Chapter 10

I hadno objections to Lily accompanying me—not that there was much choice in the matter. As for any danger, I was confident that I could protect us both. And I was reminded that she could be most persistent when she was determined about something.

It did seem good experience to have her venture somewhere about London besides the office on the Strand, Sussex Square, and the theater while she was away from her studies. I understood completely that she found them boring. And I did enjoy her company.

I was not concerned that she might meet Theo Burke in spite of his reputation about the city for being...shall we say difficult in the least, condescending toward women, and devious when it came to ‘getting the story,' as they say.

After all, Lily had grown up on the streets of Edinburgh, not exactly a provincial hamlet, and had been employed in a brothel.

I had wondered in that previous inquiry case if any of the ‘customers' of the Church had thoughts that their activities there might be looked upon by the Almighty.

Where Lily was concerned, as I said, she reminded me of me. And I had to admit that I had also been thoroughly bored with my studies that included Latin—I couldn't understand how that might be of any use to me—a smattering of science at the time, fed by my avid curiosity of the inventions I saw at the Exhibition, and the classics in literature.

I looked across at Lily now as we arrived at the Times offices, her gaze fixed out the side window, with a particular glint in them. That was the only word for it.

Dear girl, what adventures will you have? I could only imagine.

Traversing London was always an adventure of itself. There were new buildings being built, the congestion of traffic on the streets that included all sorts of conveyances—I did look for my aunt, however I did not spot her motor carriage.

There was also signage on the sides of trams and omnibuses that advertised everything from hair tonics for men and ladies' soaps, to the premium cigars from Cuba available at smoke shops. I was grateful Brodie preferred the occasional pipe tobacco.

We were only a matter of a few miles from Sussex Square, when I thought how much more convenient it might be if one traversed above the streets in a balloon.

It was very near eleven in the morning when we arrived at the Times office building. We stepped down from the coach and were immediately accosted by a woman who thrust a pamphlet into my hands.

"There's a meeting Wednesday next," she informed. "You and your daughter should attend. We need to fight for our rights!" And she was off to spread the word. Not my first encounter with that determined group of women.

"Rights?" Lily frowned. "What sort of rights?"

"The right to vote," I explained as we went to the entrance of that red brick building with the peak roof line that included the Times logo.

"Vote?" she eagerly replied. "Women will be allowed to vote?"

"I suspect that it will be an uphill battle," I explained. "I do feel that if those such as Lady Antonia and myself are expected to pay taxes, then we should be able to vote for the representatives who determine what those taxes are spent for."

"I get wot yer talkin' about," she replied as we entered the Times building.

Lily was appropriately dressed in a traveling costume. Then there was the hound and his new ‘fragrance,' not the usual guest at the newspaper office. I was reminded of that by the clerk at a desk.

"I'm sorry, miss. Animals are not allowed."

I thought that most amusing considering the clerk closely resembled a hedgehog—short-cropped hair bristled on his head, beady eyes looking as if he was constantly surprised.

"His name is Rupert," Lily indignantly replied, then added, "He's famous."

Which was highly debatable, but creative, I thought.

"He does tricks. Mr. Burke is doing a story about him," she continued.

The girl did have an imagination and the trick hound was presently sniffing the hedgehog's trousers, something that usually preceded a sampling of one's leg.

"Tricks?"

Lily smiled. "And Lady Forsythe does have an appointment with Mr. Burke," she put in, to my surprise, as I had never discussed my family connection. Nor was there an appointment, as I had decided that it was best to take my chances and stop in unannounced. I had discovered in the past that it was easier to achieve what I was after when I caught someone off-guard.

"Of course," the clerk exclaimed as he attempted to put distance between himself and Rupert.

He directed us to the third floor. "The lift is at the end of the hall."

"An appointment?" I commented to Lily as we entered the lift and proceeded to the third floor.

"It worked, didn't it?" Lily replied. "Like the ones the men used to make at the ‘Church.'"

Theodolphus Burke. Once again, I wondered just who had given him that name. Perhaps himself? It was pretentious and not something that one would forget.

Burke had acquired a reputation for being somewhat theatrical in his work. His articles were often quite over the top and read like something William Shakespeare might have written, with a penchant for an opinion. He had gained quite a following.

No insult to Mr. Shakespeare, in the event he was drifting about near the newspaper offices this afternoon.

It had also been noted that his particular style had been labeled ‘sensationalism' by some of the more staid news publications. That, along with his ability to acquire information about a crime that his competitors frequently failed to learn, substantially increased the readership of the Times.

We eventually arrived at the third floor and I cautioned Lily to allow me to ask the questions. Mr. Burke also had a reputation with regard to women, and not in a positive way.

I gave my name to the woman at the desk, who was somewhat plain-faced, in a grey gown, with grey hair pulled back in a bun, a sallow complexion and grey eyes. Rupert sat on the floor beside Lily, ears flattened. Usually a sign that he was about to attack.

"I'll see if he will meet with you," the woman announced.

"Is this about the murder of that woman, Ellie Sutton?" Lily asked as we waited.

She was indeed well informed. I doubted that she had heard it from Munro. He never revealed anything about Brodie's work.

It seemed unlikely that it could have come from my great-aunt. She was far too preoccupied with leaving the following month for her safari. I most certainly hadn't discussed it with her.

She was very clever. A word here, a word there might have sparked that curiosity. And the truth was that Brodie and I were frequently off on a new inquiry case. That left the possibility that Mrs. Ryan might have mentioned something, yet she only knew that there was a new case, not the nature of it.

"I read about it in the daily, written by Mr. Burke. Her ladyship said as how I could improve my reading skills. The article said it was an old case that Mr. Brodie had investigated."

"I'm attempting to help him find who killed her," I explained.

"I don't like what he wrote about Mr. Brodie."

Hmmm. Her first experience with journalism for the sake of selling newspapers no matter what the truth might be.

"And the woman had a boy?" she asked. "What will happen to him now?"

I hadn't thought that far beyond the need to find who had murdered his mother and to clear Brodie.

Of course, there was the possibility that the boy would remain safely tucked away. Or there might be other family. However, if that was the case, wouldn't Brodie have taken him to them?

Lily obviously had no regard for Theodolphus Burke. I was inclined to agree, still I did want to find out what he had learned from that earlier murder that Ellie Sutton had witnessed.

The attendant had returned with a somewhat disdainful look down her nose at both Ellie and the hound, and announced that Mr. Burke would see me now.

"I'll wait here," Lily said. "To make certain the hound don't attack no one." She glanced over at the attendant.

"Lady Forsythe." I was greeted as Burke rose from behind a desk that at a glance was buried in hand-written notes he had apparently dashed off, possibly about a forthcoming story, a few odd copies of other newspapers—the competition, no doubt—and a badly stained coffee cup.

He was shorter than I remembered from a past encounter, with a short coat over a shirt and brocade vest that I also remembered and that was glaringly out of place.

And his greeting was gratuitous. He had written previously with obvious disdain for me upon the conclusion of the first case I had taken with Brodie:

‘Lady Forsythe has now ventured into the world of crime. Something to amuse herself, no doubt. One can only hope that she won't muddy her white gloves.'

I didn't give a fig about any of that. I accepted Burke for the weasel that he was. Still, I might learn something that could be useful.

"And how is former detective Angus Brodie this fine spring morning?"

I smiled past the colorful curse I would have preferred to use as I took the chair across the desk from him.

"Someone with your vast resources would know better than myself," I replied.

"And always a pleasure to see you," he commented with a self-satisfied expression. "But alas I have no word on his whereabouts. And he is most resourceful." That expression sharpened. "I have no information that I can share that would be useful."

I thought of the revolver that I now carried. I suppose being arrested for murder might not be useful to the situation.

Where bantering caustic innuendos back and forth only proved how despicable the man was, perhaps a bit of flattery might work. The man was known to be quite impressed with himself and his journalistic abilities.

"I read your articles regarding the murder of Stephen Matthews ten years ago."

"Looking for material for a new novel, perhaps?" he asked, in that irritating nasal tone, as if the words were stuffed up his nose.

"It did seem as if Chief Inspector Abberline was quite determined to ignore information that you felt might be important," I continued.

He returned to his chair at the desk. "I am aware of the difficulty between Abberline and Angus Brodie in the matter. And I believe that you have had some disagreement with the Chief Inspector in the past as well, regarding your sister's disappearance." He sat back at his chair and studied me.

"I believe that I am not speaking out of turn when I say the man is the epitome of a fool. He is concerned only with feathering his own nest and perhaps willing to overlook certain facts, as he's demonstrated on more than one occasion."

I was forced to agree with him on that. "Indeed," I replied.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit then, Lady Forsythe?"

I refused to let him goad me into a confrontation when I would have liked to drop him to the floor.

"In a follow-up article that you wrote after the murder at the Clarendon Club, you mentioned a comment made by one of the staff. That someone was seen leaving the club that night just before the body of Stephen Matthews was found," I began. "And then in subsequent issues of the newspaper, there was no further mention. Did you ever learn who that might have been? It does seem that it might have been important."

His gaze narrowed. "Very observant, Lady Forsythe. I believe that you're the first person who noticed that."

His use of my title had grown irritating, particularly since he had written several articles under a nom de plume for the newspaper—satire it was called—that were highly critical of anyone with a title and their affectations of importance. Affectations which I would have informed him that I did not have.

That would have to wait for another day. There were far more important matters at hand.

Burke, being the clever, despicable sort, might respond to something offered that would be to his advantage.

And I very much wanted the name of the club employee who had seen that person leaving just before Matthews' murder was discovered.

"That information might have been helpful in finding the murderer," I continued. "A potential coup for yourself, if you were able to provide the name from your source."

"It seems that Ellie Sutton was the only one who knew who the murderer was. And now the poor soul is dead," he added.

"It's possible that this staff member might have seen her killer. But of course, Angus Brodie was there as well. And now the boy has gone missing," he continued. "It seems that once more Brodie is in the middle of it, and may very well find himself charged with murder. There was a witness of course."

"Merely someone who saw him leave with the boy." I reminded him of what he had already written about in the daily. "You know as well as I, that does not make Brodie the murderer."

"Most interesting," he replied then. "I do understand your professional interest in this, considering your collaboration on past cases. I wonder if there is another reason, Lady Forsythe, something that my readers would be interested in perhaps?"

The man was walking on thin ice, I could already hear the cracks forming with his persistent probing for information. Nevertheless, I did want information from him and chose to ignore the question. I then dangled the bait that I was fairly certain he would not be able to ignore.

"In the interest of solving the current murder," I reminded him. "It appears that Chief Inspector Abberline is at somewhat of an impasse as before. He is, after all, a man consumed with ambition. And he does have a reputation for coming up short, as they say," I added.

Those weasel eyes sharpened. "You perhaps have a proposal to make, Lady Forsythe?"

"Quid pro quo, Mr. Burke," I replied. "A term you might be familiar with."

"Something for something?" he replied.

"Precisely."

"Please continue."

"The opportunity for an exclusive for the Times when we expose the murderer in the present case, in exchange now for the information you had in the original murder, including the name of the club employee who saw that person leaving just before Stephen Matthews' body was discovered."

That gaze narrowed. "That is providing that you and Angus Brodie are able to solve this new murder. I might be able to do that myself. I am not without skills and my own resources."

Crack, crack, crack…

"Perhaps, however you do not have the additional clues that we now have in the matter of Ellie Sutton's murder. And if we are able to solve the crime before you do, we would be in a position to ensure that other publications carry the story."

"What might those clues be that the police have not yet discovered?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss those at this time," I replied. "Suffice it to say that we have information that the police do not have. I must leave it at that so as not to jeopardize our investigation. Still, you must admit that an exclusive article would be highly prized by the Times," I pointed out. "Not to mention additional material for the book you intend to write."

I caught the new interest in his gaze. Not that it was a secret. He had mentioned in a handful of articles that the ‘public would no doubt eagerly await a book should he decide to write one about his adventures in journalism.'

"And perhaps an introduction to a well-known London publisher by someone who has been very successful?" He suggested the obvious.

I would rather have had a fingernail ripped off. Still...

"That might be arranged," I replied.

"As well as an endorsement of my book." He added yet another requirement.

"Perhaps. Yet, it would depend on the publisher's final say in the matter."

A slow smile followed. "Do we need a contract between us, Lady Forsythe?" he suggested. "Something in writing perhaps."

And something he could use in a newspaper article should I renege? I would sooner have made a pact with the devil.

"You have my word, Mr. Burke."

"The word of a well-placed lady. I will remember that," he replied.

He then opened a drawer and pulled out a file. The man did seem to be well organized. Detestable but organized.

He opened the file which I noted was labeled ‘Matthews Murder,' 11 June, 1881.

"The employee in question was an usher for gentlemen attending the club of an evening, a man by the name of Thomas Iverson. I spoke with him, but he remembered little about the man he saw."

Or perhaps chose to remember little, I thought?

"Do you know where I might find him?" I asked

That slow smile again. "He might still be employed at the club. If not, you have proven yourself to be resourceful in the past. I'm certain you will be able to locate him."

"Were you able to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Matthews afterward?" I then asked. "Something that Mr. Matthews might have remembered from that night, since he was also there."

Burke shook his head. "I sent round a request, but it was declined. I was given the excuse that Mr. Matthews needed to attend to business and Mrs. Matthews was not available."

She might have taken herself off to get away from it all, I thought

"I did inquire after the appropriate mourning period and attempted to speak with them after the service at Highgate, where young Matthews was buried. It seems that business took precedence even over the burial of his son."

"Mr. Matthews didn't attend?" I asked, as that did seem odd.

"I thought it strange as well, but Matthews has the reputation of putting business ahead of everything else, according to those I spoke with at the time."

He stood then, our meeting obviously at an end. "I look forward to writing that exclusive article when you solve the young woman's murder," he said with great humor.

When pigs fly, I thought. I just might write it myself.

I now had the name of the man at the club the night Stephen Matthews was murdered. It was possible that he had seen the murderer as well.

Or was he the murderer over some matter at the club? It was most definitely something to check up on.

I returned to the ground floor where Lily and the hound waited. There was someone else I wanted to call on before returning to Sussex Square.

Lily had previously met Mr. Brimley and found his samples in glass jars—severed hands, eyeballs, and other gruesome collections—fascinating.

She was about to be fascinated again, and I could only imagine what ideas stirred in her head.