Page 89 of Murder on Cold Street
With a solid smack, Charlotte’s heart fell back into place—she hadn’t realized how much she needed her theory to be correct. “I saw a mourning brooch among his things.”
“That was it. Near the end of his visit, we were both a little teary. He asked if I had any memento for him to remember Mr. Cousins by, a piece of mourning jewelry, perhaps. So I gave him the brooch.”
Mrs. Cousins sighed and set a slender hand upon the column of her throat. “I’ve heard that some people can sense their own impending demise. I wonder... if Mr. Longstead wasn’t one. A reconciliation of sorts with my late husband, a belated debut party for his niece—he seemed to be tying up all the loose ends of his life. Could he have sensed that his eternal rest was near?”
The problem with growing closer to one’s once-and-future lover in the midst of an urgent murder investigation was that one did not have time to proceed to the logical next step.
Or rather, that was Charlotte’s problem. She doubted that Lord Ingram would have allowed “logical next steps” even otherwise: He had strict ideas about what being a married man entailed and even an impending divorce did not relax all of those standards.
Which was why, after some lovely and increasingly ardent kisses the night before, instead of tumbling into a nice feather mattress to enjoy being young and libidinous together, they had made rounds at the newspaper offices. The hour had been late, but that had been immaterial, as most morning editions did not finalize composition until the small hours.
Their purpose had been to disseminate yet another small notice, this time in a simple Caesar cipher, which, when decoded, read,Would the owner of the most beautiful striped black-and-white town coach meet a sincere admirer outside the Dog and Duck in Bywater this evening at half past five o’clock?
Charlotte and Miss Redmayne, driven by Charlotte, arrived at the rendezvous spot shortly after five. After circling the neighborhood for a few minutes, Charlotte was able to berth Mrs. Watson’s carriage almost directly across the narrow street from the Dog and Duck, a pub doing a brisk business. At a quarter after five, Miss Redmayne emerged from the town coach in men’s attire.
Her figure lent itself much more easily to the effort than did Charlotte’s—no counterfeit paunch required to disguise the presenceof a substantial bosom. Instead she looked lithe and rather rakish, sauntering off on the pavement.
With three minutes to go she reappeared, this time just to the side of the Dog and Duck’s entrance, and, with a perfect degree of charming disreputableness, struck a match and lit a cheroot. Charlotte supposed she should have expected that of a Parisian student, even though she’d never smelled tobacco on Miss Redmayne’s hair or clothes. She smiled slightly. Even a young woman with as understanding a parental figure as Mrs. Watson preferred to keep some of her vices hidden.
The street became more crowded. Did any of the carriages ferry passengers intent on taking a look at the “sincere admirer”? Several slowed as they passed the Dog and Duck. But none featured horizontal stripes in two highly contrasting colors.
Yet another vehicle slowed, a common hackney that could be hailed from any thoroughfare. This time, however, someone got out, a woman, thickly wrapped, her face obscured by a large, fur-fringed hood. With very little hesitation she headed for Miss Redmayne and said something, her voice too low for Charlotte to catch.
Miss Redmayne, flicking ashes from the tip of her cheroot, shouted, “Sorry, ma’am, I’m a little hard of hearing. Could you repeat yourself?”
Under her own enormous hood, Charlotte nodded in approval. Miss Redmayne was not remotely hard of hearing, but she had enough presence of mind to play a trick.
“I said, sir,” the woman raised her voice, “would you mind pointing me to St. Barnabus’s?”
Her voice!
Charlotte’s hands tightened on the reins.
“Certainly, ma’am,” Miss Redmayne hollered. “You’ll find it three streets to the east, and then a little farther south.”
The woman thanked Miss Redmayne. As she pivoted around to return to her hackney, Charlotte had a brief glimpse of her face.
Indeed, Mrs. Sullivan.
Mrs. Sullivan’s hired vehicle disgorged her two streets away from her home. She wrapped herself tightly in her fur-lined mantle and trudged along, nearly tripping once on a crack in the pavement.
Charlotte, who had followed her at a discreet distance, parked her own carriage several houses down from the Sullivan residence. Within two minutes, a hansom cab drew up alongside and Miss Redmayne alit. Charlotte got down from the driver’s perch that she’d been occupying for far too long, and gave her heavy coat to Miss Redmayne.
She also handed over the vulcanized hot water bottle that had been keeping her warm.
Miss Redmayne chortled. “I’ve come to greatly enjoy the sight of these hot water bottle cozies that you make.”
Charlotte, too, greatly enjoyed her cozies. This one was meant to resemble a Christmas pudding: variegated brown on the bottom, representing the boiled pudding itself, creamy white on the shoulders for the brandy sauce, and at the very top, a sprig of red-and-green holly, the whole nearly sculptural, for having been crocheted in layers of small scales.
She almost said something about the anatomical cozy she was making for Miss Redmayne’s Christmas present, but restrained herself. “I’ll change now.”
As Miss Redmayne shrugged into the gigantic coat and climbed onto the driver’s box, Charlotte slipped inside the coach and made sure all the curtains were securely down. Two foot-warmers radiated heat from the floor; still she shivered as she peeled off her rough woolen coat and trousers.
When she re-emerged, she was once again dressed as Sherlock Holmes’s sister, ready to call on Mrs. Sullivan.
Mrs. Sullivan, almost invisible amidst the glittery congestion of her drawing room, looked both apprehensive and excited at Charlotte’s entrance, but mostly excited. “Miss Holmes, how unexpected! What brings you back here?”
“We’ve unearthed enough information in our investigation that I thought it best for me to speak with you again.”
