Chapter 17
Seventeen
I didn’t like Mr. Brown. I certainly didn’t trust him. His reputation precluded any of that. Still ...
He had provided valuable information in the past, and again regarding Duvalier and that smuggled shipment in Portsmouth.
“Where’s Brodie?” he again demanded.
I caught the change of expression on Munro’s face. Not that he trusted Brown either; however he had worked with him in the past. I had learned that in pieces of conversation, bits of information that were revealed. I knew not to ask questions, most particularly when it came to my great aunt’s business dealings that Munro managed for her.
“We have the name of the transport company that picked up the shipment at Waterloo. Brodie went to see what information they have about that smuggled cargo.”
Brown nodded. “I heard you’d returned from Portsmouth. One of my men picked up a rumor of goods being moved on the river tonight.”
On the river? And moved some other place? Had Brodie been able to learn that as well?
“By whom?” I asked.
“None you would want to cross paths with, Lady Forsythe,” Brown replied as he crossed to the desk. He grabbed the glass of whisky I’d poured earlier.
“Pirates, and a bloody dangerous lot they are,” he said as he drained the glass.
“Pirates?”
I would have laughed except he was quite serious as he nodded in Munro’s direction. He held up the empty tumbler.
“You have some experience with them and her ladyship’s whisky.”
Munro nodded. “Some.”
“And ye know their ways.” Brown turned to me and smiled, as very near as I supposed that was possible.
“It’s always a matter of beating them at their own game.”
“And that would be?”
That smile again.
“Beat them at their own game, for a price that is.”
I looked over at Munro. I trusted him. As for Mr. Brown ...
Under the circumstances it did not seem that we had much choice. Brodie was out there, very possibly walking into a very dangerous situation.
“And the reason yer here now?” Munro asked.
That smile again that would have made anyone uneasy.
“Brodie has helped me in the past, as you well know, and in spite of the fact that he was with the MET. We might have been on opposite sides of certain things, but in spite of that, he is the only man I have ever respected or trusted. I don’t want to see him cut down by a bunch of thieves and cutthroats, or that cargo fall into the wrong hands, you might say.”
Honor among thieves? I thought.
He approached where I stood, and Munro moved closer as well.
To protect me?
Under the circumstances, with that wound he’d received, it wasn’t something I wanted to risk.
As for Brown ... he was stout, with a fringe of brown hair around a balding head under the cap he wore, and a thick beard streaked with grey. His clothes were that of the street—black trousers and a gray cotton shirt over thick arms, very much the same as Brodie often wore when he wanted to go about unseen.
The resemblance ended there. There were deep lines on Brown’s face with two rather nasty scars that, considering his reputation and ‘line of work,’ were not surprising. His brown eyes narrowed now as he watched me, much like a cat watching a mouse that it might pounce on at any moment.
He glanced down at the revolver in my hand and there was that smile again—almost, but not quite, and I thought of Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat.
“I heard that you know how to use it.” The smile deepened. He reached out and grabbed me by the chin.
“Pretty and dangerous. If Brodie hadn’t married you, I might consider it myself.”
My fingers tightened around the handle of the revolver.
“And not lived to tell of it.”
He roared with laughter and took a step back as Munro moved between us.
“Wot else do ye know?” Munro demanded.
Brown continued to stare at me.
“The rumor is that a cargo will be moved tonight.”
“Where?” Munro again demanded.
“The landing at Waterloo Bridge, and a strip of land—an abandoned island, just beyond. Only, not so abandoned—the perfect hiding place for smuggled cargo. And if Brodie is there ...?” he shook his head.
“Aye,” Munro replied. “How many men are with ye?”
“Enough, with some already sent there,” Brown replied.
Munro nodded as he retrieved that blood-stained jacket he’d worn the night before as he and Brodie left Portsmouth.
I went into the adjacent bedroom and quickly changed into a pair of trousers and a shirt that I’d worn before on a previous inquiry case. I had discovered very quickly the advantage, and put the revolver into one of the pockets.
“What is this?” Brown demanded as I returned and grabbed an old jacket from the coat stand.
Munro moved with some effort as he checked the knife he kept hidden in his boot, and then looked up.
“I’m going with you,” I told him. I was prepared for an argument from him, I saw it in his expression. However, there was none.
“It’s no place for a woman,” Brown snapped.
“You’re quite right, of course,” I told him. I wasn’t about to remain at the office, sitting on my hands, as it were, while Brodie was out there possibly walking alone into a very dangerous situation.
“You could be injured. I’ll not answer to Brodie for it.”
I didn’t bother to respond to that as I quickly braided my hair and pulled on one of Brodie’s caps that I found on top of the cabinet where he’d tossed it.
Brown swore. “I’ll not risk my men over a foolish woman. I forbid it.”
“Nevertheless.”
Munro made a sound that sounded very much like Brodie as I pushed past Brown to the door.
“Do you trust his information?” I asked Munro as we entered the rented hack Mr. Cavendish had found for us. We were to meet Brown and his men a distance apart from that landing, just beyond Waterloo Bridge.
“I trust his greed. He’d not risk his own men on a fool’s errand.”
“What if Brodie’s not there?”
That sharp blue gaze met mine in the light that spilled in from a streetlamp we passed.
“More’s the reason that ye will leave.”
We passed the rest of the ride in silence.
Waterloo Bridge was very near the Strand at the Victoria Embankment. It connected the city of London to the West End. Electric lights gleamed along the promenade at the gardens that fronted Whitehall.
There was only light traffic on the bridge, a horse-drawn tram returning to the city proper, and a handful who chose to cross afoot.
Below on that dark ribbon of water, a steamboat passed under one of the arches and continued downriver as we sped into the waiting darkness on the other side of the river.
When we reached the other side, the driver left the roadway at the Waterloo embankment, then swung the hack onto a dirt road, the horses’ hooves muffled.
It was like entering a different world, with the towering stack of a smelting plant looming up out of the darkness beneath the sliver of the moon overhead, as we passed other low buildings, fishing shacks, and a warehouse.
The driver pulled to a stop, and I heard the faint whickering sound of other horses at a nearby wagon and hack, with the gleam of a weapon drawn as our driver pulled alongside.
Brown and his men had arrived ahead, and a large shadow that could only be the smuggler loomed up out the darkness.
“One of my men went ahead,” Brown said in a low voice. “They’re here with a boat anchored at the other side of the island.”
By that, it could only mean the river pirates.
“There’s a path across to the island at the bottom of the embankment,” he said in a low voice. “With the tide out, we’ll cross on foot.”
I caught the faint movement of light out on the island. A lantern perhaps. Duvalier’s men? Or the pirates after that smuggled cargo?
That sharp gaze fastened on me.
“What’s she doin’ here?” he snapped.
“None of yer concern!” Munro replied.
“Yer responsibility then,” Brown muttered. “But she’s to stay here. I won’t have her causin’ trouble out on the island.”
Trouble? When I would have said something, Munro stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“What of Brodie?” he asked.
“If he’s here, he’s already out on the island.” Brown turned to follow the rest of his men down the embankment.
“If need be, ye can tie her to the wagon.”
He was gone, his shadow melting into the surrounding darkness.
I felt the urgency as Munro’s hand tightened on my arm.
“I agreed for ye to come this far, but yer to stay here,” he told me, barely a whisper. “I dinna know what we’ll find on that island, and I’ll not have my friend to answer to afterward for bringing ye.”
Not an idle threat.
He was right of course, and I might have reminded him that he was in no condition to accompany Brown to whatever waited out on the island.
I didn’t … I knew better. He was very much like Brodie in that. Instead, I reluctantly agreed. And he too was gone, disappearing after Brown down the embankment.
I had every intention of keeping my word, if it hadn’t been for the sudden flare of light on the island—a torch perhaps, immediately followed by an explosion that lit up the embankment, the water that surrounded the island, and that narrow causeway.
I thought of Brodie and then Munro, perhaps both of them out there, and I was already running down the embankment
I reached the water’s edge and a small landing, the light from that explosion gleaming on the watery causeway Brown had spoken of. I could see those out on the island, a swarm of dark figures amid another explosion, and heard the distinctive sound of steel blade against steel blade, and gunfire.
I ran across that narrow slip of land, the mud sucking at my boots as I reached the island. I saw Munro. I pulled the revolver from the pocket of my trousers.
He cursed as I caught up with him. There was more, of course, undoubtedly something about my going back to the wagons. Instead, he shook his head, that sharp blue gaze scanning the battle at the foot of the tower.
“Yer to stay behind me.” There was no time for more as the fighting surged toward us. His hand tightened as he pulled me with him, a knife in his other hand.
I had been caught up in dangerous encounters before, but nothing like the one that engulfed the island.
We reached the far edge of the battle toward the far side of the island and he thrust me into the shelter of trees and low-hanging branches. I tried to stop him.
“Stay here!”
The tower was engulfed in flames as he went back and quickly disappeared in that fighting swarm of bodies, along with more gunfire.
Through billowing clouds of smoke and flames, I saw the figure of a man escape and turn toward that opposite embankment of the river, followed by another, shorter one who limped and hopped like a small dark crow ...
The memory was there from days earlier—the worker I’d glimpsed at the museum just outside the Egyptian exhibit before it opened!
I glanced back toward the tower in the hope of finding Munro, but there was no sight of him.
Who was the man who now fled? Who had no doubt arranged for that shipment of smuggled artifacts? Was Duvalier with him? Or had he already received payment for his services?
Blood money, I thought. And the person responsible was about to escape.
I should stay where I was. It was dangerous to leave shelter with the fighting that surrounded the tower. Still ...
I thought of the brutal murders of Sir Nelson and Mr. Hosni, the sad loss of both who had dedicated their lives to providing a glimpse of the Egyptian culture to the world with no reward for themselves.
What of that stolen wood box and Sophie Marquette’s death?
Nothing more than loose ends , Brodie had called it. And now two people were escaping. I ran from the cover of the trees toward the place where I had seen them.
The edge of another embankment sloped down to a landing as those two figures made their way down to the water and a boat that waited. It rode deep in the water as a steam engine sputtered to life.
It seemed that stolen shipment was already on board, and I followed down the embankment, then stopped at a warning shout.
It was not for me, but for the smaller man with that familiar limp, who suddenly turned back. Light from the fire at the tower gleamed off the blade of the knife in his hand.
A shot rang out as I raised the revolver, and the man with the knife stared with gaping mouth and fell to ground. I instinctively spun around, my hands tightening over the handle of the revolver.
“If ye fire the damned thing, ye make yerself a widow.”
I knew that voice, that narrowed dark gaze as Brodie reached me.
“And now ye’ve wrapped me friend around yer finger.”
I lowered the revolver.
“Munro is here ...”
He nodded, as he reached out and seized me by the front of my shirt. There was more he would have said, no doubt with a few curses included. Instead, he nodded.
“I know.”
And for a moment, just a moment, he pulled me against him.
He was smudged with soot, with faint lines at the corners of his eyes, his hair was wild about his head, and the smell of smoke wrapped around that other faintly scent of spice.
“I’ll not ask how ye got here ...”
Only a postponement, I was certain.
“Or, if ye had a thought that ye might be injured?” With a look down at the outline of the man that lay at the path only a few feet away.
“I saw him at the museum the day Sir Nelson was murdered. He was one of the museum workers.”
The distinctive chug of the steam engine as it rolled away from the land and that other man made his escape ended any further argument, if only temporarily. He pushed me away from him and I came up against that other tall Scot.
“There are more just arrived,” Munro told him.
I looked at Brodie.
He nodded. “Aye,” and turned toward that landing. That dark gaze found me and softened, if only briefly.
“Ye didna think I would come alone.”
Then he told Munro, “Get out of here, the both of ye. It’s not a place to be when the authorities round up the other others.”
“Wait ...!” I called after him
He was gone, as Munro pulled me away from that embankment, away from the gleam of lights that bobbed across the water from other boats that arrived, and the last of that skirmish.
We ran through the cover of trees and up the opposite embankment, as Brown and his men quickly moved ahead toward the wagons.
It might have been a slower ride back across Waterloo Bridge, as we left behind the fire at that ancient watch tower and the myriad smaller lights that invaded the island.
It wasn’t, a reminder of those we rode with, Brown and his men who crowded the wagon with us, and the second wagon with more men.
We left the bridge, the night air sharp with the smell of smoke that rode on waves of mist from the river under that sliver of moonlight. The second wagon followed briefly then disappeared down a side road that led farther away.
I leaned against Munro’s shoulder in the press of bodies that smelled equally of smoke and the distinctive tang of blood. I glanced at him, and that usually sharp blue gaze was dulled with pain that had returned, no doubt along with the bloodied bandages I would find later. And he was the one to comfort me!
“It’s only a wee scratch. I’ve had worse.”
Something Brodie would have said, and had countless times.
It was a wild and often terrifying ride from the river to the Strand, as Brown’s men constantly watched for anyone who followed in spite of late hour of the night.
I thought about it afterward, as I put more coal on the fire in the firebox. I had no idea how we managed to reach the Strand without being caught.
It was all a jumble of bodies, as Mr. Cavendish called out orders much like a field commander, I thought, upon our arrival, as he directed Brown’s men to take Munro up the stairs to the office. And then my instructions to assist him into the adjacent bedroom.
It was all followed by a blur; they all disappeared from the street below as if they had never been there.
Munro fussed and argued, much like another, as I had him open his shirt and discovered the patch of blood on the bandages.
There followed more grumbling and arguing, as I lit the fire in the firebox, poured steaming water into a basin, and proceeded to remove the bandages.
“I’ll not have ye see me naked,” he had grumbled again.
I slapped his hand away as I gently cleaned the wound and applied fresh bandages. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen a man’s body before.
“I’d sooner have a dram of whisky,” he said in a quiet voice afterward as he buttoned his shirt.
We both had a dram, and waited.