Chapter 7 #4
“If I know that, I might be able to find the man, retrace Thomas Ellsworth’s steps that night, solve the murder for our client, and provide closure for her.”
Mr. Browne stared at me from across the desk with an amused expression.
“Most women are content to mind the home and young ones. Not yerself. You carry a knife and most likely that bloody revolver and come to a man like me for information.
“That last shipment of whisky must be very nearly gone,” I commented.
He roared with laughter and slammed his hand down on his desk. “You’ve the makin’ of a bloody pirate.”
Admittedly, there were one or two among my ancestors. I had once asked Mr. Brimley, the chemist who assisted us from time to time, if that sort of trait was passed on. He had merely smiled.
“You are a match for himself, to be certain,” Mr. Browne added. “The 18th of October, ye say?” He was thoughtful. “I might be able to find information for you.”
It seemed that our business was concluded, and I was grateful to be leaving as I returned down the stairs with Rupert alongside.
In parting, Mr. Browne took my hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
I was somewhat taken aback by the gesture. It certainly seemed completely out of character for a man like Mr. Browne.
“To find out if it is any different,” he explained.
“Different?” I shouldn’t have inquired.
“If there’s a difference in the taste of a lady. There is and I like it very much. If I wasn’t determined to keep my head on my shoulders... Let me just say that Mr. Brodie is a lucky man.”
He grinned as I pulled my hand away.
“I will send information when I find what you are looking for, Lady Forsythe,” he assured me. “And be certain to pass along a message for me to himself. He said that it was important.”
Brodie hadn’t mentioned that he had been in contact with Mr. Browne. But then, he hadn’t told me anything else about the work he was doing.
“The certificate of registration for the vessel he inquired about was issued in Lisbon to a man named Ribiero. He provides assistance to those who don’t want their business to pass through the usual channels. If you get my meanin’.”
“Smugglers?” I inquired.
“And others. He takes on the risk for a price and provides a crew. If they’re caught, he simply disappears. For a while. He has been known to hire a man by the name of Caspian.”
Brodie hadn’t mentioned anything about that when I saw him last. Obviously, it was connected to the work he was presently pursuing in his new position with the CID.
“Caspian has a habit of dumping cargo that he hasn’t declared to avoid the port authorities and doing business with the sort of people who operate beyond the law.”
That old saying about the pot and kettle came to mind.
“I will tell him.”
“There’s no need to mention my other comment,” Mr. Browne then added with a wink, as if we shared a secret. “About the taste of a lady, if ye get my meanin’. He might take offense.”
I thanked him again, called to Rupert, and we left the Red Witch.
Once inside the coach with the hound at my feet, the knife in one pocket and the revolver in my bag, I slowly let out a breath as we set off.
Brodie did not return to the office. Nor had Mr. Cavendish returned. As it grew later, I finished making my notes from my visit with Mr. Browne, then found a driver and set off for the townhouse with Rupert.
Mrs. Ryan was delighted to see him when we arrived in spite of the smell. The feeling was obviously mutual as he set off for the kitchen with a grin.
After supper, with remainders of food held back for Rupert, I retired to the parlor and made my notes for the following day.
“It’s just a few pieces,” Mrs. Ryan assured me with a grin that matched that of the hound. “Not enough for Mr. Brodie, and no reason to toss it into the rubbish.”
Of course.
After supper, I went into the front parlor with my notebook and pen and went over what I had learned so far.
It was well after midnight when I looked up as the clock at the mantel chimed.
Brodie had not returned. Not that it was unexpected.
He had cautioned that the new position would require long hours as he pursued the present situation—which he could not discuss with me. And he was known to be quite persistent.
It was too soon to expect any word from Mr. Browne.
Yet, there was someone else I had not yet spoken with who might be able to tell me more about Sir Thomas Ellsworth.
Someone who apparently knew him quite well, a chum from university and the last person who apparently saw him the night he was murdered.
Lady Ellsworth had given me the name when we met. I made a note to call on Mr. Edward Baldwin, whose family was in the coffee trade, the next morning while I waited to hear if I might be able to meet with Sir Thomas’s brother at Crofts.
Much like my great-aunt, I was not one to be put off, and there might have been something mentioned in passing that the two brothers had met early that last evening before Sir Thomas was to meet a university friend for supper.