Chapter 17 #4
Charlotte asked a few more questions, but Mrs. Farr could tell her nothing else about the man. And she was becoming impatient. “I’ve told you everything I know. Now what can you tell me?”
Her question was a near growl. Surprising how much authority a woman who begged on the streets at least some of the time could pack into a few words.
Then again, Mrs. Farr was not an ordinary down-on-her-luck mendicant—Charlotte had already deduced that after their first meeting.
She might exist on London’s underbelly, but she was not lost in it.
In fact, she might have carved out her own small fiefdom there.
Charlotte did not recoil this time. “I’m afraid all I have concerning your sister is bad news.”
“I’ll take bad news. I’ll take any news.”
Since she’d become Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, Charlotte had made her share of unwelcome announcements, but this might be the most brutal one yet.
As hungry as Mrs. Farr was for news—any news—hers was a despair still shot through with strands of hope.
Now Charlotte would snip every last filament of that hope.
“Unless there are more than one young brunette with a beauty mark who’s been missing for exactly as long as she has, your sister is most likely dead.”
On an otherwise blandly pretty face, the beauty mark had served as a punctuating feature, bringing focus to Mimi Duffin’s pert chin and bow-shaped mouth.
And it had been the cause of her misfortune.
Mrs. Farr was right; the gentleman hadn’t been in the least interested in Mimi Duffin’s ideas or ambitions.
Mrs. Farr clamped her fingers over the arms of her chair. The veins on the backs of her hands rose in sharp relief. “What happened? Where is she?”
“Her body hasn’t been found yet. It might take some time to surface, as there was incentive to move it some distance from the site of the crime. As for what happened, she bore a resemblance to someone else, someone the gentleman wanted others to think of as having been murdered.
“He probably saw her face on a postcard and realized she could make for a fairly decent approximation to the body he wanted. He found her, cultivated her, and then had her transport herself to where he intended to kill her.”
“And where is that?” Mrs. Farr’s voice turned harsh.
“At the moment I’m not at liberty to divulge that.
I apologize, but the man who did this is wily and dangerous and I have put everyone here at risk in seeking Miss Duffin’s identity.
The less you know, the better. But I promise you that as soon as possible, I will tell you more.
And I will not consider the matter finished until your sister’s body has been found and returned to you. ”
Mrs. Farr sat still and silent. Mrs. Watson brought her a glass of brandy. Mrs. Farr drank with shaking hands. When she was done, she set down the empty glass, rose, and walked out.
Mr. Marbleton got to his feet. “I’ll see that she reaches home safely.”
“Thank you, sir,” murmured Charlotte.
Only then did she allow herself a moment to deal with the memories the sight of Mrs. Farr had brought to the fore—and the associated panic that still rippled in the back of her mind.
Mrs. Watson left with Mrs. Farr and Mr. Marbleton. She didn’t say why, but if anyone could give comfort to Mrs. Farr right now, or at least not have her presence despised, it would be Mrs. Watson.
“There’s food in the larder,” said Miss Marbleton, rather standoffishly. “And an Etna stove that you can use.”
“Thank you,” said Charlotte. “And thank you for all your help, Miss Marbleton.”
Miss Marbleton pursed her lips. “You know I’m against our involvement, Miss Holmes.”
“And I have told your brother I will speak no kind words on his behalf to my sister.”
“She would not last a minute in the kind of life we lead.”
“You might be surprised at the strength of the fragile. And for some people, it is ordinary life that is most challenging, not so much the extraordinary.”
In a way, Livia’s greatest strength was that she was so overlooked and underestimated. Within seconds people decided who she was, and what she was and wasn’t capable of. But no one was so easy to sum up, least of all a someone like Livia, who yearned to be more with every fiber of her being.
“That said, I hope she never decides to find out for herself. I expect you heard from your father that he and I met?”
“I took a few days to recuperate and everyone decided to throw all caution to the wind,” said Miss Marbleton, who was clearly the enforcer of rules in her family.
“Did he tell you that he introduced himself as Moriarty?”
Miss Marbleton shrugged, a gesture almost French in its resigned disapproval. “He was born a Moriarty. It’s his prerogative to introduce himself however he pleases.”
“It must gall James Moriarty to no end that his wife absconded with his brother.”
Miss Marbleton only shrugged again, an even more eloquent gesture.
“If I may be so forward, is Mr. Stephen Marbleton your brother or your cousin?”
“We are not related. Mr. Crispin Marbleton is my stepfather.”
A neat sidestepping of the question. Did she know the truth of his parentage? Did Stephen Marbleton himself know? In either case, it would be highly dangerous for Livia to become better acquainted with him.
Charlotte sighed. “Your brother should stop sending my sister gifts and messages, but I’m sure you have already wasted your breath saying the same.”
“He has been needlessly obstinate, refusing to make any promises not to contact her again. Would you please tell her that he’s too young for her?”
Charlotte could scarcely admonish Livia about a man she had never admitted to having met, let alone having fallen in love with. “I will see what I can do. Before you go, there is something else I need to ask.”
“Yes?”
“Last night, when Mr. Stephen Marbleton played the part of Sherlock Holmes, he told Scotland Yard the man Lady Ingram was involved with was Moriarty. Other than the fact that Lady Ingram did not have romantic feelings for Moriarty—as far as I can tell—that claim was largely correct. But all the same I was surprised that the name Moriarty came up and that he wanted the police to hear it.”
Miss Marbleton shrugged into her coat. “On that front, at least, Stephen did not do anything rash. We discussed this as a family and the decision was unanimous. If Scotland Yard does not know Moriarty’s name, they should learn it.
If they already do, then it is high time they pay him more attention. ”