Chapter 2

"Murder?!"

"It's in the matter of that old case Mr. Brodie was investigating a long time ago, before he left the MET," Mr. Dooley explained.

"There was a witness, a young woman who saw the murderer. Mr. Abberline was Assistant Chief Inspector then," he continued.

"He was determined to have the matter resolved, as he was hoping to be promoted. But he needed the witness to make the case. Mr. Brodie wouldn't give the woman up."

"That was almost ten years ago," I replied as I tried to make sense of all of this with the few details that Brodie had shared with me.

Mr. Dooley nodded. "Mr. Brodie told him at the time that she had left London and he didn't know where she was. That didn't sit well with the Chief Inspector, as you can well imagine."

"Please continue," I replied.

"The Chief Inspector threatened him with charges then, for withholding evidence. You can well imagine what Mr. Brodie's response was."

I knew well enough what had followed. He had resigned rather than divulge who the young woman was and risk endangering her, merely to promote Abberline's career.

I forced myself to remain calm.

"It seems that the woman returned to London some time ago," Mr. Dooley continued. "Now, she's turned up dead, and Abberline is set to bring charges against Mr. Brodie for tampering with evidence all those years before, as well as the murder of the woman."

"That's ridiculous!" I protested. "He is not a murderer."

"I know that and you know it as well, but according to the warrant, the murder charge is for evidence discovered at the scene where her body was found."

"What evidence?" I demanded.

"It seems the woman who collects the rents heard a commotion in the woman's flat and then saw Mr. Brodie leave."

Had Abberline gone mad? A warrant for murder?

"That's the reason I'm here, miss. We need to find him before Mr. Abberline, or one of his men," he continued.

The first shock was beginning to wear off as I forced myself to think.

"Abberline is like a crazy man," Mr. Dooley continued. "He'll have him hunted down and a good chance that Mr. Brodie will never see the inside of a cell. If you get my meanin'."

The terrifying part of all this was that I knew exactly what he was saying.

"You should leave, miss. Before Mr. Abberline's man comes round with the warrant. There is no telling what the man will do."

Even though I refused to be intimidated, I agreed. There was no way of knowing what Abberline might do.

"He mustn't find you here, either," I told him, and thanked him for taking the risk to come to come there.

"Mr. Brodie has done right by me, more than once. I don't go forgettin' things like that. And I don't hold with the charges for a minute." He put his cap back on.

"You take care as well, miss. I might work in the same district as Mr. Abberline, but there's many of us have no regard for the man and his ways."

I laid a hand at his arm. "You'll bring word if…"

I couldn't bring myself to say the rest of it—if Brodie was found and arrested before I could find him.

He promised that he would.

When Mr. Dooley had gone, I forced myself to think.

I needed to find Brodie, but first I made a thorough inspection of the office that included the file cabinet, the desk drawers, and the adjacent room, searching for anything that might reveal clues to Abberline or one of his men if they searched the office.

I then looked at the chalkboard. The notes we'd made about the counterfeit case had nothing to do with that past situation. Still…

I had most of the same notes in my notebook. That would have to do until I could find Brodie. I quickly erased everything on the chalkboard, tucked Brodie's notebook into my bag, and then locked the office behind me.

I encountered Mr. Cavendish on the sidewalk.

"If Brodie should return, I need to speak with him immediately. And if anyone else inquires, you haven't seen him today."

"I haven't seen him," he replied.

"It's just that…"

"No need to explain, miss. I'm just a poor street beggar, livin' in that alcove." The grin deepened and he winked. "I don't know anything about Mr. Brodie's work or where he is."

"Mr. Dooley spoke with you?"

He nodded. "I've known Mr. Dooley a long time. For all he's with the MET, he's a good man."

"Be careful," I cautioned.

He nodded. "Best to have the hound with you. Mr. Brodie would insist on that." He turned and whistled for Rupert.

The hound suddenly appeared from the alcove, an old boot hanging out of his mouth. I did hope there hadn't been a foot in it.

"I might just take meself off to another place for a while," Mr. Cavendish added. "But I'll have people I know and trust keep watch for Mr. Brodie and warn him if he should come back here."

"How will I find you if I need to get word to you?" I asked.

"The hound will find me sure enough. Just bring him round if you need my help." He waved down a cab for me.

"I've locked the office door," I told him as I climbed aboard and the hound followed.

Mr. Cavendish nodded. "Right you are, miss. Not that it would make a difference with the likes of Mr. Abberline."

"Do be careful," I told him.

He tipped his cap. "And you as well, miss."

I kept my appointment later in the afternoon with the owner of the leather goods shop, regarding the counterfeit case, and made notes that included the name of the customer who had paid with those counterfeit pound notes to pass on to Sir Avery at the Agency.

A legitimate excuse to go there and hopefully find out when they had last heard from Brodie. Or at least what he was off and about, even as what I'd learned from Mr. Dooley kept turning over and over in my head.

Who was the woman? Whom had she seen murdered almost ten years before? Why had she come back to London? And who would have killed her?

Abberline was obviously determined to connect Brodie to her death. And it was worrisome that I had no idea where he was.

So much for happily married bliss.

Then again, I was not the dutiful wife waiting at home for the husband to return. Most particularly if Brodie was in trouble.

We arrived at the high street near the Tower. I say ‘we,' as that included my companion. It was difficult to ignore the hound, either by size or the smell that usually accompanied him. It did seem that fish, with the underlying scent of old boot, was the fragrance of the day.

Perhaps I could persuade one of the groomsmen at Sussex Square to give the hound a bath, since it seemed very likely that we were going to be spending some time together.

As we approached the Tower, a coach drew up at the street-side entrance, and two men stepped down from the coach, one in a constable's uniform and the other…Chief Inspector Abberline!

The man was nothing if not persistent, apparently turning over every stone in search of Brodie. And this in spite of the fact that there was no love lost between Abberline and Sir Avery Stanton, who was head of the Special Services Agency.

I had detected the dislike on Sir Avery's part in the past. Something mentioned about ‘meddling incompetence and overreaching one's intelligence.' Which I thought described Abberline quite well. I was inclined to agree.

Under any other circumstances, I would have continued to the Tower entrance and simply ignored Abberline. He was rather easy to overlook.

Yet, with the information Mr. Dooley had shared with me, it was safe to assume that Abberline had only one reason for calling on Sir Avery, since he knew that Brodie worked for the Agency from time to time.

"Most interesting," I thought. Rupert appeared to agree.

Then, as if he was determined to do something about it, he started forward. I immediately called him back.

"Not today," I said, as much to myself, heeding Mr. Dooley's earlier warning.

The hound looked up at me as if he might have made a comment to that.

"We'll come back later," I replied, as if he understood, while I watched Abberline and the constable enter the Tower from the alcove at the entrance of a building. I made a mental note to speak with Sir Avery as soon as possible.

When they had disappeared inside the Tower gate, I immediately waved down a driver. There was someone else who was usually very well informed about Brodie's whereabouts.

I climbed aboard the coach. I caught the disapproval of the driver as Rupert jumped in after. The brief discussion that followed, regarding the usual sort of passengers and that he would need to clean the coach afterward, quickly ended with the promise of additional coin.

"And quickly," I added after informing him of my destination.

It was late afternoon. The sun that had warmed the day earlier had dropped below the rooftops when I arrived at my great-aunt's residence at Sussex Square. I paid the driver as Rupert loped up the steps to the front entrance.

He was most anxious in anticipation of whatever food might be cooking in the kitchens. However, the same could not be said for my aunt's staff.

Along with an appetite for whatever might be the fare for supper and a fondness for rummaging through the solar as if there might be a creature to be found there, he was in the habit of making himself quite at home.

As for the solar, one could never tell what might be found there. My aunt had a monkey in residence for a time in preparation for her safari. It had since been returned to the London Zoo after it escaped the solar and went about terrorizing the housemaids.

Mr. Symons, my aunt's head butler, greeted me at the entrance and Rupert charged past him.

"Good day, Mr. Symons."

"Good day, miss," he replied. "Good to see you, as always," he added as he collected himself from the hound's enthusiastic greeting.

"How is my aunt today?" I asked. Mr. Symons was always a good source for that information.

"In excellent health, miss. She is presently rearranging her wardrobe for her upcoming safari."

That was at least the dozenth time that I was aware of. Always an adventure in itself. I could only imagine what she was taking with her—hunting costume, along with the requisite head gear.

"One never knows when one might encounter a dangerous beast," she had explained when I arrived on a previous occasion to find her trying on various pairs of boots while still in her dressing gown. A most curious sight to be certain.

In the end, she chose to include all six pair of handmade boots—just in case. Of what she had not explained, and I didn't ask.

"And Miss Lily?" I inquired of the newest addition to our family.

"She has gone to the theater," Mr. Symons replied. "There was mention of attending the rehearsal for Miss Templeton's new play. She has decided that she may want to be an actress."

She had escaped her lessons again. And now with aspirations to be an actress. I could hardly fault her in that. I had entertained that as well when I was very near her age. As I knew only too well, such ambitions had a way of changing.

Lily had arrived from Edinburgh after contributing to one of our inquiry cases. She had worked in a brothel known as the ‘Church' as a ‘ladies' maid.'

When it burned to the ground, I persuaded her to come to London as my ward, with the plan of providing her an education. I couldn't bear the thought that her future might be limited to work in a brothel, as a maid or otherwise.

She was quite spirited and gifted with a photographic memory, as Alex Sinclair, who worked for the Agency as their code breaker and had assisted us previously, had described. That had proven quite extraordinary in resolving our last inquiry case. She was also somewhat headstrong, as Brodie had pointed out. Yet, he approved the arrangement.

"God knows the girl has no future in a whorehouse."

For now, considering my involvement with inquiry cases, and the fact that neither Brodie nor I had figured out where we were going to live, Lily resided at Sussex Square. It was convenient for her lessons, and my aunt was delighted with the arrangement.

Now, after several conversations regarding the boring lessons with a succession of tutors my aunt had provided, Lily had decided on a career in the theater.

To be discussed at another time. There was a far more urgent matter at hand.

"Is Mr. Munro about?" I inquired.

"I believe he's in the office going over the accounts, miss."

I thanked him and turned toward the long hallway that led to the servants' area, the kitchens, and the office.

"Will you be taking the animal with you?" Mr. Symons inquired.

Rupert had disappeared into the solar, no doubt following the scent of the now-departed monkey.

I assured him that I would.

As I passed the formal salon that was adjacent to the solar, Rupert suddenly reappeared with a large piece of some exotic plant hanging from his mouth. I reprimanded him which brought the usual grin. He then ran ahead toward the back entrance of the manor.

I found Munro in the office, muttering to himself as he stared down at a bill.

With dark brown hair and sharp blue eyes, he could be intimidating to anyone with just a glance. However, behind the disapproving frown and that blue gaze was someone who was ‘loyal to the bone,' as Brodie once described. That came from their shared childhood on the streets.

And quite simply, I knew that I could trust him, particularly when it came to Brodie.

He looked up from the pile of invoices and receipts in front of him. The frown eased as he came out of his chair just as the hound shot past the doorway toward the gardens at the back of the manor.

He knew quite well that Brodie insisted I take the hound with me whenever I was out and about the city unescorted, something that I found off-putting though I didn't argue the matter. He had been right on more than one occasion.

That piercing blue gaze narrowed. Munro stepped past me and closed the door, then pulled out a chair for me.

"Somethin' has happened?"

I explained about Mr. Dooley's visit to the office that morning.

"Do you know where Brodie is?" I asked with an attempt to keep my voice steady.

"I would think that under the circumstances, ye would know best where to find him before anyone else," Munro replied.

"No, not since yesterday at the office," I replied.

He frowned. "What is it then?"

He knew better than anyone the animosity between Brodie and Abberline in the past. that had led to Brodie leaving the MET.

"Abberline has a warrant for Brodie's arrest."

It might have been my imagination, nevertheless it seemed that the air inside the office was suddenly quite cold. Or possibly it was the expression on Munro's face.

"For what?" he asked.

"For murder."

He cursed as he came out of his chair.

"The man will not be satisfied until he has Brodie in Newgate!" He looked at me then. "Who is he supposed to have murdered?"

I explained everything that I had learned from Mr. Dooley about the death of the woman from that old case years before.

"There's more," I continued, forcing myself to remain calm. "According to what Mr. Dooley was able to learn, Brodie was seen there that night just before the police arrived.

"Why is Abberline doing this?" I asked. "I need to understand why this is happening."

"What has he told ye about it?"

I repeated what little I knew about that old case—that there was a witness to a murder. Brodie refused to hand over the witness because of threats that were made. Abberline then threatened to have charges brought against him. Rather than reveal the woman's name, Brodie resigned, and left the MET.

From my own experience with Abberline, it wasn't difficult to understand the reason he had made that decision.

Munro nodded. "Afterward, he was able to send the woman away where she wouldna be found, and with a different name."

"But she recently returned," I pointed out.

"Aye. He found her a place to live, someplace where no one would ask questions."

"At Charing Cross," I commented.

He nodded. "He also found her work to support herself." He hesitated, then added, "Brodie was never one to speak of the cases he worked when he was with the MET, and most particularly not this one, after he left the service."

All well and good, still Brodie needed to know about the warrant.

"We have to find him and warn him. Then figure out what is to be done." I refused to believe that he had any part in the woman's death.

Munro's sharp gaze met mine as he stood and retrieved his jacket from the coat rack.

"It's best that I try to find him. If he heard of it on the street, there are places he might go…"

I stood as well. "I'm going with you."

"No," he replied.

What was it about men, Scots in particular, who had a way of using one word with such irritating effect. I wondered if it was something they were born with.

He shook his head when I would have argued the matter with him.

"When the man needs to disappear, he's like a ghost. Ye learn that when ye live on the street. And he would not want ye to go about London searchin' for him. And knowin' him as I do, I would not want to explain the reason I let ye."

Let me?

Munro promised to let me know if he was able to find Brodie. Waiting was not something I was good at.