Chapter 17

I slept little,and when I did, I dreamed about Brodie in that cell in Scotland Yard.

I rose, a headache threatening just there at the back of my head, and went into the adjoining bathroom across the way, the sky still quite dark beyond the windows. When I returned, a faint light had finally appeared and the headache had subsided during a hot bath.

I found Lily sitting expectantly at the end of my bed, Rupert at her feet. It did seem that she had a way with the hound. I received merely a roll of his eyes as I went to the wardrobe and found a skirt and blouse I might wear for the day. No doubt due to the fact that I had no sponge cake to offer.

"It was late at night when ye returned," she began. "Mr. Brodie was not with ye."

It seemed that she was still awake quite late.

I was aware that she was quite fond of Brodie, in that way of shared experiences, her curiosity of all things pertaining to our investigations, and the fact that she had no father figure in her life.

He had somehow stepped into that role. She needed that, even when it came as a reprimand about her manners—most particularly when it came to my great-aunt or myself—or his insistence that she pay attention to her lessons.

"She is a bright one," he said on more than one occasion. "She reminds me of yerself. God help us all."

The compliment had brought color to her cheeks at the time, and I was reminded that, in spite of the fact that she was very nearly a young woman, there was a child inside who needed his presence in her life.

And now?

I saw the worry in the frown on her face.

"Wot will happen to Mr. Brodie?"

I smiled at the fact that she still referred to him as Mr. Brodie.

"We will simply see that he is proven innocent of the charges and released."

There was no point in glossing over the most serious facts of the situation. She had already heard enough to know about the encounter with Abberline's men.

"Will it be dangerous?"

Very likely, I thought. Abberline was most determined to see Brodie imprisoned for Ellie Sutton's murder, or possibly hanged.

She didn't wait for an answer. "I want to help."

"I know," I replied as I saw the stubborn set of her jaw.

"I'm not a child, and I can read and write now as well as ye can. And I'm not afraid of the police or anyone else! Didna I prove meself in yer last inquiry case?"

She most definitely had. We might have been too late in resolving the case without her deciphering an important code, that had impressed even Alex Sinclair.

However, I would not endanger her in this. Not that my efforts would always be successful.

"I need you to do something far more important," I told her.

She looked at me suspiciously as I continued.

"My great-aunt—who is now your family as well—might take it upon herself to do something quite dangerous."

I didn't go into the fact that, with a little imagination, I could see her actually storming into Scotland Yard, perhaps with a weapon, and demanding Brodie's release.

A little drastic perhaps—still this was a woman who had a king, highwaymen, and apparently smugglers for ancestors. There was undoubtedly a book in all of this.

To someone else it might seem ridiculous in the extreme, nevertheless...Having been raised by the woman, I would not have put anything past her, no matter how ill-advised, given her age. After all, at the age of eighty-six, she was going to Africa on safari.

"Dangerous," Lily repeated. "Like her driving the motor carriage?"

"More dangerous. I would not want to see her harmed or taken in by the police. However, I cannot be here if I am to help Brodie."

"Yer tryin' to get round me," she accused, her blue eyes so bright I thought there might be fire spitting from them at any moment.

"She's been like me own family, with you and Mr. Brodie. Ye know I wouldna let anythin' happen to her."

"I know," I admitted. "It is the reason I asking you to remain here, and let Munro and me do what we must to clear Mr. Brodie."

She was thoughtful for several moments. I expected an argument. I would certainly have made one.

"Aye," she finally replied. "I'll stay here...but I expect to be included in yer next inquiry case."

A demand. It seems that I was surrounded by them. First from Sir Avery, which I would undoubtedly regret although the idea was intriguing, and now a slip of a girl who was far too intelligent and quite crafty.

"You are not to let her know about our arrangement," I insisted.

She agreed. "It will be our secret. Do ye think I need to carry a weapon while yer gone?"

Mrs. Ryan saw that we had plenty of hot coffee and scones as I met with Munro in his office to go over our plans once more.

By the time we left Sussex Square for the Clarendon Club at Regents Park, Lucy would have already gone to the newspaper archive to try to find any additional information about the murder of Stephen Matthews ten years earlier, and Alex was to contact Sir Laughton, my aunt's attorney, in the matter of having Brodie released.

I requested Mr. Hastings' services once more. It would go a long way to keeping my aunt at Sussex Square. Of course, there was no accounting for the possibility that she might take it upon herself to take the motor carriage into the city.

I thought of giving Lily the St. Christopher's medallion Brodie had given me, yet hated to part with it. And there was the possibility that it would take far more than St. Christopher to protect anyone my aunt encountered if she took it upon herself to visit Scotland Yard.

I had spoken with her regarding the fact that Alex would be working with Sir Laughton in the legal aspect of the situation. She had replied, slightly distracted as if her thoughts were elsewhere.

"He is the best man for the job...I do think it may be time to take the motor carriage out for a drive."

"Remember our bargain," I reminded Lily as Munro and I departed.

"I want to see Brodie," I told Munro as our coach pulled away from Sussex Square.

"It might be best to wait until Mr. Sinclair has spoken with yer aunt's attorney," he finally replied.

"Sir Avery arranged for me to see him before."

"It's not a matter of permission from Sir Avery," Munro replied.

"Then, what is it…?" But I knew. It wasn't that I couldn't see him...he didn't want to see me. That was obvious, and it cut like a knife.

"Ye need to understand," Munro tried to explain. "With the charges that Abberline intends to file against him and the injuries…"

Excuses. And while I did appreciate Munro's effort to ease the pain of the truth of it, it didn't change the fact that Brodie didn't want to see me.

I had asked him to trust me, and then had deliberately gone against his wishes.

Damned bloody stubborn Scot! As if I would simply ignore everything and leave him to take his chances with Abberline!

That was what I wanted to say but didn't as we approached closer to Regent's Park and the Clarendon Club.

"Since you have had business with the club in the past, you should speak with Mr. Ramsey to see if Mr. Iverson is about," I replied.

We were shown into the main entrance of the club when we arrived. Isaac Ramsey was a portly man with a sharp eye.

"Mr. Munro, to what do I owe the pleasure of your calling on me, with your last visit to deliver our order of Old Lodge whisky so recent? Has her ladyship increased the price of her whisky? If not, then I would prefer to put in an order before that happens."

As discussed, Munro introduced me and then explained we were there to ask a few questions in a matter of the incident some time ago and the murder of Stephen Matthews at the club.

"Mr. Iverson, you say. Yes, he's here today," Mr. Ramsey replied. "We're preparing for a birthday celebration for one of the members. A terrible tragedy about young Matthews. Unfortunate, even ten years ago."

Munro emphasized the importance that we speak with Mr. Iverson.

"I'll send for him. You can meet in the main hall where we're setting up for tonight."

Thomas Iverson was a short, thin man, with just the beginning of grey hair among the brown, and an expressionless demeanor that one might expect of a man who perhaps saw a great deal at the club and had learned to protect the privacy of those within those walls. And perhaps look the other way when he saw something?

The fact that he had been employed for a number of years spoke to his discretion in such matters. I did hope that he would be willing to share what had happened that night Stephen Matthews was killed.

Munro asked if he remembered the incident. Mr. Iverson glanced over at Mr. Ramsey.

"We don't discuss matters concerning our members," he replied what had obviously been well established, if those employed at the club wished to keep their jobs. Discretion at all costs.

Isaac Ramsey nodded, obviously satisfied that the reputation of the club would not be jeopardized, and left to attend matters for the evening celebration.

"A young man was murdered here at the club," Munro reminded him.

"That was a long time ago. I don't remember anything from that night."

Munro looked over at me. It did seem that he was not willing to cooperate.

"A young woman was with Mr. Matthews when he was murdered," I explained what I had been able to learn. "Afterward she managed to escape and then disappeared. According to the police report she saw the murderer that night."

He shook his head. "Will that be all, miss?"

"She was murdered three nights ago." In spite of Brodie's refusal to see me, I was not about to simply walk away from this. "Now a little boy is an orphan, and an innocent man has been accused of her murder. We're trying to find who did kill her and need your assistance."

"Murdered, you say. Poor thing. I've got a family of my own, two boys and a girl," Iverson replied.

He looked about and seeing that Mr. Ramsey was not about, "I remember that night. Total chaos, it was, when young Mr. Matthews was found and the poor girl screamin' for all to hear.

"They were in one of the upstairs apartments. I had served supper no more than an hour earlier when it happened. The other gentlemen made to get away as the police were called for."

"We were told that she saw the murderer," I explained. "She was then able to escape and left London, afraid for her life."

He shook his head. "You have to understand what it was like, what with the other employees, the members, their...guests. It was bedlam, it was. I had just returned upstairs to remove the plates from supper," he hesitated again. "There was someone on the floor, seemed odd to me at the time."

"How is that?" Munro asked.

"I didn't recognize him as one of the members; you get to know the regulars after a time. And the guests were usually...ladies," he looked over at me when he said that.

"The young miss, though...she was different than most, almost shy, quiet in a way, pretty little thing. It seemed that Mister Stephen was most serious about her, not what one usually sees here.

"One of the housemaids said that she overheard a conversation with his father, that he intended to marry the girl. Everything changed that night, and the girl disappeared. We heard the rumors that she saw who killed the young man and she was afraid for her life."

"What about the man you saw that night?" I asked. "Do you remember anything about what he looked like?"

"He was dressed quite handily, wore a fine suit of clothes. Made me think he might be a new member." He continued to remember.

A suit of clothes. It could have indeed simply been a member of the club that he saw attempting to leave a scandalous situation.

"Strange though," he said then.

"What is it?" I asked.

"When the gentlemen arrive for the evening, the staff take their hats and coats, to be returned later when they leave. That has been the custom for as long as I've been here—almost twenty years. It's like the members are arriving at a private residence, all proper. The man I saw was a short, stout fellow and still wore his hat up on the second floor, a round piece with a thin rim."

A bowler hat?

"More than one gentleman has such a hat," Munro commented as we left the club.

"But one that drew Mr. Iverson's attention? And on the second floor of the club near that private room where Ellie Sutton was with Stephen Matthews that night?"

And there was the other part of it...he had described the man he saw as a short, stout man with a bowler hat. The exact same description of the man Brodie had seen across from the town house in Mayfair.

Two different men with the same description, both seen after a murder ten years apart? A coincidence?