Chapter 15 #2
“I have an appointment with Sir Anthony Ellsworth.”
She folded her hands before her much the same as I had experienced with one of my teachers at private school when I was a girl.
“That is not possible, I would know about it. And he is away for a few days. Your name, madame?”
I told her who I was, even though I rarely used my title. It was off-putting for some people, but most convenient when encountering the ‘guardians at the gate,’ so to speak. However, in this situation...
“Lady Forsythe,” I replied.
“As I said, I would know about any appointment. Sir Ellsworth did not inform me...before he left,” she replied, in that same tight voice.
Nor had he been present when I inquired days before. Somewhat unusual, I thought, for someone who held the position of one of the owners of the most prestigious private bank in London.
I decided on another approach.
“His family is an acquaintance.” Not entirely a lie, given Lady Ellsworth’s friendship with my great-aunt. “I have only just learned about the loss in the family, and I do need to send a note around,” I explained. “Perhaps the address of his residence would be best.”
“Of course,” she replied and provided the address of Sir Anthony’s townhouse.
I thanked her.
“You will please take that with you,” she sharply said as she pointed to Rupert. I noticed a slight curl at one lip. Rupert, not Sir Anthony’s secretary.
It would undoubtedly not do for her to be attacked by the hound, although it was tempting.
With the address in hand, I whistled to Rupert. He whirled around and fell into step beside me as we returned to the street.
Mr. Jarvis nodded when I gave him the address.
I climbed into the coach with Rupert, and Mr. Jarvis guided the team into midday traffic at the street.
Sir Anthony’s townhouse was very near St. James’s. It was here that Sir Thomas had lived briefly, then moved into a flat in the West End.
Edward Baldwin had described his friend’s school years, the determination to attend a different university, the law career chosen instead of following generations of Ellsworth and Crofts men into banking at the prestigious firm founded nearly two hundred years earlier by Eugenia Ellsworth’s great-grandfather.
Crofts Bank was respected across Europe, with international investments that had made the Ellsworth family very rich serving customers that included the royal family.
The townhouse at Brompton Place was very much like a half-dozen along the same street with an equal number across the way, built of white stone with three stories, wrought-iron fences and gate posts.
I stepped down from the coach and made my way up the short walk to the steps at Number Four, with those windows that looked out onto the street, the carved wood door with leaded glass, and a letter slot and bell knob.
The letter slot drew my attention with several pieces of mail fallen to the landing and several more in the brass slot. Most unusual, I thought, for someone to leave their mail lying about.
I gathered them, then turned the bell knob to hand them to a servant. However, there was no response, even as I rang the bell again.
I looked through the leaded glass in the door. It was difficult to see anything, yet with no answer, it was obvious there was no one about.
I decided to set the stack of mail aside. Perhaps someone would return soon and collect the letters.
As I went to set them on the landing, I caught the postal date on one for nearly three weeks earlier. I went through the envelopes that included dates from the end of September!
It did seem as if Sir Anthony had taken himself off somewhere, perhaps some time ago, and very near the same time when his brother was killed. Yet I had met with him days before.
I returned to the coach. Rupert had taken a turn about the street, making his usual inspections, and had just returned. We climbed into the coach, and I asked Mr. Jarvis to take me to Sussex Square.
Aunt Antonia was long-time friends with Lady Ellsworth. The death of his brother had undoubtedly affected Sir Anthony deeply, in spite of past difficulties. She might know where Sir Anthony had gone.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Mr. Symons, her head butler, greeted me in a lowered voice as I arrived.
“Her Ladyship has asked Mr. Hastings to bring round the coach. It seems that she is quite determined to call on the police regarding the Ellsworth matter.”
Obviously quite flustered, he directed me to the formal parlor.
“Mikaela, dear,” she greeted me with a smile. “I called you earlier at the office, but there was no answer, and Mrs. Ryan had not seen you since the day before.”
She was dressed in the new costume she had decided she must have for assisting me in inquiries in the Ellsworth case in Brodie’s absence. I had to admit she was quite impressive in breeches with knee-high boots, formal shirt, with jacket over, and of course a cape.
“I am now prepared to assist you with Mr. Brodie off and about. I was just about to set off to visit the police in the Ellsworth matter. I suspect there is information they may not be sharing. They do not have the best reputation in solving murders.”
I had visions of her being ‘detained’ for interfering in police matters. Admittedly, that would keep her away from the streets and further complications. Yet perhaps there was a way she might assist. I took advantage of the moment to inquire about Lady Ellsworth.
“Have you spoken with Lady Eugenia the past few days?”
“Why, yes. I learned that she had taken herself off to Kent. She has a home there as well. It was at the insistence of her son, Sir Robert. He has always been full of himself, whereas Eugenia is such a dear and quite genuine. I have no idea how she could possibly have given birth to such a man as her son. No doubt it was the Ellsworth blood.”
She rolled her eyes as she continued. “He is concerned for her well-being, considering her advanced age and the death of her grandson.” She made a disapproving sound.
“Good heavens, the woman is only eighty-two years old. I suspect he is more concerned about his inheritance.”
She set her coffee cup down on the side table somewhat sharply.
“I am ready to begin. You must tell me how I may assist you.”
“It would be helpful if you would place a telephone call to Lady Eugenia and inquire about Sir Anthony.”
“Oh? Is that all? It doesn't seem a great deal.” My great-aunt commented, disappointment in her voice.
I did not explain that I had been to Crofts then Sir Anthony’s townhouse without seeing him, nor about those letters. I could only imagine what her response would be. No doubt to assist while making inquiries at the bank.
“I’m merely speaking with everyone to learn more about the night Sir Thomas was murdered,” I replied instead. “He may be able to remember something.”