Page 68 of Murder on Cold Street
There was no mistaking the anxiety in her question. “You are worried for Inspector Treadles.”
Miss Longstead nodded tightly. “Mrs. Treadles is a lovely woman—I really don’t want the murderer to be her husband. And the inspector himself has been very kind, too. When we dined together, he took the time to ask about my experiments in depth.”
And if Inspector Treadles hanged for Mr. Longstead’s murder, would the two women ever be able to see each other again?
“I’ve learned some things,” said Charlotte. “But I’m not sure how they fit together. Perhaps you could help me. Do you have time to take a round in the garden?”
Miss Longstead set her hands over her heart. “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that. It has been awful, staring at the four walls of my room. I don’t know why being grief-stricken has to equate to being house-bound, but Mrs. Coltrane said it wouldn’t do for me to be abroad so soon after my uncle’s passing, even if it was only to walk in the park by myself.”
Charlotte thought the young woman might have a difficult time of it, especially with her laboratory, where she had spent significant hours of the day, destroyed on that same night. Charlotte herself, amazingly enough, had had enough tea and biscuits and needed some exercise before she felt virtuous enough for dessert at dinner.
The garden grew darker—the curtains of number 31 were again drawn, the lights in the unoccupied rooms dimming one by one.
“Miss Longstead, in your view, is there any chance that your uncle was killedbecause ofhis support for Mrs. Treadles?” asked Charlotte, as Miss Longstead guided her onto a garden path.
Miss Longstead reached inside her pocket, pulled out her glasses, and put them back on. “I can see Mr. Sullivan killed for such a reason, perhaps. But my uncle didn’t know how to play games.”
“He didn’t need to have been playing games. He could have been killed for the sincerity of his support with regard to Mrs. Treadles.”
They passed near a brilliantly lit house, its light reflecting in the lenses of Miss Longstead’s glasses. “I—I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t doubt the depth of his sympathy for Mrs. Treadles’s plight. Nor do I doubt the integrity of his character—he would never have supported her to her face and then stabbed her in the back. But—” She exhaled. “If I were Mrs. Treadles, I would have found his support—”
Miss Longstead’s pace slowed. Her gloved hands, held before her diaphragm, twisted together. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding as if I disapprove in some way of this wonderful man who raised me with all the diligence and attention I could have asked of a father. But you see, my uncle, he was a very successful man. He worked hard and was properly rewarded for his hard work. Life was fair for him and so he believed that it is fair for everyone—that if they would do as he did, they would achieve the same satisfying results.
“Persist,he told Mrs. Treadles.Have patience. Good things will come.His advice was not wrong. But he failed to consider that when he’d worked hard, he’d had old Mr. Cousins for his partner, old Mr. Cousins who had been a vigorously honorable man, keen on making sure my uncle received his rightful share of the profits. Mrs. Treadles, on the other hand, had to work with Mr. Sullivan and his cohorts.”
She said this last sentence in the same tone another person might have used to say,Mrs. Treadles, on the other hand, fell into a pit of vipers. Charlotte was already under the impression that she didn’t care for this cousin.But it seemed that Miss Longstead didn’t merely dislike Mr. Sullivan—she despised him.
“So, in your opinion, Mr. Longstead’s support of Mrs. Treadles, while genuine, was insufficient,” said Charlotte.
“Yes, but not by intention.” Miss Longstead rearranged her cape around her shoulders, as if it was causing her to be uncomfortable. “He didn’t understand his own position of power—the reverence with which he was regarded both inside and outside of Cousins. Mrs. Treadles didn’t want to dismiss all the men who opposed her, because she was worried about what that would do to the company, especially given that she is a woman. But if he’d stood by her and done the sacking with her, she would have been shielded from most of the consequences.
“That didn’t happen because he saw himself only as an old retiree who no longer had shares in the company, someone who ought not to agitate for major changes. He was genuinely kind to Mrs. Treadles, but he never gave her the kind of support that would get him killed.”
She tried to keep her voice uninflected, but Charlotte heard the frustration she must have felt. Charlotte recalled that the Longsteads had dined with the Treadleses twice in the past month. It would appear that after dinner, when the ladies customarily withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen behind to enjoy a glass of port, the two women had engaged in discussions having to do with Mrs. Treadles’s situation.
The path wended around a cluster of trees. “There!” said Miss Longstead. “That’s my uncle’s favorite spot in the garden.”
Charlotte could make out the ground swelling into a small knoll.
“You probably can’t see it,” continued Miss Longstead, “but there is a bench on top of the rise, and he loved to sit on it in summer. Some of our neighbors were equally keen to occupy that seat. And there was eventually a meeting held among its devotees on how to equitably divide time on the bench.
“That was seven years ago. Afterwards I called the gathering the bench conclave. My uncle enjoyed that name so much that he adopted it, too, and we began to refer to the bench conclave as if it were a watershed event in our lives. ‘Do you remember when that happened?’ I’d ask him about something. And he’d say, ‘Oh, that was a good fifteen years before the bench conclave.’”
She laughed softly to herself, but the last note of her laughter sounded like a sob.
Charlotte looked down at the path and waited until it turned. “Mrs. Treadles has told me that Mr. Sullivan was a false friend to her. He pretended to be sympathetic, but was in fact actively undermining her efforts at taking control of her own company. Do you think it was possible that your uncle learned about this, and confronted Mr. Sullivan?”
“AndMr.Sullivankilled him?”
“Let’s set aside who killed whom for now. We are still trying to find an understandable motive for why your uncle and his nephew have both been shot dead. Are you aware of any tension between Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Longstead, old or new?”
“My uncle was indifferent to Mr. Sullivan,” said Miss Longstead, still sounding mystified at the direction of Charlotte’s inquiries. “I believe Mr. Sullivan resented him for that, but that had long been the case.”
“Why did Mr. Longstead not like Mr. Sullivan?”
