Chapter 23

There was more,of course. There usually was when it came to murder and other crimes that somehow were part of it.

It was all connected, as Brodie and I had first thought. Still, finally emerging from the hold of the Matthews cargo ship, I leaned heavily against Brodie as we left the ship.

I had no idea where Mr. Hastings was directed to take us, until I saw white clapboard residences that lined the street in Mayfair.

Nothing was said as we arrived. Between the throbbing from the blow to the head I'd received, then being dragged down into the hold of the ship, I was in a sorry condition.

"Mrs. Ryan will be here shortly," was all Brodie said, as I leaned against him when my knees threatened to go out from under me, and I discovered that somewhere between the warehouse and the hold of the ship, I had acquired other bruises.

It seemed that Jacob Howell had no compunction about striking a woman. I'd obviously taken a slap to the face that resulted in a split lip.

Split lips healed, but not the memory. I could only lament that I hadn't enough time to retrieve the revolver in my bag when he came up behind me. I would have gladly ended his brutal habits. As for Sir Edward?

When I asked Brodie, he merely shook his head. Alex Sinclair was more forthcoming. It seems that Jacob Howell was not willing to take blame alone. Confronted by Brodie and Sir Avery's people, he had readily admitted to the killing not only of Stephen Matthews ten years earlier, but to the murder of Ellie Sutton as well, that was to have included young Rory.

No witnesses left behind, no one left to expose the even more chilling aspect of their deaths—that he had been hired by Sir Edward Matthews to "take care of things," for very lucrative compensation. To all intents and purposes, he was a hired assassin, whose job it was to eliminate anyone who stood in the way of Sir Edward Matthews' ambition. I was simply one more obstacle to ‘take care of.'

That was as much as I was able to take in, as we arrived at the town house in Mayfair.

Though he was hardly in any better condition that I was, Brodie escorted me upstairs.

I was a sorry mess. My reflection in the cheval mirror in my bedroom looked like someone I didn't know. Yet ‘she' was in there somewhere as he assisted me into the adjacent bathing room, then removed my soaked and muddied clothes.

I then found myself in that steam-filled showering compartment, as I braced myself against one wall, dizziness from the blow to the head threatening to send me to the floor.

Between the bruises, the lump on the back of my head the size of an egg, and split lip, I don't think I would have minded, except I would have missed Brodie's gentle care as he bathed me from my head to my toes, then just as gently dried me.

From there it was a very short distance, albeit it took slow effort, to the bed, where he tucked me under the covers. I was only vaguely aware he was there, then aware of nothing else.

I wakened slowly, thoughts returning even more slowly as I stared about the room.

I was in the bedroom at Mayfair, I realized, as the events of the day slowly climbed out of the fog of sleep.

A single electric light glowed faintly through the doorway to the adjoining bathing room, as my gaze slowly cleared on the shadow beside the bed—Brodie.

He had brought me back to Mayfair, washed away the mud, grime, and dried blood from my time in the hold of the ship, then left.

Somewhere in the hours between, he had returned, and now sat beside the bed, head back, handsome features along with an assortment of cuts and bruises, partially hidden in shadows in the room. Except for that dark gaze that slowly opened and fastened on me.

"You're here."

"Aye," he replied as he leaned toward the bed and gently stroked my forehead.

Other thoughts surfaced. "The charges against you? Abberline?"

"It's over."

I felt his finger gently brush my bloodied lip.

"Are you all right?" I asked, or at least as near as I could say the words. A split lip was new to me.

"Go back to sleep, lass."

I slowly nodded, reached for his hand, and slept.

Brodie was gone when I wakened in the morning.

The other side of the bed was still neatly tucked. It appeared that he had spent the night in that chair.

I was stiff and sore as I rose slowly and took stock of my bruises. I grimaced at my reflection in the dressing table mirror. There was no concealing my bruised and swollen lip, however a bit of color added to my cheeks improved my pale complexion.

I had very nearly dressed, when there was a knock at the bedroom door, and Mrs. Ryan appeared. I was prepared for shock and then a lecture. There were neither, as she entered the room as if it was any other day, with a tray that included coffee and a tray of scones—the bracing aroma of the coffee was wonderful! And Rupert.

"It was all I could do to get the scones out of the oven," she commented with only a glance—albeit a slightly startled glance, then continued across to the sitting room, where she set the tray out of the hound's zealous attempts to steal a scone.

"He's had three already," she announced as she returned with a forced smile.

"Mr. Brodie?" I asked, ignoring her obvious curiosity and concern.

"He was here when I arrived last night, then left early this morning. Said there were things he needed to take care of." She went about the room, retrieving my soiled clothes from the night before with a frown.

"Did he say when he would return?"

"No, he didn't." She paused at the door. "I do remember him telling the driver to take him...to the Tower of London?" she added in that way that indicated she would have liked to ask more about that, and waited.

The Agency, I thought. Of course, he would go there first. There was a vague memory of something I had asked him, about the charges against him and Abberline.

"My great-aunt?" I asked, aware of how gossip traveled. If she had heard anything of the events of the previous day, she might have been concerned.

"Mr. Brodie spoke with her and assured her that you were both quite all right. All things considered," she added with a single arched brow.

I thanked her for the coffee and scones, then asked her to call for a cab.

I finished dressing and pulled my hair up into a roll, my fingers brushing that knot at the back of my head.

There was someone I needed to see—Adelaide Matthews.

By now, I was fairly certain she would have been informed about the arrest of her husband.

It was more than that. I wanted to make certain that she was all right. The revelation that her husband had commissioned the murder of her son was going to be devastating, only adding to the pain and grief she'd experienced through the years.

Would she mourn what was essentially the end of her marriage? Or would she cling to it as some might, the only thing she had ever known of that relationship?

And what of the revelation that it was her husband who had ordered the death of her son all those years before, because of the scandal of fathering an illegitimate child with Ellie Sutton? Repeating the circumstance of his own birth from an affair that Adelaide had?

I thought of something Sir Walter Scott had written years before, "What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

Sir Edward had deceived so many people, and in the end caught in his own deceptions.

There would be the usual rumors and gossip, of course, not to mention the news of Sir Edward's arrest along with Jacob Howell, sensationalized in the dailies, as they reported the murder of both Ellie Sutton and the earlier murder of Stephen Matthews.

Were there others who had stood in the way of Sir Edward's ambitions? It was chilling to think that there might be others. Some of it would naturally come out as things had a way of doing. All of it over more than thirty years that Argosy Shipping had been expanding shipping across the globe, only time would tell. And perhaps some of it would never come to light.

Rupert and I enjoyed Mrs. Ryan's scones while we waited for the cab to arrive.

I ignored the driver's startled expression at my appearance, as I gave the destination of the Tower and we climbed aboard.

I arrived at the Tower and was greeted at the entrance by Lucy Penworth.

"Are you all right then, miss?" she asked with a curious glance in my direction as I followed her through the maze of hallways and passages.

"Alex was quite concerned about you, but Mr. Brodie assured him that you were all right."

"Is Brodie about then?"

"He was here early. I'm told that he met for some time with Sir Avery. Then he left. He told Alex there was something he needed to do outside the city."

Alex popped up out of his chair as we arrived at his little office. Quite spontaneous and then embarrassed for it, he threw his arms around my shoulders and hugged me. He stepped back and apologized profusely.

"It's just that you gave everyone a scare yesterday, abducted as you were, and put in that dreadful hold of the ship."

I would have smiled, however..."It will heal," I assured him about my badly bruised lip.

"Of course, and it does give you the appearance that no one would want to argue with you. I have some cosmetics, if you want to do a bit of a touch-up," Lucy added.

I had noticed that the freckles across her cheeks were less prominent of late.

"I quite like the look." Alex attempted to make light of my appearance.

"Is Sir Avery available?" I inquired.

"He did say that he would like to speak with you if you were to come into the offices today."

Alex escorted me to Sir Avery Stanton's office.

"I am so very glad that you are all right, Miss Forsythe," he added.

"Mikaela." I reminded him of my name, not the first time.

He blushed. "Of course."

I could see what Lucy Penworth found so endearing about him, with that lock of dark hair that spilled over his forehead and that slightly shy look behind the glasses.

Of course, there was that other side of him that had surprised both Brodie and me, and I wondered if she had discovered that yet. That fierce, brave side that had revealed itself not long ago.

Sir Avery rose from behind his desk and greeted me with a circumspect expression. He was pleased that I had survived the day before.

So good of him, I thought, in consideration of Brodie's cautious demeanor toward the man—someone for whom Queen and country were more important than any one man. Or woman. I kept in mind the bargain I had made to have Brodie released from Scotland Yard, badly injured and in need of medical care.

I reminded myself that it was something to keep in mind, whenever Sir Avery chose to call in that bargain I had made with him.

"I have heard from no less than Lady Montgomery and the Prince of Wales on your behalf as well as Mr. Brodie's. You do have friends and connections in high places."

I smiled, as much as possible. I appreciated that he shared that with me. It might be advantageous at some time in the future.

"I want to thank you once more for intervening on his behalf."

That smile again, that for a moment reminded me of that Cheshire Cat.

"Mr. Brodie has provided valuable service in the past. I look forward to our continued relationship, as well as with you."

That particular aspect I had not yet shared with Brodie.

"The matter he needed to attend to is in Leeds," Sir Avery then provided. "Something most important to him. As for yourself, I am most pleased that you escaped mostly unharmed." He paused before continuing. "We have a lead in the counterfeiting case. It seems that we will be able to conclude that shortly." He looked at me.

"Will you be taking up your writing next? A new novel perhaps? Or will you be returning to the Strand with Brodie? Most unconventional for a lady of your position," he added.

"As I said—I am very pleased that you survived the ordeal. And as for Brodie..."

Unless I was mistaken, he waited to make certain he had my full attention.

"The charges against him have been stayed and will be removed, of course. He is far too valuable to the Agency to lose."

Brodie had warned me before about Sir Avery, what was said when they had met in the past, and what was clearly left unspoken.

"Of course, you told him about our arrangement when I will have the need to call on your particular talents."

That headache had returned and throbbed at the back of my head.

I thanked him for his concerns then left with a new understanding of Brodie's reservations about the man.