Page 45 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
Charlotte retrieved her stick. “I could have sworn I held on with a death grip.”
“Granted, your average assailant might not know as many clever ways of disarming an opponent. But a man can still knock away your stick by dint of superior strength, unless you take advantage of leverage. You must become more proficient with your weapon, Miss Holmes.”
And becoming more proficient was not a pleasant process.
“Oh, my.” Charlotte was already huffing and puffing after a quarter of an hour. “I don’t know that I can keep up for much longer.”
“Come, Miss Holmes. Think of it as staving off the arrival of Maximum Tolerable Chins. After you exercise, you can indulge your appetite more freely.”
Charlotte panted. “Well, in that case, I might find some additional willpower.”
With ten minutes to the hour, Mrs. Watson took pity on Charlotte and declared the day’s session finished. Charlotte leaned against the wall. Her arms ached—even the one that wasn’t holding the stick. Her legs ached. Her whole body ached.
“And you will ache worse tomorrow morning.” Mrs. Watson grinned.
Charlotte moaned.
“Now, Miss Holmes,” said Mrs. Watson, not even breathing faster, “when you told me about the surveillance that had been put on this house, you mentioned Lord Ingram’s observations. Did I miss his calls?”
“No, he didn’t come in on either day, though I did meet him as I went out the front door this morning.”
“But he did mean to call on us, both times?”
Charlotte hesitated. “It would be reasonable to suppose so.”
Mrs. Watson’s voice grew taut. “You don’t think it’s because he found out about his wife’s visit to Sherlock Holmes?”
Charlotte patted the back of her neck with a handkerchief—and shook her head. “There is something else I need to tell you. Lord Bancroft has proposed.”
Mrs. Watson’s jaw slackened. Then she let out a peal of exhilarated laughter. “I never sawthatcoming. I mean, the man is odd enough, but I didn’t think he had it in him to buck conventions to such an extent. But this does improve my opinion of him, that he has such good taste in matrimonial prospects. This isn’t the first time he’s proposed to you, if I recall correctly?”
“No.”
“I like him more and more.” Then her face fell. “My goodness, you are seriously considering it.”
“I must.” Bernadine was as blank and unresponsive as Charlotte had ever seen her. Even Livia, as sensitive and vulnerable as she was, was far better equipped to handle life’s vicissitudes. “My disgrace has made things difficult for everyone in my family, but especially for my sisters. Marriage will ‘redeem’ me enough for me to look after them. And if Lord Bancroft guarantees me enough freedom and intellectual stimulation, which he seems well inclined to do, then I must give it every consideration.”
“What—what does Lord Ingram think of it all?”
“I didn’t ask him,” muttered Charlotte. “But I would not be surprised if he was the one who gave Lord Bancroft the idea.”
Inspector Treadles arrived home at almost exactly the same time as his wife.
“Why hullo, Inspector.” Alice smiled as they met on the doorstep of their house. “Welcome home. Long day?”
He exhaled. “And how. Strange new case. Fellow was done in, all right, but we have no idea who he is or why anyone wanted to kill him. I’ve got MacDonald looking to see if someone of matching description has been reported missing, but it might take some time.”
“You always get your man,” said his wife.
He did, but not necessarily without help. And as he’d stood over the dead man, puzzled by the situation, he’d distinctly wished that he possessed Sherlock Holmes’s powers of observation. That he, too, could take one look, and know everything there was to know about a victim.
He kissed Alice on her cheek and said, though without great conviction, “Thank you, my dear.”
They let themselves into the house, a wedding present from his father-in-law. He would have to rise to the position of commissioner, with a housing allowance of three hundred pounds per annum, to have any hope of living in such a fine house on his own income.
“Where were you?” It was almost dinnertime, and he wasn’t accustomed to Alice being out so late.
“At my brother’s.” She sighed. “I saw Barnaby only briefly—he was under morphine. But Eleanor is terrified. Barnaby won’t tell her what’s the matter with him—and he’s also forbidden Dr. Motley to say anything to anyone.
