Now to redirect Fowler’s attention. He pointed at Sergeant Ellerby’s notes on ladies Avery and Somersby, which Fowler had been reviewing. “Something to keep in mind, Chief Inspector: I fear Sergeant Ellerby might have a mistaken impression of Lady Avery and Lady Somersby.”
“Oh?”
“He thinks them the town equivalent of a pair of village busybodies.”
“Sometimes busybodies stumble upon crimes. You needn’t worry that I wouldn’t take them seriously as witnesses, Inspector.”
“I didn’t worry about it at all, Chief Inspector. But it behooves me to mention that during the Sackville case, Lord Ingram himself had consulted them for pertinent information—though of course he didn’t tell them that he was the conduit through which the information would pass to Scotland Yard.”
Fowler tapped his fingertips on the desk before him. “So they are to a pair of village busybodies what the Reading Room at the British Museum is to the typical lending library.”
“Precisely.”
The Reading Room at the British Museum walked in just then, a pair of alert women in their early forties. Unlike most other witnesses Treadles had faced in his career, Lady Avery and Lady Somersby were neither nervous nor reticent: They came prepared to impart every fact they knew and a few theories besides.
For most of the interview, what they said did not add much to Sergeant Ellerby’s preliminary report—despite his doubts about their gossiping ways, he had taken copious and accurate notes. But Fowler’s ears perked up when Lady Somersby brought up the encounter between Charlotte Holmes and Lord Ingram near the end of the Season.
Treadles had seen Lord Ingram and Charlotte Holmes together more than once this past summer. Judging by the location the meeting was said to have taken place, it would have been around the time he and they met by chance outside a house in Hounslow that happened to contain a dead body, a case that was supposedly solved, though never to Treadles’s satisfaction.
He still didn’t know what they had been doing there. But the ladies, well, at least they didn’t insinuate; they said in so many words that it seemed a distinct possibility that Lord Ingram might have been keeping Miss Holmes as his mistress.
Treadles didn’t think that had been the case. He thought of the tension between Lord Ingram and Miss Holmes the night of his and Lord Ingram’s first visit to 18 Upper Baker Street. There had been a great deal of genuine disapproval on Lord Ingram’s part. Perhaps sentiments other than censure also fueled that tension, but overall their interaction had not come across as loverly.
When he’d met them in Hounslow, after the conclusion of the Sackville case, he had been more than a little taken aback—and upset—by Miss Holmes’s sudden and unexpected appearance at a murder site of which he had just been informed himself. But he should still have sensed the difference had they become carnally involved by then.
That said, he had no way of knowing whether that had changed since the end of summer, especially after Lady Ingram’s departure, if the latter had indeed absconded with her own illicit lover.
“You wouldn’t know how we could speak to this Miss Holmes, would you, ladies?” asked Fowler.
Treadles’s conscience twitched. He exhaled, relieved that his colleague wasn’t looking in his direction. But he knew that he was lying by omission—more so with every passing minute.
Lady Avery snorted. “Good luck with that, Chief Inspector. We have been trying to discover her whereabouts since she ran away from home.”
Fowler glanced down at his list of questions. “Now, if you don’t mind telling me, madam, did you immediately suspect that Lady Ingram’s departure had something untoward about it, or was it only after you accidentally learned that Miss Holmes had met with Lord Ingram after she became an exile?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, neither. Shortly before I set out for the Isle of Wight, where I would meet the maid who had worked at the tea shop in Hounslow, we received a note, asking why we, who have made it our business to inquire into situations that do not seem right, hadn’t paid the slightest attention to Lady Ingram’s absence. Scolding us, one might say, for that lack of animal instinct.
“We were of a mind to disregard it. We receive a great many anonymous tips concerning all manner of individuals. And we had become proficient at distinguishing those that deserve further investigation from those that are merely pranks—or worse, malice in written form.
“Lord Ingram was one of the few good ones, we thought, a man whose integrity we need not question, because he was vigilant about it and never self-indulgent. But the meeting with Miss Holmes changed everything. Now he had a reason to want to be rid of Lady Ingram. A reason that could pass for noble sentiments, even: Were he a free man, he could rescue Miss Holmes from her state of exile.”
Chief Inspector Fowler nodded. He did not ask whether Miss Holmes needed—or indeed even wanted—to be rescued from that state of exile. “There seems to be a gap of a fortnight between when you verified with the maid that the woman with Lord Ingram had indeed been Miss Holmes and when you wrote to him about the matter. Were you further checking the facts during that time?”
“I wasn’t,” said Lady Avery. “As it so happened, my sister and I both fell ill. Even the most exciting exposé pales in importance when one’s health is at risk.”
“I see,” said Fowler, a hint of incredulity to his tone, as if he couldn’t believe that these two women would prize anything above gossip. “I hope you have both recovered satisfactorily.”
“Yes, very much so.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to see the note you received.”
Lady Avery excused herself, left the room, and returned a few minutes later. The policemen inspected the stationery—good but not exceptional, postmarked near Euston Station in London—and the writing—done by a typewriter, every letter regular, crisp, and anonymous.
“We’d like to hold on to this, with your permission.”
“You are welcome to it.”
“And one last thing before I let you go, ladies. Have you heard, by any chance, of a man Lady Ingram might have loved as a girl, before she married Lord Ingram?”
“We have, but fairly recently. The first we heard was this past summer.” The ladies each opened a large diary and found the record almost simultaneously. The last day of June, as a matter of fact.
“Do you believe it?”
Lady Somersby closed her diary. “That’s difficult to say. We had thought, at first, that it made a great deal of sense. But now when we consider everything together, we ask ourselves, as much as it pains us to do so, whether Lord Ingram might not have had a hand in its dissemination.”
Treadles stiffened, recalling his own doubt about the likelihood of Lady Ingram giving up everything for a man.
“To what end?” asked Fowler.
“Should people doubt the validity of the initial reason given for her disappearance—her health—he could then fall back on a different one. Much more embarrassing, granted, but believable—that she might have run off with the man she loved—with no hint of wrongdoing on Lord Ingram’s part.”
This was exactly the explanation Lord Ingram had given. It didn’t mean that Lord Ingram had lied—Treadles prayed that he had not—but it now behooved Treadles to proceed with at least as much skepticism as did ladies Avery and Somersby.
Did Lord Ingram understand the uphill battle he faced?
Treadles remembered him standing outside the icehouse, staring off at nothing in particular, with only his cigarette for companion.
He understood. He understood better than anyone that he was in a fight for nothing less than his life.
“Since you are vocal about where your suspicions fall,” said Fowler, “let me ask you, then, ladies, do you think anyone other than Lord Ingram might have wished Lady Ingram harm?”
“I know a number who would derive a certain satisfaction if he found grounds to divorce her, but frankly I can’t think of anyone who would want her dead,” said Lady Somersby.
“What about Miss Charlotte Holmes?” Fowler asked.
Lady Somersby grimaced. “I must say, Miss Holmes had never displayed the slightest interest, benign or otherwise, in Lady Ingram. She is a difficult one to understand, that one.”
“Lord Ingram insists that he would not have proposed to Miss Holmes, even if he were a free man. He also insists that Miss Holmes would not have accepted any proposal from him, not even today. How do you assess those statements?”
“Well, it is true that Miss Holmes had turned down some highly eligible men in her time.” Lady Avery frowned, but shook her head. “I can’t predict with any accuracy what she would do, if she were presented with a proposal from Lord Ingram, as a free man.”
“Even in her current state of ruin?”
“Even so. Miss Holmes is odd, Chief Inspector. And I don’t mean eccentric. Eccentric is wearing two hats on your head because you like it. Miss Holmes’s oddity is both different and . . . larger.”
“The fact that no one can be sure she will accept a proposal from Lord Ingram—does it not undermine your claim that he would murder his wife to make that proposal possible?” Treadles pointed out.
He certainly wanted to believe that.
“Not as much as you would imagine, Inspector. First, Lord Ingram could very well be prepared for an initial rejection. As long as he remains an eligible man, he would be able to repeat the same overture and gradually wear her down. Second, Miss Holmes is in a difficult position. She has diminished her parents’ standing and severely impaired her sister’s chances at a good marriage. She knows it. And she knows that only by marrying a man in a position of power and prestige can she hope to undo some of the damage.
“And third, but perhaps most important, Lord Ingram might not be able to help himself on this matter. Part of the reason he was eager to marry Lady Ingram was because she appeared to require a knight in shining armor to rescue her from her penury. He could easily convince himself that he was the cavalry charge Miss Holmes didn’t know she desperately needed.”
“Lord Ingram does not seem to me a fanciful sort of man,” countered Fowler. “In fact, he appears very much in control of himself.”
“Lord Ingram is good at appearing so. But he is a man in love, and a man in love will do just about anything for the object of his affection.”
Fowler’s eyes widened. “You allege that Lord Ingram is in love with Miss Holmes?”
Lady Avery exchanged a look with her sister. “Why, isn’t that obvious?”
Twelve
The interview with Lady Avery and Lady Somersby did not conclude there.
Chief Inspector Fowler went on to ask the ladies who they supposed might have sent the note chiding them for not paying closer attention to Lady Ingram’s disappearance. They had no good guesses but felt that the writer was unlikely to be a member of Lord Ingram’s staff, because of its imperious tone.
“Even an upper servant, writing anonymously, wouldn’t address a ladyship in this manner. Would have been more deferent.”
Attesting to Sherrinford Holmes’s skillful insinuation, Fowler concluded by asking whether the ladies knew anyone who might wish Lord Ingram harm. The question surprised the ladies and made them thoughtful but yielded no useful answers.
Treadles took good notes, as he should. But it was difficult to maintain his concentration.
Lord Ingram. In love. With Miss Holmes.
It shouldn’t have shocked him. Hadn’t he sensed something between the two, from the very beginning? He hadn’t wanted to let his thoughts go down that direction, hadn’t wanted to believe that Lord Ingram, the very embodiment of manly virtues, could feel more for Miss Holmes than an exasperated friendship.
The exasperated friendship had most certainly been there. As well as a deeply frustrated protectiveness, a constant awareness, and a fierce and fiercely repressed yearning.
What did he see in her? Treadles supposed that one must admire Miss Holmes’s mind. He himself still did, however reluctantly. And he supposed there were Miss Holmes’s looks, which were not displeasing. But her femininity was only skin-deep. Underneath that . . .
Near the end of the Sackville case, Miss Holmes had sat calmly and unspooled one revelation after another, as he, the professional, reeled from the ugliness that came to light. The woman had no feelings. No horror at the vilest human deeds. No regrets about running away from home. No shame over the conduct that had brought her low.
And certainly no need for a man.
Lord Ingram might as well have fallen in love with a pretty dress—or an advertising poster featuring a woman with blond ringlets.
Lady Avery and Lady Somersby were leaving. Fowler rose. So did Treadles, a moment too late.
“I must confess,” said Fowler, rather conversationally, after he thanked the women, “that I’m now highly curious about this Miss Charlotte Holmes.”
Treadles’s conscience chafed again. Why was he keeping this silence? And for how much longer?
“If you find her,” replied Lady Avery in all seriousness, “please tell her we wish to speak to her.”
When they had left, Fowler turned to Treadles. “Did you notice what she said? If we find her, not when. We are policemen, are we not? Let us find her.”
* * *
The interview with the boy who first discovered Lady Ingram’s body was a great deal less interesting, notable only for the confirmation that yes, the last time he’d been sent to fetch ice was indeed a while ago. But that ice hadn’t been needed didn’t mean he didn’t visit the third antechamber, either to fetch or to store foodstuff, only that it hadn’t been necessary to proceed all the way to the ice well.
In other words, the body could have been there for weeks without anyone knowing. Anyone, that is, except Lady Ingram’s murderer.
Chief Inspector Fowler made quick work of the rest of the indoor staff, seeing them in groups. Most had little of value to impart. But the policemen did learn several interesting things.
First, there had been a minor fire in the house a little less than a month ago. Second, Lord Remington, the youngest of Lord Ingram’s three elder brothers, had visited Stern Hollow not once, but twice in the recent past, the first time apparently incognito. He’d been met at the front of the house by Lord Ingram himself. They had then sequestered themselves in the library for most of the rest of the day, emerging just before dinner for Lord Remington to take his leave.
The head footman, who had delivered tea and food into the study and therefore had a good look at this visitor, was thoroughly surprised when Lord Remington had visited again, this time as the master’s brother. Lord Remington, having lived abroad for most of his adult life, hadn’t been known to Lord Ingram’s staff. But he’d endeared himself to them when he came again.
The third oddity involved complaints from the French chef and the housekeeper. They had been asked whether they’d noticed strange goings-on in the household and had both mentioned small quantities of food going missing, for weeks on end, in a way that couldn’t be easily accounted for.
“Once I went down to the stillroom late at night and saw the light on,” said the housekeeper, Mrs. Sanborn. “I thought I’d catch the thief at last but it was only Lord Ingram, fetching himself a few extra ginger biscuits.”
“Does that happen often?” Fowler asked.
“I’m sure it does sometimes. His lordship is very considerate of the staff. Unless there are guests, we are not expected to work after dinner. Anything he needs at night, he sees to himself.”
Fowler moved on to other questions. But before he let the housekeeper return to her duties, he asked, “Does Lord Ingram like ginger biscuits?”
“Not particularly�
��his lordship doesn’t care for sweet things. I keep some on hand because Miss Lucinda and Master Carlisle enjoy them, but Lord Ingram doesn’t eat them very often.”
At that answer, Fowler gave Treadles a delighted look. Treadles felt his stomach twist.
They went on to interview the rest of the guests.
A few of the gentlemen had returned from Scotland recently, having enjoyed some excellent Highland shooting while there. Another fancied himself an amateur astronomer and had actually set up his telescope near the icehouse one night but saw and heard nothing remotely useful to the police.
Most of the other guests, ladies by and large, had been at various other gatherings before they alighted at Mrs. Newell’s. None of them seemed to have any cause for wanting Lady Ingram dead. Many knew her only minimally.
Mrs. Newell gave the reason. “She had never cared for me, nor I for her. You will excuse an old woman’s pride, but I have always been a good judge of character and I knew from the beginning that she did not love him. That woman did not have his best interests at heart, not for a day of her life.
“I never invited her to my house and she returned that favor. Our circles did not intersect very much. Lord Ingram always called on me here and in London, when I still went for the Season, but she never accompanied him.”
Fowler glanced down at Sergeant Ellerby’s notes. “You are related in some way to Lord Ingram, am I correct?”
“My late husband’s sister was married to Lord Ingram’s maternal uncle. It’s hardly a close kinship, but I’ve always been fond of him. And Remington. Their two elder brothers, not so much.”
Mrs. Newell then went on to berate Fowler for even harboring the slightest suspicion concerning Lord Ingram. “I don’t know who killed her and I don’t particularly care—if there weren’t children involved I’d say good riddance. But her husband did not do it.”
Fowler waited until she had finished testifying to Lord Ingram’s general saintliness before asking, “Madam, you must have heard Lady Avery’s report on the meeting between Lord Ingram and Miss Holmes in the summer, after she’d disappeared from Society. What do you think is going on between those two?”
The Hollow of Fear Page 16
