Chapter 16

"As I have said,I cannot intervene in a personal matter such as the murder case that Brodie has pursued," Sir Avery Stanton of the Special Services reminded me from his desk in the Tower.

"What about a case that involves a man who has provided exemplary services, even at the risk of his own life?" I demanded as I circled his office once more, unable to sit still and unwilling to accept official statements.

As I had arrived at the formidable fortress earlier with Munro, I had experienced a feeling of dread that Brodie might very well find himself within those walls where it was said those who committed crime against the Crown were still taken. It seemed a good set of gallows never went overlooked.

I had pushed on, most determined. And now more than ever. I had never let an initial response get in my way, as I inspected the framed certificates on Sir Avery's wall and the letter below a Royal Warrant, signed by no less than Victoria herself.

"In service to the Realm," I read and the motto in Latin, "Semper Occultus—Always Secret," I translated from an agonizing year of studies.

"Service to the Realm," I repeated. "That would mean to the people of Britain, would it not?" I asked as I turned around.

Sir Avery watched me, much like a bug under a microscope. "It would," he finally replied.

"In secret," I added, according to the motto. He continued to watch me with a narrowed gaze. "Therefore, you are bound to provide service to the Realm—the people in this case Brodie, as long as it is done in secret."

"That is somewhat presumptuous, Lady Forsythe."

Brodie had warned me about bantering words with Sir Avery. He was intelligent, clever, and could be quite ruthless—all in the name of the Crown, after a brilliant military career, and his family was well-placed with connections, all the more that he had been chosen to head the new Special Services office.

Presumptuous perhaps, still I had a draw card, as those familiar with the game would say. My great-aunt was most willing, had even suggested that she might call in a favor to help in the matter.

"If an assistance was to be provided in secret, then it would not be presumptuous at all, but in keeping with the purpose of the office," I suggested.

As I said—intelligent, clever, and that other part, ruthless. And like the consummate diplomat that he could be, he sat there watching me, as if the bug—myself—might crawl out from under the glass and leave his office, never to bother him again.

"Assistance might be provided," he finally replied. "In exchange." And there it was. "Quid pro quo, Lady Forsythe. You seem to have some knowledge of the Latin language."

"Something for something."

"Precisely."

"What might that be?" I asked, keeping in mind that intelligence, cleverness, and ruthlessness.

Sir Avery stood then, hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers as he slowly rounded his desk.

"You are a person of some accomplishment. You have traveled widely and have a knowledge of at least two languages."

"Three," I corrected him. "With a passing knowledge of Arabic." When it came to asking directions and the cost of an item, and just enough to know if I was being taken advantage of. As now?

He smiled, and I thought that might not be a good thing.

"I stand corrected," he continued. "You have also proven yourself to be most resourceful when confronted with a certain situation, as well as proficient with fire-arms and a sword?" he added with obvious skepticism.

"The rapier," I provided, my suspicion deepening.

"Yes. And the ability to think independently. Most unusual for a woman."

I ignored that comment and continued to wait.

"I have a proposal for you," he continued. "One that, in consideration of your talents and skills, could be of use to me and the Agency. In exchange for assistance of the Agency in your investigation into the murder of Ellie Sutton, you will agree to participate in a case of critical importance to the Crown."

"The counterfeit case…" I started to remind him.

"We have made progress in that with the information you have already provided. That will be resolved. I am speaking of a new case, at a time of my choosing, and one particular to your abilities and your skills. Quid pro quo, Lady Forsythe."

A case of his choosing might mean anything and anywhere with the interests of the Crown in foreign places.

"I might continue on my own," I replied.

"You might, however that could take substantial time. And by what you have described to me of Mr. Brodie's present condition and circumstance, you might consider that he would not live long enough for you to see the matter done, whereas with my approval and Agency resources…"

He left the rest of it unspoken. There was no need.

I had described Brodie's situation, passing over the more gruesome details—it was far too painful emotionally to describe all of it. Even with that brief description he had come to the same conclusion that I had—that Brodie might not survive being imprisoned under Abberline's authority.

"I accept," I finally said.

"Do we need a contract, Lady Forsythe?"

"Only if there is the chance that you might refuse your part of the bargain," I replied. "For my part, you have my word."

"I will take it. And I will inform Mr. Sinclair that he is to make himself and Agency resources available to you."

"There is one additional matter."

"Only one?"

I ignored the comment. "It seems that Brodie has sustained several injuries in Mr. Abberline's care," I continued. "He needs medical attention and better accommodation than a steel cot in a room no bigger than a closet since there has been no proof of any crime." I kept a hold on my temper.

He was quiet for several moments. "I will see that Brodie's injuries are provided for. As to the accommodation…"

He made a gesture as if this part was out of his control.

"He is presently under the authority of the Chief Inspector, and it would be frowned upon for me to interfere."

He was playing politics. I wasn't.

"The Chief Inspector and the Agency are both under the authority of the Home Secretary," I pointed out.

I was relying on that intelligence and shrewdness to understand the unspoken, that I would not hesitate to contact the Home Secretary or anyone else who could assist in this situation.

"Surely there are more comfortable accommodations, particularly in consideration of his injuries."

Sir Avery nodded. "I will see that it is taken care of, and that Mr. Sinclair is available to assist your inquiries in this case. He can be available?—"

"I prefer immediately," I said then.

Sir Avery smiled. "As you say, immediately. Where will you inquire next?"

"There was a man who may have seen something the night Stephen Matthews was killed. I want to find him and question him. And then I would like to speak with Sir Edward Matthews. He may be able to provide information about the night his son was killed as well."

"Argosy Trading Company. You believe the two murders are connected?"

"Ellie Sutton saw the murderer that night. It was the reason she left London. It is reasonable to assume that the murderer is still here in London and may be responsible for her death as well."

"Be careful with Matthews," he cautioned. "He's shrewd and he's been known to go around the rules from time to time."

"What sort of rules?"

"The sort that have made him a very wealthy man, and enriched the fortunes of the Crown. I suppose that is little comfort with no one to pass it on to. Take it as a warning." Then he added, "I would not want you to run afoul of the man before you fulfill your part of our bargain."

"That was a long meetin'," Munro commented as I informed him that we now had the assistance of the Agency in the matter of Ellie Sutton's murder.

He gave me a look that I was familiar with from Brodie.

"The man musta had a great deal to say in that regard."

"Yes, and it's very possible that I may have just made a bargain with the Devil," I replied and told him that we were to meet with Alex, and now had the resources of the Agency.

"The Devil for certain," he commented and shook his head. "If Brodie were here..."

That was precisely the point. Brodie was not here, and it was already done.

We met with Alex for very near two hours. I explained what we knew about Ellie Sutton's murder, and what Brodie had shared about Stephen Matthews' murder when he was still with the MET.

"And there has been a man seen at your town house?"

I gave him the description that Brodie had provided, and then the clues that we had found.

"A man with a taste for brandy and the imprint of that boot," Alex nodded.

"And a man—perhaps the same man—who wears fine clothes and a bowler hat," Lucy Penworth added the notes to the board in Alex's office after she joined us.

"What of the boy?" she asked.

"According to Brodie, he is safe, but he did not share where he had taken him," I had her add to the notes.

"What about the inspector who continued to work that old case after Mr. Brodie left the MET?" Alex asked.

"He's dead," Munro replied. "He was kilt the night Brodie was arrested by Abberline's people."

"That leaves the man Iverson to question from that night ten years earlier. The one whom you learned about from Mr. Burke. And Sir Edward. According to what you learned, he was there that night as well." Alex concluded.

"I can have someone I know check the Registry Office regarding Mr. Iverson. We work with them all the time. They have information on everyone—births deaths, burials," Lucy added.

It did seem that she had settled in quite well to her new position with the Agency.

I stood back from the board to make certain I hadn't failed to mention something.

Then, as if Brodie was standing there, I added three words that had assisted in solving past inquiry cases—motive, means, and opportunity.

It was rapidly approaching the evening hour, and I was learning a valuable lesson—the Special Services Agency never slept.

At least not when there was a situation, or a case, as it were, that apparently had been given top priority.

The hours were long and went longer into the night, even as other offices across London closed for the day.

I hadn't eaten since the night before, when I had joined Brodie in St. Giles, and I was going on raw nerves alone.

Munro brought food in from the tavern very near the Tower. I still had no appetite as I thought of that stark cell at the New Scotland Yard and that metal plate on the floor with a congealed mass that apparently was supposed to pass for food.

When confronted by a determined Scot...I ate.

It was very near eight o'clock in the evening when a young man knocked on the door of Alex's office and entered with a large paper envelope that had been delivered from the Registry Office, in spite of the fact they had closed hours before.

It seemed that Sir Avery's influence extended even after working hours.

The envelope contained a list, made on a writing machine with entries under the name Lucy had given them. It included the date of birth, date of marriage, number of children, and addresses where Thomas Iverson had lived, and included employment as a steward at the Clarendon Club. There was no date of death shown.

I had wanted to go to the club tonight, but both Alex and Munro persuaded me against it.

"He would not want ye to go there at night," Munro had informed me, somewhat kinder than I would have expected. He did have that same gruff manner when it came to these things. I discovered a softer side to him as I reluctantly agreed.

I had made my notes.

Lucy was to go to the newspaper archive in the morning and find out if there were further articles about Stephen Matthews' murder, while Alex was going to make inquiries with the MET. He'd use the connections of Sir Avery to try to learn when formal charges were to be filed against Brodie.

Everything that could be done for now, had been done. Still...I kept seeing Brodie in that cell. It was little consolation that Sir Avery had been by Alex's office earlier to let me know that he had sent a physician to New Scotland Yard to see to Brodie's wounds.

I was assured the man was a long-time associate, most competent, and would not be turned away. Munro had accompanied the physician. Still, it was of little comfort.

I worried about Brodie, then I worried about Munro, considering some of the exploits I had heard about their youth on the streets of London. However, it seemed that Abberline had little interest in Munro now that he had the man he wanted...had wanted for ten years.

Munro had returned unscathed some hours later.

I had clasped my hands together to prevent them from shaking as he removed his jacket and a particularly nasty-looking knife that apparently the constables at Scotland Yard had either overlooked or were unable to find.

I reminded myself that they were dealing with a wily, much experienced person who exceeded them in experience when it came to the streets and minor criminal activities.

"How is he?" I demanded.

"He's had worse."

I couldn't imagine worse and still being alive.

"Ye want the whole of it?" he asked.

"Yes." I wanted to know all of it, so that I would never forget the sort of man Abberline was.

"He has a gash over one eye that required the physician to sew it up, and another on his head where one of them took the truncheon to him." He paused before going on.

"They took the boot to him when he was down. He has broken ribs, but wasn't coughing up blood."

That was a good thing?

"If there was blood, it would be that one of the ribs might have punctured a lung."

"And it seems when he was down, one of ‘em stomped his right hand. The physician tried as best he could to set the bones right."

One of them? I saw Abberline's part in this.

"Did you speak with him?"

"Only a few words, as ye can well understand."

I wanted very much to ask if Brodie had spoken about my earlier visit.

"Did you tell him that we are continuing with the case to find Ellie Sutton's murderer?"

"There was no opportunity, as Abberline's people were present."

I nodded, then turned back to the desk in an attempt to compose myself. Tears wouldn't do Brodie any good.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "He's had worse, miss."

I tried to wipe the tears away. I never cried!

Only since...Brodie.

"We'll find the man who did this, miss, and clear him."

I nodded as more tears slipped down my face.

It was well into the night when we finally left the Tower.

Alex made a driver available to us as Munro had sent Mr. Hastings back to Sussex Square after the trip to Scotland Yard with the physician Sir Avery had provided to see to Brodie's wounds.

We had a plan how we would proceed the next day and Alex assured me that he would keep us informed as to any formal charges made against Brodie in the matter of Ellie Sutton's death.

I ached down to my bones in a way I had never experienced before, not even after the death of my parents. Perhaps that was a blessing in young children, not fully understanding until later.

But even when I understood those things—my father's infidelities, the gambling, the ruin, and our mother's death too young—the pain of all of it was not like this.

I silently cursed Abberline for his treachery and determination to hurt someone for his own ambitions. And then cursed Brodie for the chances he took, for that damnable Scottish stubbornness, as my aunt had once described him.

"He is most clever, but can be somewhat obstinate...He is after all, a Scot…Most important, he can be trusted."

And somehow, in spite of that stubbornness, that over-protective way that was so often maddening, and his intrusion into my well-planned life…