Charlotte Holmes is accustomed to solving crimes, not being accused of them, but she finds herself in a dreadfully precarious position as the bestselling Lady Sherlock series continues.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Sherry Thomas’s A Ruse of Shadows, which is out June 25th 2024!
Charlotte’s success on the RMS Provence has afforded her a certain measure of time and assurance. Taking advantage of that, she has been busy, plotting to prise the man her sister loves from Moriarty’s iron grip.
Disruption, however, comes from an unexpected quarter. Lord Bancroft Ashburton, disgraced and imprisoned as a result of Charlotte’s prior investigations, nevertheless manages to press Charlotte into service: Underwood, his most loyal henchman, is missing and Lord Bancroft wants Charlotte to find Underwood, dead or alive.
But then Lord Bancroft himself turns up dead and Charlotte, more than anyone else, meets the trifecta criteria of motive, means, and opportunity. Never mind rescuing anyone else, with the law breathing down her neck, can Charlotte save herself from prosecution for murder?
Miss Olivia Holmes was unexpectedly enchanted by Aix-en-Provence.
For all that she had always wished to visit the South of France, she had largely aspired to the Côte d’Azur, sunny and mild even in the deepest winter, its towns and seaside villages fashionable retreats for those who could afford to get away from England in cold, damp January.
Charlotte, however, had not asked Livia to meet with her in Cannes, Antibes, Saint-Tropez—or even the little principality of Monaco—but in Aix-en-Provence.
We have visited Aix a time or two, and it charms Mrs. Watson greatly—perhaps it will have the same captivating effect on you.
Once Aix had been the seat of the Counts of Provence, a nexus of both power and culture. Now it was but a quiet provincial town. Why had Charlotte and Mrs. Watson journeyed more than once from Paris to visit the place, and then proposed it for their reunion?
A few months ago on the RMS Provence, Mrs. Watson had told Livia, We have news of Mr. Marbleton’s whereabouts. And we plan to take advantage of that.
Livia, when she’d recovered from her astonishment, had promptly offered her assistance, such as it was. But Mrs. Watson had smiled and said, You go on with your travels, my dear. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your hard-won freedom. Write more tales of Sherlock Holmes, if you wish. We will ask for your help when the time comes.
The time was nigh, Livia was sure. Mrs. Watson had not disclosed Mr. Marbleton’s location but dared Livia presume that he was being held right here?
Charlotte’s letter, inviting Livia to come to Aix, had reached Livia in Athens, as she and Mrs. Newell returned from Constantinople. Livia’s heart had not stopped hammering since, with both dread and wild hope. Aix-en-Provence had loomed large in her mind, a vaguely sinister locale full of locked doors and closed shutters, its public squares deserted, its very air heavy and oppressive.
When she arrived, however, she’d found the town lovely, full of edifices the colors of sunshine and warm butter. The sidewalk cafés, cool in the dappled green shade of tall elm trees, brimmed with patrons reading books and newspapers, and children looking about curiously as they drank their syrupy soda water. Fountains burbled everywhere, from splashy congregations of mythological creatures to some that were little more than a spigot on a wall spouting into a plain stone basin, yet somehow that little stream of water sparkled in the sun and made music as it fell.
She prayed that Mr. Marbleton, so talented at taking pleasure in small things, managed to enjoy the unspooling of daily life here: the vibrant produce on market days, the scent of thyme, aniseed, and good bread in the air, the soft thuds of coffee cups on marble-top café tables giving way to the clinking of wineglasses and silverware as day drifted into evening.
Was there—was there any chance at all that he had already spied her, walking about? Had he perhaps seen Charlotte and Mrs. Watson, too, on their earlier jaunts? Had he begun his own preparations, sensing that his escape was near—that maybe now, with her appearance, it was imminent?
He loved life; she never loved life so much as when she saw it through his eyes. But by that same token, as long as he remained a prisoner, her own freedom would be incomplete.
“Mademoiselle Holmes?” called out the clerk at the reception desk as she came through the hotel’s front door with enough patisserie for three Charlottes. “Mademoiselle, we have a letter for you.”
Charlotte!
Livia took the letter from the clerk, thanked him, and made sure that she walked normally out of the foyer, and up the curving staircase to her bright, high-ceilinged room on the next floor. There she carefully set down the packages in her hands and sliced open the envelope.
Dear Livia,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you have been pleasantly situated in Aix-en-Provence.
I’m afraid I write with unhappy news.
Don’t worry, no one is in danger—at least not at the moment.
I have not told you this earlier, but in the past several weeks, I have received two notes from Lord Bancroft, each expressing a desire for greater understanding and friendship. It was obvious Lord Bancroft harbored ulterior motives, but it was not obvious what exactly he wanted.
The second of these notes arrived just as Mrs. Watson, Miss Redmayne, and I began our recent journey to England to call on Lord Ingram, who fractured his limb in an accident at Stern Hollow.
Livia sucked in a breath. Lord Ingram was the last person to break a bone while proceeding under his own power.
Instead of starting immediately for Paris after the visit—Lord Ingram appeared in decent form and I could discern no signs of foul play—we headed to London, so that I might call on Lord Bancroft and uncover his purpose in writing to me.
I did just that yesterday, but was not granted an audience. Upon reaching the hotel, however, I learned that henchmen under orders from Lord Bancroft had overrun Mrs. Watson’s house in Paris and taken its residents hostage.
Livia cried out loud. “What?”
Our return journey began within hours. We reached Paris this morning and found the house indeed occupied by four armed individuals, three men and one woman.
They have an air of mercenaries about them—the sort to do evil mechanically, rather than with personal relish. But they let Mrs. Watson, Miss Redmayne, and myself into the house without raising a fuss: My lord Bancroft, it would seem, understands that I will do nothing for him unless first assured of the well-being of everyone in the household.
The mercenaries have not mistreated anyone, but hand down strict orders that they expect to be meekly and swiftly obeyed. Mr. Mears, the only man in the household, has been locked in his own room. Madame Gascoigne has to cook for everyone, Polly and Rosie Banning waiting on the mercenaries hand and foot.
Thankfully they let Mademoiselle Robineau remain with Bernadine in her room at all times.
When I saw her, Bernadine was not too badly off. Fortunately, at this point, Mademoiselle Robineau has been a part of the household for months. And she has an innate calm and a cheerful presence. So even though Bernadine must feel, to some extent, the fear and tension of the situation, within her own room, with the invaders out of sight, she seemed to be carrying on more or less normally except for a reduced appetite.
We were not allowed to remain long. After a quick visit with everyone and a few words spoken across Mr. Mears’s door, we were booted out. Miss Redmayne kindly put us up in her place, where I may compose letters and telegrams. She and Mrs. Watson are out now, purchasing enough ready-to-eat foods to supply a platoon. We will deliver all that, plus a large hamper of foodstuff from Lord Ingram, to the house this evening. It should make life easier for the staff. And, we hope, allow us another chance to see Bernadine.
By the time you receive this letter, on the morrow, I should be getting ready for the railway trip to Boulogne, there to cross the Channel back to England again.
To confront Lord Bancroft.
At this point the letter switched to a jumble of letters, which Livia recognized as the Cdaq Khuha code that she and Charlotte had devised to use with each other when they were children.
Deciphered, it read,
No doubt you feel anxious and likely wish that you could either journey to Paris to keep an eye on the situation or join me in England. But I must ask you to remain in Aix. Since I cannot be there, you must be my eyes and ears. I am counting on you.
Love,
Charlotte
Excerpted from A Ruse of Shadows by Sherry Thomas Copyright © 2024 by Sherry Thomas. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
