Chapter 10 #2
He tipped his cap. “Mornin’, miss. A fine day to be out and about,” he announced with a fair amount of sarcasm as icy rain turned to snow. “Where will it be this mornin’?”
“Sussex Square, Mr. Jarvis.”
“And will the hound be joinin’ you?”
Said hound was not to be seen.
“He’s been out all night,” Mr. Cavendish informed. “He’ll be a bit out of sorts and no good to anyone when he returns until he’s had a nap.”
With that, I climbed into the coach.
I discovered rather early on that my great-aunt was an astonishing source of information about a great many things. As she once commented, no one could live as long as she had without learning some very interesting and delicious things about the class she had been born into.
“I find people most interesting, particularly those of the upper class: quite pretentious and not above committing certain transgressions, including some of the most delicious scandals, unlike those of the lower class who make no pretense what they are about.
“Not that we haven’t had our own share of scandals.”
I had learned about some of those scandals after our great-aunt took my sister and me to live with her, following the scandal our father had created before his demise in the horse barn by his own hand.
A scandal that left us each with the dresses we wore and little else after he gambled away the family fortunes that included our family home.
In the aftermath, I had vowed to never attach myself to a man. I had succeeded quite successfully in that until…Brodie.
“Good morning, Miss Mikaela!”
I had not bothered to telephone my great-aunt before leaving the office on the Strand and was met with more than a little surprise at the entrance to Sussex Square by Mr. Symons, her head butler.
“Good morning. Is Aunt Antonia up and about?”
Both my sister and I had long ago taken to referring to her as such, as most of the servants at Sussex had been with her longer than ourselves and were very much like our family as well.
“She was in the solar earlier, attempting to coax the sun out on this very cold, miserable morning. However, I believe she has removed to the small parlor, as she had one of the footmen light a fire in the fireplace.”
I thanked him and made my way to the ‘small’ parlor, which was somewhat of a misnomer.
The original Sussex Square had been a royal fortress for William of Normandy, our esteemed ancestor, who ransacked most of England and declared himself king. He had lived here a short while before returning to France and other ransacking endeavors.
Over the centuries, several ancestors had torn down, then rebuilt various parts of Sussex Square, including the wall that surrounded it and the original medieval fortress.
More recently, as centuries went by, the manor that my sister and I had come to had been enlarged with the present Georgian manor that adjoined the medieval fortress with a very long hallway lit only by torches.
I knew it well as I had explored it in one of my early adventures. I had become lost in the old fortress and not found my way back until Aunt Antonia had found me.
“I became quite lost as a child myself,” she explained. “It is a rather daunting pile of stones, particularly the dungeon. Remember to just keep climbing up.”
Of course. So very simple—up.
I found her in the small parlor, the room embellished with tapestries on the wall and a portrait of her father who had one child, a daughter to whom he passed on notable family wealth and eccentricities.
The latter seemed to have missed a generation or two. However, Brodie would undoubtedly have argued the point.
“Good morning, dear,” Aunt Antonia greeted me as well. “Have I forgotten some event? Was there a note? Or did you ring me up?”
I apologized for arriving without prior notice.
“Ah, a matter with some urgency. Is Mr. Brodie with you? I shall have Cook prepare breakfast for him. Men are always about food, or…as I have said, they live their lives between their stomachs and their manly parts. That’s all, nothing more. Except perhaps Brodie.”
She was quite fond of him.
“It is regarding information about someone for one of our inquiry cases.”
“I am always pleased to assist in any way that I can. Do sit down.”
She rose from her chair, royal as any queen, resplendent in satin as she went to the side table and poured a second cup of coffee. She handed it to me as I sat in the chair opposite.
“Now, tell me dear, how may I be of assistance?”
“What can you tell me about Sir Edward Blackwood?”
There was a very long pause, and then she set her cup on the table between our chairs.
“Sir Edward Blackwood, Viscount Lindhurst,” she replied. “A nasty bit of business that was.
“There was a duel, as I remember.” She was thoughtful as she poured what appeared to be a bit of whisky into her coffee. “A man once fought a duel over me. I realize you might find that difficult to believe.”
I did not. There were several portraits of my great-aunt around Sussex Square. She was quite striking as a young woman. And still, I thought.
“Quite romantic for some,” she continued. “However, I thought it was foolishness. He lost an ear in the process—the man who fought a duel over my honor.” She smiled. “Not romantic at all.”
Duels hadn’t been fought for some time. At least not that were written up in the dailies. I was aware that most people considered them to be outdated, a dreadful part of the past, and prohibited in most places with legal consequences.
“What do you remember about it?”
“It seems there were financial difficulties. He had bet heavily in the hope of recouping enough to pay debts…” She paused and then apologized. “I’m sorry dear, no need to dredge up bad memories.”
It was a familiar scenario that had led to my own father’s disgrace and eventual suicide. That was when Aunt Antonia had stepped in and taken on two young girls when she was well past sixty years of age.
“No need to apologize,” I assured her, then asked her to continue. “What happened?”
“There was a nasty confrontation with one of the gentlemen he owed a substantial amount. The man died and Sir Blackwood fled. The Metropolitan was called into it. As I remember, Brodie was newly made inspector then and pursued the case.”
Brodie? An early case?
“The coffee is quite delightful with a wee dram,” she suggested.
“Perhaps later,” I replied. “You were saying?” I needed to know more.
“Blackwood was eventually caught, no doubt through Mr. Brodie’s efforts. There was a trial. He was found guilty by the court and sent to prison.” She added a bit more whisky to her coffee.
“A nasty affair.”
Retired Chief Inspector Dawes had gone to Burke for any information that might be found about Blackwood. For a book he may have hoped to write about his time with the Metropolitan, as Burke thought, that included that trial?
Or for another reason?
I remained at Sussex Square and took breakfast with Aunt Antonia and Lily. It usually reminded me of when I was somewhat younger than Lily and the lively conversations at the breakfast table with my aunt and sister.
Then, as now, there were lively conversations. That was particularly true with Lily, determined for her own adventures, quite adamant that she didn’t care to go to Paris as my sister Linnie and I had.
The last supper shared, Lily had been steadfast in her campaign to take the motor carriage out and about London. I had strongly spoken against it as a young lady out and about, alone, could be an easy target for mischief.
For her part, Lily had pointed out the knife she now carried, given to her by Munro, who had previously provided me with one as well that I carried inside my boot when out and about.
“She should be quite all right,” Aunt Antonia had assured me. “She has been taking lessons at the gymnasium where you have spent some time, I believe, dear.”
I had been overruled then, and she had taken herself out and about with no mishap. Brodie had pointed out at the time that he was far more concerned for anyone she might have encountered.
Munro had been against that adventure as well. I had learned only afterward that there had been strong words between him and Lily over the matter.
According to Aunt Antonia, she was certain she overheard Lily tell him to ‘bog off,’ apparently a term well-known among Scots.
When I had questioned Brodie about it afterward, he had choked, then laughed until I was certain there were tears in his eyes. He then explained the polite version of the phrase.
“The best way to explain would be that it means ‘go away,’ although most usually with other less cordial words with it.”
It did seem as if her time in England had not completely transformed Lily from the somewhat wild, independent-minded girl I had first met in Edinburgh. Not that I would have changed that about her even if it was possible, which it obviously was not.
I had to admit that even now I smiled at the memory of that particular episode.
Brodie often said that Lily and I were very much alike. Birds of a feather, as it were. However, this particular morning, she was unusually quiet and ate very little, then asked to be excused from the table.
“Of course, dear,” Aunt Antonia replied.
When Lily had left the dining room, she then explained, “She has been somewhat withdrawn the last few days, not her usual self, since she received a post from Edinburgh.”
Lily had left Edinburgh, as there was nothing left for her there after her place of employment, as a maid, had burned, leaving her homeless as well as without a source of income.
She had assisted Brodie and me with an inquiry case at the time, and I might have found myself in great difficulty if not for her resourcefulness.
I had grown quite fond of her and proposed that she come to London as my ward.
That included a place to live, an education, which was sorely lacking, and the possibility of a better future than a brothel in Edinburgh.