Chapter 10
Ten
The persistent ringing of the service bell brought us both up out of sleep, followed by the determined pounding at the office door.
Brodie cursed, first in Scots, then in the Queen’s English, for whoever might be outside the door, as he grabbed his trousers, then wool jumper against the cold in the room.
“Who the bloody hell is it this time of the night?”
Actually, it was very near morning—very early morning to be specific with a glance at the faint edge of light on the window shade.
The pounding at the door continued, joined now by furious barking by the hound.
“Stay where it’s warm, while I learn who it is needs to die this early in the mornin’,” Brodie said as he left the room.
He was not serious, of course, still the sentiment was there. I reached for my pocket watch.
It was only half past five in the morning!
I thought of several reasons someone might be at the door that time of day, the first that something had happened with my great-aunt.
At her age, I could never be certain how much longer she had, even though she was quite determined to outlive the Queen, and several other persons of her acquaintance, before boarding a Viking long boat into the great beyond.
That thought also included my sister and her family. What if it was some difficulty with the baby, Catherine, who was hardly an infant any longer?
My next thought, as I heard voices, was for my ward, Lily Montgomery, whom I had brought from Edinburgh as a child after one of our cases.
Although she was now very much an independent young woman who had a habit of taking herself off ‘exploring,’ as she called it. The last time it had been in my great-aunt’s motor carriage for a drive about.
Munro had eventually learned the direction she had taken across London and proceeded to find her. It had not ended well for Munro, who was my aunt’s estate manager. It was he who had discovered that the motor carriage was missing.
All had ended well enough several hours later when Lily returned with cheeks smudged with mud from the street, the expression in her eyes afire as she recounted her adventures to my great-aunt, who had eventually summoned me to Sussex Square to hear the tale.
“She is quite like yourself,” she pointed out, not for the first time. While I struggled between thoughts of stern reprimand for someone who was now somewhere near nineteen or twenty years of age.
The alternative was choking back laughter at the memory of a similar incident of my own that involved my great-aunt’s racehorse and an unauthorized turn about the racetrack at Ascot in full view of the Royal family.
Was it possible that Lily had taken off on another adventure and gotten herself into some difficulty?
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed as I recognized Mr. Dooley’s thick Irish accent and the excitement in his voice.
I was hardly dressed for callers in my chemise and petticoat…still, this did seem urgent. I grabbed Brodie’s dress coat from the chair back, wrapped it around me and went into the outer office.
“With all that’s happened, I thought you should know straight away,” Mr. Dooley was saying.
“Aye.” Brodie replied.
“The same?” I heard him ask.
Mr. Dooley nodded. “The very same that Constable Martin was killed, and everyone at the courts in a fit and falling in the middle of it over how it could possibly have happened. They have brought on extra men and sent them across London.
“The thought is that it had to be someone who had good knowledge of the Old Bailey,” he continued. “And that the judge would be found there after hours at end of day, when there would be fewer people about and it would be easier to move around. It’s thought that he came in with the cleaners.”
Rupert had pushed inside the entrance to the office. He had ceased barking as he recognized Mr. Dooley and now sat on the floor, head cocked, ears alert as if he understood every word.
Mr. Dooley looked over and nodded as I entered the office.
“Beg pardon for the intrusion.”
“It is no bother, Mr. Dooley,” I assured him.
He returned to his conversation with Brodie. “I’ll be leading the inquiries since this began with the attack on Constable Martin. Remember, whoever is behind this is clever and had specific targets, it would seem.”
I caught the look that Brodie gave Mr. Dooley. He nodded and then left the office. It did seem there was a great deal more to their conversation—their voices low before I entered the room.
Brodie went to the coal stove and added more coal, his expression quite serious in that way I had seen before, his mouth drawn with a frown.
I took the pot from atop the stove and filled it from the faucet in the water closet that had been added adjacent to the bedchamber. A recent addition that was quite marvelous, as it was no longer necessary to go to the accommodation down the hall, as when I first made Brodie’s acquaintance.
Or rather, re-acquaintance…
He was at his desk when I returned, the frown still there as he leaned back on the edge of his desk and stared at the chalkboard.
I set the pot on the stove and added coffee from the tin on the shelf above, an acquired accomplishment as my kitchen skills were somewhat limited. The silence after Mr. Dooley’s departure was still there.
“It is quite early for Mr. Dooley to call,” I commented in an attempt to learn the reason. Brodie was usually more forthcoming.
“And by his manner it would seem quite serious. Oh, very well.”
There was still no response as the pot on the stove began to bubble and hiss.
I let it bubble and hiss for a while, as I was quite familiar with his habit of pulling within himself when there was a matter that troubled him. There was no doubt this was the case now, considering the expression on his face, deep in thought.
Bubble and hiss, bubble and hiss. The smell of coffee along with the fire in the stove pushed back the chill in the office.
When it seemed that the pot had sufficiently completed its task, I picked up the towel for such things, seized the pot by the handle, and poured coffee in both our cups.
I returned the pot to the top of the stove where it continued to bubble once more, then took a cup to the brooding man who stood before the chalkboard, lost in thought as he stared at the notes I had made.
“I should dress in something more appropriate than my chemise and underdrawers if Mr. Dooley should return,” I commented. “He was apparently somewhat embarrassed to see me in my bare feet and your coat.”
There was a brief glance, clearly distracted, as Brodie took the cup, and then sipped the steaming coffee.
There was a sudden intake of breath.
“Is the coffee lacking?” I inquired, staring at him over the edge of my own cup.
I now had his full attention. He coughed, that dark gaze narrowed.
“Ye might have used a bit more coffee than necessary,” he commented, barely more than a whisper.
“It serves you right—there was an opportunity for you to see to it as usual. You know full well that my skills in such things are quite lacking.”
“I could stand up a spoon in it,” he replied, somewhat stronger now.
“It is not that bad.” I proceeded to take a sip and nearly choked. “Perhaps a bit stronger than your usual.” I set my cup on the desk.
“Will you now tell me the reason Mr. Dooley was here?”
He took another sip of coffee. Brave man, I thought. I did need to pay attention to his skill in such things if we were both to survive.
He set his cup on the desk. Most unusual. He was in the habit of drinking a substantial amount of coffee in the morning, even if a spoon might have stood up in it. He went through our bedchamber into the adjoining water closet, and I heard the faint sound of water as it entered the basin.
He was most efficient in his morning wash and brush-up and set the tooth powder back on the shelf above the basin. Yet that dark beard glistened faintly with drops of water that remained as the towel was hastily tossed aside.
That dark gaze met mine, a different expression in the shadows that I was familiar with.
“There has been another murder.”
He returned to the bedchamber and proceeded to dress for the day—a black jumper in place of the shirt, heavy socks with the boots, jerking the laces taut.
“I’ll need my jacket,” he said, matter of fact, as if he was setting off on some simple errand, for coffee perhaps, as I handed it to him, which left me standing in my chemise and underdrawers.
There was another expression that filled that dark gaze before he abruptly returned to the outer office.
He went to his desk and retrieved his revolver from the right-hand drawer, carefully checked it as he always did, then thrust it into his pocket.
I returned to the office as well. There was more to that startling announcement, and I was determined to hear it.
He had donned the cap he wore when the weather demanded it, that dark gaze meeting mine again with the same expression that I’d glimpsed only moments before.
“Who…?” I started to ask, only to have the question silenced as he kissed me.
It was not the same as the night before, but gentle, with some thought that lingered unspoken as his breath met mine. And then he was gone, and I was left standing in my chemise and underdrawers.
“Oh, bloody hell.”
While I knew nothing about the latest development in the case Brodie was pursuing, I did have information from my visit with Mr. Burke, a name that someone I knew might have knowledge of.
I quickly dressed, seized my long coat along with my travel bag that contained my notebook, then locked the office door behind me.
“Did Mr. Brodie say where he was off to?” I inquired of Mr. Cavendish as I reached the alcove by the street.
“I did overhear him tell the driver that he needed to get to the law courts at the Old Bailey.”
Most interesting.
“Will you be needing a driver as well, Miss Mikaela?”
Mr. Jarvis had just come on shift. Mr. Cavendish waved him down and he pulled to a stop at the curb.