Chapter 6
Six
I have learned several things about the male of the species that I was not previously aware of before I encountered Angus Brodie. My great-aunt had shared great wisdom in the matter.
“There is something quite primitive about the male animal,” she shared. “It is useful to understanding the matter if there is to be harmony between a man and woman.”
I remembered the occasion quite clearly, as I was fascinated with the fact that a woman who had never wed shared such an observation. Yet with other pieces of wisdom she had shared with my sister and me through the years after she took us to live with her, I should not have been surprised.
“You must understand that a man lives his life between his stomach and his manhood. It is the rule of wild beasts.” There was a secretive smile.
“Although I will admit that some are wilder than others, particularly those of Scottish blood. Quite exciting, actually. You might remember that. And do be cautious with sharp words. You do have a way of speaking your mind. Some men find that off-putting...under most circumstances.”
Our great-aunt had lived an extraordinary life on her own terms, and not without a little scandal along the way. I adored her and had endeavored to carry on the tradition. And that included the Scot sitting before the fire on the hearth in our bedchamber.
Mrs. Ryan provided supper from earlier. As for the ‘other’...
“How have you been, dear?” I inquired, as I poured him another dram of my great-aunt’s whisky. As if it had been weeks and not a few days since we last saw each other.
It was not that I had objected to his taking the new position that had been offered by Sir Ridley. It was something he seemed quite keen about. Yet I did miss our interactions.
That dark gaze narrowed as he took a long sip of whisky.
“Well enough. And ye as well?”
“I have been making progress on my inquiries for Lady Ellsworth. Mr. Cavendish was able to find a man on the docks the night Sir Thomas was murdered and his body found in the river.”
“Aye.” He merely nodded, as if he were already aware of it.
“And with assistance from Sir Laughton, I will be calling on Sir Thomas’s employer. I have questions about his work there, possibly some interaction with an unpleasant client that he might know of.
“It is slow progress, but I may find that it is exactly as the police have concluded, that it was a misfortune of robbery that then went quite wrong and ended in murder. And what of your work?” I casually inquired. I had to admit that I was curious about what that might include.
“A good amount of paperwork—reports, communications about suspicious activities. Most of it is boring and of no consequence. Alex Sinclair has proven to be most proficient in that regard.”
It seemed that I had been efficiently replaced, although I did like Alex very much.
“He is well-intentioned and has the background with the Agency that may prove valuable,” he continued. “However, he is not proficient in foreign languages beyond a passable knowledge of French.
“We have just this evening intercepted a communication that is in a foreign language he is not familiar with. He believes it could be German.”
“Surely the Home Office has persons who might translate it for you,” I suggested.
He took another sip of whisky. That dark gaze met mine. He could be such a devil.
“Aye, perhaps... However, it is a good excuse to return here, and it keeps things...”
I knew precisely what he was thinking.
“The fewer who know, the better?” I suggested.
“Aye, perhaps somethin’ like that.”
I was not the sort of person to be petty over such things—still, it didn’t hurt to let him dangle a bit, even though I was forced to admit that it was good to see him.
I rose from my chair. “It is late and you must be exhausted.” As I walked past him toward the hall and the stairs beyond, his hand wrapped around mine.
There was something there in his expression along with a weariness, no doubt of long hours, along with a hint of a smile as he set his glass on the side table.
“Aye, tis late.” He rose from his own chair.
He turned off the electric and then accompanied me to the stairs. Rupert trotted along beside.
“Not tonight, lad,” Brodie told him. He said nothing about that information that he’d come across, nor requested that I look at it. Neither there nor in the bedchamber as we undressed for bed.
I hung his coat in the armoire, then put his shirt in the basket for laundry. He stepped out of his boots and trousers, then slipped into bed. Not a word.
I removed my dressing gown, then joined him, his warmth there in a way that I had missed without even knowing it until that moment.
His arm went around me, and he pulled me against him. I listened to the sound of his breathing, the soft brush of his beard against the back of my shoulder as I thought of what Aunt Antonia had said about men.
He’d been fed. That certainly accounted for the ‘first thing’ she had spoken of. As for that ‘other’ thing? I turned to him.
He brushed a loose strand of hair back from my cheek.
“I have missed ye,” he whispered as his arms tightened about me.
I was not inclined to argue.
“Will Mr. Brodie be taking breakfast this morning?” Mrs. Ryan inquired as I arrived in search of coffee.
He had spoken of leaving early to return to the office he shared with his new assistant. At present, he was taking advantage of the bathing chamber adjacent to our bedchamber.
I assured her that coffee and perhaps biscuits would be sufficient. The hound was in agreement after returning from his morning about the square. I could only imagine how that had transpired.
“You might give this to Mr. Brodie,” Mrs. Ryan suggested. “It seems that it was mistakenly left on the side table in the parlor. It looks to be a telegram?”
She handed it to me as she turned toward the kitchen, the hound trotting alongside.
I looked at what was obviously a telegram. Mistakenly left on the side table?
And pigs fly, I thought. Brodie did not forget or misplace anything.
It was most definitely a telegram, somewhat rumpled, with a date three weeks earlier in spite of the fact that the contents were written in another language.
He knew very well that it would be discovered. If not by myself, then by Mrs. Ryan, who was very meticulous and would make certain that I saw it.
Let his assistant or someone else with the Home Office translate it, I thought, as I placed it at the dining table, admittedly a bit put off that he would presume that I would be so accommodating, not to mention curious.
I refilled my cup from the carafe on the sideboard as I stared at that telegram.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I set my cup down and retrieved the telegram.
I could always inform him that I could not understand the bloody thing. Yet he knew better from past travels we had made to the continent.
I could simply ignore it as if I had not seen it ‘mistakenly’ left at the table in the parlor...
Or...
“Are ye able to translate it?”
I looked up as Brodie arrived for the breakfast Mrs. Ryan had prepared.
“It is in High German,” I replied.
It would have been easy to simply explain that I could not. Yet that message was intriguing.
“To answer your question, yes, I was able to translate the telegram that you so very conveniently left in the parlor.” I caught the look in that dark gaze.
I wasn’t the least fooled, and we both knew it.
“An oversight, no doubt,” I added, one corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.
“What is in the telegram?”
Mrs. Ryan brought the biscuits and more coffee. I waited until she returned to the kitchen before responding.
I read it in German as he sat impatiently across from me. I then translated it.
‘Everything in place as requested.
D. will meet you at the Hotel Carillon
18 October to receive the package.’
“It seems that something has been arranged and someone—obviously the person the telegram was intended for—is to meet someone at the Hotel Carillon on 18 October to complete the transaction.”
I handed the telegram back to him.
“The Hotel Carillon is in Brussels,” I added.
Brodie continued to stare down at it, brows drawn together over that dark gaze.
“Therefore, the question might be, does it mean anything to you?”
“Not as yet.” He finally looked up. “And it would be best for you to forget wot is in the telegram.”
He quickly rose and left the dining room. He retrieved his long coat from the coat stand and tucked the telegram into his pocket. I followed him from the table.
“You do know something about it.” It was there in the frown on his face.
“I canna say more, lass.”
“I can assist you and Alex with this,” I pointed out once again. “There may be more communications, and I know Brussels. If there is something that is supposed to take place in less than eight days, I can help you. Two hands and two pairs of eyes, better than one?” I reminded him.
Mrs. Ryan had returned, and Brodie thanked her for the breakfast as he turned to leave.
“Keep the hound close as ye go about London,” he said in parting. “And leave any messages with Mr. Cavendish.”
Not at the Home Office?
“You will need a driver,” I reminded him.
“I will find one on the High Street.” He paused, and for just a moment, there was a shadow of the Brodie I knew from the night before. He reached out and touched my cheek.
“I thank ye for translating the telegram.” There was that faint smile on one corner of his mouth.
He left and quickly crossed the square, then disappeared onto the street beyond.
Bloody, arrogant Scot!
Someone was meeting someone else at the Hotel Carillon in Brussels to receive a package.
Whatever it meant, Brodie was not willing to share more.
Was this how it was to be with the new position he’d taken? Returning late at night, if at all? Long absences? Things he could not share with me as we had in the past?
I could have insisted that he tell me what this was regarding, yet I knew precisely what his response would have been, and in fact had already. That it was not for me.