Chapter 13
Thirteen
What was I hoping to learn by taking that note?
I wasn’t certain. What I did know was that the more time that passed, the less chance there was that Thomas Ellsworth’s murder might be solved and the person responsible found and made accountable.
I stared down at the note with that distinctive signature that was a profusion of almost indecipherable swirls and slashes.
My own signature was not what anyone would call elegant, like my great-aunt’s.
My sister’s signature was what I would have expected of an artist with long strokes.
And then there was Brodie’s signature—brief, to the point, with as little wasted effort as possible, as one might expect of a former police inspector.
It did seem, however, that some men were quite impressed with themselves and their signature with those swirls and slashes, as if making a statement.
According to Mr. Brimley, identical twins shared common traits, physical appearance of course, even the tone of voice, and were even known to share the same thoughts.
Still, there were often subtle differences, as he had pointed out.
Handwriting was often different, one from the other.
In addition, their fingerprints were known to be different as well.
Something Brodie would have found interesting.
According to Sir Francis Galton, no two sets of fingerprints were alike. Each one was unique.
I thought again of those needles in haystacks. And then thought again of my conversation with Edward Baldwin, who had perhaps known Thomas better than anyone, even Lady Eugenia.
Athos, one of the Three Musketeers, who went about with his companions avenging the wrongs done by others. Merely a fictional story written by Alexandre Dumas?
The university classmate whom Edward Baldwin had described lived in his brother’s shadow. He had been all but forgotten as a child, left to himself. When he was older, he chose to attend a different university and studied the law rather than become part of the Crofts banking empire.
How might all of that affected a young man who was all but forgotten in favor of his older brother? Even though Anthony was older by only minutes?
How could a father choose one son over another?
I stared down at Sir Anthony’s signature. Was it a needle in the haystack?
I signaled for the driver to stop.
“Aye, miss?” he called down as the coach rolled to a stop.
It was a feeling, something that didn’t make sense. Brodie would have called it my woman’s intuition.
Yet, it was there, descriptions of Sir Thomas that seemed somehow oddly familiar when I had met with Sir Anthony. His soft-spoken responses, an unexpected reaction, something tentative, and his watchfulness when a servant at the club appeared.
Was it my imagination?
I needed to find out and directed the driver to the office of Sir Anderson-Fitch, whom Sir Thomas had worked with.
What would I find, if anything?
It was late in the afternoon by the time we reached the address.
I asked the driver to wait.
Rupert accompanied me to the entrance of the office. I told him to stay as I entered the foyer. However, what he chose to obey was selective, particularly if there as the possibility of food. He slipped in ahead of me.
The clerk I had met previously looked up.
“Lady Forsythe?” His eyes narrowed on Rupert. “Is there an appointment that I have somehow overlooked?”
I apologized. “I do not have an appointment. I was hoping that I might speak with Sir Anderson.”
His manner stiffened. “It is advised to have an appointment. Sir Anderson is often at court or with a client. I can make one for you. And you should be aware that...animals,” he paused with a disgusted look over his desk at Rupert, “are not allowed.”
I had learned a long time ago as a child that animals, particularly my father’s hunting dogs, had an amazing awareness of people. From surviving on the streets, Rupert’s awareness was especially keen.
The clerk came around his desk and made to emphasize the point he was determined to make. He was met with a low growl and bared teeth. The clerk, Mr. Davis as I recalled, immediately retreated.
“In the future of course.”
I hid my amusement. Rupert did have that effect on people, particularly those he didn’t like.
As for an appointment, I was familiar with the usual process. However, Sir Anderson was obviously present, and this was a situation I felt could not wait for an appointment.
Brodie would have cautioned me against losing my temper. However, he was not here. And there were moments when it was necessary to assert myself, something Brodie had also commented about in the past. Usually with a good amount of humor. He called it ‘getting my red up.’
“I appreciate your diligence, as I am certain Sir Anderson does as well,” I complimented his clerk. “However, he has made it clear that I may call on him at any time regarding the matter I wish to discuss with him.” I smiled.
Better honey than vinegar, Aunt Antonia would have reminded me. Often the best way to win an argument. Although she had been known to drop a walking stick across someone’s desk rather forcefully when necessary. I did not have one with me. Yet, I did have Rupert.
“Now, you will inform Sir Anderson that I wish to see him. It will only require a few minutes of his time.” I had to admit there was a bit of vinegar with the honey.
“Of course, I will see if he is available.”
Mr. Davis was most definitely not pleased, yet he rose from behind his desk, gave Rupert a wide berth, and quickly proceeded toward that private office where I had met previously with Sir Anderson.
He immediately returned. “He will see you now.”
Sir Anderson stood at the open door of his office.
“Do come in, Lady Forsythe.”
Rupert accompanied me.
I apologized for arriving without prior notice. He shook his head with a smile of faint amusement as Rupert made himself comfortable and lay at my feet.
“Not at all. Still, I sense there must be something of importance. Have you made progress with your inquiries?”
“It is often a difficult process,” I explained. “However, there is something you may be able to assist with.”
“Of course, in any way that I can.”
“This may seem unusual, however, do you have an example of Sir Thomas’s signature that I might have?”
He looked at me with more than a little surprise.
“His signature? There are several files that he worked on that would have his signature on the final draft of a case summary. Those are usually private matters for my information,” he added.
“I do not need the entire file, merely an example of his signature.”
He nodded. “I believe we can accommodate that.” He went to the door of his office and requested a particular file from Mr. Davis.
“I hope this may help in some way,” he said as he returned to his desk to await the delivery of the file. “If I may ask, has something occurred to resolve the murder case?”
“Not as yet,” I replied. “It is often a lengthy process with many questions,” I replied. “And difficult after a certain amount of time has passed.” I then inquired about Lady Ellsworth.
“Have you heard from her? I had hoped to provide an update on my progress. I was concerned that she had been taken ill.”
“Not as yet. The past weeks have been difficult for her. However, I have no doubt that she will prevail and return to London. I do know she was most anxious to learn if the person responsible could be held accountable.”
There was a knock at the door as his clerk returned with the file he had requested.
“That will be all, Mr. Davis,” Sir Anderson dismissed him.
After his clerk left, he opened the file and went through the paperwork it contained.
“This case was recently concluded a short while ago. Thomas had written extensive notes in preparation for presentation at court.” He paused.
“Mr. Davis is conscientious, however, with a great deal yet to learn. Thomas was quite exceptional in his knowledge of the law and the courts. I shall miss that, as well as his kind nature.” He read through several more pieces of paper.
“Here. It is the final page of the summation he wrote for this case and it contains his signature.” He handed it to me across the desk.
“This not an official court document, merely my working papers. You may have it.”
I folded the paper, then tucked it into my notebook.
“I do appreciate it.” I replied as I stood to leave.
“You will let me know how your inquiries are progressing?”
It was there again, that unmistakable sadness I had noticed before. It was obvious that he had been quite fond of Thomas.
“He was a fine young man.”
I assured him that I would.
“And I will make Mr. Davis aware that you do not need an appointment if I am present.”
It seemed that he was well-informed. I thanked him, then bid him good day. Rupert followed me from his office.
“You have been most helpful, Mr. Davis,” I told him as I left Sir Anderson’s office.
I sincerely doubted he was capable of understanding that my sarcasm was not a compliment.
In spite of the fact that it was well into early evening and I had already been there once today, I directed the driver to Mr. Brimley’s shop.
His business often required him to see customers late in the day after they left the factories and workhouses, and I hoped to find him still there.
The front of the shop was well-lit when we arrived. I quickly jumped down, and Rupert followed.
Sara was still there as well. She looked at me with concern.
“Are ye all right, miss?”
I assured her that I was but that I needed to see Mr. Brimley once more.
“He’s with some people now.” She lowered her voice. “The husband was badly injured at the factory. They don’t have money for a physician. The wife brought him here after Mr. Brimley helped their son the past winter.
“They been there for some time in the back room.”
I was familiar with the back room.
“Yer welcome to wait and I’ll let him know that you are here.”
It wasn’t necessary as we heard voices; Mr. Brimley’s rich baritone along with that of a woman as they walked toward the front of the shop
“I told him his arm would rot and fall off. Then where would we be,” the woman exclaimed.
“No sense botherin’ the man with yer nattering, Becky.”
“Nattering is it? The maybe I should have just left ye to die in yer bed once the thing swold up and turned green.”
The argument continued as they reached the front of the shop.
“The swelling should go down with the medicine I’ve given ye,” he told them. “Change the bandages twice a day and wash with the tonic I provided.”
“What about work?” Becky inquired. “Too many days off and they’ll replace him.”
“He should be able to return day after tomorrow, but the wound must be kept clean,” he admonished.
“I’ll see to that,” she assured him. Then inquired, “How much do we owe you, Mr. Brimley?”
He shook his head. “Send young Timmy round to sweep out the place. That will do.”
“Yer a good man, Mr. Brimley,” she replied, then turned to her husband. “Come along, Albie, and no complainin’. If you’d lost the arm, how would you wipe yer...” The rest of it was lost as the door at the front entrance closed behind them.
Mr. Brimley looked over at me.
“Miss Forsythe? Twice in one day? It must be a matter of some urgency.”
I apologized for the lateness of the hour.
“I need your assistance with something important.” And the use of his microscope, as I explained the reason.
“Now you have my curiosity. Come along then.”
I followed him back into what he referred to as his laboratory, with microscopes, a pill-making machine, and different specimens, including that skull he had been studying. Rupert chose to remain with Sara. Not the first time, I wondered about his loyalty if food was not involved.
Mr. Brimley turned on an overhead light by a counter and pulled up a stool. I retrieved the note my great-aunt had received from Sir Anthony, along with the sample of Thomas’s handwriting that Sir Anderson had provided.
“What can you tell me about these signatures?”
He pushed his spectacles back on his head, then placed the note under the microscope. He studied it as I waited, then removed it and placed the sample Sir Anderson had provided under the glass, adjusted the focus of the lens once more, and studied it as well.
He then laid both on the counter side-by-side under a strong light and compared them with a handheld magnifying glass. He continued to study them for several minutes then sat back.
“In spite of the fact that the names are different, the signatures were made by the same person.”
I felt as if the air had been knocked from my lungs.
“Are you certain?”
“See for yourself,” he replied and stepped aside as I then sat on the stool before the counter.
“Look for the curves in the last name. Then look at the letters ‘R’ and ‘T’. They were made by the same hand.”
I sat back, my thoughts racing, attempting to understand what he was saying. Impossible, I thought.
Yet I saw it as well. The two signatures had apparently been made by the same person!
But what did it mean?