Chapter 4
Four
We stayed at the Strand that night. I hardly slept, then finally gave up and discovered that Brodie was already up and about in the adjacent office.
It was barely light beneath the edge of the new window shades my great aunt had installed after declaring that we could hardly stay over with people able to peer in the windows at night.
I didn’t bother to remind her that the office and the adjacent room were on the second floor and unless a person was an acrobat capable of scaling buildings or proficient with stilts, we were hardly at risk of being ‘seen,’ as she put it.
Brodie had the coffee steaming on the coal stove, and presently sat at the desk going over the notes that I had made the day before. He looked up as I came out into the outer office.
His hair was slightly mussed from that habit of pushing his hand back through the thick waves when he was distracted or deep in thought, and the dark beard shadowed his face.
I had discovered that I did like mornings when the day had not yet begun and it was just the two of us, though I had always been most efficient on my own. My sister was certain there was something wrong with me.
“ Don’t you ever get lonely at the townhouse with only Mrs. Ryan and then off on your adventures where you don’t know another soul? I shouldn’t want to spend my life all alone.”
I had never considered myself lonely . I wasn’t bothered by the usual trappings of society. I occasionally participated in one of my great aunt’s celebrations, but other than that, I was quite content to not have my life dictated to by the needs of another.
Deep down I did know where it came from. Our childhood had not been easy after the loss of both our parents.
Our mother had died and our father shortly thereafter by his own hand, leaving us to somehow survive the wreckage he had made of our lives. As a result, I learned very early not to trust anyone but myself. And at the age of nine years, I was determined to take care of my sister and myself.
Slightly misguided, since we had no home, very little money except for an inheritance from our mother, which our father had decimated quite thoroughly with his gambling debts.
The truth was that I didn’t trust anyone, after watching the debt collectors invade our home with their lists, as they calculated how much might be made from the sale of everything to pay the remaining debts, which were substantial.
If not for our great aunt, my sister and I would have been cast out onto the street. Much like Brodie.
In spite of the obvious differences in our stations, we had that in common. And other things as well.
But most of all, I could trust him. Not that it had come easily. It had unfortunately taken that first inquiry case together, my sister’s life in danger, and my great aunt’s insistence that he was the only person who could help us—a man I could trust.
He sat at the desk now, going over my notes. Slightly distracted, he glanced up at the chalkboard, where it had become a habit to write out the clues we discovered in a case, along with names of suspects.
I had erased the board after our previous inquiry case; however, he had obviously made notes there after our encounter at the museum and the murder of Sir Nelson the day before.
Who said that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks?
Not that he was old, or a dog. Most certainly not, as I took in that distracted countenance, and most particularly that slightly disheveled dark hair and the faint line between the slash of dark brows—the thin line of a scar through the one on the left from a previous confrontation in one of our cases.
It did give him a stirring appearance, most particularly with the collar of his shirt undone.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat in the chair across from the desk and studied the board.
He had made a notation regarding Mr. Hosni, simply written as Sir Nelson’s assistant .
As for our observations of the situation, he had listed several—where the body was found, the position of the body, the weapon used, that there were no apparent signs of a struggle, and that curious scent.
“I should like to speak to the director of the museum to learn if anything was missing from the exhibit,” I commented. “Although it is possible the police have already done so, Mr. Todd being quite efficient .”
That was one word to describe the man. I thought of another—arrogant.
“He was most condescending, full of himself, annoying, not to mention patronizing. I can only think that he is undoubtedly not married. What woman would put up with such a man?”
Actually, that was several words when one would do—contemptuous.
“Certainly not one such as yerself.” That dark gaze met mine.
“Wot do ye really think of the man?” he asked.
“I will undoubtedly be able to come up with more. He is most deplorable.” I continued to stare at the board.
“I would also like to find out more about Sir Nelson’s nephew. Mr. Dooley mentioned that the body would be released to him. He might be able to provide some insight, if Sir Nelson had any recent confrontations with anyone, although I cannot imagine it.
“Aunt Antonia seemed to be somewhat acquainted with the family. She might be able to provide something there,” I added.
“Aye, and it might be useful to speak with Mr. Brown, regarding any rumors of stolen or smuggled artifacts.”
I was uneasy about that. The man was a dangerous sort. He had provided important information in the past—a favor he called it, and expected a favor from Brodie in return.
It was one of those arrangements with people who acquired information on the streets, and it could be dangerous. I caught the look Brodie gave me.
“What are ye thinkin?”
“The man is dangerous.”
“Aye, that he is. We have a mutual respect in that regard.”
“And you owe him a favor,” I pointed out.
“Are ye worried about me?”
That dark gaze softened with amusement. He could be such a devil at times.
“You have not specified what arrangements you might want in the event you suffered some dreadful encounter with the man.”
“Arrangements?”
The amusement was still there.
“I’ve not given it much thought,” he replied. “I dinna fancy a Viking longboat like yerself or her ladyship, nor any weeping nor wailing.”
“I am not the weeping or wailing sort.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“With a man like Mr. Brown, you might want to consider it,” I replied. “I do not appreciate the thought of being awakened by Mr. Dooley or Mr. Cavendish to inform me that you’ve been found in some alleyway, or not found at all. And there is that favor. Mr. Brown might decide to collect.”
“He is not a fool,” Brodie commented. “Not when someone is of value to him for information as well. And ye needn’t worry on that account. I have more than repaid the favor. He is now the one who owes me.”
“When did this occur?” I remarked with more than a little surprise.
There had been no mention of it. Still, in spite of the fact that we worked together and there was now our personal relationship, there were frequent occasions when he was out and about the city on some matter or another, and I had no idea where he might have gone.
“Ye dinna want to know, lass. The when and the how doesna matter. It is done and the man is now indebted to me. I know where he can be found and I will put out the word to meet.”
That did not reassure me about his association with Mr. Brown.
“And ye are correct about the possibility of stolen artifacts. I will make inquiries in that regard. What about the assistant, Mr. Hosni? He might be motivated to steal a valuable piece or two.”
That was a possibility not to be overlooked.
“It would have been easy enough for him,” Brodie pointed out. “He had access to both the exhibit and Sir Nelson.”
No stone unturned. It did seem as if we had several stones, as it were.
“I will see him when I return to the museum, although I find it difficult to believe that he would have anything to do with Sir Nelson’s murder. He has been with him for several years, and undoubtedly had many opportunities, if he was so inclined.”
“Perhaps. But there is the possibility that Sir Nelson only recently discovered that some pieces were missing and confronted the man,” Brodie added. “And be mindful of that curse.”
“Do you believe in them after all?” I was somewhat surprised at that.
“There are those that believe such things and carry out some practices against evil spirits. I wouldna want ye to cross paths with such. I’ve come to like ye the way ye are, and dinna fancy ye turned into some vile creature.”
There was suddenly a sound at the landing, the bell ringing to announce that someone had arrived.
He went out onto the landing, then returned.
“Mr. Dooley,” he announced as he pulled me up out of the chair.
“Although I verra much admire ye in yer shift, I dinna want him to see ye in such a way.” He drew me against him, brushed my hair back from my cheek, and kissed me. “I dinna share what is mine.”
I should have been put off by what some might have considered to be such an old-fashioned notion. After all, I considered myself to be a modern woman.
I wasn’t put off and kissed him back. I knew where it came from, and, oddly, it meant far more to me than anything, that he had let me into his life, into that painful history ... into his heart. Even if he was not one to admit such things.
“Go now. Put on yer clothes, before I send Mr. Dooley on his way and bolt the door.”
And there was that also. Tempting as it was, I returned to the bedroom, dressed, and joined Brodie and Mr. Dooley in the outer office.
“There’s word about the investigation into the matter of Sir Nelson’s murder,” Brodie informed me as I poured us both another cup of coffee and handed one to him.
“I thought it best to come here since you have a particular interest in the case,” Mr. Dooley explained. “Rather than discuss the matter by way of the telephone.” He gave Brodie a meaningful look.
“The walls have ears.”
Ears that might get word to Inspector Todd? Not the first time I had heard that in regard to the Metropolitan Police, a veritable nest of rumor and gossip for an institution that should not have condoned either.
“The family was contacted about the death, more specifically Sir Nelson’s nephew,” he continued. “It seems there is a bit of an estrangement there.”
“What sort of estrangement?” I inquired.
“We were not provided an explanation, only informed that there is no interest in providing for the body,” he replied.
That was a most surprising development. I could not imagine experiencing a death in the family and not wanting to provide burial or some other means of sending him off.
Well, actually I could, speaking from my own family experience.
However, Sir Nelson was highly respected and most certainly his family was very proud of his accomplishments.
Or, apparently not.
There had been no further explanation, yet it raised several questions, the main one being, what sort of estrangement?
Brodie thanked him for bringing us the information.
“It might well be that anything you are able to learn could be important to the investigation,” Mr. Dooley added.
“What about Inspector Todd?” I inquired. “Surely he will be pursuing his own inquiries.”
“You did not hear it from me, but he is pursuing robbery as the motive.”
“And ye are not so certain that is the reason for the crime,” Brodie concluded.
“There were a great many valuable artifacts that were part of the exhibit that could have easily been taken as well but were not, including the murder weapon.”
Speaking of that ...
“Might it be possible to more closely inspect the dagger?” I asked.
“Ye have a particular reason?” Brodie commented.
“In my travels I have learned that there are often specific meanings with such things—carvings, etchings, symbols, that sort of thing. It might be able to tell us something.”
Mr. Dooley nodded. “I’ll arrange for ye to inspect it, in confidence mind you. It would have to be when Mr. Todd is out and about on another matter. The dagger is currently in the evidence room at Bow Street.”
“That could be useful,” Brodie agreed.
“I’ll see what can be arranged,” Mr. Dooley replied. “Perhaps a special request for Mr. Todd in another matter that would take him into another part of the city for several hours.” He rose from the chair across the desk.
“And I thought Mr. Abberline was a horse’s arse. He was obvious when he meddled with things, but this one,” he shook his head. “He’s sneaky, going about behind one’s back, always looking to trip one up and make himself look important.”
Sneaky , an interesting word.
“You might want to be careful, Miss Forsythe,” Mr. Dooley added. “He has a particular dislike for those better than him, which is most others.”
As he turned to leave, I did inquire if he had received my written statement about my observations at the museum the previous day.
“When might you have delivered it?”
I explained that I had given it to one of the constables at the Bow Street Station. However, with his question, it did seem that it might have been ‘delayed’ somehow.
“I’ll inquire about it. It might have been lost along the way and necessary for you to write it up once again and have it delivered directly to me.”
It did seem as if it might have landed on some other desk.
“What is it about the MET that inspires such inefficiency?” I asked Brodie, when Dooley had gone after providing the address where Sir Nelson’s nephew lived with his wife.
“The pay is not wot it should be for the responsibilities a man is asked to take on, even for inspectors,” he replied. Certainly, the voice of experience.
“And there are the temptations on the streets—protection money paid by merchants that might mean an officer’s release or even imprisonment if it was known, and other opportunities that come their way.”
“Prostitution?” I was not na?ve to such things.
“Aye, and some kind of payment received to look the other way in certain situations.”
I didn’t ask the obvious question. In consideration of his past, it was obvious that he was familiar with such things.
“It could be useful for me to speak with Aunt Antonia about the estrangement in Sir Nelson’s family that Mr. Dooley spoke of,” I replied. “She might know something about it, or in the least have heard something. Gossip being what it is.”
A veritable information network, I thought, and often quite reliable. And my great aunt was usually well informed about such things.
I placed a telephone call to Sussex Square to inquire if she was about. One never knew, with a variety of social engagements or perhaps out and about in her motor carriage. If she had nothing else on her engagement calendar, she had been known to take herself off, ‘practicing her driving skills about the city,’ as she explained it.
No one in London was safe; however, I would never have said that to her. I had simply put both Lily and Mr. Munro on notice that she was to be accompanied at all times.
I had visions of her ending up in some dangerous part of the city. Not that I was necessarily afraid for her, but concerned for whomever she encountered armed with her walking stick and I suspected some additional weapon that she had retrieved from the Sword Room at Sussex Square.
I supposed there was something to be said for someone her age who had seen and lived a great deal and was quite fearless when it came to such things. Let those unfortunate ones who encountered her in such circumstances be forewarned.
It was a warm spring day, for London, the gardens that lined the carriage way from the front gate at Sussex Square already in bloom.
Aunt Antonia was not out and about in London, but out and about in the gardens and the green beyond the manor, I was informed.
Mr. Symons, her head butler, greeted me at the front entrance when I arrived.
“So very glad you are here now, Miss Mikaela,” he said with definite uneasiness before I could even announce my arrival with the bell pull.
“Has something happened?” I inquired at his tone.
“Over forty years, miss.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The number of years I have been in service to her Ladyship. In that time, I have seen a great many things and never once complained. Perhaps a suggestion or two.”
Something had most definitely happened.
“What is it? Has something happened to my aunt, or Lily?” I replied with growing concern.
Lily, the young girl who was now my ward, seemed to have recovered quite well from her involvement in our last inquiry case. Yet I worried about her. Certainly not over any physical injury except a few scrapes and bruises. It was her manner, definitely changed by the circumstances of the case. She had been most serious ever since.
“Miss Lily is quite well. She is in the upstairs library at her studies, with her tutor to arrive shortly.”
Any further explanation was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash and the distinct sound of shattering glass.
“Good heavens!”
“Most certainly, miss.”
My first thought was that my great aunt might have driven the motor carriage into the rear of the manor, although she had seemed to be quite accomplished the last I saw, aside from terrorizing people and horses on the Strand when she paid a surprise visit.
Surprise indeed.
At yet another explosion, servants scattered from various rooms in the back of the manor as if under fire on a battlefield.
“On the green near the motor track, the last anyone dared to observe,” Mr. Symons informed me.
“More driving lessons?” I inquired.
“Not precisely, miss.”
I handed him my umbrella and bag, and turned down the long hallway that led past the great hall, the formal parlor, and the garden room.
“Do be careful, miss,” he cautioned.
Sussex Square was one of the few remaining original fortress residences still standing over the past several hundred years, built by my great ancestor, William the Conqueror, for his wife.
According to my great aunt, when the lady refused to join him from Normandy, he had instead installed his mistress of the moment.
When in Britain, ravaging, pillaging, and so on ... It was a rather colorful family history.
Over the centuries the original fortress had been expanded, added to, and remodeled, in a combination of Medieval, Tudor, and Georgian architecture that still included the original medieval wall built around the estate for protection.
The only thing missing was a tower that had apparently been taken down by another ancestor a couple of centuries earlier. I would have liked to explore the old tower with crenellations for pouring boiling oil on those below, and arrow slits for archers to fire on invaders beyond the wall.
There was another loud crash as I passed the great hall, the kitchens, servants’ quarters, and stepped out onto the veranda, a later addition, that led to the gardens, the automobile track, and ...
An object that greatly resembled a golf ball took out another window overhead on the second floor. It was followed by my great aunt’s ballyhoo in greeting.
“If you find it, please do pick it up,” she called out as she approached. “I only have a dozen of them and I do not want to lose any.”
Golf ball? I could only wonder when this had happened.
“The weather is quite marvelous,” she continued, “at least one or two hours each day. I thought I would give it a go. I considered argyle socks, however, they might be too warm. What do you think?” She pirouetted in her latest costume.
The citizens of London had been spared the argyle socks. Not so the rest of her ensemble; that consisted of three-piece tweed golfing attire that included knickers, shirt and tie, stockings with short boots, leather gloves, and what could only be described as a jaunty cap set atop her hair that had been tucked under the brim.
Never let it be said that my great aunt didn’t dress the part. And there was the golf club she carried.
“Most appropriate,” I commented. “And it is a most formidable weapon.”
I didn’t bother to point out that her costume was what men usually wore when playing golf.
“I did notice some broken glass,” I mentioned.
“My swing was a bit off,” she conceded. “However, practice makes perfect and Munro did say that I was becoming quite proficient. Did you know that golf was banned for a time in Scotland for one reason or another?” She paused as we returned to the veranda.
“What brings you here, my dear? Is Brodie with you?”
“He’s making inquiries regarding the situation at the museum yesterday.”
“Oh, yes. Dreadful business that. Any idea who might have done such a dreadful thing?”
“We will be making some inquiries. That is the reason I’m here. You seem to be acquainted with Sir Nelson’s family, and I thought you might be able to provide some insight that could be useful. Particularly as regards the nephew and Sir Nelson’s sister.”
Her face lit up. “Of course, in whatever way I might be of assistance,” she replied, as we sat at the table on the veranda.
“Henry Sutcliffe was the father’s name,” my great aunt said over a glass of lemonade. “A bit of a ne’er-do-well. The sister ran off with him against their father’s wishes.
“As I recall there was a bit of a dust-up over that, all sorts of rumors, and when they returned only a handful of months later, there was a child. Such folly to get caught like that.” She took another sip of lemonade.
“That apparently did not go over well at all; however, their father was in failing health at that time, and young Nelson had taken himself off on his first expedition to Egypt.”
Young Nelson. That did seem somewhat odd as he was considerably older than Brodie.
“He returned when the father died,” my great aunt continued. “However, he was well into his travels and exploring about and had no interest in seeing to the family estate or any business interests.
“It was said that some financial arrangement was made for the sister, her husband, and young Sutcliffe as well, and then Sir Nelson took himself off to Egypt once again. That would have been around the time you made his acquaintance.”
“Was there any difficulty with the financial arrangement that was made with his sister?”
“I don’t recall … however, there is someone who might know. It seems that a lawyer of Sir Robert Laughton’s acquaintance was to handle the arrangement, even though Sir Nelson had taken himself off by then. He might be able to assist with information in that regard.”
I made a mental note to inquire with Sir Robert. He had been able to assist in other matters in the past regarding our inquiry cases.
“Are you and Brodie settling in at the Strand?”
“Yes, quite well when we stay over,” I replied. “The bathroom is quite sufficient, and with a shower compartment.”
“There are other furnishings here that might accommodate as well,” she added. “We are a bit over-crowded with things acquired over the years. You might have a look.”
It did seem unnecessary since we were not certain we would be remaining at the Strand. Brodie had yet to receive word from the new owner.
I assured my great aunt that we were quite comfortable.
“A cold box perhaps,” she suggested. “One of those new electric ones. Cook says they are quite marvelous. We have four of them.”
She was already up and back at it, making her way across the veranda, club in hand. I quickly made my way back inside, even as one of the groundskeepers swept up glass on the slate walkway.
The information my great aunt had provided was helpful. It might be useful to pay a visit to Sir Nelson’s nephew.
Before leaving, I went to the upstairs library, where Lily was studying in preparation for a visit with her tutor later that morning.
Although recovered physically from the events in our previous inquiry case, Brodie and I had both noticed that change in her. Admittedly, the circumstances that had found her abducted and held prisoner by the murderer in that particular case would have been traumatic for anyone.
Yet, she was not some coddled innocent. She had experienced certain things surviving on her own in Edinburgh. I had seen that inner strength and resilience firsthand. For one so young, she reminded me much of myself.
Still, there was that change, something along with the resilience and strength. Something that was more introspective and quite serious, along with the occasional impudence and sass.
It did seem that the girl I had first encountered in another case and had taken as my ward, had become a young woman as a result of that recent experience.
She looked up as I entered the library. There was that familiar smile in greeting, but there was a different expression in her eyes.
We exchanged greetings, and I made the usual inquiries about her progress. At the same time, I knew from updates from her tutor that she had a very keen mind and a quick grasp of everything she was learning.
“History?” I commented with a glance down at the enormous volume very much like the one I had once studied spread before her on the table.
“It is fascinating,” she acknowledged, with a frown. “Did ye know that the Romans invaded England and stayed for over three hundred years until we threw them out?”
I acknowledged that I was aware of that, and we were off on a conversation about my travels, including my several-months-long first trip to Egypt that included time in Rome on the return.
She had heard, of course, about the new exhibit at the museum. I had planned to take her there once all the excitement of the new opening had worn off and the crowds were fewer. All of that was changed by the events of the day before.
“Will ye be taking the case to find the murderer?” she asked.
“We are making inquiries through people we know. An acquaintance of Brodie’s asked that we find out what we could.”
There was that thoughtful expression again. “What about the knife?”
It seemed that she had learned a great deal from my great aunt.
“It is presently with the Metropolitan Police as evidence of the crime.”
“Is it always the same with a case? I mean, how you go about it, like ye did with the case about Miss Charlotte?”
She was in a very thoughtful mood this morning.
“There are usually clues at the beginning. As we follow those clues, we frequently learn other information that can be helpful.”
“Wot clues do ye have now?”
I went over the few things we did know, along with people who might be able to tell us more.
There was that somber expression again.
“Do ye have to be a certain age to be a private inquiry person?”
“It’s not a matter of age, but of experience,” I explained. “Brodie was with the MET for several years and he has a knowledge of the streets here in London. I don’t have that same experience; still, I am acquainted with certain people who might be able to provide information on a matter. And I’ve learned a great deal along the way as well.”
She was quite serious. “I’ve been thinkin’.”