Chapter 9 #3
“I’m right pleased that the information is important. If there is anythin’ else I can do...”
There was another look in my direction, yet no mistaking her last suggestion.
Whoever insisted that a woman was given to embarrassment and blushed over a matter had obviously not met Angus Brodie, whose face at the moment was quite flushed.
“I thank ye kindly, but no. Ye need to go now.”
Alex had set his pen down and appeared quite fascinated with the conversation.
“I would be happy to see her safely back to her...residence,” he said, with obvious color on his own face.
“That is, if there is no objection.”
Brodie nodded. For her part, Betty smiled.
“None at all.”
The rain had let up somewhat as they left.
I poured Brodie a dram of Old Lodge and handed it to him as he set the lock behind them, the hound quite content now that they were gone.
“Do you think it wise to send Alex off with her?”
Brodie sat back in his chair, glass in hand.
“He’s most capable.”
“That wasn’t my meaning,” I replied. “The street can be quite dangerous.”
“Aye, but there is every possibility that he won’t be traveling farther tonight.”
He then quite deliberately changed the direction of the conversation.
“Wot of yer own inquiries in the matter of the Ellsworth murder?”
I sat in one of the wing-back chairs across from his desk with my own dram of whisky. I did like the view very much.
I explained what I had learned which was helpful, particularly my meeting with Edward Baldwin and the stories he had told about their university days and the exploits of the Three Musketeers. As well as his observations about the difficulties between the brothers.
“It does seem that Sir Robert favored Anthony as the oldest, even though only by a few minutes. As Mr. Baldwin explained it, Thomas always thought of himself as the spare son, or worse not acknowledged at all, particularly after the death of their mother.
“Have ye met with Sir Anthony about that last day?”
“I have sent round two notes with my request. There has been no response.”
“Aye, that would seem to be yer answer regarding his grandmother’s askin’ ye to make inquiries into the brother’s death.
“I might be able to assist in the matter, with a word to the Home Secretary. The man would not be inclined to ignore such a request from Sir Ridley.”
It was a possibility.
“And as for the matter you are pursuing?” I inquired. I was most curious and he had said very little.
The information Betty had provided was far more than anything else I had learned.
I caught the look he gave me.
“Yes, I know you cannot discuss it with me.”
He did not argue the matter.
I emptied my glass and set it on the desk, then crossed the office and set more coal in the firebox. Rupert opened one eye, the only sign that he was alive, then immediately went back to sleep.
Brodie sat with eyes closed, head against the chairback as I returned. It was now well after midnight.
“I have never seen a man blush before,” I commented as I pulled down the shades on the windows. “You were quite flushed in the conversation with Betty.”
He made a familiar sound that usually translated to something I was wrong about.
“Wot are ye about, lass?” he said without opening an eye. As usual, aware of everything around him, a habit no doubt from his years with the MET and before.
“You should not continue to sit about in damp clothes,” I commented. “You might be taken with a fever or chill. And then where would Sir Ridley be with the director of the CID abed?”
That dark gaze fastened on me, both eyes. “Abed?”
It did seem that I now had his attention.
“Aye, perhaps ye are right.” He set his glass on the desk as well and then swung out of the chair.
I helped remove his day coat and hung it on the coat rack near the stove, then proceeded into the bed chamber. He caught me around the waist and pulled me against him.
“What about the shirt?”
It had managed to dry somewhat during the visit from Betty, in spite of his wet coat. I eyed him suspiciously.
“Oh, yes, the shirt as well,” I replied as I unbuttoned it and pushed it back from his shoulders. I let my fingers linger.
Three drams of whisky and the fatigue I saw on his face, were no deterrent as one arm wrapped about my waist and the other under my legs.
I let out a small sound of surprise as I was lifted and then swung down onto the bed, and that well-muscled body wrapped around me.
“Ye were most congenial with Betty, I thank ye,” he whispered. “She’s not but a poor thing tryin’ to survive.”
“She seems to have survived quite well,” I replied as his fingers slowly unbuttoned my shirtwaist.
“I do hope Alex will survive,” I said, my voice thickening in my throat.
There was no reply then as he slowly undressed me.
“I like her in spite of the fact that she obviously still cares for you. She was most complimentary in her own way.” I added now, quite breathless.
His beard was soft against my bare shoulder.
“How was that?” he whispered.
“She said she liked the way I smelled.”
My breath caught as his beard brushed my skin just there.
“I like it verra much as well...” he whispered.