Chapter Thirty-Six
On the third morning after the jailbreaking, Charlotte and Mrs. Watson arrived in Paris. Livia and Miss Redmayne greeted them with delight and relief, but did not pepper them with questions. The new arrivals visited Bernadine, then spoke with Mrs. Watson’s valiant staff, who had acquitted themselves beautifully during the ordeal.
Livia ushered them upstairs to bathe and rest—these overnight trips from London were quite brutal. They woke up at around two, and everyone gathered on the veranda for a late luncheon.
Neither Livia nor Miss Redmayne was acquainted with the scale of the entire operation, though Livia was possibly the most ignorant of everyone, traveling in faraway places while the plan had been laid. She was wondering how long she ought to hold back her curiosity and let Charlotte and Mrs. Watson eat in peace when Miss Redmayne piped up. “I’m dying to know why Lady Ingram was in the papers!”
Mrs. Watson gave her a look. “You mean the former Lady Ingram, my dear.”
A divorce was such a rare thing that they were none of them sure how to refer to the woman who was no longer married to Lord Ingram. Well, Charlotte probably knew from some thick, dusty tome on etiquette, but she showed no inclination to change anyone’s appellation.
Instead, she spread copious butter on a slice of crusty bread. “Lady Ingram played a most substantial role in this whole affair.”
Mrs. Watson, who was not as charitably disposed to Lady Ingram as Charlotte, said, “But if we are to tell the story chronologically, we need to start with Miss Marbleton.”
Miss Marbleton was Mr. Marbleton’s sister. Toward the end of the previous year, Moriarty had nabbed her parents and her brother. Miss Marbleton, who had remained free, had been desperate to free her family.
“Miss Marbleton, of course, led the digging crew—we none of us had any idea she was so talented at it. But she was the one who pointed out early on,” continued Mrs. Watson, “that after Moriarty’s trip to England this past February, he left, but she saw no evidence that he took Mr. Marbleton with him.”
February was the last time Livia had seen Mr. Marbleton, walking past her in the Reading Room of the British Museum, flanked by a minder on either side.
Charlotte took a sip of her lobster bisque and a bite of her luxuriously buttered bread, and sighed happily—she still looked a bit tired, but at least she relished her meal. “After the events in Cornwall, when I was in hiding—but before I sailed on the Provence—I met our brother and Miss Moriarty.”
The Holmes sisters had an illegitimate brother named Myron Finch. He and Miss Moriarty, James Moriarty’s estranged daughter, were a pair of lovers far more star-crossed than Livia and Mr. Marbleton.
“During our discussion,” Charlotte went on, “I relayed Miss Marbleton’s speculation that perhaps her brother was still in the country. Miss Moriarty immediately told me about the existence of a dungeon at the headquarters of De Lacey Industries.
“Most people, even those acquainted with what De Lacey Industries actually does, don’t know about the subbasement, as it was built before Moriarty became the head of the organization. Once Moriarty took over, he preferred to concentrate his energy on the Continent and chose to detain enemies and traitors at Chateau Vaudrieu rather than in the more limited cells of De Lacey Industries.
“But in the wake of the internal revolt that dethroned Moriarty for months, perhaps he became less trusting of his people on the Continent. The British branch, on the other hand, had remained loyal throughout.
“That loyalty, coupled with the fact that the dungeon at De Lacey Industries was almost entirely unknown, even to those inside the organization, made it likely that Mr. Marbleton could be held there. But we could not act on mere likelihood. We needed to know for certain.”
Miss Redmayne waved her own piece of bread in the air. “And that’s where Lady Ingram came in?”
“Right you are,” answered Charlotte. “Lady Ingram had been in England for some time before that. She volunteered to infiltrate De Lacey Industries’ headquarters because she holds a great grudge against Moriarty, and also because she hoped to render a service to the Marbletons.
“Those who have become Moriarty’s foes hold the Marbletons in extraordinary esteem for how long they managed to elude Moriarty’s grasp—and how much help they gave to others like themselves. Even though they were now at a temporary disadvantage, Lady Ingram decided that she’d still rather throw in her lot with them, in the hope that after they regained their freedom, they’d take her on as a protégée.”
Livia used to wish that Mr. Marbleton could have enjoyed a normal, simple life. Now she was glad that he excelled at living the life that was his.
“But didn’t Lady Ingram work for Moriarty for some time?” asked Miss Redmayne, loading a cutlet onto her plate. “Did she worry that she’d be recognized?”
“She met with very few people from De Lacey Industries, and most of them have since died,” said Mrs. Watson. “And we gave her our method of creating wrinkled skin, so she went in disguised as an old woman.”
“So if Mrs. Watson hadn’t discovered the ingenious method of using crumpled tissue paper, we’d have achieved nothing,” said Charlotte.
She set down her soup spoon and clapped. Miss Redmayne and Livia joined in. The veranda rang with applause. Mrs. Watson, who must have received much more thunderous ovations when she’d been onstage, blushed as she stood up and took a bow.
“Now where were we?” said Miss Redmayne, after Mrs. Watson sat down again.
“Lady Ingram infiltrating De Lacey Industries’ headquarters,” said Livia. She felt tense even though the rescue had been effected days ago. To help with that, she drank from her wineglass. So civilized, a glass of wine with luncheon.
“Lady Ingram started her role as the dungeon helper in March,” said Charlotte. “According to her, because the building hadn’t been used as a detention center before, and because Moriarty demanded absolute secrecy, de Lacey was reduced to minding the prisoners himself. He desperately wanted to hand the job to someone else, and who better than a deaf-mute crone who also appeared to be illiterate?
“At first he let her into the dungeon himself each time, and watched her as she did her work. After a few weeks passed and nothing untoward happened, he stopped standing over her. Instead, he opened the hidden door to the subbasement, locked her in to do her chores, then let her out sometime later—repeating this process several times a day. This allowed her to verify that not only was Mr. Marbleton there, but also his parents.
“There was one door that de Lacey never opened. Lady Ingram inquired in gestures whether the room needed to be cleaned. He started to tell her about the expensive wines inside before he remembered that she was a deaf-mute and shook his head.
“She picked the padlock on the door one day and saw that de Lacey had told the truth. Behind the door wasn’t an even more secret dungeon but a cellar, albeit not a very well-stocked one, with only a hundred bottles or so in a space that could have easily held thousands. She made sure to report that there were also racks that had once held wine barrels but were now empty and covered with a large tarp.”
“So you didn’t know about the wine cellar until then?” Livia posed her first question.
“No. But ever since I learned of the dungeon, I’d mulled over digging a tunnel underneath to free Mr. Marbleton. De Lacey still looked in on the cells daily, which made the wine cellar a better spot than anywhere else in the subbasement—even better that a part of it was already under a tarp.
“But that would have been the plan that did the least. We would have put in significant time and treasure, and Moriarty would lose a few prisoners. A few important prisoners, yes, but Moriarty would have been in essentially the same position as before, stung a bit but not materially weakened.”
Charlotte glanced at Livia. “I was willing to expend significant time and treasure for Mr. Marbleton. But how best to achieve maximum yield while subjecting everyone on our side to as few dangers as possible?
“By mid-April we’d confirmed Mr. Marbleton’s location, and that of the existence of the cellar. A week later came intelligence that Moriarty had moved Mr. Marbleton to a house he owned in Aix-en-Provence. After we double-checked with Lady Ingram and made sure that Mr. Marbleton was still in London, in the subbasement of De Lacey Industries’ headquarters, it became obvious that Moriarty was setting a trap for someone, likely me, even though at the time I had not surfaced yet.”
Livia’s heart thudded, remembering the lovely house she had passed by so many times on the Cours Mirabeau, always peering up with hope.
No effort had been spared in the pretense that they’d pinned all their hope and energy there—the house hired by Lieutenant Atwood and his crew, the excavation equipment, the pinecones and the small notices, Miss Redmayne’s visit, and last but not least, Livia’s daily walks up and down that thoroughfare.
Mrs. Watson harrumphed. “Instead of dirtying his own hands, Moriarty wanted us to commit the crime of breaking and entering, and for French law enforcement to mete out punishment. What he didn’t know was that the same idea also occurred to us.”
“Quite right,” said Charlotte. “Early in April, Lord Ingram brought me an offer from Lord Remington—the reason I was on the RMS Provence. If I succeeded in retrieving a particular dossier, Lord Remington would offer me his protection. But by that time, I was beginning to have an idea of the scale of the operations required to achieve everything I wanted from Mr. Marbleton’s rescue. What I needed was more personnel. So I bargained for that in addition.
“Also, once I tallied up everything I planned to do, it became apparent that I could not finance it on my own. I could borrow from Lord Ingram, but what would be the fun in that? There was, however, a source of funding sitting right there if only I could get to it: Lord Bancroft’s ill-begotten gains.”
Livia sucked in a breath. Charlotte’s audacity was making her light-headed.
“Lord Bancroft, though confined, remained a piece on the board. It was a certainty he wanted out of Ravensmere. It was another certainty that Moriarty would have already contacted him, hoping to make him a minion. The only uncertainty was when they would strike that agreement, which I needed to know if I was to properly account for Lord Bancroft’s part in the game.
“I performed an experiment. I asked Miss Longstead to write an article about hydrochloric acid. Then I had a special print run done of a magazine Lord Ingram had seen in Lord Bancroft’s rooms at Ravensmere, with the insertion of the article.
“This would help Lord Bancroft formulate a straightforward plan that required relatively little assistance from Moriarty, which would give him a stronger bargaining position. And, of course, to give himself an even stronger bargaining position, he would likely propose to help Moriarty get rid of me.”
Miss Redmayne’s jaw fell. “So everything Lord Bancroft did was what you wanted him to do?”
Mrs. Watson shook her head. “Miss Charlotte simply made it easier for him to do what he wanted to do.”
Either way, Livia’s head spun.
Charlotte used her bread to mop up the remainder of her soup, which Miss Redmayne had told them was perfectly acceptable in France. “But at this point things didn’t go as I’d hoped. I’d thought that once Moriarty failed to catch me in Aix-en-Provence and saw that Mr. Marbleton had been freed, then he’d retaliate by having Lord Bancroft spring another trap for me. But once I received Lord Bancroft’s first note, I realized that Moriarty meant to deploy Lord Bancroft at the same time, probably because if his plans for Aix-en-Provence succeeded, I would be in a French jail, rather than dead. And also, with me out of the way in England, he might catch more of the people who worked with me.
“This presented problems. It was challenging enough coordinating activities around De Lacey Industries’ headquarters and the house in Aix-en-Provence. It would be even more strenuous if I had to do a song and dance for Lord Bancroft at the same time.
“We had to make things happen at our pace, rather than his. That’s why we decided that Lord Ingram would pretend to break his limb, so that I would be back in England at a time of my choosing. Then came something else I didn’t anticipate: I had thought of the possibility someone would take Bernadine hostage, but I hadn’t prepared for it as I ought to have.
“Yet in the end, the mercenaries in this house did not complicate things too much. In fact, their presence allowed me to dictate the timing of Lord Bancroft’s jailbreaking. Miss Redmayne knows all about it.”
“That’s right.” Miss Redmayne beamed. “I smuggled in some chicken blood. Mademoiselle Robineau smeared it on Bernadine and made it seem like she was vomiting blood and suffering from a health crisis. There was a hullabaloo. The mercenaries panicked. They kicked young Fontainebleu out and refused to let me in the next time I came—which gave me a reason to send an urgent telegram to London.”
“And which gave me a reason to leave London,” said Charlotte. “Which, if you’re Lord Bancroft, you would not want me to do because to his thinking, I might learn while I was in France that a great many of my cohorts had been arrested in Aix-en-Provence, which would make me unlikely to return to England to do his bidding, which would make his bargain with Moriarty more difficult.”
“I think I understand most everything,” said Livia slowly. “You schemed for everything to happen on the same night, so that Moriarty and Lord Bancroft would not know, until it was too late, that any single piece of their combined plan had suffered a fatal setback. The deliriants Fontainebleu delivered here helped to get rid of the mercenaries. In Aix-en-Provence we made it seem that we had designs on the counterfeit Mr. Marbleton, to keep Moriarty’s minions’ attention focused squarely there, when everything significant would instead take place in or around London.”
“That’s more or less what happened,” said Charlotte. “You understand everything.”
Mrs. Watson adjusted the stems of brilliant sunflowers in a blue vase near her. “Come to think of it, I’m still not quite sure why the counterfeit Mrs. Claiborne died—or why she was going to Mumble’s and Jessie’s places of employment and all that.”
Charlotte served herself some gratinéed leek. “The poor woman. I learned from Inspector Treadles later that all the items inside her recovered valise had been marked with either the real Mrs. Claiborne’s name or her initials. She was probably going to leave everything behind in that farmhouse and ‘disappear,’ not realizing that Lord Bancroft intended to toss a body my way because too much smoke and mirrors would have made me suspicious. And her killer had sunk the valise in a fishpond on the property, because had Mrs. Claiborne truly been on the run, she would not have taken so many things that betrayed her identity.
“As for why she did what she did to call attention to Mumble and Jessie, that was remarkably good strategy on Lord Bancroft’s part. Mrs. Farr might not know who had killed her sister, but Lord Bancroft knew very well that I did. He trusted that I would discover the connection between the boxers and Mrs. Farr and suspect Mrs. Farr for Mr. Underwood’s disappearance—which, again, would have legitimized Lord Bancroft’s ‘problem.’?”
Miss Redmayne raised her hand. “I want to know about Fontainebleu. Is he one of Lord Remington’s agents?”
Livia was also curious—she’d heard a good bit about young Fontainebleu, not only from Miss Redmayne but also from the staff.
“Not quite,” answered Charlotte. “He belongs to a different bureau and helped us as a personal favor to Lord Ingram. If you ever see him around London, Miss Redmayne, pretend to have never met him.”
“Understood,” said Miss Redmayne crisply.
Charlotte, having eaten her vegetables, eyed the platter of desserts with great interest. Livia pushed it closer to her. “There’s something I still don’t understand. How did you get the crown to call off the investigation into how Lord Bancroft died?”
“Ah,” said Charlotte. “Remember his great asset?”
“His money?”
“That is a great asset, but what I meant was the evidence of wrong or scandalous doings he’d collected on various important men, a prominent royal among them. If you’re Moriarty, who loves a state secret or any kind of secret, and Lord Bancroft refused to become your minion outright, what then would you demand in return?”
“The letters and whatnot!”
“Mrs. Claiborne mentioned that Mr. Underwood had surrendered one of the keys Lord Bancroft had given him. That would have been the key to that lot. At one point we hoped to steal the letters ourselves, but once Lord Bancroft was shot dead, Lord Ingram sent word as quickly as possible and as high up as possible, alerting the crown that the letters might be found at De Lacey Industries.
“And once the crown had the letters, let’s just say that no one was really sad that Lord Bancroft was dead, especially now that the consequences he’d long threatened would not come to pass. What reason did anyone have to further investigate Lord Bancroft’s death then?”
Charlotte smiled—at everyone at the table but, Livia felt, at a pile of cream puffs in particular. “We’ve been lucky, but it’s fair to say we’ve also made our own luck.”