Chapter 4
Four
brODIE
“You live dangerously, my friend. Comin’ here and takin’ on one of my men the way he claimed,” Brown commented as he and Brodie sat across from each other with a pint at a table in the tavern.
“Our encounter was a bit different than he spoke of,” Brodie corrected his account of the situation.
“He’s thick in the head,” Brown replied. “But good when there’s a need for muscle. Now tell me, what brings ye here, before any more of my people end up bloodied.”
Brodie explained about the attack and death of his friend.
Brown nodded. “I remember the man. He was always fair, even looked the other way in a couple of encounters in the past, and now you want to find the killer. Were there witnesses?”
“I would not be here if there were.”
Brown nodded with understanding. “I’ve always thought that you would make a fine addition to my ‘business.’ You know the streets and your way around them and the people in them, including the bloody peelers. And now you want my help.”
It was not the first time Brown had made the offer.
“Work? For ye?”
“It never hurts to ask. But I do understand with your arrangement with Lady Forsythe that you might be reluctant, and truth be known, I don’t blame ye. I might give all of this up for one such as her.”
Brodie nodded. “I need information, more eyes and ears on the street. It’s no secret that you have the largest number of ‘associates’ working for ye. And ye know as well that the murder of a constable is not something that remains secret.”
Brown agreed. “The truth of it is, that it’s like a medal some like to wear.” He sat back in his chair.
“I owe you for letting me know about Abberline’s secret campaign to make a sweep of known places where my people work, now that he’s returned.
Out to make amends with the Home Secretary for certain, after that bit of disgrace that nearly got you killed.
Are you certain you won’t join my band of merry thieves? ”
“Certain. I would not want to offend the lady either.”
Brown threw back his head and roared with laughter. “She is a formidable woman, and deadly with a revolver from what I hear—gives as good as she gets.”
As Brodie knew only too well, nothing ever remained secret. Not even a previous case that had involved the royal family.
“Tell me who you’ve questioned, the reputable people of business, no doubt. I’ll put the word out to my people,” Brown replied. “That will square us then.”
Brodie smiled. “Until you need information from me.”
He remained for another round and told Brown whom he’d spoken with, including Maddy Martin, and also told him that Mr. Conner was making similar inquiries.
“And what of your partner in crime? Munro?”
He didn’t take offense. Munro’s endeavors from the past were known to those who needed to know, as were his own.
“Aye,” he acknowledged.
Brown nodded as Brodie stood to leave after placing several coins on the table.
“Just so that I dinna owe for the beer.”
“That’s what I like about you, Brodie. You always ‘leave the table square,’ not like others I know.”
The man’s meaning was not lost on him, a lesson he learned early on—leave the table square so that he owed nothing to anyone. When dealing with people like Brown, it was a good way to stay alive.
“I’ll be on the street as well,” he told Brown so there would not be another encounter like this evening. “Leave word with Mr. Cavendish if ye learn something,” he added as he stood to leave.
Brown snorted. “That crippled old seadog?”
“That seadog works for me, and he can be trusted.”
He didn’t mention the hound. Let Brown’s people learn that lesson if they threatened Cavendish.
When he left the tavern, he was aware of the shadows that followed at a distance as he left Bethnal Green.
MIKAELA, #204 THE STRAND
I left Mayfair early.
Brodie had not returned the night before.
While I had hoped that he would so that I might learn if he had been able to obtain any information about the murder of Constable Martin, I was well aware that questioning people was tedious work and often looked upon with suspicion.
Most particularly when someone had been murdered, as I had learned in the past.
There were those who knew nothing, those who might cooperate with some bit of information, and those who would refuse to provide any information, particularly with the murderer still out there somewhere.
The weather had hardly improved over the day before, the roadway awash with flotsam that included remnants of garbage, soggy day-old newspapers, and the usual clogged traffic as carts and coaches slowly proceeded, then abruptly stopped, until I was convinced it would have been far quicker afoot.
However, the driver cautioned me against it.
“You don’t want to be out and about in this,” he said as I inquired if another route might be more expedient.
He shook his head. “It’s worse on the side streets. Best to keep to the main roadway.”
The flooding was not an unusual occurrence after a heavy rain. At least the Strand was far enough from the river that we didn’t have bodies washing up on the sidewalks.
I took out my notebook and read back over the notes I had made the previous day.
I’d learned of nothing suspicious while questioning the servants during my initial visit, nor my inspection of the servant’s quarter or the Ambersley private rooms.
All of the servants were long-time members of the Ambersley staff, although I knew well enough that a change in one’s personal circumstances might provide a motive. Still, there was not a servant recently replaced, nor had one left suddenly over some complaint.
Kitty Ambersley had provided a list of her dinner guests from the night of the supper party. It had been a small affair with only two gentlemen and their wives joining them.
I was doubtful there would be any help there, as both guests were well-placed and known to be quite wealthy as well. In spite of the value of the necklace, it did seem that neither one or the other had a need to take to thievery. They could well afford to purchase such an item for themselves.
Still, it was important to ‘turn over every stone’ in the effort to learn what had happened to the necklace.
I had discovered that one never knew the true nature of a person that might be hidden from others. And I was determined to see the matter through by taking the usual steps in an inquiry case.
I had placed telephone calls from the townhouse to the residence of Lord Anthony Longridge as well as Sir William Atherton before leaving and requested a meeting with each of the ladies regarding that evening.
I had an appointment with Lady Longridge later this morning, and another with Lady Atherton in the early afternoon.
We eventually arrived at the office on the Strand without mishap. I paid the driver as Mr. Cavendish navigated the sidewalk and greeted me.
“Thought you might choose to stay at the townhouse with this nasty bit of flooding. That was a downpour last night, and it seems the city people in their fine offices have a problem with the street backing up all the way to the park. The hound had to swim across earlier.”
No doubt a bit of an exaggeration, yet there were still several inches of water washing against the curb at the street. A frequent occurrence in the midst of winter in spite of the sewer system that was celebrated to have solved the flooding from the Thames.
“I hope you were not washed out of the alcove,” I told Mr. Cavendish. It could have been very difficult him to navigate several inches of water.
“Not at all, miss. As the weather set in, me and the hound set off for the Public House, then to the flat after.”
The flat was a new accommodation for him after his marriage in December to Miss Effie, who worked at the Public House.
She had moved to a ground-floor flat that came available prior to the wedding and prevailed upon the building owner to install a ramp for Mr. Cavendish’s use. The flat was very near the office.
“Though the hound wasn’t too keen on remaining the night. He was pacing the place, so Effie let him out. The animal does prefer the street.”
Said animal had emerged from the alcove that was part of the building and usually remained relatively dry during weather. Relative, that is, considering Rupert’s comings and goings.
He had started up the stairs then stopped midway and appeared to be waiting for me to follow.
“Did Mr. Brodie return last night?” I inquired of Mr. Cavendish.
“Not before I set out for the Public House, miss.”
I thanked him and would have taken the lift, recently installed for ease of reaching the second and third floors of the building. We were progressing into the modern era in spite of Brodie’s insistence that it was not necessary—the lift that is.
However, Rupert was quite insistent, returning to the base of the stairs, tail wagging furiously, and barking insistently.
“Oh, very well,” I told him, something that Brodie found quite amusing—talking to Rupert as if he was capable of understanding. I was working on that, as I knew perfectly well that he understood most everything I said.
Rupert turned and charged up the stairs. I gathered my skirts and followed. I suddenly stopped at the landing.
He had nosed his way into the office!
He was extremely smart as I had discovered in the past, yet I was fairly certain that unlocking the office door was not among his many talents. Which of course raised the question, how had it become unlocked?
He now stood in the middle of the office and barked most insistently. I cautiously pushed the door fully open. As I did, Rupert began to inspect the office, nose to the floor, obviously tracking a scent. His inspection took him into the adjacent flat, where he let out another bark.
He emerged, head cocked, ears up, and barked again, inspection apparently concluded. At least to assure me that there was no one lurking about.