Page 16 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
“As I did once before to such great success? No, this time I will not march in to impose my will,” said the man who imposed his will with every breath and every deed.
But as he regarded Charlotte, he radiated only the virtuous resolve of a desperately worried father. One who had tolerated enough questions from the lowly consulting detective. “Per my agreement with my daughter, once every four years, I can appoint a neutral party to inspect her living situation, provided she approves of my choice. I have made inquiries. Your clients, Miss Holmes, while in awe of your brother’s great deductive abilities, are no less complimentary of your courtesy and good sense. Now that I’ve met you, I see that they are right. You are well suited to the task at hand, which calls for a subtle, yet trenchant approach.”
From the first mention of the Hermetists, Charlotte had guessed where this conversation was going. Still, her stomach dropped. “Are you suggesting, sir, that I should enter this commune?”
“I am willing to pay handsomely for your trouble.”
He was the supplicant here, the one ostensibly seeking help. Yet Charlotte felt as if she were but a knight who must obey the command of her liege lord. “You mentioned that Miss Baxter must approve of your choice of a neutral inspector—”
Moriarty smiled. “She has already approved of my choice of a representative from Sherlock Holmes—or so I have been informed by those responsible for the running of the Garden of Hermopolis.”
His statement felt like a grip tightening around Charlotte’s throat.
“That is good to hear, Mr. Baxter. But I know next to nothing about this community where you wish me to take up temporary residence. Moreover, I am an unmarried young woman; to travel respectably, I must have a companion. Not to mention—however much I hate to point it out, sir—that something untoward might have befallen Miss Baxter. While I am distressed about her fate, I would be greatly more distressed about my own safety.”
Her disequilibrium seemed to please Moriarty. His smile widened. “Fear not, Miss Holmes. I have brought a dossier—after reading it, you will feel sufficiently well informed. And of course you must do everything you deem necessary for your respectability and your safety. I’ll leave the measures entirely up to you.”
She could protest more, but it would be useless and she wanted her adversary gone. “In that case, I shall first need to consult all those who will be involved in this endeavor. If you will leave your address, Mr. Baxter, we will deliver our answer tomorrow.”
The vainer and stupider Charlotte she had been playing would have wanted this meaningless victory, to be able to say that she didn’t give him a response right away.
Moriarty, who seemed to understand the vainer and stupider Charlotte very well, inclined his head, his courtesy edged with a trace of contempt. “Very well, I shall send someone for your reply at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Charlotte mustered a weak smile. “That is perfectly agreeable.”
“Then we will leave you to your deliberations and look forward to a favorable outcome,” said Moriarty, rising.
Mr. Marbleton, who had been as still as a statue for several minutes, scuffed his shoe against the carpet one last time and stood up, too.
Charlotte saw them out and offered her hand to each man to shake. “Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you again for your confidence in Sherlock Holmes—and myself, of course.”
5
After the door closed, Charlotte stumbled backward and collapsed onto the staircase. With some difficulty, she turned sideways. Her hands on the balusters, she tried to pull herself up again. But her arms—and every other part of her—seemed to have turned into gelatin. Her breaths echoed; their unsteady cadence didn’t sound so much exhausted as frightened.
Strong hands lifted her to her feet. Lord Ingram. He took hold of her hand and wrapped an arm around her middle. Leaning on him, she slowly began to climb the steps.
Livia, too, had rushed down the stairs. She grabbed Charlotte’s other hand. “Oh, Charlotte. Are you all right?”
Charlotte both nodded and shook her head, and even she wasn’t sure whether this second motion was to tell Livia not to worry, or to negate what had been conveyed earlier with the nod.
Back in the parlor, Mrs. Watson pressed two fingers of whisky into Charlotte’s hand as soon as Lord Ingram and Livia lowered her into a chair. Charlotte’s nerves almost never needed shoring up, and certainly never needed shoring up with anything stronger than a slice of cake. But this time she drained half the whisky in one gulp, set down the glass with a heavythunk, and then grabbed an éclair and devoured it in five seconds flat.
No one told her to eat more slowly. No one cautioned her not choke on her food. They stood stock-still, watching her wash everything down with a cup of cold tea.
Only then did Lord Ingram grab the kettle. “I’ll get more water.”
Mrs. Watson, next to the chair, draped an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. Livia sank to her haunches, divested Charlotte of plate and cup, and took her hand with a grip strong enough to pulverize stone.
“Charlotte, did you hear anything I said? Are you all right?”
Clearly Charlotte was not. Were she all right, she would have carried on a conversation with Livia, kept abreast of a dozen other people in her vicinity,andgiven due attention to Lord Ingram’s superlative form as he left the room in a hurry.
And she would have noticed far sooner that Livia’s hands were ice-cold. “Go sit near the fire.”
Her voice sounded raspy, but steady enough.
Livia didn’t budge. “You come, too. We’ll all sit by the fire.”
