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Chapter 13

Thirteen

"You expect me to believe that Soropkin may be out there somewhere with… as you called it, a new face, a different identity? Based upon what? Some ancient Egyptian text that Dr. Bennett was supposedly using. Ridiculous!"

Sir Avery rose from behind his desk, went to the door of his office, and closed it.

"That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard from you."

This directed at Brodie, which I found to be beyond irritating in consideration of the efforts he had made in the past on behalf of the Agency.

I summoned the "purple," as it were. Power. And then of course, there was the aspect of my red hair which Brodie was certain accounted for a great deal of my temperament.

"Nevertheless," I interjected. "It is noteworthy, and the Egyptian culture is far older than ours. According to Dr. Bennett's notes and the manuscript that clearly showed advanced procedures. It is very possible for someone's features to be changed through surgery. Possibly made to look quite different. And it is far more than you have been able to determine about Soropkin's whereabouts."

When he would have interrupted, no doubt to emphasize what he considered to be my lack of experience in such matters, I continued.

"You must admit that the evidence that we have brought you most certainly supports the possibility. And while you may consider it ‘ridiculous,' I assure you there is a boy who is a living example of such a procedure. Therefore," I did take a breath.

"The question now, sir, is…" I was not devoid of common courtesies, even when addressing a pompous ass. And there were moments when they could be useful.

"Are you prepared to ignore the possibility at perhaps the cost of some cataclysmic event that Soropkin is well known for?"

To say that the following silence spoke volumes was another of those understatements.

"No, I am not. Well put, Lady Forsythe."

I prevented that moment of gloating over such an obvious victory.

"What then do you propose?"

I knew where this was leading from past meetings with Sir Avery. It was condescending in the least. He obviously hoped that having aired my feelings in the matter, that was the extent of it.

Not hardly.

"Mr. Brodie and I have some thoughts on that." And I deferred to him, more from concern that I might be quite blunt with a proposal for Sir Avery that had little to do with the inquiry case. Something more along the line of taking a leap in the river.

I did not say it as I have no difficulty knowing what is more important.

Over the next several hours, Brodie went over what we had learned by that return visit to Aldgate and with the translation of that Coptic text. For his part, Sir Avery sat and listened. I thought of old dogs and new tricks.

"What do you propose to do now?" Sir Avery asked, which included us both, at the conclusion of our meeting.

"There was a substance at the doctor's surgery in Aldgate" Brodie explained. "I know someone who may be able to tell us what that is. It could be important."

"And it is imperative that we determine what is to happen on the eighteenth of the month," I added. "That may very well tell us the reason Soropkin is here."

Sir Avery nodded. "If what you have presented here is true, then how do we find Soropkin once we have determined what is to happen on the eighteenth?"

That was very definitely the difficult part, I thought. If, in fact, Soropkin had his features changed by some surgical process performed by Dr. Bennett, he could be almost anywhere, and no one would know of it.

"We have three days," Brodie reminded him.

"This might be of some help," Sir Avery opened a file and pulled out a photograph. "Or perhaps not, if he has changed his appearance. We received this yesterday from Munich by courier." He handed the photograph to Brodie.

"It's not the best photograph and it was taken some time ago at the time of the Munich bombing that Soropkin claimed responsibility for. It was taken by one of those amateur photographers who happened to be at the rail station just before the explosion.

"According to our sources, the man under the clock in the jacket with the collar turned up and cap, is Soropkin. We have been unable to find any other photographs. It's as if the man is a ghost."

Brodie handed it to me and tucked it into my bag.

"You're quite confident considering we're trying to find a ghost ," I commented as we left the Tower.

I wanted to share that confidence, however, the task seemed most daunting.

"Perhaps some assistance from Templeton," he suggested as we reached High Street and found a cab where we parted.

He was off to see Mr. Brimley regarding that substance found at the doctor's office in Aldgate, while I was off to Mayfair to go back over everything we had learned so far.

There had to be something we were missing.

"It was good to see Mr. Brodie," Mrs. Ryan commented when I returned to the townhouse. "It's good to have a man to cook for," she added.

I could have sworn there was a muttered, "About time," in there somewhere.

"What was that, Mrs. Ryan?"

"I said there is mail, along with several of the dailies on your desk. And a note that was delivered after you and Mr. Brodie left."

I investigated the mail first for any bills or other notices that needed payment, then found the envelope with that private note.

It was from Sir James. I opened the envelope and read the note inside.

There was no opportunity to speak at length the other evening.

Though it is somewhat short of notice, if you are not otherwise

engaged, perhaps you might join me for tea this afternoon,

or coffee that I remember you favored.

I am presently staying at the Grosvenor. No need to send round

a response.

If you cannot attend, I understand.

James Redstone

Short notice to be certain, I thought. However, I was not one to be offended by it, particularly from an old friend. It would be good to see him again, and perhaps hear of his latest adventures.

I informed Mrs. Ryan that I would be going out.

"What should I tell Mr. Brodie, if he should return?" she asked.

"You may tell him that I'm meeting a friend for tea at the Grosvenor."

"There's the threat of weather." She frowned as she handed me my umbrella when the driver arrived.

I was quite familiar with the Grosvenor Hotel. My aunt frequently used it for her holiday events. It was convenient for guests traveling in from the countryside and offered accommodation if they chose to stay over.

I inquired at the concierge desk and was directed to the formal restaurant where I was told I would find Sir James.

There were several guests in the restaurant, including several officers of the military, quite resplendent in their uniforms.

The head waiter appeared. Sir James stood as I was escorted to his table.

"I was hoping you might join me." He then requested both tea and coffee.

When the waiter had gone, he added, "My compliments. You are very much the lady."

I removed my gloves. "I have been told that the color is bold."

He smiled. "Perhaps on another." Then, "It is quite exceptional to see you again, Mikaela. After our brief conversation, I thought that you might have taken offense at the topic in some way. However, I remembered your somewhat passionate affinity for the downtrodden from our travels."

The waiter returned with both coffee and tea.

"A unique perspective among those of your station, that I understand you are still passionate about. I read with great interest your pursuits in Paris in the matter of the girl who was murdered in the box."

"With Mr. Brodie's assistance," I reminded him. "A most difficult inquiry," I added.

"An interesting pastime, but something that will be needed."

That seemed an odd response.

"It is somewhat more than a pastime," I replied, then suggested, "Tell me about your recent travels in Egypt."

He smiled. "It is unchanged as it has been for centuries."

Over coffee and tea we spoke of our mutual experience there, and his further travels there since.

As the hour passed, there was enthusiastic laughter among the officers the next table over. They did present a rather impressive sight, I thought, and I couldn't help but think of the young officer we had assisted previously and wondered where they might be bound.

Sir James seemed just as thoughtful as he watched them. "It is most sad."

"Sad?" I replied. That seemed such an odd thing to say.

"Men full of pride and honor," he made a sweeping gesture in their direction. "All to be wasted, sent off for Queen and Country by others who never know what it is to stand in the midst of battle, and for what? The power of the elite. The Empire? For the greed of others?"

He looked at me then. "Forgive me, my dear. I fear my travels have made me somewhat cynical. You will have more coffee perhaps?"

As he reached to pour the coffee, I saw his hand, those two fingers missing.

"A hunting accident?" I commented.

He looked at me with a bemused expression. "An unfortunate injury," he explained, then changed the conversation.

"You are now a married woman. Tell me of your husband. He seems quite a common chap. I understand that he is from the streets, a surprise when I first learned of it in consideration of your own family."

Brodie, a common chap? By whose measure, I thought, irritated by that.

"Not at all common," I replied. "We share many of the same interests. He is most resourceful, and kind," I added, a word I would not have thought of before. "He is most excellent at the things he cares about."

"And you admire that about him."

"Of course."

"Of course," he repeated with a thoughtful expression.

I chose to change the conversation.

"Where are you off to next?" I asked. "Or will you remain in London for a while?" I recalled that conversation I had overheard with Sir Robert about attending Parliament when next they met.

"I will be in London for a while. There are… matters to be seen to."

His father's estate I presumed, with his absence for several years.

"And you will be attending Parliament," I added.

"Yes, Sir Robert was kind enough to secure an invitation for me. The workings of the government are… most interesting."

The visit had been pleasant but I couldn't help but sense an undertone of some kind with those questions about Brodie and myself, his comments about the officers being sent off, as he put it, for the wealth and power of others.

I thanked him and stood to leave. He stood as well and took my hand.

"The world is changing, my dear. We will need those such as yourself and your husband for what is to come. There are those who rule the world, and those who choose to change it." He smiled then. "I do hope you are not offended by my thoughts."

"Not at all," I assured him, with the clear sense that this was not the man I had known from our travels; someone who was self-assured and as adventuresome as I was.

Sir James was not at all the man I remembered.

I returned to the townhouse. Brodie had called earlier and received my message.

It seemed that he was then off to follow information he had after his meeting with Mr. Brimley. And it further seemed that I was on my own for the evening and very possibly the entire night. Not that I didn't have something to occupy the time.

There was Dr. Bennett's book, the notes he had been compiling for his second book— his way of standing up against the Society of Medicine that he would sadly never be able to do now. There was the stack of daily newspapers from the last several days, and my own notes from our inquiry, including our meeting with Sir Reginald.

I let Mrs. Ryan know that there would be just one for supper.

I could have said that I had grown accustomed to working on my own, long evenings with Brodie off in one direction, myself off in another. In the past I had thought nothing of it, nor the evenings that often lengthened into the entire night…

Something had very definitely changed in that regard.

I realized that I very much liked his company, even when there was no conversation. The routine of an evening as he added coal to the fire at the office on the Strand, poured a cup of coffee or a dram of whisky for each of us, then listened as I rambled on about one thing or another, usually involving our latest case.

"Add it to yer notes on the board … " he would then say, when hardly more than two years before he would have grumbled that he couldn't make sense of my "scratchings" as he called them.

How was it that I had become accustomed to those grumblings, even looked forward to them? I smiled to myself.

According to my sister it was rare for a man to want to know what a woman was thinking, much less be concerned about it.

I knew from my own experience— that being the only version of marriage I believe existed and the reason I had previously avoided it— that she was right. It was simply that I had never thought I would encounter such.

I stared at the small medallion that I always wore, that gift from a man who valued my opinions, arguments, stubbornness, and realized that for the first time in my life, I missed someone. I missed Brodie.

Enough, I told myself, tucking the medallion back inside the neck of my gown. I had more than enough to do, and perhaps, just maybe I would find… something that would tell us what was to happen on the eighteenth of December.

Mrs. Ryan had long since bid me good night as the clock at the mantle struck one o'clock in the morning.

I stood from behind my desk. I had a headache from staring at the pages of Dr. Bennett's book, the notes he had made along with those from Sir Reginald, the daily newspapers, and that intercepted coded message.

I stretched, sorted through the notes and dailies one more time, then gave up and went upstairs to bed, and lay there, thoughts churning, that code and other bits and pieces of information nagging at me.

Somewhere after two of the morning the downstairs clock chimed and I drifted off.

I had discovered when writing my first novel, that the page is never finished, the light is never quite turned off, and sleep is merely a lie we tell ourselves as I sat upright in bed no more than three hours later. I threw back the covers and ignored the ice-cold floor as I raced downstairs, ignoring the fact that I might have fallen and broken my neck.

I turned on the electric in the small parlor that was my office and went to my desk. I sorted through everything I had been reading earlier— notes, papers, that coded message Lily had deciphered, that photograph Sir Avery had given us, then the dailies. One after the other tossed aside, like a mad woman, everything scattered about and covering the floor about the desk.

"It's here. I know it is. Bloody hell!"

"Saints preserve us, miss! What are you doin?" Mrs. Ryan, dragged from her own sleep by the noise I had made, or possibly my curses, stood in her nightshift and cap at the entrance to the parlor.

I waived the daily I was looking at her. "It's here. I knew that I had seen it!"

She stared at me as if I was that madwoman.

1 — 8 — 1 — 2

It was right in front of me all along. And now I was certain I had discovered more.

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