Chapter 4
Four
MIKAELA, THE STRAND
I had been tempted to stay over the night at Sussex Square as it grew later.
However, there was information to add to my notes on the chalkboard. Admittedly, that could have waited until the following morning, however I hoped there might be some word at the office from Lily in Edinburgh.
Aunt Antonia’s driver, Mr. Hastings, delivered me back to the office.
There was no telegram, no letter telling me when she might return, Mr. Cavendish informed me when I arrived.
“She’s safe enough with Mr. Munro, miss. Not to worry.”
Of course. And then there was Brodie. I had hoped that he might have returned with some word about what he had learned that day. Mr. Cavendish’s response was the same in that regard.
“Not as yet, miss. You know how it is when he takes to the streets.”
He had then added. “He wouldn’t much care for you returning here alone for the night, so best take the hound up to the office with you.”
So here I was, notes completed, a glass tumbler with a wee dram of Old Lodge whisky, and Rupert appearing as if he might have died on the rug before the coal stove, except for an occasional twitch and one eye that opened briefly as I moved about the office and added those notes from what I had learned.
I then went to my desk and stared at my typewriting machine, with a blank sheet of paper staring back at me as rain began. I inserted the paper, rolled it into place and began to type:
‘It was a dark and storming night as Emma Fortestcue returned alone to the flat she now shared with police Inspector McKenzie.
He had taken to the streets once more, familiar places after a troubled youth with things best left in the past, he told her when she had asked about them’
Well past midnight, there was a stirring at the door.
Startled, she looked up as...’
Bloody hell! I thought, as Rupert was suddenly on his feet, charging toward the door, hair raised on his back as he let out that baying sound that only meant one thing.
I retrieved the revolver from my bag and slowly approached as he continued to sound the alarm, placing himself between the door and me.
There was more stirring at the door, the lock turned, and the door slowly opened.
“Oh, bloody hell!” An understatement as I took in the man who leaned against the door opening, dried blood above his beard on his left cheek, holding himself with one arm wrapped about him as if he might break.
“I’d probably feel better if ye shot me,” he said with a glance at the revolver in my hand. A bit of wry Scots humor that, I thought, as I laid the revolver aside, then returned and slipped an arm about him.
“Easy, lass.”
It did seem pointless to ask if he was injured. He winced as he leaned heavily against me.
“And the other man?” I inquired at the sight of the dried stain on his coat sleeve as we slowly made our way across the office and he eased down into the chair at his desk.
“Yer concern is touching,” he replied.
I ignored the sarcasm as I went into the adjacent room and filled a basin of water and returned with a towel.
That dark gaze narrowed, his cheek below bloodied, from a cut.
“I’d much prefer a shot of whisky.”
“Of course,” I replied, forcing back the alarm at the sight of him as I reminded myself that he was very much alive, sharp comments and all.
“Do ye know wot ye are doing?”
“For the most part,” I replied. “Rupert survived his injuries some months ago without further harm.”
“A bloody hound?” he replied, obviously in a great deal of pain that seemed far more than the bruise and cut on his face.
The ‘bloody hound’ sat nearby, the hair on his back still standing on end as he eyed Brodie suspiciously, as if attempting to decide whether or not he should attack.
“Do you want me to send for Mr. Brimley?”
The chemist and good friend had some experience previously attending various wounds, including my own. He had studied medicine at King’s College and then set up his shop in one of the poorest parts of London, attending to those who needed care.
“Ye dinna need to contact him. It’s but a scratch. Wot I do want is a good drink to help dull the pain.”
“Mr. Brimley has cautioned about drinking when recovering from a wound,” I reminded him. His response was quite colorful.
Since becoming part in our inquiry cases and our more personal relationship, I have learned to pick my battles.
“Do ye want me to pour it myself?” he commented, somewhat more civil.
I tossed the cloth into the bowl, went to the side table, and poured a small amount. I returned and handed it to him, then retrieved the cloth from the bowl of water.
“Should I prepare myself for a visit from the police with a body lying somewhere about London?” I inquired.
The cut had stopped bleeding somewhere along his travels back to the office. I wiped dried blood from his cheek surrounding the cut and then in his beard.
“This is going to be quite colorful.” I announced.
When there was no wry comment, I looked up. He was staring past me to the chalkboard.
“Ye made more notes.”
That dark gaze narrowed. “Southwark?”
He cursed again, this time in Gaelic. It was far more impressive than English, with that sound that needed no translation.
“Have ye lost the common sense God gave ye, woman? A man has been murdered, and ye take it upon yerself to go there alone?”
That little voice inside my head cautioned that he was obviously exhausted, wounded.
I calmly set the bowl and towel aside, as it did seem that he was not in imminent danger of expiring from the wound.
“I learned there is a woman in Southwark who may very well be Adele DeMille, after I found information at Burke’s office,” I explained. “It was on a laundry receipt dated just two days ago.”
That dark gaze pinned me.
“Ye took it upon yerself to go there, without tellin’ me first and waitin’ so that I could go with ye?”
“Mr. Jarvis was not familiar with the area. It seemed that the time was better spent going to Sussex Square,” I calmly explained. “I did want to speak with Aunt Antonia about that gold button.” I didn’t point out that if he had read all the notes, he would have noticed that particular one.
Brodie tossed back the last of the whisky.
“Wot about the button?”
“Buttons such as the one we found in St. John’s Wood are usually requested by those who can afford them, including those in the military.” I frowned as he held out his glass for another dram.
I poured and explained further. “Buttons of that quality are quite expensive and almost always have some emblem on the front, usually the family crest. It’s a sign of...”
“Wealth and authority,” he added.
“There was something else she explained that we had not noticed,” I continued. “Such buttons are individually made to exact measurements and quality, not like wood or bone buttons.”
Brodie took a sip, winced as he shifted in his chair, then took another longer drink. He was obviously in a great deal of pain that appeared to have nothing to do with the cut below his left eye.
“Go on.”
I watched his expression and the way he held himself as I continued.
“There are usually embossed letters or a distinctive mark on the reverse of the button for the name of the person who made it, or possibly the person it was made for.”
“Is a mark on the back of the button?”
“The letters R.M.” I replied. “There are a number of custom tailor shops in London where we might be able to find out who that is.”
I would have explained further if Rupert hadn’t suddenly come to his feet once more and charged the door. Brodie winced again as he retrieved his revolver and pushed to his feet with some effort as the door opened.
“Ye might call the beast off!” the man who had once served with Brodie snarled. “Before I toss him over the railing.”
That would have been a sight to see indeed, as Mr. Conner entered the office with that noticeable limp from an old injury and went to the side table and that bottle of Old Lodge whisky.
“It’s bloody cold outside,” he announced as he poured, tossed back the entire contents, then poured again and turned with a smile.
“Pretty as usual, Lady Forsythe.” He looked from me to Brodie. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Brodie made a sound as he lowered himself back into the chair.
“I thought to bring you wot I learned tonight...” Mr. Conner commented. “You look like hell. Wot the devil happened?”
“It would seem there is more to it than the cut on yer cheek, with ye bent over like an old man.”
“It is good to see ye as well,” Brodie told him.
“Wot are ye hiding under yer coat?” Mr. Conner asked.
“A few bruises, no more.”
Mr. Conner nodded. “Aye, I heard that before. Off with the coat.”
“Ye are worse than an old woman!”
The ‘woman’ in the room chose not to take exception to that as Mr. Conner helped remove his coat.
“The shirt as well. I doubt there’s anything Lady Forsythe has not seen before,” he added with a grin.
Brodie glared at him.
The jumper he wore presented a different problem. It fit rather tight across his shoulders and chest and took some effort to remove as he winced and cursed.
My throat tightened at the sight of the large, dark bruise that spread across his ribs on his left side.
“Just as I thought,” Mr. Conner announced. “Does it hurt here and here?” he asked as he poked around the bruise.
“Leave off!” Brodie told him. “I can take care of myself.”
Mr. Conner looked over at me.
“Has he been coughin’ or bringin’ up any blood?”
“No,” I replied as I stared at that bruise.
“That’s a good sign. Some strong cloth will do... The ribs are broken—two, maybe more. He needs to be bound up so there’s no further injury.”
“I’ve had broken ribs before...”
Mr. Conner ignored him as I tried to think what we had in the way of cloth that might be used.
I did wish Mr. Brimley were there as I glanced at that gruesome bruise. At the moment, Brodie looked as if he would like to throw a blow at his friend as he held himself against the pain.
“A lady’s corset would do.”
It did seem as though Mr. Conner was enjoying this, as Brodie glared at him.
I went into the adjacent room that we shared and tore through the clothes in the wardrobe as well as the chest of drawers. Then turned to the bed and quickly removed the sheet.
Mr. Conner stared at me with some amusement as I returned with the sheet.
“I do not wear a corset,” I informed him.
“I thought not. No offense, Lady Forsythe. We'll need that cut into strips to bind him with.”
I proceeded to cut then tear the sheet into long strips several inches wide.
Much cursing followed from Brodie and then silence, as he sat on the chair and Mr. Conner bound him about his ribs.
“There,” Mr. Conner declared, standing back to inspect his work. “That should do for a while.”
Brodie shifted in the chair. “Ye might explain wot ye learned,”
“Of course.” He looked over at me. “Another dram, if ye please, Lady Forsythe.”
He waited until I had poured more whisky.
“I managed to visit four pubs Burke has been known to frequent. The man did get around.”
He downed the whisky and held out his glass once again.
“With this leg of mine, it required the services of a cabman, as I canna walk as far as I used to,” he continued. “Ye owe me sixpence,” he told Brodie, then took a long sip of whisky.
“The first two pubs, he hadn’t been around for a while. But he had been to the third one before visitin’ the Old Bell on the night he was killed.
“There was somethin’ else. It seems there was another man askin’ about him.”
He provided the description he’d been given, and I saw something shift in Brodie’s expression. Mr. Conner saw it as well.
“Perhaps the man ye encountered tonight?” he suggested.
Brodie nodded. “Aye.”
“There’s more. The man was recognized by a man at the bar who used to frequent the sports club in Germantown.”
The sports club was well-known across London. I had been there several times and Lily as well, as they now had a women’s exercise program, as well as other sports training.
I had insisted that she take formal lessons in handling a sword, admittedly not the usual interest for a young lady. However, I could hardly argue the matter, and lessons did seem necessary for the safety of everyone at Sussex Square. As it turned out, she was quite talented.
“It could be useful to see what the owner knows about the man,” Mr. Conner suggested.
“I’m for my own bed. It’s been a long time since I patrolled the streets and made inquiries.
And this knee of mine is stiffening up. By the way,” he added.
“Ye look like the devil, and ye shouldn’t move around with those ribs busted. ”
“Ye are not my mother, nor my wife.”
However, I was much in agreement, and amid much protest, Mr. Conner assisted in removing Brodie from the outer office to the adjoining bed chamber.
Though not without a good measure of curses, mostly in the language they both understood.
Then as he turned to leave, “That will be another sixpence for assisting an invalid,” he remarked, good-natured in spite of the fact that it was two o’clock in the morning and he obviously had some discomfort of his own as well as being tired.
I thanked him for his ‘assistance.’
“It will be worse the next couple of days,” he warned. “I know from experience. The challenge is to keep him quiet. Good luck with that.”
He grinned as he departed.
I looked over at Brodie, eyes closed, trussed up with that bandage, but hardly asleep.
“The man has a devious nature,” he commented, exhaustion in his voice.
“You should be grateful to him.”
“It would encourage him, though he does seem to think highly of ye.” He winced. “It might have to do with the fact that he knows yer right handy with the revolver.”
I had no experience with broken ribs and could only imagine the pain Mr. Conner had described.
I set the lock in the office door and put more coal on fire in the firebox, then returned to the bedchamber. With a thought to sleeping in the outer office, so not to disturb him, I grabbed the extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed.
I felt that dark gaze on me.
“I would have ye sleep here, lass,” he said.
“You’re injured. I don’t want to cause any difficulty.”
I could have sworn he laughed, a low sound in his throat, then swore and cursed again.
“There’s more the difficulty if someone should come through the office door and I need to protect ye.”
It was an old argument.
I said nothing as I returned the blanket, then undressed and slipped into the bed on his other side.
He shifted to make more room, and I heard the sudden breath he took at the pain it caused. He slowly breathed out as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.
“Your ribs?” I cautioned.
“This is all I need.”
I felt the bristly touch of his beard on the back of my shoulder as he kissed me there.
“Go to sleep, lass.”