Deadly Curse (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #11)

Chapter 2

Two

I have discovered that people usually display two types of reactions to such situations.

The first one is shock and then horror at the sight of a body, not to mention a great deal of blood. And then there was my reaction, most usually that of curiosity.

Brodie was convinced there was something most unusual about me in that regard. Something that made me curious rather than terrified, with a penchant for asking questions and making notes that often ended up in one of my novels.

And speaking of Brodie ...

As the alarm had been raised about the discovery of the body of Sir Nelson, the room had been sealed off and the authorities contacted. Everyone was asked to remain, not that we could have escaped with the doors closed.

Several uniformed constables arrived, along with someone I knew quite well, Mr. Dooley, recently promoted to inspector with the Metropolitan Police.

Everyone in the hall had been ushered to the opposite end of the room. Names were taken to be checked against the guest list. And then Brodie arrived, no doubt made aware of our situation by Mr. Munro, who, it seemed, had returned earlier than expected.

Brodie had once worked with Mr. Dooley when both were with the MET. After Brodie’s departure, Mr. Dooley had assisted, discreetly, in our various inquiry cases.

Due to that prior service and Mr. Dooley’s respect for Brodie, he was allowed to enter the room and immediately made his way to where I sat with pen and notebook in hand. That dark gaze narrowed as he found me.

“I received word,” he said, reaching out. “Are ye all right?” He then answered his own question. “Well enough, I can see.”

That frown slowly disappeared. “And her ladyship?” he then asked, that gaze scanning the other guests in that way of the police inspector he had once been. There were some things that never changed.

“She is presently organizing refreshments for everyone, since we are being detained,” I replied. My great aunt was an accomplished hostess of the first order.

Her most recent endeavor had been the Christmas holiday reception at her home at Sussex Square for over two hundred guests. Presently at the museum, she had commandeered Mr. Howard, three other museum staff, and an equal number of police constables to bring coffee and sandwiches from the saloon across the hall for those presently restricted to the scene of the crime.

“Here you are, Mr. Brodie,” she greeted him as she swept toward us, tap-tapping her way much like a field general commanding an army.

“It does seem as if you and Mikaela might have a new inquiry case,” she commented. “Poor man murdered right in the middle of his exhibition, and with one of the artifacts from the collection.”

Her eyes sparkled. Not what one might have expected from an eighty-six-year-old woman who had been the first person to discover the body, and a rather bloody one at that.

Mr. Dooley greeted us, then acknowledged my great aunt as he approached. “A most serious situation,” he looked over at me. “You do seem to have a way of finding yerself in the middle of a crime, Miss Forsythe.”

“Merely a guest at the opening of the new exhibit, I assure you Mr. Dooley,” I replied. “However, I do have notes I’ve made about my great aunt’s discovery of the body, as well as my observations after the body was found before your constables arrived, and a list of the guests.”

He nodded. “I thought you might. If you would be good enough to share those it could be helpful.”

I assured him that I would get him a report of my observations after I typed them out on the new portable typing machine that I had recently acquired and had installed at the office on the Strand.

It was much smaller than the enormous machine I usually used at the townhouse when creating my next novel, and was quite useful when writing reports on our inquiry cases.

It had been made available to me by a gentleman by the name of Laidlaw when we had met through my publisher Mr. Warren. Mr. Laidlaw’s father had invented a portable typing machine. His son had attended university with James Warren and paid a visit when in London.

James, now married to my sister, had made our acquaintance at my last book signing.

That initial meeting included a conversation about my behemoth of a typing machine at the townhouse in Mayfair, and Mr. Laidlaw thought his portable machine might be of benefit.

When he returned to Glasgow, he arranged to ship one to me—an ingenious marketing ploy. It was quite marvelous, and I had it delivered to the office on the Strand.

I thought Brodie might have apoplexy when he discovered the cost of the machine. He was, after all, a Scot, and they are known for their thriftiness. The subject of finances was something that reared its head every once in a while.

Also characteristic of being a Scot, Brodie felt it was his responsibility to support me. I had been supporting myself with my writing for several years, and then there was a substantial inheritance for both my sister and me after our mother’s death. I was quite independent in that regard.

“I will not have people thinkin’ that I am living off yer title or yer inheritance. I can well take care of the both of us.”

“Of course ,” I had replied at the time.

Therefore, we were still discussing that aspect of our marriage from time to time.

“Lady Forsythe, I believe?”

I turned and took in the appearance of a somewhat portly man, of an age somewhat older than Mr. Dooley, well dressed, and with an officious air about him.

“Yes,” I replied.

I had not seen him among the guests earlier and concluded that he might either be with the museum or had arrived with Mr. Dooley.

“I am Inspector Todd with the Metropolitan Police.”

That somewhat pretentious introduction answered the question.

“I understand that you were the last person to speak with Sir Nelson Lawrence.”

“You are mistaken,” I informed him. “I had gone to his office upon my arrival this morning, however he was not there. I then returned to the area outside the Egyptian room.”

“That was before the exhibit opened,” he concluded.

How very observant of him.

“Yes,” I replied.

Brodie and Mr. Dooley had now returned.

“Is there some difficulty, Mr. Todd?” Mr. Dooley inquired.

“I was questioning Lady Forsythe on her whereabouts prior to the opening of the exhibit when the body was found,” he replied. “She was seen leaving his office beforehand.”

Mr. Dooley introduced Inspector Todd. I did discern a certain look that passed between Brodie and the man. Some difficulty perhaps on the part of both men.

“Sir Nelson was an acquaintance from my earlier travels,” I explained. “I went to his office to congratulate him on his return to London and the exhibit.”

“How well were you acquainted?” Inspector Todd inquired.

That seemed irrelevant, as there were several present who had also been personally acquainted with him, including my great aunt.

“I believe Lady Forsythe has already answered that question,” Brodie informed him.

“Yes, however ...” He was obviously about to ask another question, but was cut off.

“Ye have her statement,” Brodie sharply informed him. “I would suggest that ye get on with speaking to others here as well.”

“If you recall, Mr. Brodie, it is our responsibility to question all parties concerned, no matter their station or title,” he replied.

“And ye have done that ...”

Whatever the history was between the two men, I thought it best to diffuse the situation before there was further confrontation.

“I will be happy to provide a written statement in the matter,” I informed Inspector Todd. “As well as one from my great aunt, Lady Montgomery.”

“That will be sufficient,” Mr. Dooley replied, then, “Best get on with yer duties, Mr. Todd.”

As he departed, I thought of the saying ‘If looks could kill.’

“The man has not changed,” Brodie commented after he had gone.

“Only worse now,” Mr. Dooley replied. “He was certain to take the interim position upon Abberline’s suspension. It has not set well with him that the position was given to Chief Inspector Graham.”

“That must make things difficult,” I commented. It explained a great deal.

“That would be putting it lightly,” Mr. Dooley replied. “Most of the other inspectors and constables make an effort to stay out of his way. Unfortunately, due to the number of guests here today and the fact that most of the other inspectors are off on other matters, he was sent along to assist. I apologize,” he told us both.

“The man has not changed,” Brodie remarked.

“Only more so,” Dooley replied.

I excused myself then. I needed to find my great aunt. In spite of the fact that I had assured both Mr. Todd and Mr. Dooley that I would provide a statement from both my great aunt and myself, I was concerned should Inspector Todd insist on questioning her repeatedly, as he had me. I thought of her walking cane.

She was, after all, a descendant of William the Conqueror, who historically had ravaged England, and established himself as king, undoubtedly with a few hundred bodies strewn along the way. I had visions of a second badly bloodied corpse if Mr. Todd should persist.

The exhibit was subsequently closed until a full investigation could be completed.

Inspector Todd survived the day; however, he was most persistent that I provide a written statement for the investigation as soon as possible.

I learned from Mr. Dooley that Inspector Todd had attempted to speak with Mr. Hosni, Sir Nelson’s assistant; however, there seemed to be some sort of a language barrier that prevented it. That seemed strange, since I had observed that Mr. Hosni spoke perfect English, but I could not fault the man for his reluctance to do so, given my encounter with Inspector Todd.

Afterward, once Mr. Dooley and his constables had collected evidence along with a list of names of those in attendance, the other guests were allowed to leave. Mr. Munro arrived to escorted my great aunt back to Sussex Square, while Brodie and I remained.

With substantial experience in such things and at the request of Mr. Dooley, he made his own observations of the murder scene. He used his pen to lift the edge of Sir Nelson’s shirt away from the location of the wound.

He then checked for what he referred to as other superficial wounds on Sir Nelson’s hands and fingers, as if there might have been a struggle. He stood, a thoughtful expression at his face.

“Wait here.”

I watched as he discussed something with Mr. Dooley. There was a nod of acknowledgement, then Brodie returned. He slipped his hand around my arm as Mr. Todd approached once more.

“You will deliver your statement to the Yard, Lady Forsythe,” he reminded me.

It was not a request.

“Of course.”

There was no usual parting comment as Brodie escorted me to the entrance to the exhibit room, where we were joined by Aunt Antonia.

“That man is quite full of himself,” she commented, with a glare across the room at Inspector Todd.

“My deepest sympathy, Mr. Brodie, that you once worked with him. He does seem to have a very high opinion of himself. Such a vile creature.”

I couldn’t have said it better.

We then left the exhibit hall, where we found Munro waiting to escort my great aunt to her coach. She laid a hand on my arm.

“You must see this dreadful business resolved, my dear.”

I assured her that we would, although with no assurance that we would be allowed to participate in the investigation with Mr. Todd on the case.

When she and Munro had departed, I caught sight of a figure standing a short distance apart, presently being questioned by one of the police constables. It was Mr. Hosni.

As I approached, the constable put away his notepad, apparently his questions concluded, then nodded in my direction as he departed to return to the exhibit hall.

“I tried to explain, Lady Forsythe,” Hosni said, his expression quite distraught. “It is the curse. I warned Sir Nelson before we left Cairo. I could tell the constable thought it had nothing to do with this.”

“What curse?” From my travels to Egypt, I was not unfamiliar with the reality that many believed in ancient curses. There had even been some discussion about it in my first trip there, where I encountered Sir Nelson Lawrence.

“I wanted to give him this amulet for protection,” Mr. Hosni continued. He handed me the embossed gold medallion on a chain. I immediately recognized the figure embossed there.

It was the Eye of Horus, a familiar figure used for protection as I had learned in my travels to Egypt.

“He refused to carry it with him. He said that it was only superstition, that if there was any danger to him, it would have happened long ago when he first began his explorations.”

That dark gaze bored into me. “He was a good man. He wanted only for others to understand my culture. It was not about taking these things from us. You will find who has done this?”

“I don’t know if we will be allowed. The police seem to be in charge of this ...”

Before I could finish, his hand closed around mine.

“You will keep the amulet now. It will protect you.”

Mr. Hosni bowed his head, then turned back to the office he had once shared with Sir Nelson. I couldn’t help but wonder what would become of him now.

I would speak with the director of the museum. Perhaps a position as curator of the Egyptian exhibits. He was, after all, highly educated, as well as having been born and raised in Egypt.

Or perhaps he would choose to return to Cairo and work with the Ministry of Antiquities there.

“A curious man, Sir Nelson’s assistant,” Brodie commented. “What have ye there?”

He had managed to find a driver in spite of the throng of others who departed.

We climbed aboard and the driver slowly moved through the congestion of carriages and coaches, those who had been present when the exhibit opened gossiping among themselves. No doubt over the event of the morning.

“It’s an amulet for protection, the Eye of Horus,” I explained. “Mr. Hosni had tried to give it to Sir Nelson, but he insisted he didn’t need it.”

“And now he’s given it to ye?”

“Supposedly there is some sort of curse attached to the statue of Ramses II. He said the amulet would protect me.”

“A curse. I suppose that would be much like a geas ,” he commented in Gaelic.

I was familiar with some Gaelic words from spending time at Old Lodge, my great aunt’s residence in Scotland, where I had spent weeks at a time exploring the forest and glens surrounding the old hunting lodge. And then there were the words I had learned from Brodie.

“There was an old woman in Edinburgh who sold apples when we were lads livin’ on the streets,” he explained. “When we had nothin’ to eat, we might pinch an apple or two from her. She would curse us for it. It has to do with spirits and such, like the kelpies and ancient monsters in the lochs.”

An old woman who heaped curses on young boys. Still, there was no anger or regret in Brodie’s voice. Just a story of a boy on his own, as I knew he had been.

“Ye believe in such things?” he asked.

“I don’t disbelieve ,” I replied. “I’ve seen many things in my travels that have no other explanation.

“Mr. Hosni asked that we find the person who killed Sir Nelson. Although it would seem that Mr. Todd is certainly determined to handle the matter himself,” I added.

“Ye want us to make our own inquiries.”

“Sir Nelson was a friend,” I replied. “He took it upon himself to assist a na?ve and somewhat reckless person, and others, in understanding the Egyptian culture and history. He was a very kind man and devoted to the people there.

“Aye, na?ve and reckless,” he commented with a slightly bemused expression.

I chose to ignore it.

“I feel a responsibility to help. It could be simply a matter of a robbery gone terribly wrong, or it might be something else. There were a great many valuable artifacts in the exhibit. The director of the museum will be able to determine if anything is missing.”

“Aye,” Brodie replied. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Dooley in the matter. He will welcome anything we might be able to add to the investigation. He will have a word with Mr. Graham, the acting Chief Inspector, so there is no difficulty with Mr. Todd.”

That was, of course, more easily said than done.