Read Online The Web Weaver by Sam Siciliano - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sam Siciliano
Ads: Link
her hand, and sighed. “Her curses mostly involved botanical metaphors—withering up, being struck barren and without fruit—that kind of thing.”
Holmes removed the folded parchment note from his coat pocket. “As in this note?”
Violet nodded. The fingers of Holmes’ left hand tapped idly on the chair’s arm.
“An unpleasant business. And how...? I suppose this encounter has left you shaken?”
She shrugged. “Mr. Holmes, I shall not raise doubts in your mind by protesting too often; let me merely say once and for all, that I am not superstitious. No one enjoys the spectacle of a depraved and hysterical old woman, especially when one becomes her principal target. All the same, I do not lie awake at night fearing malevolent gypsies and the weight of the curse about to fall upon me.”
Holmes’ smile was mirthless. “Many people find that their resolution deserts them in the early hours of the morning.”
Violet squared her shoulders. “I am not such a person, Mr. Holmes. All the same, no one wants to be hated.” Her dark eyes glistened. “You are too polite to inquire, but I am not capable of having children. This became clear long before the old gypsy’s ravings.”
I frowned. “Have you discussed this with Michelle?”
She hesitated. “Only briefly. Several years ago Dr. Dawson recommended me to Dr. Cabot.” Her mocking smile returned. “Donald insisted we pursue the matter with the best physicians in London. The quest was fruitless.” Her mouth twisted at the irony of the final word.
“Nevertheless, you should not give up hope.”
“I would... I would... like to have a child...” Her voice had an odd timbre, and her eyes appeared almost feverish.
I stared closely at my cousin. As a physician I had discussed such matters with my patients, but he was clearly uncomfortable. “The information is pertinent, Mrs. Wheelwright,” he said. “However, you need elaborate no further. From what you have said, I assume this is a matter of regret to your husband.”
“Oh, yes. And to my father-in-law. They would like to have an heir, ideally a male—a son. To carry on the dynasty of potted meat pharaohs.” She said this last with sudden venom. A single tear slipped from her left eye and trickled down her cheek. Angrily she wiped at it with her fingertips, then drew in her breath and closed her eyes.
I turned to Holmes. “Perhaps we should continue with this interview at another time.”
He gave a brief nod, but Violet shook her head. “Not at all. Please forgive me. I should not have... I am perfectly well.”
“This interview need not last much longer,” Holmes said. “The incident at the ball occurred nearly a year and a half ago. When did you find this note?” He raised the piece of parchment.
“Almost two weeks ago, Mr. Holmes. I came into the library at around eleven in the morning. It was on my desk there.” She pointed to the corner. Above the desk’s surface were pigeonholes, papers stuffed into many of the holes, while books and envelopes were stacked neatly to the side. “I do not think that the content bothered me so much as finding such a thing in my own home.”
My hands tightened on the chair arms. “I imagine so. Rather like discovering a large spider in one’s bed.”
Violet only shrugged. Holmes briefly raised his black eyebrows. “Spiders do not disturb you?”
“Do not all proper, God-fearing British women despise spiders?” Her ironic smile faded away. “No, I do not care for them.”
Holmes nodded, then stood up abruptly and went to the desk.
“This is an impressive piece of furniture, Mrs. Wheelwright. Ah, all the pigeonholes are labeled: grocer, greengrocer, milliner, haberdasher, tailor, cobbler, and so on. I take it you manage the household accounts?”
“I do, Mr. Holmes. With Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy’s assistance.”
“That must be no small task for a household of this size. How many servants do you employ?”
“Thirty-three here in
Holmes removed the folded parchment note from his coat pocket. “As in this note?”
Violet nodded. The fingers of Holmes’ left hand tapped idly on the chair’s arm.
“An unpleasant business. And how...? I suppose this encounter has left you shaken?”
She shrugged. “Mr. Holmes, I shall not raise doubts in your mind by protesting too often; let me merely say once and for all, that I am not superstitious. No one enjoys the spectacle of a depraved and hysterical old woman, especially when one becomes her principal target. All the same, I do not lie awake at night fearing malevolent gypsies and the weight of the curse about to fall upon me.”
Holmes’ smile was mirthless. “Many people find that their resolution deserts them in the early hours of the morning.”
Violet squared her shoulders. “I am not such a person, Mr. Holmes. All the same, no one wants to be hated.” Her dark eyes glistened. “You are too polite to inquire, but I am not capable of having children. This became clear long before the old gypsy’s ravings.”
I frowned. “Have you discussed this with Michelle?”
She hesitated. “Only briefly. Several years ago Dr. Dawson recommended me to Dr. Cabot.” Her mocking smile returned. “Donald insisted we pursue the matter with the best physicians in London. The quest was fruitless.” Her mouth twisted at the irony of the final word.
“Nevertheless, you should not give up hope.”
“I would... I would... like to have a child...” Her voice had an odd timbre, and her eyes appeared almost feverish.
I stared closely at my cousin. As a physician I had discussed such matters with my patients, but he was clearly uncomfortable. “The information is pertinent, Mrs. Wheelwright,” he said. “However, you need elaborate no further. From what you have said, I assume this is a matter of regret to your husband.”
“Oh, yes. And to my father-in-law. They would like to have an heir, ideally a male—a son. To carry on the dynasty of potted meat pharaohs.” She said this last with sudden venom. A single tear slipped from her left eye and trickled down her cheek. Angrily she wiped at it with her fingertips, then drew in her breath and closed her eyes.
I turned to Holmes. “Perhaps we should continue with this interview at another time.”
He gave a brief nod, but Violet shook her head. “Not at all. Please forgive me. I should not have... I am perfectly well.”
“This interview need not last much longer,” Holmes said. “The incident at the ball occurred nearly a year and a half ago. When did you find this note?” He raised the piece of parchment.
“Almost two weeks ago, Mr. Holmes. I came into the library at around eleven in the morning. It was on my desk there.” She pointed to the corner. Above the desk’s surface were pigeonholes, papers stuffed into many of the holes, while books and envelopes were stacked neatly to the side. “I do not think that the content bothered me so much as finding such a thing in my own home.”
My hands tightened on the chair arms. “I imagine so. Rather like discovering a large spider in one’s bed.”
Violet only shrugged. Holmes briefly raised his black eyebrows. “Spiders do not disturb you?”
“Do not all proper, God-fearing British women despise spiders?” Her ironic smile faded away. “No, I do not care for them.”
Holmes nodded, then stood up abruptly and went to the desk.
“This is an impressive piece of furniture, Mrs. Wheelwright. Ah, all the pigeonholes are labeled: grocer, greengrocer, milliner, haberdasher, tailor, cobbler, and so on. I take it you manage the household accounts?”
“I do, Mr. Holmes. With Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy’s assistance.”
“That must be no small task for a household of this size. How many servants do you employ?”
“Thirty-three here in
Similar Books
