Miss Moriarty, I Presume?, page 1
Praise for
Murder on Cold Street
“With an increasingly beloved detective crew, this Victorian mystery offers thrills and sharp insights into human behavior.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“A wonderfully feminist historical mystery. . . . Sherry Thomas has made an incredible addition to the Sherlockian canon in Charlotte, with her intense brain, flamboyant attire, unconquerable sweet tooth and uncanny ability to circumvent strict Victorian mores to suit her purpose. . . . Readers of Sherlockian fiction will love the Lady Sherlock series, as will anyone who enjoys a historical mystery with a bit of romantic tension.”
—Shelf Awareness
“Bestselling author Sherry Thomas returns with the fifth installment in her captivating Victorian-era Lady Sherlock series. . . . Perfect for fans of Holmes whodunits!”
—Woman’s World
“Sherry Thomas’s fifth outing in the Lady Sherlock series is as fascinating and feminist as ever.”
—Austin Chronicle
“Thomas . . . masterfully handles all the ins and outs of the mystery while layering the story with suspense and intrigue to keep readers guessing.”
—BookPage
Praise for
The Lady Sherlock Series
“These books, which recast Sherlock Holmes as Charlotte Holmes, are perfect for those who adore layered stories. Unignorable questions of gender, expectation, and privilege lurk beneath complex mysteries and a slowly scorching romance.”
—The Washington Post
“Fast-paced storytelling and witty prose add further appeal for those who like their historical mysteries playful.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Thoughtful yet brief remarks critique patriarchy, heteronormativity, and colonialism, fitting organically into an absorbing whodunwhat arc. An exciting addition to the mystery series; Holmes meets Ocean’s 11 meets A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Quick-witted and swashbuckling, Thomas’s novel is a feminist Victorian delight. Perfect for fans of Deanna Raybourn, Elizabeth Peters, or C. S. Harris, The Art of Theft is an excellent entry in a wonderful historical series. Its deft pacing, quirky heroine, and intriguing cast of characters make it a mysterious tour de force.”
—Shelf Awareness
“Loaded with suspense . . . a riveting and absorbing read . . . a beautifully written novel; you’ll savor the unraveling of the mystery and the brilliance of its heroine.”
—NPR
“Sherry Thomas has done the impossible and crafted a fresh, exciting new version of Sherlock Holmes.”
—Deanna Raybourn, New York Times bestselling author of A Perilous Undertaking
“Sherry Thomas is a master of her craft, and A Study in Scarlet Women is an unqualified success: brilliantly executed, beautifully written, and magnificently original—I want the next volume now!”
—New York Times bestselling author Tasha Alexander
“Clever historical details and a top-shelf mystery add to the winning appeal of this first volume in the Lady Sherlock series. A must-read for fans of historical mysteries.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“A completely new, brilliantly conceived take on the iconic detective . . . A plot worthy of [Sir Arthur Conan Doyle] at his best.”
—Booklist
“Readers will wait with bated breath to discover how Thomas will skillfully weave in each aspect of the Sherlockian canon, and devour the pages to learn how the mystery unfolds.”
—Anna Lee Huber, national bestselling author of the Lady Darby Mysteries
Titles by Sherry Thomas
The Lady Sherlock Series
a study in scarlet women
a conspiracy in belgravia
the hollow of fear
the art of theft
murder on cold street
miss moriarty, i presume?
Other Works
my beautiful enemy
the luckiest lady in london
tempting the bride
ravishing the heiress
beguiling the beauty
his at night
not quite a husband
delicious
private arrangements
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2021 by Sherry Thomas
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Thomas, Sherry (Sherry M.), author.
Title: Miss Moriarty, I presume? / Sherry Thomas.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2021. | Series: The Lady Sherlock series
Identifiers: LCCN 2021020963 (print) | LCCN 2021020964 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593200582 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593200599 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | LCGFT: Detective and mystery fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3620.H6426 M57 2021 (print) | LCC PS3620.H6426 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020963
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020964
First Edition: November 2021
Cover image of a historical woman © Ildiko Neer / Trevillion Images; house by the sea © Stephen Mulcahey / Trevillion Images
Adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To Kathy and Heather, my fellow members of the Washi Coven, thank you for making Saturday mornings fun again—magical, really. We never get enough writing done, but I say pawing over one another’s collections of decorative stickers and wax seal stamps is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
CONTENTS
Cover
Praise For Sherry Thomas
Titles by Sherry Thomas
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
February 1887
Alain de Lacey sprang up from his chair. “What did you say?”
He had not been de Lacey very long. At his immense mahogany desk, flanked by eighteenth-century oil portraits, sometimes he felt as if he had been reborn into the household of a manufacturer wealthy enough to buy a viscount for a son-in-law. And on most days, the sight of his secretary at the door, relaying the latest news with deference, only reinforced the impression that he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
Today, however, he broke into a sweat.
“Mr. Baxter is coming to Britain, sir,” repeated his secretary. “And he wants you to make an appointment for him to call on Sherlock Holmes.”
So he’d heard correctly the first time. But didn’t Mr. Baxter usually visit Britain in summer? It was only February.
And Sherlock Holmes—or Charlotte Holmes, rather—had been under surveillance since Christmas. If anything, de Lacey would have thought that Mr. Baxter wished to get rid of the woman, not to undertake a formal visit.
An interview followed by a bullet or a strangling? But that was not de Lacey’s concern. Visits to Britain typically did not please Mr. Baxter. De Lacey needed to check everything he’d done since becoming de Lacey to make sure he hadn’t made any mistakes that would bring down Mr. Baxter’s wrath.
He took a deep breath and waved away the secretary. “Very well. Go prepare for Mr. Baxter’s arrival, and I will have Sherlock Holmes ready to receive him.”
One
Dear Ash,
Allow me to set the scene.
The day is cold and drizzly. A fire crackles in the grate. I am seated at the desk in my room, a cup of hot cocoa to my left, an
I’ve portrayed my usual sybaritic setting, you say? Why, patience, my old friend.
For what do I see when I look down but enough lace and frill to astonish Louis XIV himself, an eruption of white foam upon a wildly pink sea. Yes, I am wearing my very first tea gown, which you kindly gifted me at Christmas.
Alas, I had to put on a dressing gown over this fuchsia splendor. Even with a fire in the room, the tea gown by itself is still too insubstantial a garment for this time of the year.
Now that you can picture me, let me relay some news.
It has been three weeks since we eliminated both milk and bread from my sister Bernadine’s diet. Not only does she no longer curl up into a ball after her meals, holding her innards in pain, she has gained five pounds. Madame Gascoigne remains astonished. Earlier she was convinced that nothing could be more wholesome than milk and bread. But I’ve long suspected that it must be some very common foodstuff that caused Bernadine’s perennial gastrointestinal distress. At home I couldn’t persuade my parents to agree to a scientific trial, but here I was able to put my ideas to the test.
I would have liked to give Livia a thorough account of Bernadine’s improvement. Unfortunately, what with the sums I remitted home last December for the family’s upkeep, my parents have become much more interested in the contents of the post and Livia can no longer count on always being the first person to examine incoming letters. In the end I conveyed my news in a small notice in the paper.
But in a small notice, there is no room to describe Bernadine’s new peacefulness or the beginning of a healthy blush to her complexion. Similarly, I can assure Livia that Sherlock Holmes flourishes, but must wait for a future moment to let her know that Mrs. Watson and I solved five cases in the past three days and that my esteemed partner levied from one client an exorbitant seven pounds eleven shillings for our trouble. Mrs. Watson can always smell those who will be happier with the services they receive if they are charged more, a valuable skill too seldom taught to young ladies such as my former self.
Ahem. Are you impatiently scanning this rambling letter, my friend? Well, skim no more, for here is where I at last thank you for the lovely, lovely microscope I received for Valentine’s Day.
I have heard of elaborate Valentine’s Day cards that can conceal a watch or some other small valuable items inside, but I must be the first person of my acquaintance to find a Valentine’s Day card amidst the scattered straws of a packing crate.
I digress. But what a shining beauty. What a perfect apparatus. After the unboxing, I sat and admired the microscope for a solid quarter hour before opening the instructional manual you’d so thoughtfully sent along.
After learning the controls, I quickly went through the dry-mount slides that had been supplied alongside the telescope. This past week saw me invade the kitchen on numerous occasions, to Madame Gascoigne’s wry amusement, to borrow bits of vegetable matter that I then sliced with a scalpel to make my own wet-mount slides.
I’ll spare you a full treatise of what I’ve learned about dyeing the specimens and illuminating them for maximum clarity and resolution, as this letter is running long. But allow me to express my gratitude once again. I adore the microscope and I can’t say enough good things about it.
Yours,
Holmes
P.S. But the letter isn’t so long that I can’t append a postscript or two. Apologies for using my own shorthand from this point forward as I answer the questions you posed in your letter. No, since you last inquired, I have not heard from either of the gentlemen in question. Our erstwhile companion in mischief has been silent since his abrupt departure last December. And my kin, after his brief but welcome message in the papers early in January, has also abstained from further communication.
P.P.S. I do worry a little about Livia. Granted, the swift acceptance of her Sherlock Holmes story for publication in Beeton’s Christmas Annual put her in a state of euphoria. But euphoria never lasts long in the Holmes household and she has been stuck there too long without a respite.
P.P.P.S. The surveillance has been more or less the same. I wonder what will come next.
P.P.P.P.S. Were you beginning to believe, my friend, that I would never arrive at addressing your other Valentine’s Day gift?
I am wearing them now, those very pink silk stockings and the no less frou-frou suspenders, beneath my tea gown. For a moment I marveled at how you managed to locate the exact same fabric as the one used in the tea gown, only to realize that the entire ensemble had been conceived and executed at the same time, but given to me in two installments.
I am amazed, Ash.
It warms the cockles of my heart, knowing that to an already scandalous tea gown, you chose to add an even more outrageous pair of stockings. One of these days you must recount for me what passed between you and the dressmaker. I hope she was appalled—and secretly titillated, of course.
And now we come at last to the reason that I am replying to you only now, after the passage of an entire week: I needed time to compose a suitable response to your extraordinary gift. It is in the smaller, waxed-sealed envelope. I hope, with every fiber of my being, that it will achieve its intended effect.
* * *
Dear Charlotte,
I have marvelous news. Mrs. Newell, our beloved Mrs. Newell, has invited me for a visit. A fortnight away from home!
Of course, part of me bemoans the fact that we shall be in the dreariest stretch of the year, the last bitter dregs of winter. I’m tempted to reimagine this visit at the height of summer, with the sun all warm and liquid—or at least warmer and more liquid—and myself in muslin, strolling the parklands for days on end.
But I’m grateful. Oh so grateful to be given this reprieve. I will not describe for you the latest scenes of domestic strife in the Holmes household. Suffice it to say that whatever good cheer our parents derived from the funds you provided—and from being temporarily away from each other—evaporated after they were once again reunited under the same roof. In fact, they loathe each other more after an absence.
But let me waste no more ink on them.
Now that I have expounded sufficiently on this latest development in my life, allow me to at last thank you for the wonderful typewriter. (And how clever of you to have hidden it inside a box of painted pebbles from Bernadine’s “institution.” Neither Mamma nor Papa displayed the least interest and I was able to whisk the box away to my room.)
For weeks after I received my news, I smiled until my cheeks hurt: I am no longer a mere scribbler, but a scribbler for whose words publishers—or at least one publisher—would part with real pounds sterling.
And I can’t thank you enough—you, Mrs. Watson, and especially Miss Redmayne—for finding the chap who would lend me his name for this story. I do chafe a little at the thought of this deception, at the contortions I must perform and the credit I must sacrifice. But then I think of you, you whose very perceptiveness and audacity inspired the story. I think of the rigmarole you go through in order to make a living and tell myself that if you can put up with it, so can I.
But your genius is incontrovertible. Whereas my story has yet to face its true test. What if everyone who opens a copy of the Christmas Annual simply skips over my tale? Or what if everyone does read it but loathes it? I usually manage to keep such thoughts to the side, but sometimes, when Mamma is in an ill humor—
Let me not speak any more about that. Instead let me thank you again for your generous present and your even more generous note. You are right that I would be unlikely to use this typewriter, for as long as I live under our parents’ roof, for fear of attracting their attention. But I held your note close to my heart and imagined, as you asked me to, the day when I would be free. When I can dash up and down staircases, saunter from room to room, and, my goodness, even pound upon the stubborn keys of a new typewriter without incurring anyone’s disdain and wrath.
Here’s to that day. Here’s to us.
Eternally yours,
Livia
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