Chapter 16
Sixteen
SIX WEEKS LATER
More easily said than done, we discovered, as we established full-time residence at the Strand.
Improvements had previously been made with the newly installed water closet and the lift, which was promptly repaired.
However, while it had once been adequate for Brodie in the past and both of us when a case required, it was a great deal smaller than the townhouse, and we often found ourselves stepping over each other as we went about the days and weeks that followed the Blackwood case.
I had noticed that my clattering away at my typing machine was bothersome as I wrote the last of our case notes, then went on to my next Emma Fortescue novel, delayed after the fire at the townhouse. And then there was the matter of the new clothes I was forced to purchase.
Brodie and I had previously shared a cabinet with his shirts and trousers and the few things I kept there.
It proved somewhat challenging when he emerged one morning as he dressed for a meeting with the Home Secretary after the conclusion of the Blackwood case, dangling one of my silk undergarments that he’d found in the drawer with his wool jumpers.
“Ye know that I prefer ye without yer underthings…” he said, dangling a silk chemise. The threat was subtle, but there nonetheless.
Still, there were moments when we were stepping over each other.
My sister Lenore and her husband James suggested that we might take up the extra room at their residence. I caught the look on Brodie’s face when I mentioned their offer.
“With young Miss Catherine crawling about, causing the usual chaos?” he replied.
I had to admit that, as much as I adored my niece, I was in agreement on that. We made a polite excuse when Linnie unexpectedly discovered she was to have another child.
James was delighted. My sister was somewhat taken aback by the possibility of two babies barely more than a year apart. I graciously declined the offer, and I believe they were greatly relieved.
“You might consider taking up your old room here at Sussex Square,” Aunt Antonia suggested one morning when I needed to leave the office.
Brodie had set off earlier to meet with a new client who had been referred to us by Mr. Holmes, who was taking himself off to India.
They did seem to get along quite well no doubt due to their common profession with private inquiries.
I personally thought the man quite odd, and there were rumors of his strange habits.
Yet he was quite proficient in the ancient art of self-defense and complimented me after we encountered one another at the gymnasium.
“Remarkable,” he said at the time. “A woman with the ability to protect herself. Mr. Brodie is a brave man.”
I had assured him that ‘Mr. Brodie’ was well aware of the training I had acquired while on one of my extended travels.
And then there were engaging conversations with Mr. Holmes over supper at one of his favorite restaurants when I accompanied Brodie. One of those conversations included the necessary use of a firearm from time to time with the nature of the inquiry business.
Rather than asking to be excused from the conversation I had listened attentively as they discussed the advantages and disadvantages of certain firearms.
Brodie usually carried the revolver he had become most familiar with in his time as an inspector with the MET. He had provided me with one imported from the United States after my friend Templeton returned with one.
“It’s not the model most of the men carry in parts of the country,” Templeton had claimed, “however it is very handy if a man…shall we say, takes liberties.”
She was somewhat notorious for her affairs, including one with Munro that lasted for some time.
The weapon fit quite well into my travel bag as well as the pocket of my walking skirts.
“I will warn ye that she is most proficient with it,” Brodie had cautioned Mr. Holmes.
“A woman with a revolver? A dangerous but exciting possibility,” Mr. Holmes commented at the time.
In the aftermath of the end of the Blackwood case, Brodie and I attended the funerals of those who had been his victims.
It was sad and a reminder of the seriousness of the inquiry business, that not all cases were resolved as easily as Lady Ambersley missing necklace, the only victim poor dear Bitsy, which I learned was banished to the solar by Lord Ambersley, rather than have access to the entire manor.
As for Blackwood, he was an escaped prisoner at the time of his death.
His body was returned to Newgate, then buried within the prison grounds, we read in an exclusive notice on the crime sheet written afterward by Mr. Burke.
Blackwood’s resting place, under the flagstones of the passage known as Dead Man’s Walk.
Quite dramatic that, I thought. But that was Theodolphus Burke, and I had promised that he would have the exclusive details from that last encounter at Victoria Station.
Rupert had recovered due to Mr. Brimley’s care, skill learned at university where he studied to be a physician. Not altogether different than working on a severed foot or hand that occupied the jars in the back room of his shop.
When Rupert finally returned to the Strand, he was well groomed except for a long scar across his side, where Mr. Brimley had been forced to remove his mangy coat in order to operate and sew him back together.
There was a full sponge cake waiting for him as a gift from Mrs. Ryan, who had moved back to Sussex Square. Temporarily, she informed us, only until Brodie and I found a suitable residence.
Aunt Antonia expressed the hope that it would be sooner rather than later, as Mrs. Ryan had taken over the kitchen at Sussex Square, much to the dislike of her own cook, who threatened to quit.
“I was forced to increase the woman’s wage to prevent her leaving,” she told me over a dram of Old Lodge whisky one afternoon when I called on her and Lily, a visit which had become part of my routine when Brodie seemed to become testy over some matter.
My policy in such situations? Best to not be there, I discovered. And truth be told, afterward was far more…interesting.
As for our search for a new residence? It was always possible to take one of the smaller residences at Sussex Square. Munro had moved into the one nearer the stables when it was decided that a room near the servants’ quarters was not appropriate.
I wasn’t certain what that meant, but I thought it might have to do with a particular maid in my great-aunt’s service.
I did not want to know and did not ask after Munro’s somewhat colorful relationship with my friend Templeton.
There had been that vivid mural discovered in her country home as Brodie and I pursued a previous inquiry case. While I considered myself to be an enlightened woman, that mural had been most…colorful. I would leave it at that if anyone asked. Brodie had merely smiled at the time.
As I spent more time at Sussex Square in the weeks following the conclusion of the Blackwood case, I did notice what my great-aunt had spoken of regarding Lily.
She did seem preoccupied with some matter.
I often found her in the sword room practicing with the rapier.
Or out at the stables where the report of a firearm could be heard.
Recently I had seen her at the writing desk in her room where she had finished something she was working on—a thank-you note, she said at the time.
We shared company often, and I did appreciate the time spent together, much like a sister, or ‘daughter’ as Brodie pointed out.
“Ye are getting on a bit, lass. And she is more the young lady now.”
Getting on? I did not consider the age of thirty years to be ‘getting on,’ particularly since my great-aunt was a very young and spry eighty-seven. Although I might be tempted to adopt her response whenever the subject of her age came up.
She simply told whoever was bold enough to ask that she was not a day over fifty years of age.
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” she had announced. “Only what I believe.”
A most fascinating response for someone who had a Viking longboat out on the green awaiting the day when it would be needed to send her off in a blaze of glory…if she should need it once she reached a ripe old age.
The issue of where we were to live until we found suitable residence continued to linger out there unresolved.
I had briefly viewed properties that were available, yet they were either rat-filled tenements at the edge of the Strand or an overdone residence at the edge of Mayfair.
It was Aunt Antonia who suggested that I simply have the townhouse rebuilt in Mayfair.
“After all, dear, you own the ground where the townhouse once was, and the other people in Mayfair would assuredly appreciate it for their own property values.”
So, after discussion with Brodie, to which he replied, “It can be whatever you choose, but be finished with it. We have three new inquiry cases, and one is with the Home Secretary.”
It was decided, and I spoke with my great-aunt regarding a recommendation as to who should build it.
“That might be difficult, dear. The last construction was the manor at Sussex Square. Thomas Matthews was the contractor…however, that was well over a hundred years ago. I’m certain he must be dead.”
Of course.
“His grandson might be able to assist. He did the installation of the lift. His father, that would be Thomas’s son, took care of the electric. I highly recommend their work.”
I contacted young Alan Thomas and made arrangements to meet him and his father at the site where the townhouse had been before the fire. His father remembered working on Sussex Square.
“How does her ladyship like the lift?”
I answered that carefully so as not to offend the man. Neither he nor his son had been available for the installation of the lift at the office.
“It is a marvelous thing, however a work in progress,” I tactfully replied.
He roared with laughter. “She is a rare one, that. Told me a story about an ancestor who was a highwayman. Not that I believed her. No offense, Lady Forsythe, but the older ones pull yer leg once in a while.”
Pull the leg. I would like to see that one. I did not argue the point.
It did seem, however, that we were in for a lengthy rebuilding process. Mr. Matthews warned it might be a year or more, depending on his ability to get the appropriate materials.
I decided not to tell Brodie until later. It was always best to pick my moments or leave a note on the chalkboard. He was just beginning our inquiry case on behalf of the Home Secretary, which held the potential to be very difficult considering the well-placed people it might involve.
I returned from my initial meeting with Mr. Matthews over the proposed construction of the townhouse once the rubble had been cleared away. With the spring season very near, he hoped to make progress.
I entered the office and suddenly stopped as two rather grim expressions greeted me from Brodie and Munro.
Rupert, with his shaved coat mostly grown back except for the scar, had accompanied me from the street.
“What is it?” I inquired.
They both appeared quite serious, and I braced myself for some word regarding my great-aunt or possibly some other catastrophe from Sussex Square.
Perhaps Mrs. Ryan threatening staff with a cleaver—there had been that one episode after she returned to Sussex Square following the fire.
Or possibly Mrs. McAbernathy, my great-aunt’s housekeeper, threatening to depart over some disagreement.
I caught the look that passed between them.
“Miss Lily has left Sussex Square,” Munro replied.
“Left…?” I looked from one to the other. “What do you mean? Left? Where has she gone?”
“Sir Laughton called on Lady Montgomery this mornin’.”
Sir Laughton, my aunt’s lawyer. What did he have to do with this?
I immediately found a driver.
That question and more were all the more urgent as I arrived at Sussex Square and found Sir Laughton with my great-aunt in the salon.
“Munro is at the office. He said that Lily is gone?”
Sir Laughton rose from the chair beside the table before the hearth. “She asked me to give you this, but not until afterward. She is also my client, and as she is of legal age as far as we know, I was required to honor her wishes.”
Afterward? What did that mean? I tore open the envelope.
Dear Mikaela,
I have received word from Dora, my good friend from the
‘Church,’ to whom I owe my life from before. She is in some
difficulty and frightened, and it is necessary for me to return to
Edinburgh.
I have learned a great many things from you and
Mr. Brodie, and know you would not hesitate to help
someone in need.
Thank you.
Lily
It might have been written by any well-educated, proper young lady.
I looked over at my great-aunt.
“She has returned to Edinburgh. What difficulty? Did she say anything to you?”
“No dear, not that I am surprised. You did not notify me before taking yourself off to Crete on your Greek travels.”
“That is not the same at all,” I replied. “How will she get on when she arrives? Where will she stay? She has no means…”
“Not precisely true,” Sir Laughton replied. “I have to admit that I have concerns from her prior experience in Edinburgh, as a lady’s maid in a house of prostitution. However, she is quite resourceful,” he continued.
“She gave me this and asked if I would hold it against a loan of funds.”
It was a silver engraved medallion the size of a large coin.
“It seems that she brought it with her from Edinburgh, her only possession of any value, found with her as a child on the street when she was taken in by the ladies at the ‘Church.’ It seemed to hold great meaning for her.”
“A loan?”
“She is quite a determined young woman when she sets her mind to it,” he added. “There was no dissuading her, and I will admit that I did extend more than the medallion is worth. However, I could not see her taking herself off with barely a farthing in her pocket.”
I sat down in a nearby chair and stared at the letter.
“This is impossible,” I finally found the words, aware that Brodie and Munro had arrived at Sussex Square as well. Brodie attempted to comfort me, his hand on my shoulder.
“She is not prepared…” I added, as if there was any point in arguing what was already done.
“She has to be found.” I turned to Sir Laughton. “Did she say where she would be staying?”
He shook his head. “She said only that her friend worked at a tavern on the High Street in the Old Town.”
Munro spoke for the first time since returning to Sussex Square.
“I will find her…”