Page 89 of The Hollow of Fear
She sighed and turned toward him.
The next moment they were kissing, as wildly as if this had been their wedding night.
And everything that followed was just as untrammeled.
Livia was an early riser.Though it was still dark outside, she’d already been at her desk for hours, wrestling with the second part of her Sherlock Holmes story.
The nameless young man’s eagerness to read her work didn’t make the work any easier. But it did make her more willing to bash her head on that particular wall a few more times.
She’d just finished a new précis of the plot when a commotion erupted on the floor below. Mrs. Newell herself came knocking on her door.
“Oh, my dear, I’m afraid that I’m once again the bearer of ill news.”
Livia’s ears rang.Lord Ingram.No!“What—what’s going on?”
“You will not believe this, but they discovered a bomb in the coal cellar.”
“Awhat?”
“Not to worry, we aren’t in any immediate danger. The bomb is in the kitchen’s coal cellar and that’s a fair distance from the house.”
“Oh,” said Livia, but her hands still shook.
In the past few years, Irish republicans had placed dozens of time bombs all over Britain, especially in London—explosions as a form of political expression seemed a permanent fixture of modern life. But all the ones Livia had heard of, whether they’d gone off or been defused, had targeted places of strategic importance. Military barracks, railway stations, newspaper offices, and such. In the only instance she could recall of a private home as a target, the home had belonged to a member of parliament who strenuously opposed Irish Home Rule.
“But why? Why would anyone put a bombhere?”
“I know!” cried Mrs. Newell. “If I could vote I’d have cast my ballot for Mr. Gladstone, to give the Irish their Home Rule.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry this happened, Mrs. Newell!”
Mrs. Newell patted her on the arm. “I’ve sent someone to fetch the police. They’ll probably need to cable the Special Irish Branch to come, for all I know. But I’m afraid in the meanwhile we must decamp again.”
And not to Stern Hollow.
An idea came to Livia fully formed—and requiring immediate implementation. “I—I really mustn’t impose anymore. I’ve been enough trouble to you and should have gone home directly from Stern Hollow. I believe I’ll do that now.”
“Nonsense. Come with me to the inn, my dear. I know you don’t wish to go home.”
Livia didn’t, but sometimes one did what one must. “I’ll stay an extra week next year, if you’ll have me. You know I love it here, Mrs. Newell. But now I really must go.”
Treadles almost couldn’t facehis wife across the breakfast table. His cheeks kept flaming as he ate his toast and fried eggs. They had made love three times during the night and done things to and with each other that he hadn’t even known were within the realm of possibility.
But they had not spoken, not a single word.
She, after sorting through the early post, broke the silence first. “I didn’t expect you home so soon, Inspector. Has the case already been solved?”
That she sounded tentative gave him some much needed courage. “No, not yet. We are in London to speak to Miss Charlotte Holmes.”
News had come the previous day that Miss Holmes had responded to the notice the police had put in the papers. She was amenable to meeting them this morning at eleven, at the tea shop in Hounslow where she had been seen with Lord Ingram.
Treadles had been incredulous. Lord Ingram was under house arrest, for all intents and purposes, and Miss Holmes thought it necessary to travel to London for the express purpose of meeting with the policemen? He’d tried to convince himself that perhaps at the appointed time she would present them with the all-important evidence that would clear Lord Ingram’s name but such hopes were beginning to wilt.
“Ah, the mythical Miss Holmes.” A small frown marred Alice’s forehead. “Her name has been all over the papers—along with Lord Ingram’s. Some are portraying her as quite the Jezebel.”
And some were saying far less kind things.
Our fallen young lady certainly has plenty of cheek, Chief Inspector Fowler had commented, his jolly mood an agony to endure.Well, let us be on the next train bound for London.
