Chapter 22

"When?"he demanded.

"I missed her by only a few minutes, according to the note she left at the office," Munro replied.

"Matthews!" Brodie spat out as he moved a little too quickly from the chair at the desk in Alex Sinclair's office and winced at the pain it brought.

"She met with the wife yesterday," Munro went on to explain. "Afterward, she was certain Sir Edward knew something from the night Stephen Matthews was killed that was part of the recent murder. I found it in her notes at Sussex Square."

Her damned notes! Brodie thought.

There were no accusations that Munro should have stayed with her, there was no time for that. She had not returned to the coach after that meeting with Matthews. If she was correct that the two murders were connected, she might be in grave danger.

What had she learned from Sir Edward? Something? Anything?

The fact that she had not returned from that meeting was proof enough that he was somehow involved. And the man had a ruthless reputation—he let nothing stand in his way.

There had long been suspicions of Matthews' business dealings. Munro knew only too well from handling Lady Montgomery's affairs. Those he couldn't persuade to do business with Argosy were then ‘persuaded' by other means.

In more than one instance, a merchant was either severely beaten or disappeared completely over a shipping transaction.

Lady Montgomery's business dealing had been the exception, with Munro steadfastly advising her not to do business with the man. And now Mikaela was in the middle of a dangerous situation and had disappeared.

Mr. Hastings had waited for over an hour for her to return from the appointment, then made inquiries inside the shipping office. He was informed that Sir Edward had left the building some time before, and there was no sign of her.

It was then he made the call from the shipping office to Sussex Square. He had arrived at the Tower just before Munro, along with that mangy, foul-smelling animal Mikaela was so fond of.

That was the other part of it, that Brodie couldn't ignore—the hound. He was usually docile during the day after spending the night on the street, content to find a place to sleep it off. But now the beast was restless, agitated, pacing back and forth in Alex Sinclair's office as if the damned animal sensed something was verra wrong.

"What's to be done?" Alex asked.

Brodie seized the coat Munro had brought for him the day before and winced sharply as he pulled it on, then left the office for the larger one down the hall.

He didn't bother to request to see the man behind the door and didn't knock. The door slammed back against the inside wall.

"Get me out of here, now!" he demanded of Sir Avery.

Munro and Alex Sinclair had followed.

"What is it?" Sir Avery demanded. "What's happened?"

Alex quickly explained as Brodie again demanded. "Get me out of here, legal or otherwise. I'll not say it again."

"You're here under at the courtesy of the Prince of Wales, and still under arrest," Sir Avery reminded him. "There are others who can handle this."

"I dinna care if it's the Queen herself." Brodie flung back at him. "And every second you waste arguin' may be too late for Mikaela. I'm leavin', whether ye permit it or not."

Curses filled the air as he left Sir Avery's office, and then made his way out of the Tower even as a dozen thoughts churned.

He had warned her, told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want her involved in this.

She had been hurt, he saw it in her eyes. But there was that stubborn set to her chin even as she said nothing. She hadn't argued with him, had simply nodded and then left Scotland Yard.

There were reasons he didn't want her involved. Ellie Sutton's death was personal. But there were things he hadn't counted on—the man seen outside her town house in Mayfair, the information she had learned that the same man had been seen outside the hotel where Ellie worked, Brodie's arrest. And now Mikaela had disappeared.

Damned, stubborn...woman! Why couldn't she have listened to him?"

Munro handed the revolver to him as they arrived at the offices of Argosy Shipping.

The hound jumped down from the coach and raced ahead, nose to the pavement.

The answer was the same as Hastings had received—Matthews was gone, supposedly to an appointment. Brodie pushed his way past the clerk. Munro followed as Alex informed the clerk that they were with the Special Services Agency.

This part of the warehouse was a like a maze. It would have been near impossible to find their way without the hound. Nose to the floor, the animal appeared to know exactly where he was going, abruptly stopping before a set of large warehouse doors. He let out a sharp bark, then began to claw at the opening.

It was locked.

Munro fired two rounds into one of the doors, splintering the wood, and shattering the lock.

"Stand away," Munro told him. "Yer in no condition." He then seized the handle of one door and rolled it up at the opening. The hound was through the opening first.

He raced through the warehouse that opened dockside at the opposite end, darting among barrels and crates, howling as he picked up the scent, the sound echoing in through the building.

"She was here," Munro announced as the hound then raced out the opposite end of the warehouse and onto the dock.

They found him at the base of the gangplank where dockworkers unloaded cargo into the hold of an Argosy ship. He circled, stopped, then began crazily barking pointed up that wide gangplank. Brodie exchanged a look with Munro.

"How do ye want to do this?" Munro asked.

"I want to get her out of there." It was as simple as that.

"We'll need a diversion," Munro replied. "Like when we were lads on the street."

"Aye," Brodie replied.

"Ye'll be no good to me with broken ribs," Munro pointed out.

"Ye'll not go alone," Brodie informed him.

"I thought ye would say that. And there is the hound."

"I can help," Alex told them. "What sort of diversion is needed?"

Brodie exchanged a look with his friend.

"Come along, lad," Munro told Alex. "I'll show ye how it's done."

There was just a thin spiral of smoke from a pallet of cotton bales that had just been lowered onto the dock. As the wind came up off the water, smoke burst into flames amid shouts that suddenly went up among the workers off-loading the cargo. Smoke churned into a grey cloud and Brodie ran up the gangway, the hound right behind him.

Mikaela

There was something to be said for being dropped into a dank hole, the smell brackish, with water up over my ankles. That something would have rivaled the crudest seaman if there had been anyone else about. There wasn't.

I assumed that as I came up through the wave of throbbing pain in the back of my head, my mouth stuffed with a rag, my hands bound behind me.

I forced myself to think, ignoring the pain as I fought to stand, slipped into that brackish brine without the use of my hands to brace myself, then managed to push myself back into the corner of the angled wall at my back and an adjacent wall.

Brackish water, the smell of brine, oil, and the slow roll under my feet, and I realized where I had been taken. I was in the hold of a ship!

Everything else slowly slipped into place.

...That conversation with Adelaide Matthews the previous day; the abuse over the years; her husband's rage over Stephen Matthews' affair with Ellie Sutton and the child she was going to have.

...That last night at the club, a stocky man with a bowler hat seen leaving the club shortly after Stephen Matthews was found murdered, a man Ellie Sutton had seen that night.

...A man with that same description terrorizing her all these years later, and seen near the townhouse in Mayfair.

...My meeting with Sir Edward, the smile that had instantly changed to anger with my questions; the sudden movement of a stocky man behind me.

...Two people were now dead. Two murders ten years apart, linked by the events of that night.

And now?

I could only guess what my fate was to be. I had interfered, no doubt threatened Sir Edward with my questions. As for the man I had glimpsed just before I was struck? Would he return? Or would I simply be left in the hold of the ship, left to die as the ship left London for some foreign port hundreds of miles away?

Not precisely another adventure I would have liked to take.

My hands were bound and my throat was dry from the gag across my mouth. I couldn't see anything other than a thin sliver of light overhead which had to be the hatch. I couldn't even prevent myself tumbling into the water as the ship rose then slowly fell with the tide.

I heard shouts, the sound of someone running across the deck overhead, and what sounded like the bark of a dog, a familiar baying sound.

It came again, and I recognized that deep half bark, part howl of a hunting hound.

I tried to scream and choked on the gag. All I heard in my dark prison that was like a tomb, was that distinctive barking sound. That had to mean that someone was with him.

Desperate to catch the attention of whoever was up there with Rupert, I braced myself against that sloped wall of the hold and stomped my feet against the adjacent wall with my feet.

I lost my footing, slipped into the water once more, then pushed myself back up that sloped wall of the hold and once more stomped my boot against that wood wall.

I was exhausted, could hardly breathe for the gag in my mouth, and heard the sound of those on the deck overhead fading as they moved past.

I'm here!I wanted to shout. Come back!

Then the sound of bootsteps returned, louder this time, and more of them, along with the sound of the hound baying wildly.

That sliver of light at the edge of the hatch suddenly widened, then opened, light from the sky overhead glaring down into the hatch, painful on my eyes, as a ladder was lowered and someone slowly made their way down into the hold.

I held back. If it was Matthews or the man who had come up on me in his office...

The man on the ladder dropped into the water in the hold and cursed—first in English then in that broad Scots Gaelic.

"Mikaela! Where are ye, lass?"

The sound was muffled, a whimper, and I realized that it was myself. Strong hands closed around my upper arms and I collapsed against Brodie's shoulder.

A lantern appeared, held by Munro as he climbed down into the hold, while a dozen faces including Alex Sinclair and Rupert the hound, peered down after.

Brodie tugged the gag from my mouth as he held me against him. I stared at his bruised cheek and the cut over his left eye.

There was no time to say anything as Munro reached us.

"We had some assistance," he announced. "Sir Avery sent some of his people."

"Sir Edward?" I asked, my throat dry, my voice more like the croak of a frog.

Munro nodded. "According to one of Sir Avery's men, he was found not far away...along with a man with the bowler hat by the name of Howell, who has been in his employ over the last fifteen years or so. He took care of things for Sir Edward when he wanted something done, often outside the law."

Jacob Howell, who had once served in Her Majesty's service. From witness reports, it seemed that had included the murder of Stephen Matthews ten years earlier. And Ellie Sutton?