My mouth dropped open. “But-but Mycroft—”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Mycroft has a brilliant mind but would not be willing to go about to collect information. You have both the logical skills and the ability to gather new information as needed without raising suspicions.”
I tilted my head to the side, considering her observations. Mycroft had made it clear he was not interested in visiting the garden with me. For the first time I realized I did offer a unique skill in this situation.
She took a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to me. “I have written down everything I can remember about the morning when I found the body. I’m afraid I’m having some trouble concentrating here. Use your own skills to see what I haven’t been able to. I know you can do it.”
I fingered a corner, ready to open it, but she shook her head. “Not here. Keep it safe.”
“I’ll study it later,” I said and slipped it into my pocket.
“Violette, dear.” Ernest cleared his throat. “We must discuss the inquest.”
“Another time, please, Ernest. The matron will be back shortly, and I don’t want to think—”
As if on cue, the door slammed against the stone wall with a boom and the matron stood in the doorway. “The superintendent will be coming in soon. You have to leave.”
“Right away, madam. Right away,” my uncle said.
He stood and gathered up the remains of the breakfast, motioning me to help, as the matron tapped her foot.
As soon as all was put away, Mother shook Ernest’s hand and patted me on the head. “I’ll see you both soon.”
I forced a smile as she had done earlier. My palms moistened when I contemplated again the responsibility she had just placed on me.
She stepped to the doorway and faced us. Her eyes glistened, but her voice remained strong. “Thank you for coming.” With that, she followed the matron into the hallway.
Once the door shut soundly, Ernest jerked on his waistcoat. “We must be going as well.”
When we exited the room through the other door, the formerly empty hallway now buzzed with activity. Two rows of women marched past in opposite directions. Ernest and I pressed ourselves against the inner wall to let one group pass us. All were dressed in a similar style of rough-woven blue dresses and with a grey apron over them.
“Convicted prisoners,” Ernest whispered to me. “Heading to breakfast I would guess.”
They appeared to be assembled according to age, the oldest at the front of the line. As the last of the column passed us, I noted the last one—a young girl of about my age or a little older—glance in our direction.
A moment later, she stumbled and fell to her knees. I rushed to her side.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she said in that rough accent associated with the lower classes.
As I supported her elbow, she rose and studied me and my uncle. “You’re not criminals, are you?”
I chuckled. “No. We’re here to see my m—my uncle’s client.”
“He’s a solicitor, then?” A glance at her shoes, and I could see then why she stumbled. They appeared several sizes too big—as if she were wearing boxes. “I wish I had a solicitor. I might not be in this place if I had.”
“What were you accused of? Perhaps my uncle might help?”
“Liftin’ a pocket watch off an old man.” Her emerald gaze searched my face and filled with tears. “But I didn’t. Honest I didn’t. He’d given it to me just to let me have a look, but I think he was a little forgetful and didn’t remember. That’s why I had it.”
My mouth dropped open. Never had I heard such a travesty of justice. How could anyone think such a young, innocent girl could commit such a crime? I sought my uncle’s gaze to see if he was as indignant as I. His head gave the barest of shakes. Whether it meant he couldn’t help or that it was too late, I was unable to decipher.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. You’re a regular right gent, you are.” Her arms wrapped around me before I could even protest.
“I—”
“Constance,” the matron at the front of the breakfast procession shouted down the hallway to us. “No fraternizin’ with visitors. Get back in line.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
She shambled back to her place in the column, and the group shuffled away. We followed them for a moment before turning right to the antechamber where we’d entered about an hour earlier.
Once in the carriage, my stomach rumbled. Having seen my mother was relatively safe, and even given some ideas on what to consider in her defense, my appetite had reappeared. The cinnamon bun I’d eaten in the kitchen was long ago digested. Recalling the bread Cook had provided me, I reached into my pocket and found it…empty.
Ernest caught my movement and shook his head. “I should have warned you, I suppose. Recall where your mother is. These are not members of the genteel class with whom you’re accustomed to socializing. They are deceivers. Criminals. Not to be trusted.”
“So, Constance—”
“Is a pickpocket, and truly did steal that man’s watch. Be glad you didn’t have anything more than a slice of bread in your coat pocket. She’s young and her mother died recently. Your father put her in there as a lesson. She’ll be out soon.”
“You know her?’
“Seen her in a previous visit. I inquired and got the details from your father.”
We bounced along the road back to our estate, and I considered what I had learned that morning. How had that girl been able to take the slice without my knowing it? It seemed to be a skill that could prove useful in certain situations.
With no other sustenance available, I returned to the more pressing issue of my mother’s innocence. I removed her notes from my pocket and studied them. Halfway through, I stopped to re-read her account of finding the body of Mrs. Brown. I glanced at my uncle. Still sleeping.
He roused himself when I called to him. “What? Back at Underbyrne already?”
“No. I have a question. My mother’s clothes. The ones she was wearing when she found Mrs. Brown. Do you know where they are?”
“I would suppose Mrs. Simpson arranged to have them laundered.”
“We need to examine them when we get back.”
“Of course, dear boy, of course,” he said with a yawn.
I turned to ask my uncle about the magnifying glasses, but found he’d fallen back to sleep.
No matter, I already knew my next step.
Chapter Three
By the time we arrived back home, the sun was already warming the day. I helped carry the basket and valise into the kitchen. Ernest headed on to the breakfast room, but I paused to speak to Cook.
“How was your mother?” she asked without glancing up from the dough she was kneading.
“All right, I guess.” I traced my finger through the flour on the table. “She said to thank you for the food.”
With a click of her tongue, she said, “It’s the least I can do. Poor woman.”
I watched her continue punching the dough for a moment more before broaching my next subject.