Page 76 of The Hollow of Fear

He knew she was at Mrs. Newell’s. And he was nearby. Had he come to meet her? How would he make it happen?

She became aware that her sister was observing her. “What about you, Charlotte,” she said, her face warming. “Have you been busy?”

“Rather,” said Charlotte. “You?”

Livia scoffed. “What does a near-spinster have to do?”

At least Mrs. Newell enjoyed her company, something that couldn’t be said for Lady Holmes. She was grateful that Mrs. Newell had asked her to stay, knowing how much she disliked going home, but she also wished she didn’t need to rely on someone else’s goodwill for a respite from her own parents.

“What about your story?”

“Haven’t been able to write a word since I saw Lady Ingram in that icehouse.” She expelled a long breath. “But at least I heard from Lord Ingram. I asked him to help me look into Moreton Close and he’s written his solicitor, as he’d promised.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’m glad you referred the matter to him—that gives him something to do.”

“I was surprised that I didn’t need to tell him who Bernadine was—to the wider world she might as well not exist.”

“I mentioned her in a letter. He was taken aback to learn that there are not three but four Holmes girls.”

Livia sighed. “Poor Bernadine. I hope Moreton Close is exactly what it purports to be—a haven for women like her. But I can’t stop worrying. If she’s mistreated, she wouldn’t even be able to tell anyone.”

Bernadine had never spoken. And she certainly didn’t know how to read or write.

Charlotte made no reply. Livia was used to these conversational lulls with her sister. She was probably assessing the chances of Lord Ingram’s solicitors meeting with success at Moreton Close.

“Asylums, both public and private, are regularly inspected. That’s the law,” Charlotte eventually said. “Moreton Close is not operating in a vacuum. So let’s hope for the best.”

And that Lord Ingram’s solicitors worked fast.

Charlotte gave Livia’s hand a quick squeeze. “Look after yourself. I have some matters to investigate in London.”

As Charlotte made her way to the door, it occurred to Livia that she wanted to ask Charlotte about the nameless young man who had pretended to be Mr. Myron Finch, their illegitimate brother. Who was he? And what did Charlotte know about him?

But by the time she screwed up her courage, Charlotte had already left.

The policemen’sconversation with Mrs. Newell’s cook was brief. Yes, a slab of ice had been sent. And it had been sent because Mrs. Newell had specifically requested so.

Now they were waiting to speak to Mrs. Newell again. Chief Inspector Fowler having gone to use the commode, Treadles was alone in the foyer when Charlotte Holmes came out from the white drawing room.

On her way to the front door she passed him and nodded. “Good day, Inspector.”

“Mr. Holmes,” he said. “A moment, please. I have a question for you.”

“Yes, Inspector?”

He didn’t know why he had stopped her. And now that he had, he had no idea whether he could condense all the whirling thoughts in his head into a single question.

“I have, or so it would appear, offended Miss Olivia Holmes greatly.”

She waited for him to continue.

“I seem to have a knack for giving such offenses. Not to ladies like Miss Holmes usually, but to...” He paused, unsure how to phrase what he was about to say.

“But to women who are thoroughly lacking in respectability, with the very respectable Miss Holmes affronted on behalf of her disgraced sister.”

He thought of Mrs. Farr, with the possibly dead missing sister. He thought of Mrs. Bamber, the publican he had encountered a few months ago. He preferred to believe that they were exceptions, and perhaps they were. The problem was, he could too easily think of others, scattered throughout his career, like sand in a bowl of grain.

“I am a police inspector. I will need to speak to many more women in the course of my work. A tendency to provoke is... not a personal asset.”