The Stanhope, at first glance, resembled an ivory fountain pen. “What does it show?”
“The queen’s homes, I think?” said Livia, setting aside her now empty teacup. “There were others that showed her family. Some even showed famous naval ships, but I preferred the scenery.”
Charlotte put the optical device close to her eye. “Yes,” she murmured. “I can see photographs of Buckingham Palace, Balmoral Castle, and Osborne House.”
“You don’t think Mr. Marbleton is trying to hint that Moriarty is planning to sabotage the Jubilee, do you?” asked Livia, choking on her own question.
Charlotte put down the Stanhope. “No. If that were the case, Mr. Marbleton would have been taking his own life far too lightly, writing down the address of a Jubilee souvenir shop right in front of Moriarty’s men.”
Livia rubbed her throat, breathing easier. “But if he isn’t hinting at Jubilee-related schemes, why did he point us to these gewgaws?”
Her fear of being completely wrong came back. “It isn’t all coincidental, is it?”
Charlotte had removed her turban to put on the Union Jack-festooned toque Livia had bought, which, like the purple turban, did not go with her dusty rose dress at all. “Everything is possible, but this is Mr. Marbleton we are speaking of. Few people in the entire world are as instinctual about clandestine communication as his family must be.”
She snapped open the garish scarlet, gold, and blue ostrich-plume fan dyed to match the royal standard—and which had cost Livia dearly—and preened as if before a crowd of adoring beaus. “I do not believe all this to be a coincidence.”
“But if it’s not a coincidence, then what does Mr. Marbleton want us to arrive at?”
Before Charlotte could reply, a commotion rose downstairs. The front door to number 18 was thrown open. Footsteps rushed up the stairs, along with Mrs. Watson’s excited voice. “Miss Charlotte, Miss Charlotte, are you here? We found something!”
* * *
“My dear, you’re here too!” Mrs. Watson took Livia’s hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “How perfect! Would you believe it? We retrieved a piece of luggage Mr. Marbleton left behind for us. Or for you, rather.”
“For me?” Livia’s voice rose. Her heart skipped several beats.
How could it be for her?
Lord Ingram entered with a brass-studded brown leather cabin trunk about three feet long, two feet wide, and fourteen inches in height. Mrs. Watson then rattled off an account as breathless as Livia’s own mere minutes ago.
She and Lord Ingram had met the maid who had cleaned for Mr. Marbleton while he stayed at the inn in Snowham. The maid had noticed that he had left with one fewer piece of luggage than had been in his room the previous day. Lord Ingram, after considering the incongruity, had decided to inquire at the left luggage office at the railway station.
The station was insignificant, its left luggage office correspondingly small. The stationmaster, who was also in charge of that office, knew very well the one item that had sat unclaimed for two entire months. He was happy to release it in exchange for the stowage fee, provided the claimants could furnish both the name it was stored under and a description of its contents, to see whether it agreed with that which had been recorded.
Mrs. Watson gave Livia an excited push on the arm. “And do you know what name Mr. Marbleton used, my dear?”
Livia blinked. “Hartford? Or Elliot?”
Elliot Hartford had been the name he’d listed at the Reading Room.
Mrs. Watson was nonplussed. “No, no! Guess again.”
Livia couldn’t think of anything else. She looked toward Charlotte. “Surely he didn’t just put either Marbleton or Openshaw?”
“Knowing Mr. Marbleton, and judging from how much it delighted Mrs. Watson,” said Charlotte, “I would guess . . . Augustus?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Watson’s hand landed upon her own heart. “Is that not romantic?”
The four Holmes daughters were Henrietta Octavia, Bernadine Claudia, Olivia Augusta and Charlotte Juliana. Mr. Marbleton had used the masculine version of Livia’s second given name.
Livia’s face heated. “That is . . . that is . . . How were you able to guess?”
“Lord Ingram thought of it,” Mrs. Watson answered gleefully. “He said that if Mr. Marbleton meant for us to retrieve the luggage, he’d have selected a direction only we would think of. And that the masculine version of your or Miss Charlotte’s first given name would still seem too obvious to someone like Mr. Marbleton.”
He’d been taught to bury his communications under all these protective layers. Yet, with Livia, he’d always been so open and candid. A bittersweet warmth pierced her heart.
So as not to appear too affected, she said, “You also had to guess the contents of the luggage, didn’t you? How were you able to do it? Surely that can’t possibly have anything to do with the Holmeses or our names.”
“That was a matter of pure luck,” said Lord Ingram. “The door of the stowage room was open behind the counter. When I saw the cabin trunk sitting there, I thought it looked familiar. And then I remembered that I’d seen it last summer, in the Marbletons’ suite at Claridge’s, when Holmes and I searched the premise.”
“I saw it once,” said Charlotte. “You must have seen it three times.”
Lord Ingram laughed. “True, I did much breaking and entering that Season. But anyway, that’s how I knew that it contained a portable darkroom.”
Mrs. Watson, who had yet to sit down since she entered the parlor, moved to the cabin trunk and laid it flat on the carpet. “We were debating whether to hire a room at Mr. Upton’s inn, so we could open this and search it immediately, in case it led to anything else in the vicinity. But since Snowham is only an hour away from London, we decided to bring it back.”
“Also because we didn’t have bolt cutters or lock-picking tools,” added Lord Ingram. “And it would have attracted too much attention to acquire either locally.”
But Charlotte had lock-picking tools, and she and Lord Ingram each took on one of the two padlocks on the cabin trunk. Livia went with Mrs. Watson to fetch dust sheets. When they returned to the parlor, the locks had just been opened.
Her heart pounding, Livia helped Mrs. Watson spread out the dust sheets. The interior of the trunk had been custom-made for its contents. From long, deep padded troughs, Lord Ingram lifted a number of collapsible rods. Charlotte emptied several rolls of heavy black cloths. There was a lantern made with dark red glass panels—a safe light. And squarish enamel basins neatly stacked together.
“Didn’t there used to be photographic plates stored inside the top basin?” Charlotte asked Lord Ingram.
“Yes,” said Lord Ingram.
But the top basin was empty now.
It did not take long to inventory the contents of the luggage. Together, the company inspected the items that had been set out, circling the dust sheets as if they were opening a ball with a minuet.
After a few minutes of this, Charlotte took a pair of scissors, cut away the cabin trunk’s linen lining, and examined the bare wooden surfaces underneath. Everyone took turns checking the interior of the luggage, looking for hidden catches. Mrs. Watson even held the lining up to the light and went over every square inch.