“That said, the relative ease of verification concerning Moriarty’s claims is not the reason I believe he told the truth about his daughter. Rather, it’s the nature of his story that convinced me of its veracity—or at least its partial veracity. He is not a kind or tolerant individual—for decades he pursued the wife who dared to leave him. So for him to admit that he had so little control over his own child? I am compelled to conclude that the general outline of his story has not been made up.”
“It’s for precisely the same reason that I doubt the whole of it,” said Lord Ingram. He still had his utensils in hand, but was rotating a piece of roast beef slowly on his fork instead of putting it into his mouth. “I could not in the least believe his claim that he’s learned his lesson and will no longer overtly interfere in his daughter’s life.”
“I can’t give that claim any credence either,” echoed Mrs. Watson.
“Nor I,” said Charlotte. She was beginning to feel conspicuous about her appetite but that did not stop her from eating more of the ham pie. “There was a moment at number 18, when I thought to myself, in overwhelming relief, that of course Moriarty hadn’t come to see me, but because he happened to need a female investigator. Now I wonder whether I wasn’t too optimistic. What if it is the other way around? That he happened to have a situation involving his daughter with which he could approach me?”
Everyone else at the table sat up straighter. Mrs. Watson stopped fidgeting with her ring, Livia’s wineglass paused on its way to her lips, Lord Ingram not only put down his knife and fork but pushed away his plate.
Charlotte hadn’t thought it that alarming a notion, but perhaps it was. “At the end of the Treadles case, we were careful not to make any connection between the culprit and De Lacey Industries. But were I Moriarty, I would have immediately suspected that we knew more than we let on.
“Also, while it was Lady Ingram and not Sherlock Holmes who pointed an accusatory finger at Moriarty after the events of Stern Hollow, Lady Ingram would not have known the truth had Sherlock Holmes not discovered it.
“So Moriarty has reason to see me as a bigger nuisance than I’d initially supposed. But if that is the case, why doesn’t he simply get rid of me, but instead demands my help?”
“Maybe he wants you out of London,” said Mrs. Watson. “Maybe there is something he wants to do, and he doesn’t want you underfoot.”
“Well, let’s see how far he wants me from London then.” Charlotte wiped her fingertips with her napkin and picked up the dossier, which she had placed on an empty chair next to hers.
She slid a three-quarter-inch stack out of the brown envelope. The papers, of varying sizes, rustled as she removed the strip of rubber that bound them. On the front page was typed the garden of hermopolis. She was about to turn it aside when four smaller words under the title leaped out at her.
“What is it?” asked Lord Ingram.
Charlotte squinted to make sure she hadn’t misread and only then looked up. “Do you recall that in December, Inspector Treadles went to various locales around the country, to see the places where Moriarty’s preferred main contractor had worked?”
“How can we forget?” said Mrs. Watson. “He had to flee from the last place and was chased all the way back to London.”
Where his desperate flight ended with him locked in a room with two dead men.
“Shortly after the New Year, Inspector and Mrs. Treadles paid Mrs. Watson and myself a call,” said Charlotte to Livia, who hadn’t been there. Lord Ingram hadn’t been present either but had been informed of the contents of the meeting by correspondence. “During this visit Inspector Treadles told us everything he’d gleaned in the course of his investigation into the finances of Cousins Enterprises, including the location of the compound he’d fled that night in December. It was on the south coast of Cornwall, three miles from a village called Porthangan.”
She handed around the front sheet. Underneath the garden of hermopolis, were the words near Porthangan in Cornwall.
Mrs. Watson sucked in a breath.
“I thought that was a Moriarty stronghold,” said Lord Ingram.
“So did I. But apparently it’s exactly the opposite.”
Livia shook her head. “It has to be a ploy. Moriarty is trying to lure you there.”
“A distinct possibility.” Charlotte did not deny that. “But to do what?”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Livia vehemently. “We know it must be something nefarious and that’s reason enough for us to stay well away from this Garden of Hermopolis.”
“And what do you think would happen when I decline to offer my services to Moriarty, after he already confessed the mortifying story concerning his daughter?”
Silence.
Mrs. Watson drained her glass. “We should have fled as soon as we learned we were under surveillance.”
No one said anything because there was nothing to be said. Because Lady Ingram had realized early on the truth behind Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty knew Charlotte’s true identity. He knew where to find her family—and presumably Miss Redmayne, too, if he were in the mood for it. That threat alone would have kept Charlotte and Mrs. Watson in place.
“I still don’t think the substance of Moriarty’s story is false,” said Charlotte, breaking the grim silence. “That his preferred main contractor worked on the Garden of Hermopolis does not necessarily imply that Moriarty is in fact its master and overlord. Perhaps it was his way of spying on the community. Or perhaps the community chose to obtain new buildings cheaply, knowing that he would charge less for the opportunity to peek at its inner workings.”
Mrs. Watson was again rotating her ring. Livia eyed the wine bottle. Lord Ingram set the front sheet on top of the dossier. No one looked remotely convinced.
Charlotte served herself a good dollop of fig pudding—the time had come when something stronger than potato croquettes, even potato croquettes drenched in hollandaise sauce, was needed. “Again, if the substance of Moriarty’s story is true, then an antagonistic relationship has long existed between him and the Garden of Hermopolis. If our occultists had done something to Miss Baxter during Moriarty’s ouster, then they had every reason to be on high alert against threats of retaliation. And the man who chased Inspector Treadles all the way to London, instead of being a Moriarty loyalist, could be someone who thought he was in pursuit of a Moriarty loyalist.”
Livia gaped at her. “How is that an improvement?”
Charlotte dug deeper into the dense, decadent pudding. “I’m not sure I have much of a choice, now that Moriarty’s gaze has landed on me. It’s simply a matter of unpleasantness now or unpleasantness later.”
The room again fell quiet.
Mrs. Watson poured wine for Livia, and then for herself. In the silence, the garnet stream falling into goblets sounded as loud as a sputtering spigot. Mrs. Watson set down the bottle and looked at Charlotte, her eyes clouded with misgivings. “And what will you choose, my dear?”
6
It was with a heavy mood that Livia settled into Mrs. Watson’s carriage, to be taken back to Claridge’s. Charlotte and Lord Ingram, accompanying her for the trip, climbed in after her.