He had disappeared, and she had no idea whether she ought to wait or forget him altogether.
Or rather, she knew she ought to forget him, but she had not succeeded—she couldn’t even be sure she had tried.
Maybe she never needed to: This package bore his handwriting.
Her heart palpitated. She opened the package and, with shaking fingers, teased apart the top of the velvet pouch it contained.
Inside the pouch was a cabochon. Of moonstone. One of the two books they had discussed, upon their first meeting, was titledMoonstone. The other, of course, wasThe Woman in White, as represented by the bookmark.
Itwashim. But what did this mean? Was it a significant signal, or the beginning of another long stretch of silence? Of nothing but her lonely and useless yearning?
Perhaps she ought to speak to Charlotte. Why had he tried to pass himself off as their illegitimate brother? Who was he? And what exactly were his intentions toward her? A bookmark was an acceptable gift from a male friend. A cabochon, on the other hand... Had it been mounted as a ring or set as the centerpiece of a pendant, it would have been outright improper: A man who wasn’t married or related to her could not present her with jewelry.
As it was, smooth and polished but not ready to wear, the cabochon fell into a gray area, so gray one might as well call it charcoal.
She held the cabochon for a long time, then she returned it to its pouch and placed the pouch carefully in an inside pocket of her handbag.
Summer was long gone, but winter had not yet arrived. This was a time of the year when weeks of dreary rain alternated with rare crisp, clear days. Outside the train the sky was blue and the sun shone.
Livia had met her nameless young man under precisely such a blue sky, such a shining sun.
She shook her head and reached for the letter.
Dear Miss Holmes,
I have news of your sister, Miss Charlotte Holmes.
Livia recoiled. Who was this? She looked for the signature.Caroline Avery.
Lady Avery!
Lady Avery and her sister, Lady Somersby, were Society’s leading gossips. They had been after Livia for news of Charlotte’s whereabouts ever since Charlotte ran away from home. Livia, of course, had never divulged to a single soul that Charlotte was now living in a fine house facing Regent’s Park and conducting business as Sherlock Holmes at 18 Upper Baker Street.
What did Lady Avery know? And how had she obtained that knowledge? Her heart constricting with a sense of foreboding, Livia read on.
It came about in a most indirect and surprising manner. I was recently at Cowes, on the Isle of Wight. The day before my departure, my own maid being unwell, I engaged a maid from the hotel to help me pack.
As I supervised her in the wrapping of some frangible items, she claimed, upon coming across a picture in the months-old newspaper, that she had seen the gentleman. As it turned out, the subject of the photograph was Lord Ingram Ashburton, taken on the occasion of his last polo match of the Season. The maid was certain that she had not made a mistake, her reason being that one did not so easily forget a man such as Lord Ingram.
She told me that during the Season she had worked at a tea shop in Hounslow, not too far from the heath. And one Saturday, still in the height of the Season, he had come in with a lady to whom he appeared devoted. This piqued my attention, since the woman could not possibly have been Lady Ingram.
I asked her to give me a description of Lord Ingram’s companion. These were her exact words:She could be on an advert for Pears soap, if she lost half a stone. Or maybe one stone.
My mind immediately turned to Miss Charlotte Holmes. Of course, given my reputation for accuracy and reliability, I couldn’t base my claims only on the girl’s account, as tantalizing as it was. Instead, I went home, fetched an album of photographs, and returned to the hotel in Cowes.
I showed the girl a picture that had been taken two years ago at Lord Wrenworth’s house party. There were some forty guests in all, and she had no problem identifying Miss Charlotte as Lord Ingram’s companion.
I made sure to ascertain that this sighting happened after Miss Charlotte’s scandal. The girl assured me that earlier in the summer she had not been working at that particular establishment and so could only have seen them in July, well after Miss Charlotte had left home.
If this is unknown to you, I am pleased to be the bearer of good news: that your sister is alive and well. Or at least she was at the time she was last seen with Lord Ingram—and I cannot imagine that he would allow her to come to harm. If this is known to you, I should be obliged if you would either corroborate or correct what I have learned thus far.
Yours truly,
Caroline Avery
2
Ninety minutes after breakfast,Miss Charlotte Holmes was on her second slice of Madeira cake.
