Chapter 17

Seventeen

"Miss Forsythe, I cannot allow you to remain. You must go where it is safe."

I argued. I threatened. I even pleaded.

It did no good and I was escorted out the main entrance of Westminster Hall, a safe distance away it was explained by an officer with the Met, who failed to be impressed by those arguments, threats, or even my begging which I would never admit to anyone.

"On the Chief Inspector's orders."

In consideration of the MET's reputation for lack of professionalism in the aftermath of more than one scandal that had included the Chief Inspector, I was not pleased.

Police had cordoned off the entire building, moving people back even further, as soldiers appeared. They swarmed inside and then around the entire exterior of the former palace with weapons drawn.

Redstone was dangerous, perhaps more dangerous in some ways than Soropkin. He was titled and wealthy, the epitome of what Soropkin and his followers hated and had vowed to destroy. And then used.

What had changed and persuaded him to become one of them? Was it a worldview changed by what he had seen and experienced on his travels, some which I had shared?

Or perhaps something else had motivated him to join Soropkin's murderous brotherhood?

I thought of something Brodie said after one of our inquiries, when boys, many of whom were orphans who had disappeared from the streets of the East End, had been used for the pleasure sport of others.

I didn't understand it then. How could there be such evil? How could one man who appeared to have everything— wealth and title— become part of an anarchist group that vowed to destroy hundreds of lives?

While another man who came from nothing, had nothing but that office on the Strand and an odd assortment of acquaintances, understood the evil that was there and did everything in his power to stop it?

"There are some people who are filled with it," he had once told me. "They can never hurt enough, or hate enough. It destroys everything about them, and then destroys them as well."

I watched now as Soropkin was half-carried, bound and gagged, that horrible gash on his face where the skin peeled back. Then forced into a heavily guarded police van.

There was still no sign of Brodie. And all I could do was watch and wait.

"He will be all right, you know."

I turned at the sound of Alex Sinclair's voice.

"The Agency needs good men."

And I knew that. Brodie was a good man, however not an indestructible one.

What if…?

"You must show me that move you made against Soropkin," Alex said as we stood together and continued to watch and wait.

"Most extraordinary!"

He was certainly full of surprises as well. Not that I didn't know what he was doing— a bit of distraction perhaps.

"And you as well," I replied. "You never mentioned that you were proficient with a weapon."

He scooped that shock of hair back from his forehead and smiled somewhat sheepishly, transformed once more into that shy young man who preferred his machines, inventions, and deciphering codes.

"Sir Avery insisted that everyone with the Agency must be prepared to defend themselves," he explained. "He ordered me to the practice yard. It turns out I have quite extraordinary aim."

For which I was grateful. I had another thought. "What about Lucy Penworth? Did Sir Avery's order include her as well?"

"Oh, yes. She is quite fearless with a revolver and reminds me much of yourself."

"You might want to remember that," I told him.

We waited what seemed hours longer, and heard whispered rumors of dozens still inside, barricaded in rooms and offices. If there was an explosion, there would be no safe place for them. I forced back the thought of how many might die.

There was suddenly a buzz of speculation and we saw a stretcher with a blanket pulled over what could only be a body carried out of Westminster Hall, then quickly loaded into yet another police van.

"It's not him," I said quite determined, as if saying it would make it so. "They wouldn't use a police van."

But I knew different. Bodies were collected and then taken to the police morgue or some other facility until the family could be notified.

Family. I supposed that was what Brodie and I were now, the two of us. And Lily was part of it now as well. Where the devil was he?

Alex's hand closed around mine.

"It's not him," he repeated emphatically.

More of Sir Avery's men then appeared, going about the outside of Westminster Hall, then heading the long way around toward the river with more police and soldiers.

There was the sudden sound of shots fired and speculation among those who stood with us quickly followed.

"What had they found? Who fired those shots? Was it over?"

Sir Avery's men and the others reappeared, leading several men and a woman between them. A half dozen more police vans rolled forward. Those captured were quickly loaded inside with a great number of mounted police alongside.

"Stay here," Alex told me. "I'll see what I can learn about what has happened."

He set off toward the main entrance of that Gothic hall that loomed up out of the mist with lights ablaze throughout. There was a brief exchange of conversation at the perimeter of the police at the park, then he was allowed to proceed across Whitehall Road.

Far too impatient to wait any longer, I followed. If something had happened to Brodie… if he was injured… I was done with waiting!

"Sorry, miss. No one is allowed past this point," a police officer stopped me.

"I am with Mr. Sinclair. You will let me pass," I insisted. I might as well have been shouting into the wind for the unmovable expression as his face.

"Sorry, miss," he repeated.

I glanced past him to the entrance. I would find a way to slip past the guards there, then…

I pulled the revolver from my bag and marched toward the entrance, then suddenly stopped.

Was that Alex returning already? What had he learned?

My stomach knotted as I looked for that shock of dark hair and a nervous hand as he pushed it back, that shy expression behind those glasses. It was a wonder he hadn't shot himself earlier…

However, the man who walked purposefully across Whitehall Road wore dark clothes, the mist from the river wrapping around him, as Brodie appeared through the crowd that lingered.

"Bloody hell!" I swore and ignored the startled expressions of those nearby as I ran to him. "What took you so long?"

Was that my voice that shook uncontrollably, a mixture of pent-up anger after waiting for hours and some other emotion?

"Business that needed finishin'," he replied in that cryptic, cynical way.

"Is it finished then?" I asked.

That dark gaze met mine. "Aye."

That cold knot in my stomach slowly loosened.

"Sir James?" I then asked.

He nodded and that knot that had tightened at the sight of that stretcher with the body on it finally unwound completely.

There was no remorse, only a vague sadness. How could there be anything else with what Redstone had intended? And then something far more important to me.

"You're not hurt?" I managed to disguise the emotion in my voice. Almost.

"No more than the black eye ye gave me."

I managed a smile. "You did deserve it."

"Verra likely."

That easy familiarity with that sarcasm was there again. I was very glad for both the familiarity and the sarcasm that was so typical at moments like this. And of course, for him.

I once heard something about marital bliss shared by two people. I supposed that this was ours— the end of our inquiry case though not the ending Helen Bennett had hoped for, a plot averted, and several hundred lives saved.

Not a bad day's work, I thought.

"And wot were ye thinkin' ye were goin' to do with this?" Brodie asked as his hand wrapped around the revolver in my hand.

"I thought you might need assistance," I replied.

"With no thought that ye might have been injured, or worse?"

I heard the concern in the words.

"Alex was with me. He has become quite proficient with a weapon," I added, then, "who would have thought?"

"Ye are troublesome baggage, Mikaela Forsythe Brodie."

I leaned into him and slipped my other hand back through that dark hair, my fingers curling into the soft waves.

"I do try," I whispered against his lips.