Chapter 3 #3
There was, left from my visit with my sister and her children. My niece had thrust it into my hand, a bit soggy with her teeth marks. But here we were now, and Rupert didn’t seem to mind the teeth marks or the drool at all.
I caught the hesitation in Mr. Cavendish’s manner.
“Inspector Dooley sent round a message.” He extended the note to me, still hesitant.
I quickly read it. Mr. Dooley had arranged to meet with me the following morning at the Yard, where he would make the initial police report available to me, along with the follow-up information at present about the investigation.
“I’ve been waiting for this. Thank you.”
He still hesitated, working his cap in his hands. There was obviously something more.
“Mr. Brodie spoke of the new work he’ll be doin’ and that ye will be continuin’ on here.” He hesitated again.
“I’m not a one to accept charity, Miss Forsythe. Ye know that well enough, in spite of me infirmity. I’ve always made me own way, just like before he took me on to assist from time to time.”
I recalled very well our first meeting, when he had rolled out from the alcove with the hound, eyed me with what could only be described as suspicion, and had asked my business there. Protective of Brodie, more like the guard at the gate, some might have described it.
It was the beginning of a most unusual friendship that I valued highly. Not to mention, the hound as well. Brodie had recently made Mr. Cavendish an associate, which I heartily supported. Along with his personal transformation after his marriage to Miss Effie at the Public House.
Yet he was the one who had reminded me that ‘old dogs’ didn’t change their spots. Not precisely accurate on that old saying, but his meaning was quite clear. His infirmity, as he referred to it, was deceiving.
“You can always count on me, Miss Forsythe.”
And I had. But as to the present situation with the new arrangement.
“What charity are you referring to, Mr. Cavendish?”
He looked me in the eye with a fierce expression that I had glimpsed on more than one occasion and suspected might have backed down more than one shipmate in his past.
“With Mr. Brodie off and about in a new position, there will be less work here at the office...”
“I will be continuing on, Mr. Cavendish,” I assured him. “However, with just myself to see to things, there will be more need of your participation. That is, unless you have an objection to working for a woman.”
He eyed me sharply. “Me wife would no doubt have a word on that. She is particularly agreeable toward yerself and Mr. Brodie. And I’m not a man to shy away from unusual situations.” For emphasis he tapped the platform he sat on.
“It makes life interesting, wouldn’t you say Miss Forsythe?”
“Indeed,” I replied, then informed him of my meeting with Mr. Dooley in the morning if Brodie should return.
“I will also be working here for a while yet.” There were notes to be made.
“Then you will be needing a driver later?” he inquired.
“With the meeting early in the morning at the Yard, I will be staying here tonight.”
Our temporary residence at Cadogan Square was simply that—temporary. But here... And there was always the possibility that Brodie might later return.
I reminded myself to telephone Mrs. Ryan to let her know that I would not be returning tonight.
Mr. Cavendish nodded.
“I’ll have the missus prepare a carton for yer supper,” he said, turning toward the door.
“Do be certain to have her include a portion for Rupert,” I reminded him. “You know how he is.”
“Aye, he does get a bit cranky if there’s not a biscuit or scone,” he replied, then left. From the landing beyond the door, I heard the distinctive rumble of the lift as he returned to the alcove below.
Rupert remained. Not the first time, I was certain he understood our conversation, particularly the mention of food.
He lay stretched before the warmth of the hearth as I opened my notebook.
There was an occasional twitch of an ear that indicated he was not fully asleep but merely waiting for supper.
I do not know what time it was later that night when I heard that distinctive growl from Rupert. Only that it was dark by the edge of the window shade in the bedroom.
Then the sound of the lock being turned in the office door as I reached for the revolver in the bedside drawer, followed by a muttered curse and that Scots accent.
The electric came on in the outer office as I stepped to the door between. That dark gaze met mine.
“Dinna shoot, lass.”
It was tempting, as I had been restless and only just managed to fall asleep before he arrived.
“There is supper from tonight in the cold box.” I told him, then turned back to the bed. I heard the distinctive sound of it being opened, a brief conversation with Rupert, then the light that spilled into the bedroom.
The edge of the bed dipped followed by the sound of his boots hitting the floor and other sounds of clothing being removed. The bed dipped again as he pulled blankets over both of us.
“Wot are ye doin’ here late of the night and by yerself? Ye should have returned to the townhouse.”
“You might have returned to the townhouse as well,” I replied.
“I didna want to wake ye.”
“I very much like when you wake me.”