Page 42 of The Hollow of Fear
“But enough of that for now. Let’s go back inside and warm up,” said Mr. Holmes. “I’m frozen down to my bollocks.”
10
A plentiful teaawaited the party back in the library.
Treadles hadn’t expected much of an appetite, but the cold of the icehouse and the wind-buffeted walk led him to gulp down two cups of tea and three tartlets. Chief Inspector Fowler, who appeared to have no interest in sweet things, heaped praise on the finger sandwiches. “Flavorfulandsubstantial—not like eating air and bubbles, as is so often the case.”
Lord Ingram, who again took up a position next to the fireplace, did not touch anything except a cup of black tea. Mr. Holmes, who didn’t touch even that, sat sprawled in a nearby padded chair, legs splayed, head tilted back, eyes half closed.
Treadles stared at him. How many friends named Holmes did Lord Ingram have? And how many did he trust to find out the truth behind his wife’s death?
“As you might have expected, my lord,” said Fowler, “we will need to ask you some questions.”
Lord Ingram appeared resigned. “Certainly.”
Fowler glanced at Mr. Holmes. “Some of these questions could prove uncomfortable in nature.”
“I have no secrets before Mr. Holmes,” said Lord Ingram.
Was there an edge of reluctance to his tone, a wish that hehadbeen able to keep a secret or two to himself? All the same, it was very much the master of the house who had spoken—and let it be known that Mr. Holmes wasn’t going anywhere.
Mr. Holmes appeared not to have heard this tussle over his presence. Presently he poured himself a cup of tea and eyed the variety of refreshments on offer.
There was something oddly familiar about the way he contemplated cake.
“Mr. Holmes is a privileged friend indeed,” said Fowler, pulling out a typed transcript of the interview between Lord Ingram and Sergeant Ellerby.
Treadles readied his notebook, even as his face heated from secondhand mortification. He had read the transcript, a story only the power of the Crown could make a man divulge, let alone repeat.
A sound came like grains of sand thrown against the window—it was raining, high wind driving a storm into Stern Hollow. In the grate, fire hissed, but otherwise the library was silent. Fowler continued to scan the transcript, each flip of the page as loud as the cracking of a whip.
Treadles braced himself. No one was better at winding up a suspect than Fowler. Make them wait. Make them guess. Make them wonder how much they’d already given away.
“The apple cake looks rather appealing,” said Mr. Holmes to Lord Ingram, his words so incongruous Treadles almost laughed. “The apples come from Stern Hollow’s kitchen garden?”
“Indeed, they do,” replied Lord Ingram with the sort of grave courtesy appropriate to a question of pastry.
When a manwasn’tthe prime suspect in the murder of his wife.
Mr. Holmes bowed his head slightly. “I must try a slice then.”
Chief Inspector Fowler did not glance up from the transcript but he looked irritated. Mr. Holmes’s little aside had broken the tension, cracked it like a spoon to an eggshell. And there was no guarantee he wouldn’t do it again, were Fowler to re-escalate the silence—and the pressure.
Support, both moral and practical, Lord Ingram had said about his friend’s purpose at Stern Hollow. Was Mr. Holmes here to sabotage Fowler’s effectiveness?
“Lord Ingram,” began Fowler, “you allege that your wife ran away from home on the night of her birthday ball.”
It would have been a stronger opening had it come at the end of a prolonged silence—and if Fowler had been able to pitch his voice slightly lower. Still, the statement arrived like a battering ram upon the gate of a castle.
Lord Ingram left the mantel to pour himself a glass of whisky. “She did.”
“There is talk of her childhood sweetheart. But I find it difficult to believe that a woman of Lady Ingram’s station would abandon everything for a love affair. It is my understanding that, in the upper echelon of Society, affairs are conducted under civilized rules. Why would she have run away when she could have indulged in a liaison, while retaining all the comfort and prestige to which she had become accustomed?”
Lord Ingram considered his glass, as if wishing he could down its entire contents in one draught. In the end he took only a sip. “Civilized rules require a state of civility, which was not a characteristic of my marital union.”
“You mentioned a curtailment of affections but did not give a reason.”
“I would prefer not to discuss it.”
