Chapter 21

It was mideveningwhen I returned to Sussex Square with Munro and the hound.

Rupert immediately dashed off to the gardens and the forest beyond, doing what hounds do.

The ride from the Tower had been mostly silent.

Now, Munro reminded me that there were others at the Agency who would proceed with the case on Brodie's behalf. After all, Alex had the notes that had been made on the board in his office. The Agency, with his assistance, would take the next steps.

I didn't argue or attempt to persuade him otherwise. After all, Munro had been supportive of my involvement and had even argued the matter.

The silence on our return from the Tower had given me time to think, and I wasn't about to sit on my hands when I could help clear Brodie of murder. Either with or without his approval.

I thanked my aunt once more for her assistance in getting him removed from Abberline's supervision, a situation I was certain would have become only more dangerous for Brodie, considering the man's obsession with revenge. I didn't mention the difference of opinion between us regarding my involvement in the case.

We shared a dram of her very fine whisky, which I was much in need of with everything that had happened. It did help to soothe my earlier anger.

"What do you know about Argosy Shipping?" I asked over a second dram.

While she left her business affairs to Munro and her attorney, a woman who was reported to be wealthier than the Queen and had several enterprises including the distillery in Scotland, did have some business sense of things. Not to mention, she knew people.

"Hmmm, this is a particularly excellent production, don't you think?" she suggested as she took another sip of whisky.

I was not one to argue the matter.

"Argosy," she said with a thoughtful expression and another sip. "Quite successful an enterprise with Sir Edward's determination, of course."

"You know him?" I asked. It was not impossible that she might have encountered him and his wife at one of the social functions she attended.

"Met him once at Ascot. He attended with his son—dreadful business about that. It must be over ten years ago now that young Matthews was killed in that situation at the Clarendon Club. And no other children—a son, for an heir to the business," she added thoughtfully.

"What do you know of Mrs. Matthews?" I asked.

"I met the woman several years before at a benefit for orphan children that I sponsor. Lovely woman, very caring of the orphans, I thought. Then after her son's death she seemed to disappear, overwhelmed with grief I heard.

"Dreadful tragedy. There were other rumors, as there always are." She looked at me then. "About Sir Edward. There were rumors of affairs, and he was more determined than ever to make Argosy the premier shipping company."

"What do you know about the man?" I then asked.

Affairs were one thing, and not unexpected with the physical abuse that Adelaide Matthews had spoken of. But I needed to know more. It was important for what I had planned.

"Quite ruthless in his business dealings it seems. There are rumors that he intimidates those whose cargos his ships carry. He approached Mr. Munro some time back regarding shipments of our whisky. He wanted his company to have exclusive right to the cargos."

I had not heard this before, but then those were matters between my aunt and Munro.

"Sir Laughton knew of some past...situations for other cargos that seemed to disappear when they reached foreign ports. Often at great loss to the owners. And there were rumors that the cargos somehow found their way to markets abroad, with considerable profit to Matthews, of course.

"Sir Laughton advised against making any business arrangement with Matthews. He thought it much better to keep Old Lodge whisky exclusive where we could control the price. I daresay the man was correct. It has been a most lucrative arrangement."

Ruthless. Stolen cargos—that was the only way to describe it. Someone who had abused his wife, and turned his back on the only son he was likely to ever have over an affair and the child that came of it, and then refused to either acknowledge or help the child's mother.

What was such a man capable of? Had he willingly allowed Ellie Sutton to disappear with her claim that she saw the murderer that night?

What did he know about that night? And now Ellie Sutton was dead.

Were the two murders somehow connected?

Brodie was not responsible. That much I was certain of.

I finished the whisky in my glass and stood to go to my room.

My aunt took my hand in hers.

"You will take care, of course."

Once more, I was certain she had a certain way of knowing what I had decided to do. Or perhaps it was simply that she knew me so well.

Much like herself?

"Of course," I replied.

"And do take the hound with you when you leave in the morning," she added. "I will be off to have luncheon with my ladies."

I had asked that supper be brought up my room. It was waiting for me when I finally arrived—I had a great deal of work to do before tomorrow.

It was very near midnight when I finally stepped back from the chalkboard. I had added the additional notes from my meeting with Mrs. Matthews, and information my aunt had provided.

Rumors? Perhaps.

Sir Laughton, my aunt's lawyer, was known to be very thorough when it came to protecting the interest of his clients, and one client in particular. My aunt had known him for over forty years and he had never failed to protect her interests, along with Munro who managed her affairs from day-to-day.

I took a long bath in the adjoining chamber, then slipped beneath the covers on the bed.

It was not uncommon to have trouble sleeping, my thoughts churning with clues in a case. Except when I was with Brodie...

My plan was set. And oddly enough, I had no trouble sleeping.

I rose early the next morning and quickly dressed. It was barely half-past eight o'clock when I went downstairs and encountered Lily with Rupert. She had dressed as well.

"Yer leavin' now? Is it about Mr. Brodie?"

There were times the girl was too bright and far too intelligent.

"There are matters I need to attend to at the office." I thought it best not to go into the reason.

"I can help," she replied with far too much enthusiasm.

"I know—however, what about your lessons?"

The last thing I needed was to be concerned for her safety with what I intended to do. She made an immediate face.

"I can catch up when we return," she suggested.

A flimsy excuse at best, and she knew it. And it was doubtful that her tutor would simply be waiting idly for her to return. That was not how it worked.

"Not this time," I replied. "I will be meeting with business people. Quite boring, I assure you, very probably for several hours." Not precisely true; nevertheless, it worked.

I saw the change of expression, not quite a frown, but she was definitely resigned to remaining with her ‘boring' lessons.

"Perhaps you can persuade my aunt to take you to the zoo after her ladies' luncheon. There are many fascinating creatures there," I suggested. It was something that had been mentioned in the past.

"Her ladies' luncheon?" she said with a groan. "That will take hours and there's nothing to do. It's boring.

"They have been known to conduct a séance at their luncheons," I added.

"Séance?"

It appeared she had never heard of such a thing. Imagine that, with all her worldly experience.

"Contacting spirits from the other side, much like Templeton, often with surprising results."

"Do they appear? Like ghosts?"

"It's more of a hand on one's shoulder, a whisper in the ear, or a sudden unexpected sound that reaches through from the other side."

Her eyes were as large as tea saucers. "That could be exciting," she exclaimed.

Exciting, as opposed to a boring business meeting.

"Will ye be taking the hound?" she asked. "I dinna think he'd take to strange sounds. It might upset the ladies."

I agreed.

"Do ye think I should take the dirk I found in the sword room? Just in case one of them gets a bit rowdy."

I did hope she wasn't referring to the ladies.

I advised against it and explained that, in my experience, none had ever shown any sign of hostility. Of course that didn't include Wills—Sir William Shakespeare, who my friend Templeton claimed could get quite an attitude when he was upset about something.

Lily decided that she would take her chances with the ladies and any spirits they happened to conjure up.

Munro had left earlier on a matter for my aunt. When he had still not returned, I asked Mr. Hastings to bring round the coach.

By the time he had readied the team, then arrived at the front entrance, Munro had still not returned. I left a note for him, then called for the hound and we set off for the Strand.

I had not been to the office in several days, however I could more easily place a telephone call from there. There were far too many ears about who might have overheard, had I placed the call from Sussex Square.

In addition, the Strand was not far from the place I hoped to visit, as well as the person I wanted to speak with.

The office was as I had left it days earlier. It didn't appear that anything had been disturbed.

Rupert lay near the door—guard dog on duty?

Amusing as that seemed to most people who encountered the hound, he had proven himself to be a trusted companion on more than one occasion, with an uncanny knowledge of the streets.

I had become acquainted with hunting dogs, including one named Rupert at an early age. While my father had reprimanded me more than once regarding making pets of the various hounds he kept at our country home, I had still proceeded to befriend them.

Rupert, the original, had been my adventure companion, so there was no surprise that I had established a friendship with the current Rupert, even though he was somewhat lacking in refinement. And more than a companion, he had proven to have amazing tracking skills, as well as a somewhat surly attitude when provoked.

Brodie had thought him to be quite useless, a scrounger who begged for food, until he had interceded in a dangerous situation twice on my behalf. They had a grudging acceptance of one another since.

They did seem to share some of the same habits—an affinity for the streets, knowledge of the best places to find food, and a penchant for wandering about at night in search of low-life characters. Not that I was comparing one to the other. Brodie would have grumbled at that.

The call I wanted to make and the person I wanted to visit as the next step in the investigation that I was determined would clear Brodie, was Sir Edward Matthews.

Argosy Shipping was well established throughout Britain. Sir Edward Matthews had built it up through the years, with ports and warehouses not only in London, but in Liverpool, Bristol, a warehouse and departure point in Southampton, Dublin, as well as a working partnership with the port at Le Havre in France for cargoes shipped abroad.

It was a shipping behemoth that had continued to spread over the past twenty years into the Far East. It was said that Sir Edward was determined to make it as successful as the East India Company had once been, with a growing fleet of sailing and steamship vessels.

The East India Company had been responsible for expanding British interests across the globe. They'd established what was for all intents and purposes branches of the government into foreign countries, that eventually became British territories that very often included armies to protect interests there.

After over one hundred years of dominance in the shipping trade and amid accusations of corruption, not to mention growing unrest and resentment within those territories, the government stepped in and had dissolved the company in 1874.

It seemed that Sir Edward Matthews with Argosy was determined to take the place as the foremost shipping company around the world, even with no heir apparent.

I was informed by a clerk at the shipping office at the port of London that Sir Edward was to depart for Liverpool before midday.

He was presently at the dockside offices overseeing the launch of a new steamship he had added to his fleet of cargo ships. It was suggested that if the matter was important, I would be able to reach him there.

It was half-past ten o'clock and I still had no word from Munro. I did hesitate about going on my own—I could almost hear Brodie's objections, considering the man with the bowler hat who had been seen on more than one occasion and at the town house. A man with a bowler hat that Mr. Iverson had mentioned seeing the night Stephen Matthews was killed at the Clarendon Club. And Ellie Sutton's murder ten years later, after being terrified by a man in a bowler hat?

How it was all connected was yet to be seen. With Brodie confined to the Tower and recovering from injuries courtesy of Mr. Abberline, it was up to Munro and me to determine exactly how it was connected.

Sir Edward had also been at the Clarendon Club the night Stephen Matthews was killed. What had he seen? Was there something he might know that could connect everything?

I might be grasping at straws, as the saying went. However, I was not willing to leave any stone unturned in helping clear Brodie of the charge of murder.

I placed a call to Sussex Square and was informed that Munro had not yet returned. I then waited an additional half hour. When he had still not appeared, I closed and locked the office

Rupert accompanied me to the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Hastings had waited patiently with the team. I gave him the location of Argosy Shipping.

"The docks, miss?" he questioned.

I caught the hesitation at his voice. He had been in service with my aunt for many years, a man of impeccable reputation as well as skill in navigating the congested streets of London. Not to mention the somewhat ‘unusual destinations' my aunt had him take her. It appeared the London Docks were not part of her usual itinerary.

I assured him that it was correct. He opened the door of the coach and Rupert and I climbed aboard.

To say that Argosy was a behemoth of a company seemed to be an understatement as we arrived at their main office's dockside, very near where the East India Company once had their busiest enterprise.

The nearby docks and warehouses had long ago been stripped of the signage that was once visible to all along the river frontage. Yet it was still referred to as the East India Company in spite of the fact that the EIC had not occupied the site for almost twenty years.

Mr. Hastings delivered us to the offices of Argosy Shipping at the frontage street near the docks, and enquired if he should wait.

The clerk I had spoken with earlier had assured me that he would deliver my message to Sir Edward. There was no guarantee that he would still be there, of course, much less be willing to meet with me.

I asked Mr. Hastings to wait and left Rupert with him, since he could be a little intimidating, particularly when it came to men.

Inside the main office, I gave my name to the desk clerk. He remembered my earlier telephone call. I was asked to wait as another clerk was sent with a message to another part of the building.

It was a warehouse, lined up with others along the waterfront, the ground floor used as a business office and the main part of the two-story building extending back toward the docks.

It was some time before the clerk returned, and I was prepared that my request to meet with him might now be refused. I was surprised when the clerk announced that Sir Edward was pleased to meet with me and asked that I follow him to his private office.

The front office was much like any business office one might encounter with a front counter, clerks' desks, telephones, and a telegraph operator, no doubt for contacting foreign offices.

There was also an impressive global map that covered one entire wall, with several locations marked. No doubt those various ports where Matthews had shipping interests. Another wall contained a list of the names of ships, much like those I had seen on my travels, that contained arrival and departure dates.

Beyond the office was a rabbit's warren of passages and hallways, with wood walls and floors that one would expect of a warehouse. It included a massive set of overhead doors with signage that announced the main entrance of the warehouse by the dock just beyond.

I followed the clerk past to another set of doors that opened onto a lavishly furnished room that was in stark contrast to the part of the building I had just passed through.

There was a large desk, another global map on the wall behind it, with those same locations marked, and thick carpet underfoot. There was a telephone on the desk, next to a bank of a half-dozen speaking tubes that snaked across the desk and into the adjacent wall. Each had what appeared to be an electric call bell beneath the mouthpiece.

It was an octopus of innovation that no doubt connected Sir Edward to different locations of the vast Argosy business empire and allowed him to be informed of the daily arrival of those sailing and steamship vessels and their valuable cargoes.

After meeting with Adelaide Matthews, I had prepared myself to meet the man responsible for her accounts of abuse, an angry man who was prone to lose control over one matter or another, and had taken that anger out on her in the past.

The man who greeted me from behind the desk could not have been farther from that ‘other' man, she had described.

Had it been nothing more than delusion after the death of a beloved son years before? Granted there was every possibility of difficulties between them, most particularly after what she had described as a violent argument that last night.

I was not unfamiliar with those who masked their true feelings and emotions. I was reminded of my sister's husband, who had deceived those closest to him and then very nearly got her killed.

Then there was our father, who had betrayed our mother and would have sent our family to ruin had it not been for our great-aunt, who became both mother and father to two orphaned girls when she was well into her sixties—a grand adventure she had called it, in that inimitable, somewhat eccentric way of hers.

Whom was I seeing now, I wondered as Sir Edward greeted me with a congenial smile and ease of familiarity.

"Lady Forsythe, this is a pleasure."

We exchanged the usual pleasantries as he indicated the richly upholstered Queen Anne chair across from him at the desk.

"Mr. Bolding, whom you spoke with earlier, didn't indicate the reason for your request. To what do I owe the pleasure? As representative of her ladyship, perhaps? She may have mentioned that I would like very much to not only have her as an investor in Argosy—which could be most profitable for her—but also to handle cargoes of shipments from her various enterprises."

I replied that Mr. Munro saw to my great-aunt's business enterprises. This was regarding another matter which I hoped he might be able to assist with.

"Of course," he replied. "However I can be of assistance."

No doubt, I thought, still with the hope of acquiring my great-aunt's business.

I watched his face as I briefly explained that I assisted in inquiries, frequently beyond the interest of the MET, and that I was presently assisting in gathering information about the recent murder of a young woman in Charing Cross.

"I understand that a man has been arrested in the matter," he replied.

"Yes, however, he is not the murderer. It seems that the woman was being followed by someone who was described by those she worked with. I understand that you knew the victim from some time ago."

He drummed his fingers on the desktop, the only outward change in his demeanor.

"I meet many people in my business dealings, still...a woman? I don't recall the name."

"She was an acquaintance of your son," I replied. That brought a discernible reaction, the faintest tick on one cheek.

"I have no son, Lady Forsythe. My wife's son died some time ago, a most difficult time, as I am certain you can understand…"

"According to information I was able to obtain, he was killed in an attack at the Clarendon Club ten years ago. The young woman who was with him at the time was Ellie Sutton. She was a witness to his murder and then left London a short time later."

A smile, but far different from the smile that had first greeted me. Most interesting.

"A colorful story for one of your novels, Miss Forsythe."

I caught the omission of my title. An oversight perhaps? Not that it bothered me. Or was it deliberate, perhaps a way of putting me in my place. And what was that, I wondered?

"It seems there may have been another witness that night, at least someone who was seen leaving the club immediately after Stephen Matthews' murder—someone who matched the description of the man who was seen only days ago following Ellie Sutton."

The smile deepened. "This is all very interesting, Miss Forsythe. However, that was ten years ago. Perhaps the persons who worked with Ellie Sutton are mistaken."

His hand flattened on the desk very near that bank of speaking tubes with those call buttons.

"A man with a stocky build who was said to wear a rather expensive suit of clothes and a bowler hat. Not exactly what one sees every day. Do you recall seeing someone that night ten years ago matching that same description? It could be useful in finding the murderer."

He rose from behind his desk. "I have no memory of anyone of that description, Miss Forsythe, and I must now ask you to leave. I have several appointments and am now late for one of them."

I caught the movement of his hand toward that bank of speaking tubes, but instead of lifting one to communicate with someone, he merely pressed the call button beneath the farthest one.

I rose, as it seemed that our meeting was definitely at an end.

"A man with that same description has also been seen following me," I told him.

"Yes, quite," he replied.

I caught a movement at the corner of my eye, and an impression of someone—a man of stocky build.

"Our meeting is at an end, Miss Forsythe."

His demeanor had changed completely along with his expression. For a moment I was certain I was looking into the cold, calculated gaze of the man who had abused and terrified his wife. A sudden movement behind me and an instinctive warning.

A few seconds more and I might have been able to defend myself. There weren't a few seconds more, as the blow exploded painfully at the back of my head. I saw stars, and tumbled down the rabbit hole into a black void…