Chapter 6

Six

LONDON

A van and coach were waiting at St. Pancras station upon our arrival in spite of the late hour, along with instructions from the driver that he was to take us to the agency offices at the Tower.

"We will need to speak with the gentlemen who were there," Brodie informed Sir Avery as we met. "There is also the matter of someone who was at the manor house during that time whose name was not on the list you provided. A woman it seems."

Sir Avery studied my hastily written report. He finished it, then rubbed the bridge of his nose in that manner of someone who has perhaps not slept in a while and was now forced to deal with an even more difficult situation.

"His Royal Highness mentioned it and requested that the woman's name be left off the list. Not entirely unexpected considering past situations," he chose his words carefully. "Angeline Cotillard."

The actress!

"And now someone we are forced to deal with." Sir Avery added her name to the list and handed it back to Brodie.

He looked at me then. "The gentlemen who need to be questioned, difficult as that may be, may be more forthcoming with Mr. Brodie."

One of their own, man-to-man as it were, rather than with a woman, myself, in spite of my connection with the royal family. Or possibly because of it?

As Brodie and I had of each taking on an aspect of an investigation, there was something else that could be important.

"There might be something to be learned at Sir Collingwood's residence," I suggested. "Something mentioned to the servants or something left about that could provide information."

"Sir Collingwood was a very meticulous person. I doubt you will find anything, but I do understand," Sir Avery replied.

"Quite obviously in consideration of Sir Collingwood's position with the Queen's Privy Council as well as his position of Lord High Admiral, we will not be able to keep this development unknown," he continued.

"But I would prefer to be able to control when it is known and the extent of the circumstances that we will also allow to be known, in order to avoid any hint of a scandal. Therefore, I will be speaking with each of the guests who were present at Sandringham, myself, including the Prince of Wales, and making them aware of this development.

"As for making inquiries at Sir Collingwood's personal residence, Brodie, it might be best for you to accompany Lady Forsythe, in order to avoid any hesitation on the part of his servants. I will provide a letter providing you access which I will send round."

And a final instruction.

"As much as possible, it would be best not to mention this latest development to anyone. It will, of course, come out in due time, but I would prefer that it be a time of our choosing, once we know more about it, in the interest of keeping control of the narrative. Is that understood?"

Control of the narrative. That was an interesting way of putting it, I thought.

"Aye," Brodie replied.

I could tell that he was not at all pleased with the turn of events. It did seem that we might be engaged in this with the Agency for an extended period of time.

Sir Avery nodded. "I will make contact when arrangements are in place. Where may I contact you?" He looked first at Brodie, then at me.

"We can be reached at the office on the Strand," Brodie replied.

We .

I did wonder what that might mean now, with everything that had happened. Brodie accompanied me to Mayfair, then continued on to the office I presumed. Of course, it was possible that he had taken accommodations elsewhere during the past few months.

I told myself that it shouldn't matter.

There were changes in the office on the Strand. I noticed them as soon as I arrived the next morning.

The well-worn signage on the third floor that advertised available office space along with health tonics, legal services, and the somewhat vague reference ‘ personal services at reasonable rates ' that raised obvious questions, had all been removed, along with the smaller sign nearer the street that had read:

A. Brodie, Private Inquiries

In truth, I had some difficulty finding it that first time as it was quite small. The small sign was all that the building's landlord allowed. As for legal services, that was self-explanatory, although I had never seen anyone coming or going at those other offices on the third floor, which did raise the obvious question just who, if anyone, was occupying those offices.

There was now new signage that read:

Brodie and Associates, Private Inquiries.

That was interesting, I thought. The sign was brass with raised letters and quite tasteful, something one might see in Mayfair or at St. James.

"The rents will undoubtedly increase. I've had Munro inquire about other places where I might open an office."

"Miss Forsythe," Mr. Cavendish, who was also known as the Mudger to those on the streets of the East End, greeted me with a large smile as he paddled out from under the alcove.

He lived in the alcove, most of the time, and had become a good friend as well as a source of clues in previous inquiry cases. He had been injured in a past accident some years before that took both of his legs. He now wheeled about on a wood platform with amazing speed and agility, often dodging among trams and carriages on the street.

It would have been too easy to feel sorry for him. He would not have tolerated it. In truth, I regarded him as a trusted friend.

"Good to see you. It hasn't been right around here without you," he added pointedly, with a look over at Brodie.

Rupert, the hound, accompanied him and now stopped a few feet away. He sat down with head cocked in a way that suggested he wasn't at all certain who I might be. There was also the possibility that he wasn't at all pleased with me, his ears flattened, and then there was that sideways glance.

"I see there have been some changes." I indicated the new sign.

"And not a word to Mr. Brodie other than the people who came round to make the change," he replied. "And let us know as well that the building is to be painted."

He was obviously not pleased about it.

"I suppose I'll have to find someplace else to live with the hound once the new owner comes round. Won't be easy. Most people are put off by him."

Rupert still hadn't approached, as if he didn't know what to make of me after all the time I'd been away.

The hound and I had shared past adventures in two inquiry cases. In fact, it could very definitely be said that he had saved my life on one particular occasion.

I had acquired a love of hounds as a child, his predecessor also named Rupert, and had a fondness for him.

Now, I knelt at the sidewalk and spoke to him. He immediately launched himself toward me and would have bowled me over if Brodie hadn't reached out a hand to support me.

"The beast hasn't been right for months," Mr. Cavendish explained. "Surly as the devil. Yer the only one who seems to have a way with him."

"We understand each other," I replied as I finally stood. Rupert immediately flattened himself across the toe of my boot and angled a sad-eyed look up at me.

"Come along then," I told the hound and headed for the stairs that led to the office on the second floor with Brodie.

It had not changed since I was last there some months before. The chalkboard on the far wall still contained the notes I had made on the last inquiry case we took together.

"I keep forgetting to clean the board. It was something ye took care of when ye were here makin' yer notes about a particular case..."

That dark gaze met mine.

"That is more than obvious," I replied.

I picked up a small piece of chalk in the chalk rail.

"It does appear that I will need more chalk if I'm to make them."

I heard the distinct sound as one of the desk drawers was pulled open. He came up behind me, and held out a new piece of chalk.

"I could show you the proper way to make the notes," I told him. I didn't trust myself to look over my shoulder at him. "The order is chronological and usually best as one piece of information often leads to another. It's really quite simple."

"Yer far better at such things. Ye can hardly read my writing," he replied, a bit of an exaggeration. This from a man who had taught himself how to read and write, and had at one time written lengthy police reports.

The jangle of the office telephone interrupted. Brodie cursed softly as he lifted the earpiece. An hour later, a courier from the Agency brought round a sealed message along with that letter Sir Avery had spoken of.

As for our visit to the Collingwood residence, it had been arranged for us to call on the residence at one o'clock in the afternoon, which was several hours away.

"I want to speak with Templeton beforehand," I announced after the courier had left. "I thought that it might be useful to learn if she knows anything about Angeline Cotillard, as they share the same profession and have both toured extensively."

Brodie agreed. "Take the hound with ye."

There it was. That protective nature of his that had led to that nasty argument and our parting months earlier.

It had not resolved itself then. Now, it seemed necessary, if there was to be any reconciliation, even if it was limited to our partnership in inquiry cases.

"The theater is near and safe enough this time of the day," I added, remembering something of our companion's words of wisdom during our initial trip to Norfolk— compromise .

"Aye," he finally replied. "Perhaps ye are right. I suppose it is safe enough."

I did wonder if I had heard that correctly and looked up from across the desk. It was a small thing under the circumstances. However, no small thing for Angus Brodie.

I would have made a comment but decided against. It was best to simply take that small victory.

"I will meet you back here to make our appointment with the servants at Sir Collingwood's residence."

I then put my notebook and pen in the bag, and left.

As I made the short ride to the Theater Royal, I wondered if my friend had acquired any new pets. She did have a penchant for bringing them with her to the theater. Ziggy came to mind, a four-and-a half-foot iguana that had been a gift from an admirer on one of her tours.

Her admirer spoke no English, she spoke no Spanish. She was forced to learn a few key phrases in Spanish since it appeared that Ziggy only understood that language.

After more than one performance that I attended with Ziggy on the loose, she could be heard attempting to persuade him back to the captivity of her dressing room with words she'd learned courtesy of one of the stage hands at the time.

It rapidly became apparent that the vocabulary was quite colorful and perhaps not what Templeton intended. In any event, Ziggy was finally persuaded back to her dressing room with...red roses.

I'd had luncheon with Templeton after my return from safari. When she completed her current commitment at the Theatre Royal she was to depart for Europe. She would be gone for several months and had chatted on about the play she would be performing, her fellow cast members, then none too subtly slipped in a question about Brodie.

It seemed that she had seen Munro from time to time while I was gone. In his stoic manner, much like Brodie's, he had shared nothing of our difficulty. Which, of course, left her to imagine all sorts of things.

" I will not ask you about your relationship with Brodie ," she had announced at the time, and I had thanked her.

" Unless of course you wish to talk about it?" She dropped the too obvious hint.

I did not, and we had moved on to other bits and pieces of theater conversation.

It did seem that she was not particularly looking forward to the tour this time.

"It does become tiring, and then there is all the competition from other actors and only so many productions. I have managed to save a substantial amount of my earnings. A girl must always have another plan waiting in the wings, don't you think?"

Now as I arrived at the theatre, I hoped that Templeton might know Angeline Cotillard or at least be able to tell me something about her.

"The woman is quite despicable!" Templeton announced as we met in her dressing room.

That was certainly getting off to a most interesting start. And Ziggy had yet to make an appearance. Still, it was not wise to linger.

"What of Angeline's personal life?"

Was she married? What was known about her family? Rumored lovers?

"She will sleep with anyone in order to get a part in a play, and I have heard that she has even slept with the president of France! She has absolutely no scruples."

I thought that was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, however in the interest of our current inquiry case I thought it best not to point that out.

"What else do you know about her? Anything that might be useful?"

Templeton's eyes widened. "Is she a suspect in a case?"

"Merely someone who might know something about a private matter."

"In other words, you cannot tell me."

Those were the words.

She sat back in the chair at her dressing table with a thoughtful expression, the very image of Cleopatra, whom she had portrayed to great success.

"She would have everyone believe that she is descended from royalty," she began. "Some distant, long-dead relative."

"In France?" That did seem somewhat risky, given the purges and the new republic that had been created.

"Some Hungarian prince or other. It changes from time to time. I suppose that it depends on whom she is trying to impress. I have also heard that her mother worked the streets and her father, the man who some said might be her father, was merely one of her customers. She was then raised by another woman in the theater. She has been kept by more men than you have fingers on both hands."

It did seem as if we had wandered into an area of speculation, rumor, or gossip, that didn't tell me a great deal.

Yet it did seem that Angeline was an enterprising sort. The men of her ‘acquaintance' were rumored to include the Prince of Wales, the very same host of that weekend of gaming and other ‘sporting.' But what did that mean?

I did consider the fact that Templeton was rumored to have once held that lofty position with Bertie.

"The woman is absolutely unscrupulous!" she continued, on a roll, as they say.

"There are even rumors that one of her lovers died under suspicious circumstances over a piece of jewelry or a precious stone or some such that was quite valuable. He died while in the midst of…"

I understood her meaning.

"Does your current inquiry case involve her?" she asked with no effort to disguise her curiosity. "And you are now back with Brodie?"

Not exactly subtle. It was amazing how she managed to slip in a personal question. The truth was, I didn't know where Brodie and I stood.

I explained that we were working together on the present case which didn't answer that one question and didn't fool her for a moment.

"Of course," she replied.

As I moved her along in the conversation, she was able to tell me a story of a play in Paris where she had opened just after Angeline closed a play of her own.

"The dressing room absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke. It's the sort that you smoke from time to time," she added. "However, it was so strong that it wilted the flowers she had received.

"The play was Salome , quite disgusting. The woman played an exotic dancer and had no reservation about removing all her clothes! Oh, and she has this peculiar little man who goes everywhere with her. It does make one wonder about her taste in companions. He was quite small..."

A woman who preferred those Turkish cigarettes, had performed in the play Salome which had been banned in London, would take her clothes off when she portrayed an exotic dancer, and had a rather small companion who went everywhere with her.

I now knew somewhat more about Angeline Cotillard than when I arrived. However, it was too soon to know what any of it might have had to do with Sir Collingwood's murder.

I met Brodie back at the office, and went over everything Templeton had shared with me.

"It could be useful," he commented. "If she was there as a guest of His Highness, is there a connection to Sir Collingwood? Or was his death merely a random act."

"Random?"

"The sort of guests who were there are rich and powerful men. His Highness is fond of horse racing and we were told that he usually had a horse participating in the local races.

"I contacted Mr. Conner. He knows people in and about racing here in London where there are usually enormous bets made. A great deal of money at stake has a way of drawing all sorts. With the races that were to begin, it is possible that Sir Collingwood might have been meeting with someone regarding a bet."

"Or," I suggested, "in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

He put on his long coat as I finished making my notes on the board from my meeting with Templeton.

"Perhaps."

Waverly House at St. James's had been in Sir Collingwood's family for over two hundred years.

It was a two-story brick manor with a slate roof that sat at the edge of St. James's Park, and very near Admiralty House and the official Admiralty offices where he also had an office for his work as part of the Queen's Privy Council.

We were met at the entrance by Sir Collingwood's head butler. He had been notified to expect our arrival and, by his demeanor, it appeared that he had been informed about Sir Collingwood's death.

"I have been instructed to answer whatever questions that I may be able, and to make the other servants available to you as well," he informed us in that formal manner of one who had also served in the Queen's Navy, and then retired to his current position.

We were then introduced to his housekeeper, Mrs. Burton, and his personal valet, Mr. Long.

After meeting them, Brodie asked if it would be possible to meet with each one individually in the library adjacent to the parlor where I settled in to take notes.

His questions for Mr. Jamison, the head butler, were initially met with some hesitation which I attributed to that natural loyalty of a servant, along with that military demeanor.

"Sir, I respect yer position and any instructions ye may have been given," Brodie told him. "However, we have been sent by Sir Avery Stanton of the Special Services at the request of His Highness the Prince of Wales.

"This letter will advise ye of the importance of the matter as well as authorization for ye to cooperate." He handed him the letter. "Ye may discuss this with Sir Avery, or perhaps ye wish me to inform His Highness that ye refuse to cooperate in the matter?"

"I understand. I will assist in any way that I can."

If anyone was in a position to know Sir Collingwood's schedule, appointments, as well as any unusual situation—aside from any situations that pertained to his work as Lord High Admiral of the Navy—it would have been this man, who we learned had been in service with Sir Collingwood for very near twenty years.

Apparently, there was nothing out of the ordinary prior to Sir Collingwood's trip to Sandringham to join the Prince of Wales and his other guests.

His schedule was full of appointments that Mr. Jamison oversaw as far as his travel back and forth to the Admiralty offices and providing any notes that were send round from staff there.

"He had been most determined to clear his schedule for those few days. It did seem to be a much-needed respite and he was most anxious to be off to Sandringham."

Sir Collingwood had traveled there by rail the day prior to his Royal Highness's arrival, after changing his plans due to other arrangements that needed to be made.

I knew from my own travels that changes did occur from time to time, and certainly for a man of Sir Collingwood's position that would not have been unusual.

Yet, a day ahead? And other arrangements?

I made note of everything discussed, including questions that arose as a result as Brodie continued with the usual questions in an inquiry case.

Did Sir Collingwood seem upset or distracted by anything?

Was there anything unusual about this particular gathering at Sandringham?

Did he perhaps mention anything that he was concerned about? Or a recent difficulty?

Then, one final question, of an extremely private nature but necessary.

Did Sir Collingwood ever mention someone by the name of Angeline Cotillard?

"A woman?" he remarked with some surprise, then replied. "No, not that I'm aware, sir."

Brodie thanked him. He then asked to meet with each of the other servants in turn.

Each one was asked a variation of the same questions with much the same answers. Then we met with Sir Collingwood's housekeeper.

Miss Burrell was somewhere near fifty years of age, tall, thin, with pinched features and a formal demeanor that reminded me of Mr. Jamison's rigid, military bearing. She had been in Sir Collingwood's employ for ten years.

Brodie deferred to me in questioning her, as had become quite useful in our previous inquiries.

I proceeded to ask much the same questions as before, but with a different purpose as I inquired if there had been any recent changes in the household, perhaps a member of the staff that might have departed?

Did Sir Collingwood seem preoccupied in any way? What about social engagements? Or entertainments that he had scheduled? And possible guests?

The responses were all the same, and he had not entertained guests in the weeks leading up to his departure for Sandringham.

She hesitated when I inquired if there was any change in the usual routine of the household.

"Was it something he said?" Brodie added.

She angled a look toward the hall just beyond those double doors.

"He told me there was no need to make my usual purchases at the grocer as he would be quite busy with work at the Admiralty office."

That didn't seem particularly unusual to me. There was another look to the hallway.

"And he gave us our weekly pay before he left to meet with the other gentlemen for that weekend. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but when I opened the envelope, he had paid me for the full month. When I spoke with Mr. Fields, his driver, about it. He had received the same."

Most interesting.

"There's more," I quickly added, when she had gone. "I found Sir Collingwood's accounts ledger in a drawer of the desk.

"Ye just happened to see it?"

"I thought it might be useful...perhaps unusual amounts drawn on his bank, that sort of thing."

"Go on."

"In addition to paying their wages in advance, there were entries for all of the household accounts. He paid everything in advance, as if he wouldn't return for some time."

Or at all? I thought. Brodie had the same thought. I did know how his thoughts worked.

The last person we spoke with was Sir Collingwood's driver, Mr. Fields, who would have been responsible for taking him back and forth to the Admiralty offices, or any other location.

While we waited for him to arrive, I made my usual notes, then set aside my notebook and pen as I moved about the library.

It gave me the opportunity to observe things beyond the questions that were asked, and had provided valuable information in the past.

Sir Collingwood's selection of books on the shelves behind his desk were of the usual sort, I supposed, for a man who had lived his life in service with the Royal Navy.

There were several books regarding the history of warfare in places such as the Mediterranean, that included Roman and Greek sea battles, along with several maps, one in particular over the slate fireplace.

It was most interesting, with locations marked with images of ancient sailing vessels and barges. Not unusual, I supposed, for a man of Sir Collingwood's long history with the Royal Navy or his position as Lord High Admiral.

A handful of those locations were ports and places that I had explored along the coast of Malta, the Black Sea when traveling to Budapest, and the Mediterranean to Alexandria more recently. Once the driver arrived, Brodie asked questions regarding Sir Collingwood's schedule and any recent appointments before leaving London for that weekend of gaming.

Were there any unusual destinations the past few weeks? Any additional passengers he might have taken on at Sir Collingwood's request? Perhaps something said by way of instructions he was given that might have seemed out of the ordinary?

Mr. Fields's responses revealed nothing out of the ordinary over the past several weeks. However, when questions about any unusual behavior, he also mentioned that he had been paid for the full month rather than the usual weekly pay.

As I listened to Brodie's questions, I poked at bits and pieces of paper among the ashes that had not fully burned with the toe of my boot. I knelt for a closer look, sifting through the usual sticky residue that was left behind from a fire in a coal stove.

I poked about the ash with my fingers and discovered bits and pieces of paper left behind after the fire had burned. I continued to dig and poke about, and discovered a half-dozen good-sized and smaller pieces of paper that had survived the fire.

"What have ye there?" Brodie asked after Mr. Fields left.

"It seems that Sir Collingwood burned papers in the fireplace."

He came round the desk where I knelt with soot-stained fingers. He leaned down and frowned at the smudged and stained pieces of...

What? Merely some household trash? Or had Sir Collingwood simply cleared his desk before leaving for a few days?

"It could be useful," Brodie commented. "Best bring wot ye can find and we'll see if it reveals anything important."

I gently pressed the fragile pieces of paper between the pages in my notebook, tucked it into my bag, and dusted off my hands as Mr. Jamison returned to inquire if there was anything else we needed.

Brodie didn't question him regarding the information the housekeeper had given us. If he was aware of any other plans Sir Collingwood might have had after returning from Sandringham, he had chosen not to speak of it. Nor had he mentioned the advanced payment for several weeks' employment.

That might mean something in itself, or nothing at all. However, I was most eager to see what those burnt pieces of paper might tell us.