Deadly Sacrifice (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #17)

Chapter 1

One

“Bloody hell!” I set down my cup somewhat hastily. It wobbled precariously and would have gone over if not for the calm hand that reached across the breakfast table.

“Wot do ye really think of the proposal?” Brodie inquired, as he steadied the cup, then sat back at the dining room chair. That dark gaze watched me with irritating calm. Not the first time in our somewhat unusual relationship.

The first time I recall was some years before on the island of Crete, where he had been sent by my great-aunt to fetch me back to London after I had taken myself off on my first adventure.

The sun was warm, the ouzo delicious, the Greek guide even more so.

The second time was sometime later, after we had collaborated on a murder investigation that involved the disappearance of my sister, and I realized, absent the mind-fogging ouzo of a handful of years earlier, that Brodie was in fact the same person who had retrieved me from that Greek island!

Same man, same insufferable Scot, same expression. Handsome, devilish, and watching me much like a cat watched a canary.

What was a young woman to do?

We had collaborated on several more inquiry cases. I wrote about them to great success in my novels, particularly for a woman, according to the London Literary Guild and newspaper reviews. And in a moment of toe-tingling recklessness I had married the man.

As for now?

“Bloody hell!” I repeated, as I left my chair, threw my napkin down onto the table, and stalked into the front parlor of our temporary residence at Cadogan Square after the fire that had reduced the Mayfair townhouse to a pile of cinders.

My great-aunt’s attorney had made the arrangements with the owner of the Cadogan Square townhouse. A client who was presently off on a European tour while our residence was being rebuilt.

We had settled in at the Square. There had been little to bring with us. Losing everything to fire had a way of simplifying our move to the temporary residence.

We had spent several months after the fire living in the small—very small—flat adjacent to the office on the Strand.

Between our work for the agency and my latest book deadline where I needed to work, the arrangement was quite limiting.

I frequently took myself off to Aunt Antonia’s residence at Sussex Square to gather my thoughts and plot my next novel in relative quiet and remained for several days. A situation that neither Brodie nor I cared for.

As winter weather loomed and another case was solved, I had decided that a few weeks abroad in the south of France might do us both good.

I had mentioned it in passing. There had been a mumbled response as Brodie was reviewing that previous case file, and I had proceeded to make inquiries regarding departure schedules. As for accommodations, there was an old family property owned by my great-aunt where we might stay.

The chateau in Provence had been built by William of Normandy, an ancestor of the family.

It was one of the properties that remained in the Montgomery family, now with vineyards that produced wine.

And much the same as my great-aunt’s family hunting lodge in the north of Scotland that produced a very fine whisky at Old Lodge.

I had not yet specifically discussed the plans for our holiday, still I was confident Brodie could be persuaded to leave in the next several days, particularly since there was not presently anything that needed our attention.

I was wrong.

The ‘situation’ presently being discussed, or rather argued over, was a proposal Brodie had received from Sir Avery Stanton, Director of the Agency. That discreet, secretive organization tasked with handling threats to the Crown.

Over the course of our inquiry cases there had been involvement by the Agency. One particularly nasty situation had involved Brodie and could have ended badly.

“I don’t trust the man,” I announced. “And neither do you. How can you possibly consider this?” This being an offer of a new position with the Home Office.

Never let it be said that I was shy about voicing my opinion on something.

Brodie called it ‘getting my red up,’ a reference to the color of my hair.

That comment from a bloody Scot! And he had the audacity to remain perfectly calm.

Very irritating, particularly as we were not of the same opinion in the matter.

“The ‘offer’ as ye put it was not made by Sir Avery,” Brodie replied, hands in the pockets of his trousers, with his long coat open at the front, dark hair spilling over his forehead in that irritating way that made my fingers itch to smooth it back. And that dark gaze.

“The request was made by His Royal Highness.”

That stopped me. Not Sir Avery, but at the request of His Highness?

Brodie had followed me into the parlor.

“I know yer objections,” he added. “It is not as if I am not aware of the potential problems. But the position that has been offered is that of Director of the new agency—C.I.D.

“If I accept, I would work directly with the Home Secretary on matters that arise and present a potential threat. I’m to meet today with His Highness and the Home Secretary at Marlborough House.”

“I don’t like it,” I announced, even though he had obviously already agreed to meet with them. One couldn’t refuse a request from the Prince of Wales, who would be the future king.

“The compensation will be substantial,” Brodie added.

I didn’t give a fig about compensation. Between the fees from our inquiry cases, royalties from my books, as well as a substantial trust fund my great-aunt had set up for both my sister and me, we were certainly not groveling about in the streets for survival.

“I know that look,” Brodie commented as he crossed the parlor and took my hand.

“What look is that?”

“The one on yer face now, the way those little lines appear just there between yer eyebrows when ye disapprove of something, or someone. Ye have a suspicious nature, Mikaela Forsythe.”

“You are trying to get around me.”

That smile.

“An interesting thought, ye have.”

“You know precisely what I mean. And where is Sir Avery in this new scheme? He will not be pleased to be set aside. He has a very high opinion of himself and no reservations whatsoever of putting someone’s head in the noose.”

“I have been assured that he will have no authority in the situation.”

Admittedly, it was a great honor and opportunity, still I was not pleased about it.

There were questions, not the least which was how much authority would Brodie have? Would he be given full support instead of simply being left hanging in a situation, no matter how difficult it was or whom it involved? And what would it mean for our private inquiry business?

Not the least of my concerns, why was he being offered this position? A former inspector with the MET who had come up from the streets. Someone who was disposable?

“You have already agreed to attend the meeting.”

“I owe His Highness the courtesy to hear wot the man has to say.”

He reached out and brushed my cheek with his fingers.

“Dinna frown, lass. I have not agreed to anythin’ as yet.”

All well and good, I thought. Yet I knew how persuasive His Highness could be.

There was a saying my friend Templeton had acquired from one of her tours that seemed particularly appropriate. I would like to be a fly on the wall in that meeting, since I had not been invited to attend.

“Give my regards to yer great-aunt,” he said as Mrs. Ryan announced that a driver had arrived.

“Of course,” I replied somewhat stiffly.

Aunt Antonia had asked that I join her at Sussex Square this morning, always a welcome diversion with the person who had raised my sister and me.

He kissed me in parting in that slightly distracted manner when his thoughts were already on that meeting.

“I will meet ye at the office afterward.”

After he left, I dressed for the day, then asked Mrs. Ryan to call for another driver.

Cadogan Square was in Kensington, some distance farther from the office but nearer my great-aunt’s residence at Sussex Square.

Morning traffic across the city had eased somewhat by the time I left the townhouse, and I arrived at Sussex Square in good time.

I greeted Mr. Symons, my great-aunt’s head butler, as I arrived.

“Very good to see you, Miss Mikaela. It has been a while. Her ladyship and her guest are in the solar this morning. I will inform Lady Montgomery that you have arrived.”

There was not an opportunity to inquire who that guest might be as Mr. Ivers, one of my aunt’s footmen, arrived to take my coat and umbrella.

I crossed the entrance hall and proceeded toward the solar.

“I will inform Mrs. Danberry that more coffee will be needed,” Mr. Symons announced as I entered the solar.

I thanked him and noted that he closed the doors to the solar in parting. It appeared that this was to be a private meeting.

I did wonder who my great-aunt’s guest was as I turned from the entrance and walked across the colorful Moroccan tile on the floor. The sounds of water burbled from the fountain, the ‘jungle’ that my great-aunt had installed just beyond, with a sign that cautioned there were wild animals within.

Not that there were now. But it had once been the residence of a tiger and several monkeys when we were children, until they escaped after ‘someone’ in particular left the gate open at the entrance.

I had been curious if they would venture out from their private jungle. It was quite exciting.

All were eventually recaptured, including the tiger. Although it was decided shortly thereafter that they were best kept in the zoo after one of the monkeys made an appearance at afternoon tea when Aunt Antonia was entertaining friends.

The only resident now, as far as I was aware, was a rather talkative parrot, Admiral Nelson, that was known to carry on both sides of a conversation. Aunt Antonia had declined the suggestion of adding a python with the concern that if there was one in residence, she might find servants missing.