Chapter 8

Eight

I stood across the office from Brodie.

"So good to see you again," I commented as I laid the revolver he had given me on the desk.

There was not an immediate comment as he pressed a cold cloth across his nose which seemed to have quit bleeding, with a rather colorful bruise below his left eye.

Both eyes, one quite narrowed, glaring back at me.

"What the bloody devil were ye doin' there, woman?!"

That did seem to be the question of the hour, or perhaps as much as he could demand that wasn't a litany of curses, some of which I had not heard before.

Imagine that.

I removed my jacket and crossed over to the coat rack.

"I might ask the same of you."

Perhaps not the right response under the circumstances, said circumstances that had Munro leaving immediately after we reached the office, obviously with experience in such matters in consideration of their long friendship. Those "matters" such as the one I now confronted in the form of a very angry Scot.

"Your inquiries for Sir Avery?" I ventured a guess.

"And yerself?" he demanded.

"My inquiries on behalf of Helen Bennett," I informed him.

I had indeed discovered where Dr. Bennett had been keeping himself the past several days. The question now was what had happened and what was he doing in that part of London in what appeared to be a well-equipped medical office. Or perhaps "clinic" was a better description by what we found there.

It was apparent that Dr. Joseph Bennett had set up practice in that abandoned tenement building. But for what reason when he very obviously had an office and medical practice at St. James Hospital?

Dr. Pennington had called him brilliant, even though he had been criticized and apparently censured for some of the methods he promoted which, according to Helen Bennett, had the potential to greatly improve the lives of severely injured patients.

Was he then forced to set up a secret practice in Aldgate because of that censure, a brilliant physician forced to take other measures to continue his practice? Or for some other reason?

"Did it occur to ye that it could be dangerous?"

The anger behind that question brought me back to Brodie. He was quite irritated over the matter as he pulled off his blood-stained sweater— that blow I landed had caused his nose to bleed quite profusely.

If it had been anyone else but Brodie, I would have felt a sense of satisfaction. However…

I was not entirely unsympathetic, which of course raised the question of what precisely was he doing at that tenement in Aldgate?

He tossed his sweater through the doorway into the adjacent room, and I was forced to view Brodie in rough cambric pants and boots, overlong hair somewhat disheveled with several days of dark beard, and that cloth clutched to one side of his face.

I was reminded that Brodie could be quite a stirring sight. Not given to slack muscles or paunchiness as a good many men were inclined, but quite lean and well-muscled, with that light dusting of dark hair on his chest.

It had been some days since we had last been together at the office I thought, as I took inventory. Although that glare from those dark eyes was a bit off-putting.

"The answer is yes and I took all precautions, the exact reason Munro accompanied me since you have been unavailable the past few weeks," I pointed out.

"And the reason you were there?" I continued. "I'm not interested in any excuse about some ‘highly sensitive inquiries' that Sir Avery has sent you on."

"Highly sensitive, and dangerous inquiries," he replied.

I gave him a long look. He was deliberately trying to antagonize me. Two could play at this game.

"And it would seem that our separate inquiries have crossed paths." I pointed out the obvious and retrieved a bottle of Old Lodge whisky from the drawer in the file cabinet.

He did look as if he could use a bit of my aunt's whisky. I poured two glasses, handed him one, then crossed the office and proceeded to set coal in the firebox as icy rain pelted the window.

"It appears that we might be able to assist one another," I stated the obvious as I dusted off my hands, and stood once more to face a thoroughly disgruntled Scot.

"By God, Mikaela!" He held out his glass for another dram. "What if there had been someone else there instead of meself?"

"Munro has proven himself more than capable of handling such situations."

"Ye shouldn't have been there at all!" he roared at me.

I poured us both another dram.

"Nevertheless…" I handed his glass to him.

The sound of the bell on the landing cut off a string of curses.

I went to the door and found a bucket tied to the rope that had been used in the past to send packages, particularly food, aloft by Mr. Cavendish.

I glanced over the railing to the alcove below. He was in his usual place, caught sight of me, and nodded.

There had been a brief conversation when Mr. Cavendish took one look at Brodie as we were turned from Aldgate.

"An encounter in a pub, was it? Ye'll need ice for that." He had then set off on his rolling platform in the direction of the Public House across the Strand.

That had sent Brodie off on another tirade that included another string of curses that continued to the present.

I unhooked the bucket that contained a good amount of ice in it and returned to the office.

I walked over, seized the folded cloth Brodie had pressed over his eye, and proceeded to wrap ice in it. I handed it back to him.

"Ye seem to have some knowledge of such things," he commented, somewhat more civil as he held the ice pack against his face.

It was one of those little things I'd learned in my early childhood from assisting my father when he returned after a night at his club. This was different, the man was different, but the remedy the same.

"I've had some practice," I replied.

Before I could step away, his other hand closed over my wrist.

"If something had happened and I wasna there…"

"You were there," I pointed out. "And Munro as well."

"Ye're my wife!" he roared at me. "Aldgate is no place for ye… And an abandoned tenement where a man has been murdered?"

"The man was the husband of our client and I was following up on information I had in the matter," I explained with the distinct impression that he was not listening.

There was definitely something more that had him stirred up. While I appreciated the fact that he was concerned about me, still he knew that I was quite capable of taking care of myself. He had, after all, given me the revolver and I had proven myself to be more than competent.

"Damn woman!" he swore and then tossed aside the cold wrap and came at me.

"Ye try a man's soul, Mikaela Forsythe! I should be well rid of ye, but God help us both…!"

I have perfected a fairly accurate ability to assess a person's demeanor, in particular, Brodie's. However, considering his anger, misplaced as I considered it to be at the moment, he caught me quite unaware.

He kissed me!

Not the sort of kiss one might have expected after not seeing one another for almost two weeks, but one that was far different.

This was Brodie. Bloody stubborn Scot! Unpredictable, forceful, not one I could easily maneuver my way around. He could be so very aggravating.

However there was that scent of orange and cinnamon about him that I had missed most dreadfully…

"Why would a man as educated and accomplished as Dr. Bennett set up an office in the basement of that tenement in Aldgate?" I asked the question that had been lurking at the back of my thoughts since the previous evening as I stood before the chalkboard where I had made my notes.

"That is the question."

I waited for Brodie's usual response when we approached an inquiry case together.

I had shared what I knew about the Bennett case, but he had shared little beyond the fact that I knew he was making inquiries for the Agency.

Instead of a comment or imparting some information about that, there was a curse from the adjoining room.

Brodie appeared in a fresh shirt, a tie hanging loose about his neck, wool trousers and boots, dressed this morning somewhat more refined than his stalking attire as I called it.

He had obviously attempted to tie the tie and now glared at me from one eye, the other one somewhat bruised and quite colorful from the blow I'd landed the previous evening.

I pushed his hands aside and proceeded to tie the typical four-in-hand style that he preferred when forced to wear one.

It did give him a somewhat dashing appearance, which I had commented on previously. I suspected it had something to do with the contrast of the refined clothes of a gentleman with his overlong dark hair and beard.

At the time, he had made a typically Scottish sound that described precisely what he thought of that.

However, a clean shirt and tie could mean only one thing. He was to meet with Sir Avery at the Tower, something I was quite determined to be part of particularly after the events of the previous evening as I seized both ends of the tie and refused to be intimidated by that dark glare.

"Where did ye learn such a thing as to tie the damned things?"

I suspected there was more behind the question, possibly an unasked question about the man in particular who taught me?

I let him think on that for a moment more before replying.

"Mr. Symons, my aunt's head butler."

He had taught me as a child when I had made quite a nuisance of myself over the matter. He had indulged me in the fascinating art of tying a man's tie.

"As odd as that sounds, it makes perfect sense considerin' yer ways."

I smiled as I felt that dark gaze on me. I crossed the two ends of the gray silk tie one over the other, then once more around, created the loop, tucked the one through, then smoothed the wide knot I had created.

"Ye have gentle hands," Brodie commented, apparently somewhat mollified. "I noticed that about ye from the verra beginning."

Ah, possibly at our first, quite memorable encounter?

Of all the things he had said about me over almost two years, and then when in Scotland during that most unexpected proposal, this was something quite different.

He laid his hand over mine, much as he had the night before when the anger had spent itself and we had finally retired for the night to that adjacent room. His hand had covered mine very much the same way then, those long strong fingers wrapping around mine as I lay against him.

" She had gentle hands that could ease a hurt or the anger. Ye're like that— most of the time," he added.

I knew that he spoke of his mother, whom he had lost all those years before, the brutality of it leaving him to the streets of Edinburgh and then London.

Not that I had replaced her or even that he thought of it that way. But it was a loss that he carried, perhaps always would, the senselessness of it, someone he had cared deeply for who had cared for him. Then gone.

I understood as perhaps only someone who had experienced similar losses, and fiercely protected those who mattered to me — my sister, our great-aunt, and quite unexpectedly the man who stood before me. There was someone else now as well. Lily.

I touched his cheek with that understanding, my fingers brushing his beard.

"I'll not lose ye, lass," he told me then. "I couldna bear it."

I realized then the true reason he hadn't wanted me to be part of the inquiries he was making for Sir Avery.

However, here we were and we both knew that I wasn't going to simply accept waiting at home like the obedient wife. That was not part of the "arrangement . "

"I suppose you will simply have to accept the fact that you will have to include me when you go off on your inquiries for Sir Avery," I replied, then added, "to keep me safe."

I did understand that somewhat archaic way he had of looking at things.

"However, you must admit that I have proven myself to be most capable in such situations."

He made one of those typically Scottish sounds, more a groan I thought. But didn't argue the point. And I smiled to myself.

There were moments when I managed to outmaneuver him. Not that I objected to those occasional outbursts of male anger.

After the dust cleared as they say, was most pleasant.

I accompanied Brodie to the Agency offices in the Tower of London. Our two inquiry cases had crossed paths after the discovery of Dr. Bennett's somewhat bloated and decaying body in that tenement basement in Aldgate. It appeared that one obviously connected to the other.

"The question," Sir Avery concluded after we had both provided what we each knew in the matter, "would seem to be, how is it connected. Miss Forsythe, you seem to have resolved the matter of Dr. Bennett's disappearance, but it does not explain the reason for the location that would indicate the need for secrecy."

"I believe it may have to do with the fact that some aspects of Dr. Bennett's work were censured by the Society of Medicine," I provided. "It was a known fact that he was quite resentful of it."

Sir Avery nodded, one hand against his chin, his expression grim.

"Your thoughts, Mr. Brodie?" he then asked.

"I agree as far we know. The next question would be the reason for the murder. There were items of value in the rooms that could easily be sold to the right people on the street, yet they were still there. There is no way of knowing if money might have been stolen in the process."

"Robbery was then not the motive," Sir Avery concluded.

"So it would seem."

"And what of the manner of the physician's death?" Sir Avery asked.

I listened with interest as Brodie replied with an expertise that came from experience.

"With a blade to the throat. The artery at the neck was severed by a precise cut."

"You are not a surgeon, Mr. Brodie."

"One doesn't need to be a surgeon to recognize such a wound. It was meant for one purpose and one only, and it accomplished that in a matter of a seconds, no more."

"And in the matter of Soropkin?" Sir Avery then asked.

"He was supposedly seen in Aldgate and had made inquiries on the street regarding the tenement."

"Is the source of that information reliable?"

"As reliable as a good amount of the drink and a crown note would purchase."

"Then the answer is, perhaps, perhaps not."

I was aware that Brodie had a certain hesitation where Sir Avery was concerned. It had been glaringly obvious during the matter of our previous inquiries in Scotland in the matter of his mother's murder some years before. Most particularly in the matter of a "reliable source" of information.

It was apparent that Brodie remembered that incident quite well.

"It is as reliable as the information acquired by Sholto McQueen."

That brought Sir Avery's head up.

"An unfortunate situation. Mr. McQueen had proven to be a reliable source in the past."

The man ended up dead in an attempt to play both ends against the middle as the saying went— providing information to Sir Avery and thereby to Brodie at the same time he was taking payments from someone on the other side of the "unfortunate situation."

I shifted in my chair, quite ready for the meeting to be at an end. I caught a look from Brodie, that subtle narrowing of that bruised gaze, and an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

"Precisely," Brodie then replied. Sir Avery looked at me then.

"You will need to pursue your inquiries for the reasons we have already discussed. That coded message we intercepted came at a high price, a man's life.

"Time is of the essence, particularly if we accept that your source's sighting of Soropkin is correct. There is obviously more to this. And what the devil happened to you?" This was directed at Brodie.

"A brief encounter on the street," he replied.

Avery looked at me then, dismissively. Not something I accepted well.

"It would appear, Miss Forsythe, that your inquiries on behalf of the doctor's wife, are concluded. I will see that Dr. Bennett's body is retrieved and his wife appropriately notified."

I caught the warning look from Brodie. He did know me particularly well. However, warning, or no…

"Mrs. Bennett is our client and deserving of our care. I will call upon her and tell her of her husband's death. I'm certain you understand," I informed him in my best imitation of my great-aunt when dealing with someone who had the misfortune to challenge her on some matter. She had been a source of great inspiration for most of my life.

With that I turned and left Sir Avery's office and went in search of Alex Sinclair. I had questions about something Sir Avery had mentioned about that message that had been intercepted.

"Ye were a bit abrupt with Sir Avery," Brodie commented when he found me in Alex's office, discussing the reasons he couldn't possibly show me that message.

"Although, he deserved it, and ye do have a way with words."

I caught the undertone of approval.

"I thought it was perhaps better than dumping him to the floor. He's a good deal like the Chief Inspector."

Chief Inspector Abberline that is, with whom I had found myself at cross-purposes in the past. Not something I was going to forget or forgive, as it had been most serious.

"Noticed that, have ya?"

I heard the smile behind the words. I had missed that as well the last couple of weeks. We were both ignoring Alex. He cleared his throat to draw our attention.

Alex Sinclair was a most engaging young man with a shock of dark brown hair that was constantly falling across his forehead when he was excited about something. Most usually my young friend Lucy Penworth who also worked at the Agency.

"I haven't been able to decipher this yet and it cut off at the end. I did try to re-establish communication, but without success."

Brodie studied the message, a mix of letters and numbers.

"Sir Avery said to keep at it. But it's not something I've seen before."

"Nor would you be expected to," Brodie told him.

"Can you make a copy of this?" I inquired. Brodie looked at me with more than a little surprise.

"Now ye're a cryptologist?"

"No, however I am well read and I've seen a good many symbols and foreign letters in my travels. Perhaps there is something familiar in the message that might be helpful," I reasoned.

"That is not for other eyes," he reminded me.

"I perfectly understand. However, if you trust me, and, I am also well trusted by Prince Edward," I added from a previous case that involved my friend Templeton who was rumored to have had an affair with him.

"Surely I can be trusted now."

Brodie nodded at Alex. "I'll take responsibility, and it will give me the opportunity to examine it as well. And mind ye, ye're to let me know if ye figure out wot the bloody thing says."

Alex nodded. "I'll make you a copy, Miss Forsythe. It's not a long message and will only take a few minutes. I would appreciate it if you would not mention this to Sir Avery."

"I could always say that I struck you over the head and stole it from you while you were rendered unconscious," I suggested.

Alex gave Brodie a long look, most particularly at the bruise quite colorful about his left eye.

"That… won't be necessary, Miss Forsythe."

I placed a telephone call to Helen Bennett before leaving the Tower and requested to meet with her.

" You have some word ?" she asked.

I heard the hesitation in her voice as I explained that I would prefer to speak with her in person. There was something in her voice; something familiar from when my sister had gone missing and her maid found dead. The certainty that what I had to tell her was not what she had hoped for.

Brodie accompanied me.

"My aunt has planned some sort of reception for Sir James Redstone this evening," I told him as we found a driver and set off for Belgrave Square.

"The invitation is for both of us."

The long pause that followed was a familiar one. If it hadn't been an invitation from my great-aunt, he would have simply refused, preferring to have bones broken rather than attend what he referred to as a "society event."

And, I would much rather have had the time to read through Dr. Bennett's book, however…

There was no need to say the rest of it.

While I agreed with him and would much rather have spent the evening together at the office on the Strand or at the townhouse in consideration of the past weeks when we had been off on our individual inquiries, it very likely wasn't an invitation that we could refuse.

Helen Bennett met us at the door of the residence when we arrived rather than her housekeeper. The expression on her face was one I had seen before in our other inquiry cases.

No words were exchanged. She simply turned and led the way into the parlor. It was Brodie who confirmed what she already suspected in that calm way of his.

And then in that way that had somehow become our way in working together, I gently asked additional questions after what we had found the night before.

Was she aware that he had an office at another location? Had he ever spoken of any concern over a particular patient? Did he ever speak of other work he was doing?

I had observed from our first meeting that Helen Bennett was not the dithering sort given to hysterics or fainting. She was intelligent, calm, and had been forthcoming with any information that might assist no matter what the outcome might be.

She had respected her husband and had spoken proudly of his accomplishments. And now…?

We spoke of my meeting with Dr. Pennington, the fact that he considered Dr. Bennett to be quite brilliant, as well as certain aspects of her husband's work that were censured by the Society of Medicine.

"He was very hurt by that," she commented now. "Years of research… some of the procedures he found that were more than two thousand years old." She gathered herself.

"He felt that it was being set aside as unimportant." She looked at me then.

"You have a copy of his first book. It was written some years ago. After the reprimand from the president of the Society following lectures Joseph gave, he set about organizing his notes to publish a new book.

"The Society refused to endorse his work," she added. "As a result his publisher declined to publish the book."

I exchanged a look with Brodie. He knew what I was thinking.

"Do ye perhaps have his notes for that second book?" he asked.

She nodded. "They would be in the library where he often worked until late at night. Until recently…"

"They might be helpful if there was something he wrote about that might assist in our inquiry into his death," I suggested.

She provided us with the portfolio of Dr. Bennett's notes, that included his research along with findings for that second book.

"You will tell me what you find."

I assured her that we would.

Now, I stared out the window of the coach as we left Belgrave Square.

What might I find? Anything that might tell us the reason he had that office in a poor part of London? A clue to the reason he was murdered?

Or perhaps nothing more than a man's obsession with techniques he wanted to bring to his profession that were frowned upon by others? Was that in itself a motive for murder?

I felt that dark gaze on me from across the coach.

"Ye are a rare woman, Mikaela."

Not the first time he had said that, and it wasn't that I didn't appreciate it. God knows I had been dismissed by a great many others with their opinions about my travels, my books, and now the inquiry cases we shared— an "amusing hobby" more than one had called it. Chief Inspector Abberline came to mind.

"Ye have a care for those we encounter. Not everyone understands."

Was he perhaps thinking of his own experiences? Or perhaps that first case that had been very personal to me.

"Life is cruel," I replied. "I cannot help but think of what will happen to her now."

"Helen Bennett strikes me as a strong person. Much like someone else I know."

Be that as it may. "I want to be able to give her answers for the reason he was murdered."

Brodie nodded. "And ye will. It's one of the things I admire about ye."

"Admire?" That seemed an odd word, considering his determination to keep me out of it, and the black eye I'd given him.

"Well, perhaps a bit more than that."

Perhaps. He was a man of few words, but I would take it.

With my aunt's soiree in mind and the day fast slipping away, we returned to Mayfair so that I could change my clothes.

I was not given to obsessing over a new gown to make an "appropriate appearance." I considered such things to be superficial and extremely annoying. I didn't have time for it, what with my usual schedule, my books, our inquiry cases, and…

However, Brodie reminded me that this was my aunt's soiree, and I should dress appropriately. I chose a gown that I had previously worn for some other occasion. When I stepped from my bedroom, Brodie frowned.

Did I sense an objection? "Hmmm," he made that sound that might have meant anything.

"It occurs to me that I might have to fend off admirers," he said then.

I did appreciate the compliment, as much of one as could be expected from a man who rarely commented on such things.

We then returned to the Strand so that he might change into something more "appropriate," with most of his clothes there since we had not as yet resolved the issue of where we were to live.

"Ye know what I think of these sorts of events. A soiree?"

I assured him that he could always disappear with Munro into the cellar at Sussex Square until the festivities subsided.

"The cellar, ye say?" he replied with interest.

"There is, after all, a considerable amount of Old Lodge whisky stored there," I replied.

"Or… we could simply stay here, and send our regrets ‘ due to an unforeseen development in a case? '" I suggested.

Those "unforeseen" developments could be most interesting. That dark gaze softened.

"And disappoint her ladyship?" he pointed out. "How might you explain that to her?"

He took my hand in his, those long fingers encircling mine as he turned my hand and kissed the palm. My fingers curled into the softness of his beard.

"She is not a woman without some experience," I replied.

"Aye, perhaps. But I would not want to be questioned about the reason we did not attend and be forced to tell her the truth."

He could be such a devil at times…