Chapter 18

We returnedto the Agency offices at the Tower of London. Alex Sinclair met us at the high street entrance with some urgency.

Something had obviously happened. I was almost afraid to ask what it was, my thoughts racing. And then there was just one thought—Brodie!

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Sir Avery has instructed me to immediately bring you to his office once you returned," he replied, that lock of dark hair over his forehead, and intense expression behind his glasses.

I could only think the worst.

What if Brodie's condition has worsened? Had those formal charges been read against him? What then would happen?

We followed Alex through the maze of passages and hallways of the Tower, past a yeoman warder's desk with only a glimpse through a narrow slit of window in the stone walls to a central courtyard beyond, and could only imagine what those who had been imprisoned inside through the centuries had experienced.

Was Brodie to have a similar fate?

In spite of changes in the Tower, it was still manned by yeoman warders, who lived in apartments within the walled fortress. Even though the fact that executions no longer took place at the Tower, there were still gallows, a reminder of the Tower's past.

Of course there were stories about the Tower. Three queens had been executed on the Tower green—Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, and Lady Jane Grey. Although there were those who argued that Lady Jane Grey had never been queen. It was one of those arguments over who was the rightful successor to the throne. As usual there was disagreement and...Off with their heads!

I had visions of the queen from Mr. Carroll's novel and shuddered at the thought. Then there were the stories of two young princes that were imprisoned there and never seen again, simply because of the happenstance of birth.

Sir Avery's office and the other offices of the Agency were in an area of the Tower that were once royal apartments near the river, with an entrance that had been used in past centuries by members of the royal household arriving by barge.

There was still a landing on the banks of the Thames, and Brodie and I had used the entrance in the past.

We eventually reached Sir Avery's office, and Alex knocked to announce our arrival. At Sir Avery's response, Alex escorted us into the office.

"Here you are, dear," a familiar voice greeted us. "We have been having a pleasant conversation. And now you and Mr. Munro have returned. Please do join us."

My great-aunt looked over from where she sat across from Sir Avery. Sir Jamison Laughton, her attorney, sat beside her.

At her other side sat the hound. Rupert immediately got up and greeted me with an insistent nudge of my hand, no doubt looking for food.

My aunt was dressed in a gown of royal-blue satin, trimmed with white satin at the edge of the sleeves and about the neck, a creation of Madame's for the Queen's golden jubilee a few years earlier.

It was an elegant design, somewhat over the top, I thought, for calling on the director of Special Services. And then there was the walking stick made of mahogany and topped with a circle of gold and precious stones that she held before her.

She had been forced to use it when she had previously injured her ankle and had been known to wield it about like a truncheon. She held it before her now with a bejeweled hand that included a ring set with another blue sapphire that was inherited from some long-lost ancestor.

She presented an impressive sight, and knowing my great-aunt, not without a purpose. My friend Templeton had nothing on her when it came to grand entrances.

And performances as well, I thought.

I had not spoken of Brodie's situation when I returned from Scotland Yard; there had been no time. Nor had I discussed the murder case we were following.

The less said, the better, as I did not want to concern her. However, I was reminded that it was never wise to underestimate her or what she was capable of.

"We have been discussing the situation," she said with a smile for Sir Avery. "I have expressed my deep concern over the manner in which Mr. Brodie has been treated in this," she continued. "It would appear, for anyone with a grain of intelligence, that given the somewhat difficult history between certain parties, liberties have been taken."

There was another smile.

"To be brief I have expressed to Sir Avery that all manner of justice must be observed, as any clear-thinking person would insist. To that end, and in light of certain actions on the part of certain individuals, I do fear for Mr. Brodie's safety and that he might be subjected to someone taking the law into their own hands."

I did wonder quite sarcastically who that might be.

"Sir Laughton has been good enough to accompany me," she continued. She glanced over at her attorney. There was that smile and I was again reminded of Alice's Adventures and that Cheshire cat.

"He has delivered an important correspondence regarding the matter," she explained.

"Just so," Sir Laughton commented with a look at Sir Avery.

Sir Avery nodded and indicated a piece of thick stationary on his desk. I briefly caught the royal seal.

"I have received a note from his Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales no less, that I am to take every precaution to guarantee the safety of Mr. Brodie until the situation can be resolved. And Sir Laughton is to confirm to His Royal Highness that it has been duly received and noted." Avery's mouth thinned.

"And what precisely does that mean?" I asked. "What is to be done?"

"I have already notified Scotland Yard that my office is assuming full responsibility for Mr. Brodie, and he is to be transferred here without delay."

I exchanged a look with Munro. At least Brodie would be safe from any further injury on the part of Abberline, and his current injuries could be looked after.

"Lady Montgomery, Sir Laughton, I presume this concludes our business."

"Quite so," my aunt replied. "And I will expect confirmation once he has arrived. By telephone will do." She stood then, smiled, and swept past us with Sir Laughton.

"How did you manage that?" I asked as we returned to Alex Sinclair's office, Rupert ever hopeful for food.

My aunt patted my hand. "When one lives long enough, one learns very quickly how to deal with fools and imbeciles—not Sir Avery of course. He is intelligent and very shrewd in his own way. And quite handsome as well, don't you think?"

"About Brodie…" I reminded her. She held up a hand.

"I am aware of most of it, and the situation with Abberline will not be tolerated. Brodie is...very important to our family, and I will not believe that he is guilty of this murder.

"The Chief Inspector has proven himself to be disgusting, underhanded, and without the brains God gave a turnip. And too dull-witted to understand that he should not threaten me, or mine."

This with a voice that had sharpened like steel. I had seen it before, but I must say that I was impressed. I thought of the turnip. They had no brains, which was a perfect description.

"I have done nothing more than ‘call out the cavalry,' as Templeton would say after her trip to the western United States," she added. "Of course, in this instance, that consists of Sir Laughton and that directive from His Royal Highness." She turned to her attorney.

"We must be going. The hound did insist on accompanying us—such odd behavior." She paused, "I do hope Mr. Hastings has returned. I was tempted to drive the motor carriage. However Jamison talked me out of it," she continued. "It's quite open to the elements, and he explained that all sorts of disgusting things might be churned up from the street. I didn't want to spoil my gown, and my riding costume is not the presentation I wanted to make."

Of course, I thought.

Munro assured her that Mr. Hastings remained with the coach and team. I didn't mention that I was relieved that she had left the motor carriage at Sussex Square.

After they had gone, we went to Alex's office. The hound had gone in search of food. Considering the age of the Tower and all sorts of crawling creatures that might still be found, there was no telling what he might return with.

Lucy had returned as well from her search for any additional information in the newspaper archive.

"I found something very interesting," she said, opening a leather case. She retrieved a note pad.

"There was an article about the funeral for the young man, Stephen Christopher Matthews. The odd part is that there was no period of mourning like one might expect for someone from a family of the Matthews' position and all." She scanned through her notes.

"The article made reference to his death—but nothing about murder, on 2 April, 1881, at the age of twenty-one. Then, something odd in that same article. Remembrances were to be made to Mrs. Adelaide Matthews of Kent. There was no mention of Sir Edward Matthews.

"I thought that was quite odd as well and went back to the Registry Office and searched the family names." She turned over the page.

"There was an entry for Edward Matthews that included date of birth, his parents and a sister. I found her date of marriage, and the names of three children.

"I then searched for Adelaide Matthews, his wife, and found her family name of Lewiston under the registration for their marriage on the fourteenth of June, 1859, and a record for when they lived in Kent. But there were no entries for the births of any children."

"There could have been a simple mistake," I suggested. "Perhaps it wasn't recorded at the time."

"I suppose that's possible," Lucy admitted. "But I went back over every entry for the family, right up to the most recent recorded for the past year. There is no record for Stephen Matthews."

Another coincidence?

It was late in the afternoon when we received word that Brodie had been released from Scotland Yard and was being brought to the Tower, under guard, on orders from Sir Avery after he received that note from His Royal Highness.

Sir Avery assured me that his injuries—courtesy of Chief Inspector Abberline—had been provided for, but all I could think of was the sight of him, bloodied and beaten in that cell at Scotland Yard.

It was very near seven o'clock in the evening when one of Sir Avery's people announced that a police van had arrived at the High Street entrance. I started down the hallway that led to that serpentine of passages. Munro stopped me with a hand at my arm.

"I'll go."

"I want to see him!" I protested.

He shook his head. "I know that well enough, but I also know the man. With what he's been through, what Abberline has done to him, its best ye wait for a while."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to take a flying leap, or worse. I was worried and angry at what had been done to Brodie.

There was that little voice inside that warned me that Munro was undoubtedly right. The truth was that Brodie had sacrificed himself to make certain that I was safe, when we went to speak with Mr. Iverson.

He had then been viciously attacked and beaten by someone who wanted revenge against him for that murder case ten years ago. And his words when I went to Scotland Yard were still there.

He didn't want my help, and had told me to stay away, something in his voice that I had never heard before. It could have been the pain from his injuries that made him say it. But there had been something in that dark gaze, something cold and bleak...

"Yes, of course."

The problem was that I didn't understand. I only knew that something had changed.

I refused to give up on the case. A young woman had been brutally murdered and a boy orphaned. With or without Brodie I was going to find who had killed Ellie Sutton.

I could have returned to Sussex Square, but I didn't.

Lucy and I had made our notes on the board in Alex's office, listing everything we knew about the recent murder, and the one ten years earlier.

There was something there, something more that connected the two cases, and I was going to find it.

I spent long hours into the night in Alex's office, even after he and Lucy had left for the day.

The hound had returned with a contented expression and curled up under the desk. I probably didn't need to know what that meant or where the remains of a bloody carcass might be found.

Before leaving for the day, Alex had one of Sir Avery's people bring a cot to his office along with a pillow and blanket. It seemed that it was not unusual for those who worked for the Agency to stay over when a situation warranted it.

There was coffee and food, if stale biscuits could be considered food, left from a small kitchen down the hall.

Alex informed me that Brodie had been taken to what was called the infirmary when he arrived. There, his wounds would be checked and attended if necessary. He described it more as an office that contained only two beds.

It explained the ease and quick response of the ‘physician' Sir Avery had called upon. However, I didn't consider it a positive sign that the Agency had its own infirmary, as it was called.

I thought about going there, even after Munro's warning, if only to assure myself that Brodie was in fact there, then decided against it.

Sir Avery had worked late. He stopped by Alex's office before leaving.

"You are planning on staying the night?" he inquired with a look at the cot.

"Alex was good enough to make arrangements for me."

I had visions of needing something in writing, a royal decree or possibly a document signed by two witnesses. A little sarcasm there, but I supposed it was to be expected with everything that had happened.

Rupert had roused from under the desk and positioned himself between me and Sir Avery.

"Should I be concerned about the animal?"

"Not unless you make a threatening gesture," I replied. "He does have a dislike for that."

Sir Avery glanced at the wall board.

"Most interesting," he commented. "You've accumulated quite a lot of information."

"With assistance from Alex and Lucy."

"You seem to have a gift for investigating crimes." He looked at me thoughtfully. "I look forward to your work with the Agency, Lady Forsythe. Good evening."

I looked around for the invisible net that might have been laid to entrap me—merely a reaction, of course.

Still...I had made that promise in exchange for Brodie's care. I was not one to break my word, yet I couldn't help wondering what I might be getting myself into. And then there was the question—what would Brodie have to say in the matter?

"Any difficulty?" Munro inquired after Sir Avery had gone.

I was more than aware of Brodie's own thoughts toward Sir Avery—someone that he had once described as a spider continuously spinning a web. Not exactly a recommendation. It was more a caution of the man.

"Not at all." I hoped that I was right and didn't go into my own reservations about the bargain I had made with Sir Avery.

"You're leaving then?" I asked.

He was returning to Sussex Square. "To see that all is in order," he explained.

I suspected it might have something to do with my aunt's fascination with her motor carriage.

He glanced at the cot against the wall.

"He'll be all right, miss," he reassured me. "He's doin' well enough. The broken ribs are the worst of it. Give him time."

"Is there anything that I can bring with me when I return in the morning?"

My first thought was that there wasn't anything. Yet studying that board with Lucy's latest notes about what she had learned had most definitely raised new questions, and there was someone I wanted very much to speak with who might be able to answer some of those questions.

"There is something you can bring back with you..."