Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,3

for her to continue.

Mrs. Treadles took a more measured sip of her whisky. “I was surprised and more than a little alarmed when I heard the sergeant announced. I knew of him, very well, since my husband enjoyed speaking of his work and Sergeant MacDonald figured prominently in that work. But we’d met only one time before, when the inspector and I ran into him when we were out and invited him to join us for a meal at a nearby establishment.”

She did not elucidate why there was so little socializing between Inspector Treadles and his trusted lieutenant outside of Scotland Yard, but Lord Ingram knew. Mrs. Treadles had not been born into the same social stratum as himself and Holmes, but her late father’s wealth, however new and sooty, meant that her station in life was far above that of the man she married—and therefore also far above that of the vast, vast majority of his colleagues.

He’d been to the Treadles residence, a wedding gift from her father. It was not large or showy, but sat at an excellent address and was beautifully furnished within—an acquisition that would have been beyond the means of any mere policeman, unless he were the commissioner himself.

And even then, to afford the house, he would probably have needed to economize in other areas of his life.

Little wonder then that Sergeant MacDonald had not been invited for Sunday dinners or other occasions.

“Sergeant MacDonald looked grave—and shaken—when he was shown in. My heart began to pound. I asked him if the inspector was all right. He assured me that he was well, and then said, ‘But unfortunately he has been arrested for murder.’”

She shivered. Lord Ingram rose, went to the grate, and added coal to the fire.

“I stared at Sergeant MacDonald. I was sure he was spouting gibberish. And yet, after some time, I heard myself ask, ‘For whose murder?’

“‘That of one Mr. John Longstead,’ he said.

“I became truly disoriented. ‘Mr. Longstead—my father’s old friend Mr. Longstead?’ I cried.

“‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ answered Sergeant MacDonald uncertainly. ‘But I understand he did work for Cousins Manufacturing.’”

Mrs. Treadles pinched the space between her brows, her eyes half closed. Lord Ingram felt his own temples throb at the implication of her words.

“That man did far more than work for Cousins,” Mrs. Treadles murmured, as if to herself. “My father supplied the funds and was deft at managing the business, but it was always Mr. Longstead’s engineering acumen that gave us a competitive advantage.

“For twenty-five years they were friends, colleagues, and partners. Mr. Longstead’s health led to his departure—his physician warned that he could no longer work at the sort of feverish pace he sustained. And he only returned to Cousins as a personal favor to me, after I took up the running of the enterprise.”

A sharper focus came into Mrs. Treadles’s eyes as she looked from Holmes to Lord Ingram and back again. “But I saw him last night, alive and well in his own house, only hours before Sergeant MacDonald knocked on my door. And as far as I knew, Inspector Treadles wasn’t even in London—he was away for work.

“So there I was, staring at Sergeant MacDonald, my mind a jumble. Who would murder dear old Mr. Longstead? And why would my husband, who had sworn to uphold law and order, be remotely connected to Mr. Longstead’s death, let alone generate so much suspicion—and evidence—that he was already arrested?

“‘But the inspector barely knows Mr. Longstead!’ I heard myself exclaim.”

Silence.

Mrs. Treadles lowered her face, as if she preferred to address the next part of her account to the tea table. “You probably guessed, Miss Holmes, by the fact that Sergeant MacDonald showed up at my house, rather than my office, at that particular hour, that he didn’t know about my recently acquired responsibilities at Cousins.

“You see, Inspector Treadles was at first not particularly . . . enthusiastic that I’d ventured outside of the domestic sphere. After he returned from the investigation at Stern Hollow, he began to express an interest at last. So I invited Mr. Longstead and his niece to dinner at my house. They then reciprocated the invitation at their house. On both occasions, Inspector Treadles was cordial and respectful to Mr. Longstead, exactly as one ought to conduct oneself before a much-revered family friend.

“The second dinner was more than two weeks ago. Afterward, he expressed an admiration for Mr. Longstead and thought it fortunate I had him as an ally. As far as I