Chapter 3

Three

Brodie was very late indeed… he had not returned to the townhouse the night before. Not that it was unusual when he was working on some matter for Sir Avery and the Agency, I thought with a frown.

Although usually he was forthcoming about the matter. However, not this time. He had remained quite secretive about everything, which was not like him at all.

Mrs. Ryan provided breakfast for both Lily and myself. Then we were each off. Lily to Sussex Square for lessons much to her displeasure by the expression on her face and no few complaints. While I needed to go to the office on the Strand.

However, I reminded her that if she applied herself to her lessons, I would arrange a trip to the theater to meet my good friend Theodora Templeton. As I knew only too well, from past experience, never let it be said that a young girl couldn't be bribed when it came to her lessons.

I needed to contact Mrs. Bennett in the matter of her husband to provide her with the little information that I had— which was really no information out of the ordinary— then determine the best course to pursue. If we even had a case in the matter.

It was very possible that all of this was merely exaggeration on the part of Mrs. Bennett— a husband dedicated to his work and nothing more.

Brodie and I had experience in these matters. The best we could do was provide information then let the client decide the course of action to be taken. Very often it was no action at all on the part of the woman in the relationship.

That was most unfortunate. However there was that whole expectation of society when it came to extramarital affairs, soldiering on as they say to avoid a scandal.

The reality was that few women, other than those of my aunt's or my sister's acquaintance, had the means to support themselves after a divorce.

Then, there was the scandal of divorce which my sister had endured for a short while. After just so much gossip she had adopted my habit of telling the offensive person to sod off and then simply walked away.

With my independence, my travels, and the novels I wrote, it was a time-tested solution that actually worked quite well.

I had to admit there was something quite satisfying about the expression on the offending person's face as they stammered and tut-tutted that they had never been so offended.

It was one of the few reasons that I had hesitated when Brodie first proposed. I didn't need a man to define who I was. I didn't need a man to support me. I most certainly didn't need a man who was determined to keep me in my place.

God knows that Brodie could be stubborn and quite old fashioned about some things. He was also the most challenging man I had ever met. However, he made me think, not merely to humor me.

He valued my thoughts and my opinions, often seeking them out or adding his own observations to the lists that I made. He accepted me the way I was, though not without reminders from time to time regarding how obstinate I could be.

In short, he didn't attempt to change me, although he did disapprove of some of the things I did from time to time.

No, I most certainly didn't need a man.

The problem was quite simply that I wanted the man. More than any man I had ever met or known. In spite of his grumbling and grousing from time to time, even outright disapproval which I usually chose to ignore.

I wanted him to challenge me with his own thoughts and ideas. I didn't mind when he became angry with me, because I actually understood where it came from. And perhaps the most important part, aside from the fact that he made my toes curl, was that he valued me in a way that no man ever had.

So, what was an enlightened, independent woman to do?

However, at present, I would have valued him a great deal more had he returned to Mayfair the night before. Since he had not and there was business to attend to— the business of our latest inquiry case— I arrived at the Strand with sufficient food sent along in a basket by Mrs. Ryan for Mr. Cavendish and Rupert the hound.

It had become a habit that Mr. Cavendish thoroughly appreciated. As for the hound? One could only judge by his enthusiasm as he nosed about for one of her biscuits with a tin of stew from supper the night before for Mr. Cavendish.

Her recipe, handed down from her Irish mother, included chunks of beef rather than mutton which I was not fond of. However I did so appreciate her skill in that regard since I did not cook beyond a scramble of eggs or burnt muffin.

"Mr. Brodie was by late last night for a time," Mr. Cavendish informed as I sent the driver on his way.

"Musta been near two or three of the mornin'," he added. "Met with Mr. Conner. Seemed a bit unusual that time o' the night."

Unusual indeed, I thought.

"Did he perhaps leave a message?" I asked.

"Said something about an inquiry case you were makin', and if you was to go off on yer own I was to see that you took the hound with you. He musta thought it could be dangerous for you."

I had taken myself off on my own in our previous inquiries, quite safe for the most part.

"He did say that he left the revolver in the desk for you as well," Mr. Cavendish added.

The hound and now I was to take a revolver. It wasn't like Brodie to be overprotective, like some mother hen as the saying went.

However, there was no point in arguing the matter with Mr. Cavendish. He was merely passing the message along.

I glanced down at Rupert. He was presently dozing at the entrance to the alcove where he usually spent the night.

"He was out late as well," Mr. Cavendish informed me. "Came back this morning, rougher than a badger's arse, and been there ever since."

That was a most colorful description. I wondered how Mr. Cavendish might know that particular aspect regarding a badger. There was not so much as an eye cracked open by the hound.

Late, indeed. In consideration of the things he had been known to drag back to the alcove in the past, one could only imagine where he'd been.

"He'll be right as the rain though when you're ready to leave, miss."

I had my doubts as the hound was presently snoring loud enough even over the usual noise from the street this time of the morning.

Right as rain, indeed.

"Look for a message on the landing," Mr. Cavendish added. "It was brought round first thing by one of them courier services."

He gestured overhead to the second-floor landing.

Climbing the stairs to deliver the message was not an option due to an injury some years before that had taken both of his legs at the knees. Therefore messages that were delivered were either announced by the rope pull attached to a bell on the landing if Brodie or myself were about. If not, it was sent aloft, tucked in an empty whisky bottle from my aunt's estate at Old Lodge in the north of Scotland.

The message was rolled and inserted into the bottle. A cord was then tied about the neck of the bottle and it was sent aloft to the second-floor landing at the end of a rope by way of a pulley. It really was quite ingenious.

"How are you getting along with the new platform Brodie had made for you?" I inquired before turning to the stairs.

The previous one that he wheeled about the streets of London on had been a crude affair that at least gave Mr. Cavendish mobility.

It had been destroyed in a previous case and Brodie had replaced it with a fine one made of hickory with wheels affixed with rubber and a thick carpet on the platform.

However, the carpet was easily soaked by the weather and Mr. Cavendish had reluctantly discarded it. He had commandeered a lady's padded undergarment from one of the seconds shops in the East End.

Miss Effie, a friend at the Public House across the way had stitched the pads into the bottom of his trousers providing a comfortable change for him.

"The cushion is right fine, helps ease the misery in me bones," he replied. "Thanks to Miss Effie," he added. "She's a good woman."

A good woman indeed. Did I sense a hint of something more behind that comment?

Prior to my association with Brodie, Mr. Cavendish was known to take up lodging in the storeroom behind the Public House when the weather turned bad.

Miss Effie was a widow, having lost her husband some time earlier. Brodie had paid the rent on her flat in the past before she found work at the Public House. I was aware he still supplemented her wages from time to time.

She had returned the favor in a roundabout way, by arranging for the back door to the storeroom at the Public House to be left unlocked for Mr. Cavendish when storms rolled in from the river and flooded the streets and sidewalks.

There was a sound from the hound now as I reached the stairs. However, he had merely rolled over onto his back and continued his snoring, much like someone sleeping it off.

So much for accompanying me on my travels about London.

"The biscuits you brought will ease his temper when he wakens," Mr. Cavendish commented.

I had my doubts as I climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing and retrieved the message that Mr. Cavendish had tucked into the neck of the bottle. It was from Helen Bennett.

Miss Forsythe, please contact me as soon as you receive this. I need to meet with you. The situation has become most serious.

Helen Bennett

That did sound quite ominous, I thought.

I had met with her previously in the matter of her husband's absences over the past several weeks.

At first those absences had not seemed unusual as he frequently worked long hours that extended into the evening. But those absences had become more frequent over the past few weeks and with only the same explanation each time that it was his "work."

Joseph Bennett was a physician and surgeon. It seemed plausible that his work made demands on his time.

I had made the usual inquiries at his office and at the club he was known to frequent. It appeared that he left the office at the usual hour most days, however he had not attended his club in some time.

Although that did not answer the question as to where he went when he was not at his office, the hospital, or his club, I had not found anything amiss.

His office assistant, an older woman by the name of Mary Bishop who attended patients as well as staff I spoke with at St. Thomas' Hospital, had not noticed anything different in his habits. Long hours, the administrator of the hospital explained, were not unusual.

As for Helen Bennett, she did not appear to be someone given to hysterics over a missed supper or two. She was intelligent, quite calm in her manner, and used to the callings of her husband's profession that occasionally required him to be at some function or called away with the lectures he gave.

When we met previously there had been a noticeable concern over her husband's increased absences, but this was now more than mere concern and the growing suspicion that he might be keeping company elsewhere as she put it at the time.

I had found no indication of that, having become quite familiar with the usual signs of a philandering husband in the matter of my sister's case, and the early experience with our own father.

By all accounts, Dr. Bennett was a dedicated physician, lecturer, and prominent member of the Medical Society of London.

He had done extensive research in the treatment and after-care of wounds suffered by those in the military in campaigns in Burma and more recently in the Sudan, and frequently lectured on advances in such things.

Our previous acquaintance with a captain of the Royal Fusiliers, who had been injured in one of those confrontations and returned to London, had been the benefactor of some of those advances.

Instead of losing his injured leg as would have happened in the past, he had gone through restorative surgery and was assured of the returned use of the limb.

I had also made inquiries about the Bennett family, in case there might be any difficulties there— obligations to a family member that might have made a demand on Dr. Bennett's time.

His parents were long deceased and there was only a sister who had moved with her husband to the United States. The distance precluded any concern in that regard. And Mrs. Bennett had not indicated any difficulty there.

Mrs. Bennett was from a notable family. Her father had been an architect and had designed the first residences constructed in Belgrave Square where she and her husband now lived.

While the square and the surrounding area was known for those of the upper class who lived there, I did not have the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Bennett lived lavishly or beyond their means. There did not seem to be any sort of financial difficulty. A housekeeper answered my telephone call to the Bennett residence and it was immediately picked up by Mrs. Bennett.

I could hear the tension in her voice. She was quite upset however, but did not want to discuss whatever it was that had happened over the telephone, or obviously in the presence of servants.

I agreed to meet with her promptly.

I added a brief note to the chalkboard— a habit that had driven Brodie quite crazy when we first worked together. He kept details in his head, as he had explained at the time, far more efficient when going about London on some matter or the other.

However, he was forced to admit that my notes were quite efficient when the two of us were working on an inquiry case. It was his way of acknowledging that I had contributed important aspects to that particular case. Stubborn man.

I tucked Mrs. Bennett's note into my bag and was almost out the door of the office when I remembered Mr. Cavendish's message from Brodie.

Oh, bother, I thought as I returned to the desk and retrieved the revolver, what Brodie called a "pocket pistol."

It was small enough to tuck into my bag and somewhat lighter than the one he usually carried. A gift he told me at the time, since I had a habit of getting myself into certain situations. He was a bit put off by my martial art skills, acquired on a previous visit to the Far East.

"There's no need for ye to engage with a criminal. Use the pistol if ye need to."

He had proceeded to provide a lesson in the proper loading and handling of the weapon at my aunt's estate at Sussex Square, a private location where the Metropolitan Police were not likely to be called upon to investigate.

To say that I was a most excellent student is an understatement. I had taken two practice shots in order to compensate for the weight and the accuracy of the weapon, then proceeded to put an additional four rounds in the center of the target.

There had been the requisite muttering with a handful of curses thrown in for good measure on Brodie's part afterward.

"I suppose ye learned that from her ladyship," he snapped when the lesson was over.

"She is quite accomplished, although she much prefers the saber. In her youth she bested several men in competition, dressed in disguise so that she would not be disqualified."

There had been more muttering at that, along with, "No surprise why the woman is still unmarried. She undoubtedly killed off any serious suitor.

"I have to admit," he then added. " I was not aware that such things were family traits. Although I am grateful that ye have the skill, considerin' yer inclination for finding trouble."

I had reminded him that the "trouble" he was referring to was a matter I was forced to take care of considering his preoccupation elsewhere at the time.

It was a matter that was still up for discussion from time to time.

While I was fairly certain that calling on Mrs. Bennett did not present a danger of any kind, I went ahead and tucked the pistol into my bag. No point in poking the bear— Brodie being the bear as it were.

The hound was a different matter. Brodie had also insisted that I take the hound with me whenever I was out and about in London on an inquiry case.

One look at Rupert as I left the office and descended the steps to the street, and I was doubtful that he would be well received at Belgrave Square. He did lack a certain appropriate presentation, not to mention that most people did not go about London with a guard hound.

The closest thing might be the Pekingese dogs that some women tucked under their arms, a bit of fluff that hardly resembled a dog at all with bows and baubles tied about their necks.

As a child I had been very familiar with my father's hunting dogs that Rupert most closely resembled, including the mud. In the hound's case the somewhat overripe smell was undoubtedly from the day's catch at the docks.

"Aye," Mr. Cavendish acknowledged, as he waived down a cab for me. "Mr. Brodie did mention that ye were to take the beast with ye."

I looked at "the beast," quite alert now from his morning nap no doubt at the prospect of an adventure.

While I had my doubts, I was forced to admit that he had acquitted himself quite admirably in the past during a particularly nasty investigation. In short, he had undoubtedly saved my life, or at least prevented substantial injury.

It was, of course, difficult to imagine at present as he sat at my feet, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, with what appeared to be a grin once one got past the appearance of all those teeth.

"Oh, very well," I conceded as the driver arrived. I held open the gate and the hound promptly jumped inside which brought a frown from atop the cab.

I gave the driver the address at Belgrave Square, then climbed in as well.

Mr. Cavendish nodded. "He's just protectin' his own," he commented as he turned and paddled back from the sidewalk on his rolling platform.

Protecting his own?

Unless the hound had developed some sort of human emotional sense. I doubted that. Although I could have sworn otherwise with that grin, most particularly when he had caught something particularly foul. However, I had the distinct feeling that Mr. Cavendish was not referring to the hound.

We arrived at Number 32 Belgrave Square in good time. I paid the driver, then looked down at the hound. It seemed unlikely that he would be welcome in the Bennett residence. Or at the square for that matter, as a gentleman in a long coat and hat glanced our way with a critical expression as he passed by.

"Are you quite all right, miss?" he asked with a wary eye toward Rupert.

The hound did bring out that sort of comment from people beyond the Strand. However, those who frequented the area were quite accustomed to seeing him about.

"Yes, of course," I replied and thanked him, which brought the usual sort of response as the gentleman turned and went about his way, with a cautious glance back over his shoulder.

"Filthy beast!"

I could have sworn the hound was most pleased with himself.

"Stay," I told him, a statement that would have worked with my father's well-trained hunting hounds. However…

"Stay, or there will be no more biscuits," I added.

Quite amazingly, the hound sat down and stared back at me with what I could only guess was an expectant expression, then proceeded to lay down, head resting on outstretched paws alongside the wrought iron fence at the entrance to the building.

"Good boy," I told him.

I could only imagine what my friend Templeton's response would have been to my conversation with the hound, since she was quite familiar with conversing with Ziggy, her four-and-a-half-foot long iguana that had been given to her after one of her tours.

Ziggy was currently residing in the London Zoo after escaping and causing some excitement about the city. The last I had spoken with Templeton, she was quite concerned for him.

"They don't understand how sensitive he is. He appears quite lonely," she had commented after a recent visit.

The Bennett housekeeper answered the bell pull. With a look back at the hound, still stretched out along the fence, I entered the residence for my meeting with Helen Bennett.

As I said, she did not give the impression of one with nothing better to do than worry endlessly about everything. Even now, after that note and hearing the sound of her voice over the telephone, she appeared quite calm as she thanked me for meeting with her on such short notice.

Her housekeeper served tea, then was politely excused, the doors to the parlor closed.

Helen Bennett set her cup down. The only outward sign of emotion was in the faint trembling of her hands as she tightly folded them.

"Dr. Bennett has not returned at all since last we spoke," she informed me in a lowered voice.

That was two days earlier. Prior to that, he returned often late of the night with no explanation to his wife. And now, he had not returned at all.

"Has there been any communication from him?" I asked. "Anything that he might have mentioned the last time, perhaps regarding some matter that would keep him away for a length of time?"

She shook her head. "I sent round a message to his office at the hospital and was informed that they had not heard from him. His assistant assured me that they would let me know if they had word."

I then asked questions I had previously asked, having discovered in the past that one might often forget some small detail in the midst of a trying situation. It was often something that might seem unimportant at the time, but might offer a clue about a person's thoughts or actions.

While I was somewhat a student of people's manners and expressions, it was Brodie who had taught me the importance of a somewhat nervous gesture or a distracted gaze from his work with the Met and years spent on the streets of London. Quite invaluable in our inquiry cases.

It was a sad fact that people often lied or completely denied knowing anything about a situation, often to protect themselves. But those small movements, even something as insignificant as a twitch, or a glance away often betrayed the lie.

"What about something he might have said, perhaps an off-hand remark, or possibly a change in his manner? Anything that might have seemed different.

"Was he perhaps impatient with the servants? Or short-tempered over something?"

She appeared to think back over that last night when he had returned.

"There was something… however, I had seen it before and thought nothing of it at the time."

"Anything at all might be useful," I replied.

"I don't usually question him about his work at the hospital, however with everything the past two months… And then he left again that same evening and didn't return."

There was a trembling in her voice as she seemed to gather herself.

"I asked him if it was some matter at the hospital," she replied. "That seemed the most likely situation…"

Other than the possibility that he was meeting someone— a woman perhaps?

"He became very angry, and that is not like him at all. Joseph is a very reserved, quiet man. I've never known him to become angry with anyone…"

But he had that last night.

"He said that it was not my place to question him. He has never said anything like that to me before. He was most agitated."

"Did he offer any explanation?"

"He said it was nothing for me to be concerned about. Then, he left and didn't return."

She described him as a reserved, quiet man, who became angry at a simple question, his manner quite unusual. Then commented that it was nothing for her to be concerned about.

The question was— why the uncharacteristic outburst? Because he didn't want her asking more questions that he either didn't care to or wasn't prepared to answer? If so, for what reason?

Was it an affair as Helen Bennett had initially suspected? Or was it something else? Something that he didn't want her to know anything about?

"What about any communication he might have made that last evening from here?" I then asked. "Perhaps a telephone conversation? Or some message he received that might have upset him?"

Once again, Helen Bennett shook her head.

"There was nothing."

Her voice trailed off in a whisper that conveyed so much— uncertainty, doubt, desperation. I felt all of those emotions for her. I could only imagine if the circumstances were my own and Brodie's.

I reached out and covered her hand with mine.

"We will do everything we can to learn what has happened."

"How?" she asked, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes.

"There are ways…" I thought of Brodie's skill in such matters, as well as those who had assisted us in the past. It was as much as I could give her for now.

I had learned little more in my meeting with Helen Bennett, but that little amount might provide a valuable clue as to the good doctor's movements that last day.

It required a return visit to the hospital where he was part of the staff. But first I needed to make a visit to Mr. Brimley, the chemist in the East End who had been helpful with matters in the past.

He had studied at King's College and initially pursued the profession of physician. Although circumstances had changed his path so to speak, he still had a very close association with his fellow students who were now among the most prominent physicians in London.

Mr. Brimley had a shop in the poorest part of London where he administered to the needs of the people there— dispensing powders and pills, seeing to the needs of women and children, and occasionally stitching a wound.

I could attest to his expert skills in that regard. There were only two small scars from the bullet when I was shot in the course of my first investigation with Brodie.

The hound sat up as I left the Bennett residence, quite surprising me that he was still there given his wandering ways and with new streets to scavenge.

"Good boy," I told him. He fell into step beside me as I went to the corner of the square to find a cab.

Mr. Brimley always had a good specimen for the hound.