Her lips curved in a derisive smile—Charlotte had the feeling that the derision was directed at herself. “I don’t blame her. In the time she’d known me, I had probably displayed very little sound judgment. But even a clock that stands still is right about the time once every twelve hours—and I was right about Mr. Sullivan.”
“And may I ask how you learned of Mr. Sullivan’s character deficiencies, Mrs. Cousins?”
Mrs. Cousins glanced again at Lord Ingram. She hesitated. “My apologies, my lord, but I would feel more comfortable if I were to discuss this with only Miss Holmes.”
He rose immediately. “I’ll wait in the carriage. Good day, Mrs. Cousins.”
If Charlotte could blush, she would have. She’d made him come join her on the flimsiest of excuses and without considering that she would be inquiring into a highly sensitive subject.
But he had a house party to host after Christmas and must leave London soon. And after that, she didn’t know when she would see him again . . .
After he had closed the door behind himself, Charlotte gathered herself and said, “Mrs. Cousins, it behooves me to inform you that Lord Ingram is an integral part of this investigation. What you tell me today, I will most likely share with him, at least in the abstract.”
“I understand,” said Mrs. Cousins, her hand sliding back and forth across her skirts. “Given that you are an emissary of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I do not expect that no masculine ears will ever hear my story—the pretense that we are alone is good enough.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cousins.”
Mrs. Cousins bowed her head. Abruptly, she sprang to her feet, marched to the window, then to the opposite wall, then back to the window again. Her hand over her forehead, she said, “I’m sorry. Ever since I learned of Inspector Treadles’s arrest, I haven’t been able to sit still.”
She paced furiously another minute before she stopped behind her own chair, her hands gripping its top. “I’m so angry at him—I nearly marched down to Scotland Yard to give him a good whack. I’m so afraid for her. And I’m scared that she might have to watch him hang.”
Charlotte glanced around the room, crossed to the sideboard, and poured two fingers of a bright red liquid from a decanter—cherry brandy, by its heady aroma. She went to Mrs. Cousins and pressed the glass into her hand. “Here, have some.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Cousins, her voice slightly hoarse. She took a good swallow, followed by another. “A month ago, I might have said good riddance. But since he returned from Stern Hollow, she’s been so—perilously happy. Do you know what I’m talking about, Miss Holmes?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“There was so much fear mixed into her happiness, fear that it would all go away again in an instant. Still, even I, who had already stopped believing in love, began to feel that perhaps they had indeed righted the ship. That they could now weather storms together and sail into safe harbor.”
She gazed beseechingly at Charlotte. “Will he be all right? Will they be all right?”
Charlotte had to give the same answer she’d given to Mrs. Graycott. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment, Mrs. Cousins.”
She had theories. But theories would not prevail, when the police had caught Inspector Treadles standing over the dead men, murder weapon in hand.
Mrs. Cousins’s free hand balled into a fist. “Then I had better tell you everything I know about Mr. Sullivan, in case it’s any help at all.”
She set down her glass and started pacing again, her fingers massaging her temples. “My husband rarely spoke to me about Cousins Manufacturing or the men under him—he didn’t think women should be involved in such things. But since Mr. Sullivan was Mr. Longstead’s nephew, he had more of a claim of closeness with the Cousinses.
“We dined with him and his wife a few times over the years. The first time, after they left, my husband said something along the lines of ‘A toady, that man, but a pleasant toady to have around.’ And that was what I thought of him, until the beginning of this year.
“My husband and I were never truly close. He wanted a handsome, well-bred wife; I wanted a wealthy husband. It seemed a good enough foundation for a marriage.”
A shadow crossed her face. She dropped her hands from her temples and stopped in the middle of the room. “And it might have been but for the fact that I kept miscarrying.”
“I’m very sorry,” murmured Charlotte.
“As was I,” said Mrs. Cousins quietly. “Mr. Cousins, on the other hand, was vexed by what he saw as my great failure. I, already unhappy, became angry at being blamed. We had not reached the stage where we detested each other. But looking back, it would only have been a matter of time.”
She stood stock still for another second, then resumed her pacing. “Into this increasingly tense picture came Mr. Sullivan. It was at a dinner in March that he first spoke to me in a familiar manner. And by familiar, I mean that he seemed to know my private torment. You cannot imagine my astonishment at hearing my secret struggles referred to, however obliquely. He sounded so very understanding, so very sympathetic and conspiratorial. Of course none of it was my fault, he whispered. One had but to look at my husband to know that he must be the cause of the problems. And to think that I had to bear his displeasure and his lectures, that I had no defense against such unkindness.”
She came to a halt beside a small upright piano, her expression half-dazed, as if again struck by how brazenly Mr. Sullivan had sown discord. “Mr. Cousins and I barely touched the subject. To hear Mr. Sullivan talk of it was shocking. Yet even as I was agog at his presumption, and deeply mortified no less, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of spiteful pleasure to hear Mr. Cousins spoken of as a fool.”
She shook her head. “That I neither defended my husband nor demanded that he stop must have emboldened Mr. Sullivan. The next time we met, he again made a point to speak ill of my husband and I again enjoyed it. Some poisons have a sweet taste, don’t they?
“The third time this happened, he—” She bit her lower lip. “The third time this happened, he added to his repertoire by propositioning me. Did I not want to punish my husband? Then let him be my instrument of vengeance.”
Charlotte was not shocked, only saddened for Mrs. Cousins’s loneliness, which had left her vulnerable to Mr. Sullivan’s predation.
Mrs. Cousins gave a dry, humorless laugh. “That finally shocked me out of my complacency. I didn’t love my husband but I understood my obligations. I rejected Mr. Sullivan’s advances categorically and he became nasty. Called me all sorts of names. And then immediately went to speak to my husband. Nearly gave me an apoplectic attack, thinking of what he might have said to Mr. Cousins.