Page 98 of The Hollow of Fear

“I’ll be back before tea time,” he said. “How would you like to try the kind of tea public school boys made for themselves—scrambled eggs, tinned beans, and slices of toast covered with their weight in butter?”

Her lips curved down slightly. “Bring back a basket from Harrod’s, too, in case I don’t care for your cooking.”

“I will. And you, Holmes, has anyone ever told you that you are romance writ large and personified?”

With that, he kissed her and walked out of the house.

Ah,London. Noisy, malodorous, overcrowded London. He didn’t always care for the great metropolis, but today he could write a sonnet, no, a five-canto ode, to its noisome vapors and grime-streaked thoroughfares.

The multitudes that thronged the streets were a much-needed antidote after the sometimes unbearable solitude of the country. And after the fishbowl Stern Hollow had become, he couldn’t get enough of this blessed anonymity, just another bloke hurrying about his business, one face among millions.

He reached Abbey Road and raised his hand to hail a hansom cab. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around. A stricken Inspector Treadles stood there, next to a broadly smiling Chief Inspector Fowler.

“My lord,” said Chief Inspector Fowler, sounding like a fox still spitting out a mouthful of chicken feathers, “I’m sorry to interrupt your stroll, but you will need to come with us.”

20

Stern Hollow, three days earlier

“Becareful what you say to me. I have not in the least eliminated the possibility that you are the one who killed Lady Ingram, accidentally or intentionally, when she came to abduct the children.”

Silence.

How far he had fallen, thought Lord Ingram, that Holmes suspected him of manslaughter—and possibly murder.

Then again, for her, nothing was unthinkable.

“She did not come to abduct the children and I did not kill her.”

“Where are your children?”

“They are exactly as I’d told you, with Remington.”

She studied him. He held her gaze: He had nothing to hide from her. Except, if he must be completely honest, certain sentiments—and that was only for the sake of his pride.

“I was in your apartment earlier tonight. There was a pair of boots hidden in a corner of your dressing room that has coal dust encrusted in the soles. Years ago, in one of your letters, you wrote about a tunnel that was opened up under the house at your suggestion, between the coal cellar and some boilers for the glass houses in the gardens. What were you—”

She paused.

“I see. You wantsomebodyto think that your children are still here. Why? Has there been an attempt at abduction?”

He let out the breath he had been holding. Until her suspicions lifted, he hadn’t realized how heavily they had weighed on him. “The would-be abductors set a fire as a diversion, but they didn’t succeed.”

“When was this?”

“A month ago.”

“When did Remington come?”

“A few days later. He’d actually visited Stern Hollow earlier, but this time he came at my request.”

She propped her chin on her hand. “I had trouble believing you’d actually let your children out of sight. I’m sure others might have had the same doubt.”

“That’s what I’ve been hoping for. I’ve been keeping both the story cottage and the tunnel appearing as if they’ve recently housed children.”

She nodded slowly, swirling her spoon in the Bavarian cream from the charlotte russe. Then she broke apart the sponge cake base. Bad enough that she wasn’t eating her dessert, but dismantling it? The relief he’d felt evaporated.

You should be terrified, she’d told him earlier that evening.I am.