Chapter 20

I waitedat the edge of the clearing. I might be anxious to learn what I could, however, contrary to my sister's declaration, I was not a heathen. Nor was I insensitive to other people's grief.

My own experience with such things were my parents. Our mother first of ‘wasting disease,' as the physician said at the time. To which our great-aunt called him a fool and highly incompetent. Still, that did nothing to ease the sense of loss of someone who had spent the last two years of her life confined to bed.

The other experience was with our father. The only thing I could say about that was that my sister and I were undoubtedly better off for it.

Cruel, I know, and Linnie has often reminded me of it. Nevertheless, I have no sympathy for someone who wasted the family fortunes, undoubtedly contributed to the death of our mother, and would have put my sister and me on the street if not for our great-aunt. Nor someone who then chose the coward's way out of the debacle he had created by taking his own life.

With that said, I did believe that a person's mourning was a private thing, and I didn't want to intrude on Mrs. Matthews.

I waited, until the sun angled lower through the canopy of trees, with the distinctive sound of a hound in the distance.

"It is very peaceful here," I commented.

Adelaide Matthews look up startled. She stared at me in confusion, her face pale and drawn.

"Do I know you?" she asked in a tear-filled voice.

How to begin a difficult conversation, I thought. I introduced myself and saw her confusion deepen.

"Lady Forsythe?"

"I telephoned your residence and was told that you were here. Forgive the intrusion, I know this must be very difficult."

"A young woman such as yourself? What would you know about how difficult this is, how painful, how empty my life is now...?"

Grief.

I supposed that it was different for everyone. I could have replied that I knew quite well what it was to lose someone I loved and the aftermath of loss that followed, but I did not.

I felt her pain, and the anguish I saw in the expression on her face. But this was not about me. It wasn't even about her. It was about a young woman's murder and a boy who was now orphaned. It was about Brodie.

"I'm making inquiries about the murder of Ellie Sutton."

That tear-filled gaze met mine. I could only imagine the chaos of emotions behind it. She rose suddenly, and I noticed the cane she used to steady herself.

"I must be going."

She slowly started across the clearing toward the foot path. I laid a hand on her arm.

The grey lady, the man at the cottage had described her. Most certainly an accurate description of the woman who was hardly more than a handful of years older than myself, and stared back at me now.

I explained that I was making inquiries on behalf of Angus Brodie, who was with the MET and had investigated her son's death ten years earlier, and now the murder of the young woman who was there the night her son was killed.

"I cannot help you." She pulled away and would have continued down the path.

I pulled the toy locomotive from my bag. "You gave this to Ellie Sutton's son."

She stopped and stared at the toy in my hand, a different emotion on her face now. She reached out and took the toy locomotive in trembling hands.

"Rory," she whispered, a faint broken sound. "Is he…?"

A name I hadn't known until that moment. I felt a deep pang of guilt for the distress I caused.

"He's safe," I assured her. "Mr. Brodie was there that night, afterward," I explained. "He made certain Ellie's son is safe."

She nodded as she stared down at the locomotive. Her gloved hands shook as she stroked the toy.

"I left this for to her to give to him...a birthday gift, even though I had no idea when his birthday might be."

I heard a sound from the brush nearby. She heard it as well, and the look on her face was startling, as if she thought someone else was there. Someone she was afraid of.

It was the hound. He appeared with a stick in his mouth.

"It's all right," I assured her. "He came with me."

She relaxed slightly. "Stephen was fond of dogs, but he wasn't allowed to have one…" she said with a glance back at that headstone. "I really must be going. Thank you for bringing this. It means a great deal to me. I had hoped…" she started to say, then added, "I cannot stay."

"Mr. Brodie was seen there the night Ellie Sutton was killed," I told her then. "He is now facing charges for her murder."

There was something else in her eyes, something almost fearful.

"What do you want …?" she demanded in a voice that trembled.

"The name on the headstone should be Matthews...but it is not."

I thought she might simply turn and continue down the path, leaving me with my questions.

There was a part of me that wouldn't have blamed her. There was that other part of me that was determined to find answers.

"Rory is safe?" she asked.

Of all the things I expected, she surprised me. I assured her that he was as we returned to the coaches.

She asked for her driver to wait for her at the entrance to the cemetery. She was uneasy and most anxious. I exchanged a look with Munro. He assisted her into our coach.

"I'll be waitin' at the caretaker's cottage; the hound stays with ye," he said, then set off afoot.

Mr. Hastings stepped down from his seat atop the coach with the excuse that he needed to quiet the team. Rupert lay at our feet and promptly went to sleep.

Mrs. Matthews stared out the window of the coach, her gaze drawn back to the path and that grave in the clearing beyond.

"Stephen did so like animals. Does Rory like them?"

I replied that I had not the chance to meet him, and didn't know the answer to that.

She nodded and it was several moments before she continued. "That night Stephen left for the club, and my husband shortly thereafter. They'd had words, not for the first time. I knew that there was a young woman Stephen was quite taken with. He had met her at the club—not the usual place where a young man might meet an acceptable woman."

Something changed in her voice with that one word, a sad, bitter sound.

"He had spoken of marriage. I didn't know then that she was going to have a child. I learned about Rory later from...information my husband received."

I wanted to reach out at the broken sound of her voice and take her hands in mine to offer some comfort, but didn't. Nor did I think she would have accepted it.

"That last night...It was very late when my husband returned alone," she continued. "He didn't say anything about what had happened."

There were no tears now, only the sad expression on her face as she continued to stare out the window opening.

"It wasn't unusual for Stephen to stay the night at the club. I didn't learn what had happened until the next day, when Inspector Brodie came to our residence. He was...very kind. I learned afterward that Ellie apparently saw who killed Stephen and was forced to leave for her own safety. I wanted to find her…"

"But you didn't."

"I couldn't. Then just over a year ago, she reached out. She had returned to London after all these years...with her son."

"Why couldn't you look for her?" I asked.

It certainly seemed that the Matthews' wealth would have protected Ellie and her son, perhaps even made it possible to find the man who had killed Stephen Matthews.

"I couldn't because...my husband was not Stephen's father." She looked at me then. "He raised Stephen as his own, but there was always a...distance.

"I was not always old, and crippled. I was young once, like yourself, and in love," she continued.

It was not difficult to know what had happened, much like her son's situation.

"I didn't tell anyone I was with child. My father thought that another arrangement was far more acceptable than a match with the man I loved. Edward had built Argosy Shipping into a very successful company. It was considered a brilliant match."

And a very lucrative one, to be certain, I thought. One of those arranged situations for reasons that very often had nothing to do with a young woman's feelings.

"I tried everything to persuade my father against it...There was a tragic accident."

I was certain I knew the rest of it—the father of her child died.

"I was terrified of my father, of what would happen to my child. So, I accepted Edward's marriage proposal. Stephen was born seven-and-a-half months later— early, Edward told everyone, and presented himself as the proud father. But he knew.

"He wanted a son of his own, and I was determined to protect Stephen."

She'd had difficulty when she had Stephen, and it was almost four years before she again found herself pregnant.

Sir Edward should have been pleased. Instead, he was furious, unable to understand how she became pregnant after four years and accusing her of having taken a lover, as she had before they were married.

It was then the beatings began, leaving her badly bruised and with broken bones, and ended in the loss of the son he had so badly wanted.

The abuse was, I had learned through my sister's experience, all too common, but there was little that was done about it.

The reasons were different, but always with the same ending, rage taken out on those who most often couldn't defend themselves.

And then there was the financial reality of it all. A woman's wealth, be it inheritance or money she had earned, all passed to her husband, with rare exception. In my sister's case, her inheritance came through our great-aunt just as mine did.

"I was unable to have another child after that," she continued in that same sad voice. "For a time, Edward seemed to accept Stephen. He was given the finest education, indulged as fathers indulge their children, and I thought…"

And yet, horrible things were said that last night before Stephen was killed, the truth of his ‘early' birth flung in his face, as if it was his fault.

Sir Edward refused to accept a marriage to a young woman who very likely spread herself for every young man she came into contact with, repeating her disgrace of an illegitimate birth.

He told Stephen, in no uncertain terms, that he would either do exactly as he wanted, or he would be out on the street where he belonged. Difficult, painful words that could never be taken back.

"Stephen shared with me that she was going to have a child. I pleaded with Edward not to turn his back on Stephen or our grandchild, knowing he would force me to do so as well," she said, looking out at that clearing once more.

"The weeks after Stephen was killed were very...I don't remember much of that time. Edward arranged for a physician to provide medication so that I could sleep. It seems that all I did was sleep.

"I do remember speaking with Edward about the young woman and the child she was going to have—Stephen's child. I insisted we couldn't turn our backs on her. He said that he would take care of everything. But she had disappeared.

"By then Mr. Brodie had left, and the inspector who took over the case was certain that Stephen was killed by a man who had entered the club that night with the entertainers, and robbery was very likely the reason he was killed."

She continued to press her husband about the need to find Ellie Sutton. But he insisted that she had disappeared.

"It was better that way, he told me, and that most likely Stephen was not the father of her child. I still wanted to find her. I had to know. Edward refused to speak of it. He became angry whenever I asked what progress he had made."

Had he become abusive over it? I wondered.

"He became...distant after that. He was rarely home. His excuse was the expansion of the business. He never spoke of Stephen after that, almost as if...he had never existed. When it came to arrangements to be made…" She hesitated, and I saw some other emotion on her face.

"He told me to make whatever arrangements I wanted."

She looked at me then, a new emotion on her face. Strength and determination that had given her the strength to survive the tragedy of her husband's neglect and abuse, and that tragic loss.

"I insisted that Stephen was to be buried here, under my family name," she continued.

And she had continued to come here every week since.

"I don't know how any of this might help Mr. Brodie now. As I said, he was very kind and understanding. I had hoped he might find the one who was responsible for Stephen's death, since no one else was able to find them.

"I tried to contact him after I learned that he had left the MET and he had his own private inquiry firm, with the hope of finding Ellie. But that was...difficult. I'm certain you understand with what I've already told you."

I could only imagine that Sir Edward would have objected strongly to any further inquiries that would only have caused him further embarrassment.

She looked down at the toy locomotive and her voice softened. "When Ellie Sutton returned, I had hoped that perhaps one day... She had sent round a note, to let me know that she had returned.

"I had heard the rumors, of course, that there was a child," she continued. "I sent this to the hotel where she worked and had enclosed a note telling her that it was for her son."

After a time she seemed to gather herself. "I would like very much to see my grandson. You will tell Mr. Brodie."

I looked out the window opening and realized that Rory was all that Adelaide Matthews had now. I assured her that I would tell Brodie, and thanked her for the information she had shared with me. It couldn't have been easy.

It had grown quite late, the sun low through the branches of the trees as I asked Mr. Hastings to take us back to the cottage.

Munro was waiting for us. He had spent the time I was with Adelaide Matthews in conversation with the caretaker of this part of Highgate.

They had gotten along like old chums. It seemed the man was a Scot—Mackenzie by name. Imagine that.

"You were a long time with the Matthews woman," Munro commented after we delivered her back to her coach and driver.

"Were you able to learn anything from her that might be useful in helping Mr. Brodie?"

The truth was that I didn't know.

What I had learned was that Adelaide Matthews had suffered greatly in her marriage. She had then lost her son, and any opportunity to know her grandson. Until Ellie Sutton had returned.

I had Mr. Hastings take us to Mayfair. I was in need of additional clothing, and it was safe to assume that if we had been followed or someone was lurking about the town house, I was quite safe with both Munro and Rupert.

It was well into the evening when we arrived back at the Tower.

I went first to the infirmary where I discovered that Brodie was not there. Dr. Watson informed me that Brodie had spent the past several hours with Alex and Sir Avery, against the physician's advice.

"I was afraid that attempting to confine him to bed might cause further harm. He was most adamant about being up and about."

Adamant. I could only imagine. There was another word for it, or rather three, to be precise—bloody stubborn Scot!

I found him with Alex Sinclair and Lucy Penworth in Alex's office. As much as I was very glad to see him, I was inclined to agree with Dr. Watson.

The bruises on his face had taken on a blue-green color. The bandage over his left eye concealed the cut from the beating that he had taken at Scotland Yard. As he stood before the board that Lucy and I had filled with information, he held himself in such a way that suggested any attempt to straighten himself would cause great pain.

It appeared that he had washed. The dried blood on his face and in his hair was gone, and he had acquired a clean pair of trousers and shirt. He didn't look at me, didn't so much as even acknowledge that I was there. My stomach knotted. He was angry, I could feel it. However, we were not alone and it would have been awkward to go to him. I saw Alex Sinclair's hand in his improved condition. All-in-all, a remarkable improvement from the last time I saw him in the infirmary.

Lucy and Alex both greeted me in that familiar way.

"I say," Alex then commented. "You've been gone for some time. Were you able to learn anything new?"

He knew me well enough by now to know that I had not spent the day shopping or taking luncheon with friends.

"I met with Mrs. Matthews," I replied, with a look at Brodie. "I wanted to know what she remembered from her son's murder ten years ago. I thought there might be something important that could be helpful now. It was very difficult. I feel sorry for her, with the loss of her son and grandson."

"Was there anything that might be useful?" Lucy asked.

"I'm not certain. I thought it could be useful to add the notes to the board." I looked again at Brodie. That dark gaze briefly met mine, then angled away.

"Her son is buried in her family plot at Highgate. Not under the Matthews family name, but under her name. It seems that there was a great deal of difficulty in the marriage. She shared that Stephen was not Edward Matthews' son."

"That couldn't have been easy for her," Lucy commented.

"It wasn't," I admitted with another look over at Brodie.

He had taken it all in, yet made no comment. Unusual, I thought, however he was obviously dealing with a great deal of pain. If he had been up for hours, against Dr. Watson's advice, he was undoubtedly exhausted as well.

I crossed the office to the board. I wanted to add my notes as I had not had a chance earlier to make note of what I'd learned that afternoon.

Brodie handed me the chalk he had been using. Our fingers briefly touched.

I could have been mistaken, but it seemed that he pulled his hand back quite suddenly as he went to a nearby chair and took great care as he eased down onto it.

It was just the pain and exhaustion, I thought, as Alex and Lucy told me what they had been able to learn.

Lucy had spent most of the day going through police archives hoping to learn more about the official investigation into Ellie Sutton's death.

"It's almost as if …"

"As if what?" I asked.

"As if it isn't important," she said with a note of disgust. "It certainly hasn't been given any priority. And there have only been two mentions of it and then…" She looked over at Brodie.

"It has been followed up that the case is now closed."

"Of course. Chief Inspector Abberline is certain he has already found the murderer," I replied with another look at Brodie.

While Lucy searched the police reports, Alex had spent the day also searching their files, specifically their records of known criminals, for someone that fit the description of the man with the bowler hat.

"They keep fingerprints now, and descriptions of known criminals, along with photographs. That doesn't include how a man is dressed and not all their files included photographs. That is a rather new aspect for them."

He had then searched through files the Agency had compiled over the past several years, but had found nothing.

"The man does seem to have skills that most persons wouldn't have. On a suggestion from Mr. Brodie, Sir Avery has provided me with permission for access to military records. The office of military records was closed by the time I returned today," Alex informed.

"I will be following that up tomorrow with Lucy's assistance."

I was beginning to think that those who claimed to have seen the man might be mistaken.

Except for Brodie. He had a keen eye for detail from his training with the MET and his earlier life on the street learning how to survive. He had often come upon a clue in an inquiry that no one had yet discovered.

"Aye," Munro commented. He had been quietly listening to what each had to say about what we had learned that day.

"Matthews has a reputation for bein' a hard man for those who work for him."

A hard man, but not unusual, I thought as I wondered what he might have seen the night Stephen Matthews was murdered.

"He might be able to tell us something from that night." I had no more finished the thought than Brodie objected.

"Ye'll not go to speak with the man!" He winced at the effort that took, seized with a fit of coughing that doubled him over.

When I would have gone to him, he waved me away.

The coughing subsided, and I was relieved that there was no sign of blood, in spite of Dr. Watson's assurances that he didn't seem to have any internal bleeding from the beating he'd taken or the broken ribs.

"Are ye quite through givin' orders to everyone then?" Munro asked in a manner that only a very good friend would dare to risk.

"Pian anns an asal," Brodie muttered in Scots Gaelic that conveyed a great deal just the way he said it.

Munro merely shrugged. Obviously not the first time he had heard it, and undoubtedly not the last.

"Aye, and ye are a horse's ass as well," he replied as he slipped an arm about Brodie's shoulders, the only place that hadn't suffered injury. "Now, do I have to throw ye over my shoulder to get ye to return to the infirmary before ye do yerself more harm?" Munro asked in a tone that suggested he would do just that, no matter the pain it caused.

Brodie leaned against him as they left the office, looking very much like two men who'd had a bit much to drink. Their progress was slow and measured with more than one curse between them.

I had updated Lucy and Alex on everything that I'd learned and made notes on the chalkboard. I then hurried to catch up with Munro and Brodie.

I hadn't seen Brodie alone since he was brought to the Tower two days earlier, barely conscious and mostly incoherent, and wanted very much to see him.

I was grateful for Dr. Watson's care, however I wanted to see for myself that he was recovering. And I wanted to discuss the case with him.

I had missed our conversations and while I was confident of my abilities, the truth was that I missed him terribly—the exchange of ideas, our conversations...

"Ye let her go alone?!" I heard Brodie say only a few yards ahead in the hallway. "Ye know what I told her!"

"She wasna alone," Munro replied. "And there was no danger."

What Brodie said next stopped me in the dimly lit hallway.

"Yer like a brother, but dinna go against me in this! I dinna want her part of this. Ye know the sort of man Matthews is. I have my reasons."

"I know well enough," Munro replied as their voices faded in the hallway as they continued toward the infirmary. But not so far away that I didn't hear what he said next.

"Ye should have told her from the beginnin'. She's a strong, braw woman. And this business with Matthews, yerself held here with charges against ye…? Ye need to trust her. There are those here who can assist. Ye have no choice."

"No!" Brodie replied. The rest of it faded as they reached the infirmary and the door closed behind them.

It did seem that our confrontation at Scotland Yard, when he was first arrested, wasn't merely a reaction to the pain or even the fact that he'd been arrested.

There was something more...some reason that he was adamant that I wasn't to involve myself. It was a little late for that, I thought, and not without frustration and no small amount of anger.

What was it? What hadn't he told me?

With everything that had happened, Brodie now under arrest and held here, virtually a prisoner at the Tower, he was still adamant that I wasn't to continue?

Bloody hell, I thought. I was not of a mind to be lectured, which I was certain would happen if I entered the infirmary now, asking his thoughts on what I had learned.

It was not the visit I thought we might have, once I was assured that he was going to live.

Bruises would eventually fade and ribs would heal, Dr. Watson had assured me. In the meantime...

Let him sit there with whatever it was he should have told me, imprisoned for all intents and purposes, I thought, with no small amount of my own anger. Perhaps it was a good place for him.

A young woman had been murdered, and a young boy was now an orphan. I had managed to get this far in the case and learned valuable information without his assistance. I would bloody hell finish it, and clear him of charges!

I silently cursed all stubborn, pig-headed Scots!