Chapter 10
Ten
“Lady Forsythe! Can you hear me!”
A voice somewhere nearby, as I slowly came out of the dark. My first thought was that it wasn’t Brodie, but someone else.
“Do be careful, Lady Forsythe. You’ve taken a dreadful fall.”
A fall?
I had been in the Egyptian room ...
There was an odd sound ...
The lid pushed back from the casket ...
A scream and the sound of ...
Rupert?
I abruptly sat up and immediately regretted it. It felt as if my head was twice its size and everything blurred before slowly settling back into place.
I was still in the Egyptian room. On the floor of the exhibit hall, to be more precise, with Sir Edward and two police constables bending over me.
“Did you see him?” I asked.
Anything more was going to take a few more minutes as I probed the back of my head where I discovered a large bump.
“I beg your pardon?” Sir Edward asked. “There was no one else about when Constable McLean came on his shift.” He slipped an arm under my own as I pushed to my feet and stood.
“There was no one else.” Constable McLean repeated. “There was just the bloody beast I found in here that wouldn’t let anyone near until we were able to get a rope on him.”
A rope? Anger was always a good tonic.
“He’s with me ... Where is the hound?” I demanded, then lowered my voice.
The sound was quite painful.
“Where is he?” I demanded again.
“The constables turned him out onto the street.”
“Bloody hell,” I exclaimed. I could only imagine the chaos of that. And now Rupert was in an unfamiliar part of the city.
Bloody hell and a few other words that came to mind.
“Please do be careful, Lady Forsythe,” Sir Thompson again cautioned.
I was attacked and no one was seen?
“What about the casket?”
He looked at me as if I might have taken leave of my senses. At the moment, I might have agreed.
“The lid on the one casket had been pushed back.” Every word took an effort.
“Right yer are, miss,” the other constable informed. “Why the devil would someone want to open a casket?”
What the devil indeed?
“Do come along, Lady Forsythe. You must be careful after the fall you’ve taken,” Sir Edward insisted as he slowly escorted me to the entrance of the exhibit.
He was beginning to sound annoying.
“My notebook, please, and the catalogue Mr. Hosni was working on?” I asked.
Constable McLean handed them to me. “It might be best if you were to see a physician.”
“It would be best for you to find me a driver,” I informed him as I clenched my teeth against the throbbing at my head.
I slowly made my way from the exhibit hall, Sir Edward hovering beside me.
“I will need to contact Inspector Dooley,” Mr. McLean said from my other side.
Of course.
“Be certain to mention that there was someone else there,” I reminded him. I had not merely ‘fallen,’ as Sir Edward described it.
“You cannot mean that someone might have returned to the exhibit?” Sir Edward dithered beside me.
“That is exactly what I mean.” I replied and resolved to add it to my notes. And who would have needed to attack me when he was discovered?
I needed to get back to the office and make my notes.
To say that we drew a fair amount of attention as the director escorted me from the hall and across the museum to the entrance along with Constable McLean, was an understatement.
I caught the whispers behind ladies’ hands and the openly disapproving stares from men, which led me to another bruised thought. I could only imagine Brodie’s reaction. He would ‘have a fit and fall into the middle of it,’ something I had heard my great aunt say more than once. Followed, I was certain, by a tirade about going off by myself in our inquiry cases. However, not precisely by myself, I thought.
And where the devil was Rupert? Caught with a rope and turned out?
Upon reaching the main entrance with that wide circular roadway beyond, Constable McLean went ahead and waved down a coach.
“Perhaps the constable should accompany you,” Sir Edward suggested.
I suspected he was more concerned about my great aunt’s sponsorship. I assured him that was not necessary as I gave the driver the address of the office on the Strand.
I glanced about, wincing in the process. There was no sign of Rupert. I climbed aboard, with my notebook and that catalogue safely tucked into my bag.
As we set off, I heard a familiar baying sound. There was only one creature who made that sound. Perhaps two, I thought of Brodie, as I signaled the driver to stop. However, that would most definitely be a snarl.
I opened the door of the coach and Rupert leapt inside and promptly dropped something at my feet and looked up at me expectantly.
It was a piece of fabric.
I thought that I might have imagined those sounds after I was struck. Yet, it seemed that I had not.
It did appear that the hound had attacked whoever had struck me, and the piece of cloth was quite bloody. I tucked it into my bag.
“Good boy.”
“There is a theory by one of my former colleagues at King’s College about head injuries,” Mr. Brimley commented as he shone an irritating light into my eyes. I winced at the pain it caused.
“That an unevenness in the pupils of the eyes might indicate a brain injury,” he continued. “It’s most often seen among boxers who go at each other.”
There was only silence from the person who leaned back at the edge of the desk, more specifically—Brodie.
“There have been some interesting studies from Edinburgh.” Mr. Brimley concluded his examination and proclaimed me more or less unharmed, other than the knot on the back of my head.
“The Egyptians were quite proficient at studying brain injuries,” he said as he tucked away that small hand-held light. “Including surgeries of the brain, while the patient was conscious,” he added.
“Most fascinating. As for you, Miss Forsythe, you are most fortunate the situation was not more serious.”
I glanced once more over at Brodie, that dark gaze unreadable. I took that as not a good sign. I could only imagine the tirade and lecture I would receive once Mr. Brimley was gone.
I should have been surprised when Brodie had returned quite urgently, the door thrown back against the far wall, and Mr. Brimley had followed shortly thereafter. I was not.
It took no deductive powers to know how he had learned of my encounter after Constable McLean contacted Inspector Dooley.
“You will be right as rain in no time,” Mr. Brimley said as he stood and prepared to leave.
“Not nearly as serious as a bullet wound,” he concluded. Then he issued instructions for Brodie. “Be certain to add more pieces of ice to that rubber pouch. It will help reduce the swelling. And take care, Miss Forsythe,” he added, “not to encounter such situations if at all possible.”
There had been no opportunity before Mr. Brimley’s arrival to discuss the situation at the museum with Brodie. It might now serve as a diversion to avoid that lecture about being careful that I anticipated.
“The person who attacked me was obviously hiding in that stone casket,” I commented, deliberately choosing not to wait for criticism or a lecture about being careful.
“It is possible they were there earlier on the day Sir Nelson was killed, and they possibly returned.”
There was only silence as Brodie added more ice to the ingenious pouch Mr. Brimley had provided, made of India rubber, he had explained.
Brodie tied it off and crossed to where I sat and pulled up a chair opposite. Pinning me in so that there was no escape?
“And there are two items missing from the exhibit,” I continued, in an attempt to appeal to his investigative nature.
And still silence, as he brushed my hair aside and gently pressed the pouch against the lump on the back of my head.
I frowned, not from the pain, of which there was still some, but from the silence.
I had learned how to navigate my way around the occasional arguments, his angry objections, and that stubborn Scots determination to protect me. For the most part. I was not accustomed to this.
“The inlaid box was there when we first saw the exhibit,” I continued as he gently kneaded the tense muscles in the back of my neck.
“It’s not there now, and someone went to considerable effort to hide the fact by moving the remaining four jars about.”
He continued to hold that pouch filled with ice against the back of my head with one hand, while he continued to gently massage the back of my neck. It was quite wonderful. I gathered my thoughts once more.
“It doesn’t make sense that someone would want to take jars containing two-thousand-year-old human organs,” I suggested in an effort to draw him into conversation.
“And most fortunate that the hound was there, as you suggested,” I continued. A compliment wouldn’t hurt. Oh my, I thought, as he switched the pouch to his other hand and gently massaged the other side of my neck.
“It appears ...” I gathered my thoughts once more, “… that he attacked whoever was hiding in that casket. There is a piece of cloth in my bag covered in blood.”
All my best efforts scattered as I slowly closed my eyes and simply gave in to that marvelous touch.
I have no idea how long we sat there with the quiet between us, and that soothing touch.
“Ye need to rest.”
I slowly opened my eyes.
There was no lecture, not the usual tirade about ‘taking myself off alone’—I had, after all, taken Rupert with me. Nor was there any anger.
For the first time since he had burst through the office door, looking very much like a crazy man, that dark gaze met mine as he pulled me to my feet.
“Ye will be the death of me.”
Such kind words. If my head didn’t feel as if it might explode, I would have said something. As it was, I would save it for later. It hurt to talk.
Brodie tucked me into the bed in the adjacent room.
“My notes ...” I protested.
“They will wait,” he said as he bent over and kissed me on the forehead, then drew down the shade and doused the electric light.
Aggravating man, I thought, as I drifted off.
I was vaguely aware that he woke me at least twice during the night—according to Mr. Brimley’s instructions—and in spite of my protests, provided me with something to drink, and tucked blankets around me once more.
It was early when I wakened, light barely visible at the edge of the window shade, the smell of coffee and voices, barely discernible, drifting beneath the closed door.
I slowly swung my legs over the edge of the bed. All things considered, I felt quite recovered, except for a dull ache at the back of my head.
Brodie had removed my long skirt and shirtwaist. Both lay over the chairback beside the bed.
His voice rose and sharpened. I quickly dressed, pulled on my boots, put some order to my hair, and stepped into the outer office.
Brodie was seated at the desk in a deceptively relaxed manner, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting casually on the desk.
I say deceptively , as that dark gaze met mine in silent warning. I had seen that look before when he was confronted by someone he either didn’t trust or had a dislike for.
The man across from him, where I usually sat, was familiar. We had met previously. Mr. Brown qualified on both counts, someone Brodie disliked and didn’t trust.
The man was as coarse looking as I remembered, from his shirt and trousers, to his grizzled beard, and his scarred bald head. And there was the faintly leering grin as he looked up from their conversation and that calculating gaze met mine.
“Mrs. Brodie is it now? And such lovely red hair and a comely figure.” There was a look back at Brodie. “You are full of surprises, Brodie.”
An insult and a compliment all in one. When I would have replied to that, I caught the not quite subtle shake of Brodie’s head, and the equally not-subtle way his hand curled into a fist.
“As ye were saying, Mr. Brown ...”
“As I was saying,” Brown continued as he turned and smiled at me. “You might want to make inquiries about several shipments by rail that have gone out from Portsmouth the past two years, apparently to the same location each time, I’m hearin’, and right under the nose of the tax man,” he added.
There was a subtle change in his manner, I thought. And perhaps out from under his nose as well?
“A trade ripe for the taking, to be certain.”
“When was the last shipment?” Brodie inquired.
“More information? For that I might ask a favor from yerself,” Brown replied as that smile deepened and he looked at me.
Brodie didn’t so much as move, but it was there in the way his eyes narrowed. “There are some things that the price is more than ye would be willing to pay.”
Rather than a threat, that sounded very much like a promise, I thought.
“I’ve no one I trust out of Portsmouth, but if you were to find some cargo there, I might take a small fee for telling you of it.”
Brown stood to leave, that smile still on his face. “You remind me of myself, Mr. Brodie.” He turned and made a mocking bow in my direction.
“And Mrs. Brodie. A pleasure, always.”
As he turned to leave, the door opened, and I caught the silhouette of a figure there, waiting. The door closed behind Mr. Brown and his equally imposing companion. And his comment to Brodie. That they were alike?
“And I thought before that the man could not be more disgusting.”
I went to the door and opened it once more.
“Wot are ye doin’?”
“Mr. Brown has a particular odor about him.” I didn’t want to speculate on that. “Fresh air will help enormously.”
“Is that right?” Brodie rose from behind his desk and crossed the office. He slipped his arms about me.
“How are ye this mornin’, other than lookin’ as if ye might want to remove the man’s head?”
He did smell deliciously of cinnamon. I couldn’t resist a taste.
“I’m hungry.”
“Now I know of a certainty that ye will live,” he replied.
We ate at the public house across the Strand. I ordered an extra breakfast for Mr. Cavendish, with sausages for Rupert.
“Do you believe Mr. Brown regarding those shipments?” I asked over more coffee while we waited for that extra breakfast.
“I believe he’d like to make a fee.”
A thief stealing from thieves? Most interesting.
“If he doesn’t know precisely where, how are we to learn where they might have gone?”
There was someone who might assist with that, if another shipment should arrive sent from there. Someone who had perhaps smuggled or stolen an object or two in the past.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Munro?”
“Let us just say, that he has some experience in such things.”
The pot and the kettle?
That naturally raised the question, how much did my great aunt know about his other activities?
I remembered very clearly the night Munro and I had left Sussex Square under cover of darkness on another inquiry case, and had set off into a part of London that he seemed to know quite well, after leaving my great aunt’s estate through what was called the smuggler’s gate.
My first encounter with Mr. Brown. And while he had been most helpful at the time, I didn’t trust the man. And I didn’t like the smell of him either.
Once more I caught Brodie watching me, that earlier expression on his face—quiet, thoughtful, and I was fairly certain I knew what was there.
“I am quite all right,” I assured him. “And you might tell me the reason Inspector Dooley was here last night. And quite late.”
Rather than argue the point, Brodie shook his head.
“He brought word that Howard Carter has been released.”
I was relieved. I had been concerned for him, yet after Mr. Hosni was found murdered and the attack on myself, it seemed for any logical thinking person that he could not possibly be the murderer, secured in the holding facility at Bow Street. However, we were talking logical thinking, which often seemed in short supply with the MET. Particularly regarding one C.I. Abberline, who was still on leave after questionable conduct in a previous case.
We returned to the office, and I made use of the accommodation room down the passageway for a rather hasty bath. I changed into other clothes that were there from a previous stay-over.
Afterward I sat at the desk across from Brodie and made notes from the previous day’s encounter. I made my usual notes on the chalkboard, including that encounter with Mr. Brown.
“I want to return to the Exhibit Hall at the museum. There may be something more there, some clue that could be helpful. And I suppose we should go to Sussex Square so that you can speak with Munro.”
“Do ye mean there might be somethin’ that you overlooked or failed to see?” Brodie replied as he rose from behind the desk, went to the coat stand, and retrieved his jacket.
“Two pairs of eyes,” I reminded him.