Chapter 13

Thirteen

I picked up the subtle nod between the two longtime friends. Some sort of silent message that passed between them.

"Mr. Munro," Brodie acknowledged. "Good of ye to join us."

There was then a greeting to Alex Sinclair, as if the two men simply joined us for supper.

Alex continued the charade. "It has been some time, Mr. and Mrs. Brodie."

Friends greeting friends. Obviously for the benefit of others in the dining room. Some had looked up, but others simply continued on with their meal.

"Have you eaten?" I inquired of them, playing my part.

"Not yet," Alex replied. "Business to attend to."

Business that I was most anxious to hear about.

A waiter appeared and recited the evening's dinner fare. Munro gave his order, as any gentleman might.

I had known him for several years as my great-aunt's manager of her estates. He was most usually a man of few words. But I was aware that, like Brodie, he watched everyone and everything about him.

No doubt, very much like Brodie, things learned on the streets as young boys, both without family and left to survive on their own. And, like Brodie, very much a Scot.

However, I was very aware that, also like Brodie, there was that other side to the man. That side of him that had insured a young woman traveling on her own was capable of protecting herself.

He had given me the blade that folded several years before, along with lessons on how to use it. I had practiced the moves he taught me for weeks before departing.

"I have perhaps taught her too well. I pity the person she encounters ," he had announced.

At which my great-aunt replied, "Excellent. Well done. I shall worry only a little about her."

And I had set off in the company of others from England, quite safe...there was that little side adventure I had undertaken to the Isle of Crete with our travel guide, where I had encountered another Scot.

Although at the time, I had been too peeved that my great-aunt had sent someone to ‘retrieve' me before I came to some harm at the hands of that particularly handsome, young Greek guide.

At the time I saw no harm in swimming in the Aegean ‘ en flagrant ,' away from the prying gazes of my travel companions. And there had been that brooding, dark gaze of the man sent to rescue me and accompany me back to London.

I was somewhat younger at the time and chose to ignore the man as much as possible on that return trip.

It became the plot for my first novel with my protagonist, Emma Fortescue, which had scandalized polite society in London. But the ladies of London were discovered reading it and the novels that followed about Miss Fortescue's adventures, while concealing them inside the latest daily newspaper.

And that, as they say, was the beginning of several more adventures to follow, including the man now sitting across from me.

We continued the charade and passed the next hour in companionable conversation about anything and everything trivial with our ‘guests.'

Then, as it grew later, many of the guests in the dining room departed. I rose from the table and, in a performance that would have rivaled that of my good friend, Templeton, announced for the benefit of those who were left in the dining room and any others, that I was ‘quite tired as it had been a long day.'

"Of course." Brodie stood. "I will escort you."

It took some effort not to smile at that one. Escort me?

I did suspect that it was all part of the ‘performance.' It was entirely possible that he was taking precautions which I didn't understand in the moment. I then watched as he turned to Munro who was seated to his right.

He extended his hand as anyone might do in parting. Munro stood and did likewise, then took Brodie's hand in a gentlemanly gesture for an extended handshake.

Brodie concluded by informing our ‘guests' that we would see them in the morning. We then departed the dining room.

The hotel manager at the front counter nodded and in heavily accented English bid us good evening. We proceeded to our room.

Once there, Brodie inserted the key into the lock then slowly opened the door. The piece of paper that he'd inserted earlier at the edge of the door dropped to the floor. It did appear that no one had been in our room while we were away.

"What is to be done now?"

It was obvious that it was important we learn the information that Alex had brought with him from London. And there was the added curiosity about Munro's appearance.

"We wait."

"For?"

"For them to join us."

"But how will they know…?"

He took my hand in a gesture as if to shake it. And then, tapped the palm of my hand in a way that no one would have seen, except if they knew to look for it.

Twice, then four times. Two and four. Our room number, 204!

Very shortly, there was a subtle knock at the door, that same code, twice then four times.

Brodie went to the door. "Ye checked the hallway?" I heard him ask.

"Aye."

And we were joined in the room by Munro and Alex Sinclair. Munro carried a wrapped parcel that he set on the table before the fireplace.

"Ingenious," Alex declared. "I would never have guessed..."

Brodie motioned him to silence, checked the hallway once more, then closed the door and set the lock.

"Wot are ye doin' here?" he demanded of Munro. "The telegram spoke only of Alex."

Munro nodded. "I acquired information that I thought might be important, and didna want to trust it to a telegram, or another," he explained. "No hard feelin's," he told Alex.

"Of course not," Alex replied. What else could he say?

"And I thought this one might need some assistance depending on who he encountered along the way. Ye ken?"

Brodie nodded.

"And the package?" I inquired.

Munro smiled, and I was reminded of the reasons Templeton had found him to be a most intriguing man.

His features were leaner than Brodie's but no less compelling with high cheek bones and that piercing blue gaze—very much like some Norse invader come to ravage and pillage.

"The package was sent by her ladyship."

I exchanged a look with Brodie as I went to the table and unwrapped the ‘package' that was in fact a bottle of whisky.

"I hope ye did not reveal anything about our inquiry case," Brodie commented.

"Not the particulars," he assured us both. "However, I have learned there is little that her ladyship does not know about what goes on regarding her household, her family, and London for that matter. She does have her sources that would put the Agency to shame."

The last part was for Alex Sinclair's benefit.

"Yes, well, shall we get on with it?"

‘It' was the information Sir Avery had indicated in that telegram Brodie received before we left Paris. A turn of events with the potential for devastating consequences to the Crown, and across the Empire.

I caught the look Alex gave Brodie, and that subtle change of expression on Brodie's face.

"What ye have to say, can be said to us all."

Ales nodded, then made his apologies to me. "It is only that this appears to be far more devastating than a mere gentlemen's weekend in the country."

"Go on," Brodie told him.

"There have been certain facts that have been uncovered by Sir Avery in his own efforts in this matter." Alex looked around the table, then continued in a low voice.

"It seems that Sir Collingwood was involved in the development of a certain type of machine."

"What sort of machine?" Brodie inquired.

"I only caught a glimpse of the drawing that Sir Avery acquired. It's some sort of aircraft."

"Aircraft?" I remarked. "What sort of aircraft? A balloon perhaps?"

"Something quite different. According to Sir Avery, they're calling it an air ship. It is propelled by a motor."

I thought of my adventure aloft in a previous case in a hot air a balloon. It did seem that technology might have moved forward.

"There's a bit more to it," Alex continued. "Since it is powered by a motor, it is not reliant on the wind to navigate and can be guided over the water, land, and mountains."

"What else?" Brodie inquired.

"It would be guided by a pilot and could carry certain cargo."

"What sort of cargo?"

"According to the drawing I saw, it could carry a bomb."

A bomb?

I looked over at Brodie. For what purpose?"

"There's more," Alex continued, after taking a sip of whisky.

"Sir Collingwood had the plans in his possession when he left for Sandringham for that weekend get-together, with the excuse that he was going to show them to His Highness."

Well and good, as far as it went. But there was obviously more.

"It seems that His Highness never saw the plans, nor was there any conversation regarding them."

Brodie was thoughtful.

My thoughts raced.

"And what would the purpose of such a thing be?"

"Perhaps to put down some aggression. And it would seem that Sir Collingwood might have chosen to share that information with someone else."

Someone he was to meet that last night at Sandringham, or perhaps afterwards taking advantage of his time away from London? But whom?

I thought of what Brodie and I had learned in our search of his private room at Sandringham, the footprints in the gardens that led to that horrible discovery, and then the information we'd managed to retrieve from his London residence.

I didn't mention any of that at the moment. Alex undoubtedly knew from Sir Avery what we'd learned before leaving London.

"There's more," Munro commented. "I encountered an acquaintance of yers, Herr Schmidt at the German Gymnasium."

I could imagine how that might have happened. It did appear that Brodie had shared that much with Munro.

"What was he able to learn?" Brodie aside.

"The man Szábo is Hungarian by birth. But over the past ten years he has established his ‘business' in Frankfurt, Germany."

Ticklish situation indeed if it was true, given the royal family's connection to Germany through the Queen's marriage to Prince Albert years before.

Though my great-aunt was quite a young woman at the time, she remembered the wide-spread disapproval of the marriage.

Yet, over the years Prince Albert had proven the naysayers wrong with his loyalty to the English crown and the Queen, his efforts to improve conditions among the poor, and he had been the driving supporter of the Great Exhibition.

Their firstborn, also named Victoria, had then married Frederick III, the German Emperor, when she came of age, as the Queen had encouraged—some said manipulated—all her children to make royal attachments throughout Europe, including Russia, spreading the influence and power of the British Empire according to some.

It seemed unlikely that a man of Sir Collingwood's authority and reputation would be engaged in some nefarious undertakings. And yet...

"What sort of business activities?" I asked.

"Szábo provides information and opportunity to others, for a price," Munro replied.

Perhaps connections to potential buyers and sellers?

"Who are his customers?"

"As with any businessman, it would be the highest bidder," Brodie explained. "And for the greatest profit."

"Surely someone knows where he might be and what he might know."

"Herr Schmidt gave me the name of a man in Frankfurt," Munro then added.

"He is said to be an associate of Szábo, who goes by the name of Sebastian Bruhl. Although, according to Schmidt, no one has ever seen Bruhl and lived to speak of it."

"Did Herr Schmidt mention anything about a woman by the name of Angeline Cotillard?"

Munro shook his head. "There was no mention of that name."

Brodie turned to me. "What time does the new exhibit open at the museum?"

"At noon tomorrow," I replied from the information we had learned from that handbill found in Dornay's atelier.

"The man at the address we found at Sir Collingwood's residence had a handbill and travel papers for the opening of a new art exhibition at the Royal Museum beginning tomorrow," he explained. "He obviously planned to attend."

Sir Avery had made arrangements for Alex to have accommodations at the hotel as well. And that now included Munro who had chosen to accompany him.

Munro rose from his chair. "Then ye plan to go to the museum?"

"We might be able to learn something about the reason Dornay was to attend."

"Someone he was to meet there?"

Brodie nodded.

"That could be most difficult."

"Aye, however, the man was killed for a reason. And now, with the information provided by Herr Schmidt, it's not a thing to ignore."

"Then perhaps two more of us will be able to find somethin'." Munro looked over at Alex.

"Do you snore?"

"I don't know. Lucy has never mentioned…" Alex caught himself before revealing something more personal.

Lucy was the young woman he lived with. She had once worked for the Times of London newspaper, and I had first made her acquaintance in another inquiry case.

"What about a weapon? Did ye bring one?" Brodie asked.

"No, Sir Avery thought it best that I didn't. International borders, police and all that."

Munro nodded as he went to the door. "I always carry a blade."

He checked the hallway, then continued to the stairs that led to the third floor. Alex looked from Brodie to me.

"A blade?"

"Ye best not rouse him of a sudden during the night," Brodie warned. "Otherwise ye should be safe enough."

Alex laughed, a bit nervously I thought. As if he thought Brodie was making a joke at his expense.

"Of course."

"And best to check the hallway whenever ye come and go, as we dinna know who we're dealing with and it now seems as if the situation is more than murder," Brodie warned. "Best to remember that we are a long way from London and the Agency."

Alex nodded and bid us good night. It was amusing to watch him as he checked the hall outside our door, then nodded and continued after Munro.

"The information they brought could be helpful," I commented after he left.

"Perhaps. We will see what might be found at the art exhibit tomorrow."

A connection? Something that might reveal the reason Dornay was to attend? Or was it merely as an artist?

Perhaps. It was a word I heard often as he kept other thoughts to himself. I was quite used to it.

I went to the writing desk where I had taken out my notebook when we returned from supper.

"Have ye been to Frankfurt in yer travels?"

"I spent two days there on the return from Istanbul." So that was where his thoughts were.

"Aye." He poured us both a dram of whisky from the bottle Munro had brought, the last of it after the past hours.

"Historically it is the city of Charlemagne." Not that I expected him to know that.

"Ye donna say."

I smiled. "Eighth century, head of the religious council that condemned Adoptionism."

That dark gaze narrowed on me. "He was quite famous or infamous as it were and led the condemnation of Adoptionism which was the concept that Jesus had been adopted by God. The Catholic Church was very much against the idea."

"Ye are not Catholic."

I ignored the comment.

"The printing press was invented there by a man named Johannes Gutenberg. It completely revolutionized the printing of newspapers and books, for which I am extremely grateful."

He took a long sip of whisky as I sat at the desk to make my notes.

"Frankfurt has long been the center of German politics," I continued. "Over the past several years there have been conflicts between different groups, not unlike demonstrations by workers in other cities. And then there are those who feel that Frankfurt should never have been annexed by Prussia—long-standing conflict that goes back decades."

I looked up and found him watching me.

"What are you staring at, Mister Brodie?"

"Most ladies fill their days with trips to the dressmaker, late afternoon tea taken with other ladies, and evenings at the theater," he drily commented. "However, ye are fascinated by history, new inventions, and politics."

"Someone we both know told me a long time ago that I had a brain and it would be a shame not to use it."

There was that smile that often led to other things.

"Her ladyship, no doubt."

"I did not want to disappoint her."

"Ye are a rare one, Mikaela Forsythe."

Rare. I would take it.

I set aside my pen and crossed the small sitting room where he sat in an overstuffed chair, legs stretched before the fire. That empty glass dangled loose in his fingers.

Rare.

I bent and kissed him.

"It is quite late, Mr. Brodie…"