in his chair. Not a nervous or involuntary motion, but a deliberate exertion: He braced an elbow on an armrest, and stretched out his legs, the very image of a man at ease.

Mrs. Treadles, in contrast, brought her arms, and very possibly her feet—judging by the small, sharp jerk of her skirts—closer to her body.

Her instinctive reaction seemed to please Inspector Brighton. Charlotte heard a smirk in his next question.

“Did you have any allies at work, Mrs. Treadles?”

“Yes, Mr. Longstead,” said Mrs. Treadles quietly, “whose departure I greatly lament.”

“Mr. Longstead was not a constant presence at Cousins. He left many years ago. Even though he recently returned at your request, it was in the capacity of an adviser rather than an executor. Would you agree, Mrs. Treadles, that you worked much more closely with his nephew, Mr. Sullivan?”

At the sound of that name, Mrs. Treadles’s jaw moved, as if she felt nauseated and were trying to hold down the revolt in her stomach. “I did work more with Mr. Sullivan. Unfortunately he and I did not get along very well. He was one of those men who made my life at work more difficult at every turn.”

She even sounded faintly queasy.

Inspector Brighton chortled softly. “Did you always think so, Mrs. Treadles?”

“What do you mean?”

“Scotland Yard will speak to everyone at Cousins who had the remotest dealings with either of the victims. Or with you. Will we receive answers at variance with yours, Mrs. Treadles?”

“Of course you will. I have never known any group of people to give uniform answers to any single question.”

Even a rabbit would snarl, when backed into a corner. Inspector Brighton evidently did not mind his prey’s futile bristling.