Chapter 3

I returnedto the town house in Mayfair, much to Rupert's approval. He immediately headed for the kitchen, where Mrs. Ryan had just taken a fresh-baked cake from the oven, while I went into the parlor where I kept a desk.

"There was a telephone call a short while ago," Mrs. Ryan informed me. "A young man by the name of Alex. He said it was most urgent."

Was it possible that he knew about the reason for Abberline's visit to the Tower? Was it also possible that he had heard from Brodie?

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said that he would try to reach you again later."

Instead of waiting, I put a call into Alex at the Tower. I was most anxious to learn if he knew where Brodie might be, not to mention finding out about that visit by Chief Inspector Abberline.

There was the usual wait as operators made the necessary connections, and I thought of Brodie's warning that it could be possible for others to listen to conversations.

Alex was quite anxious when he picked up my call. He insisted that he needed to see me as soon as possible. Instead of asking about Brodie in case anyone might be listening, I asked if he could join me for supper.

The town house was far more private for the questions I had, whereas a tavern or restaurant might draw attention.

He was to have had supper with Lucy Penworth that evening.

I knew Lucy quite well. She had once worked for the Times of London and now worked for the Agency. She had also assisted Brodie and me in an early inquiry case. I liked her very much, but far more important, I trusted her. I insisted they both join me.

We agreed for them to arrive at the town house at eight o'clock, and I informed Mrs. Ryan that they would joining me for supper.

"And Mr. Brodie as well?" she asked.

"Not this evening," I told her with a frown and a vague excuse. "He is following up some matter in an inquiry case."

I left it at that. She was quite used to his hours when on a case, and there was no need for details that might upset her. She was quite fond of him.

The truth was, I didn't know anything beyond what Mr. Dooley had told me, and then the brief information Munro had provided about that unsolved murder case years before.

That, and the fact that I hadn't a word from Brodie since the day before, and then only a vague explanation that he was following up some information in the counterfeit case.

Today, all had changed, and I needed to know everything Abberline had told Sir Avery.

We exchanged the usual pleasantries over supper.

Whatever Alex knew, he chose to keep to himself until after we had eaten and retired to the front parlor, where Mrs. Ryan served dessert with coffee and tea.

Alex and Lucy both commended her on a fine meal. I waited until she had closed the sliding doors behind her, then set aside my plate, my dessert untouched.

"I cannot imagine how you are so calm," Lucy commented once we were alone.

"Have you heard from Brodie?" Alex asked.

"I was hoping that you had heard from him."

"Not since yesterday," he replied. "We received a note regarding the latest developments in the counterfeit case. There was nothing new in that regard, other than someone he was to see who had business dealings in the East End.

"He thought the man might know who had been passing the counterfeit notes, or at least know something that he could follow up on."

I explained that I had intended to stop by the Agency earlier and saw Abberline as he arrived.

Alex exchanged a look with Lucy. Agency business was highly confidential and not to be shared beyond those imposing stone walls. However...

"He was looking for Brodie," Alex explained, then paused, obviously hesitant. "He has a warrant for his arrest."

I nodded. "I received word earlier at the office on the Strand."

"Then you are aware of the charges against him?"

I inquired what Sir Avery's response had been.

"He listened to what Abberline had to say, and then reminded him that he had no authority over the Agency. He also reminded him that he must send word ahead when he intends to call in the future."

I could well imagine how that went over, for a man who considered himself to be the ultimate authority in all matters.

"You must know that I don't believe the charges," Alex added most vehemently.

I did appreciate that.

"What about Sir Avery?" I inquired. "What was his reaction?"

"He sent Abberline on his way. As you know, he is not one to share his thoughts on matters. He spoke at great length after Abberline left, saying that the Agency cannot afford to be associated with such a situation."

I was not surprised.

"I have heard from one of the reporters at the newspaper," Lucy added. "The Times will be carrying an article about the murder in the morning crime section, along with a statement from the witness who claims to have seen Mr. Brodie there."

Alex nodded. "And we've heard that Abberline has brought in another private inquiry firm to look for Mr. Brodie, in addition to the police who are looking for him."

No stone unturned.

It was obvious that Abberline was determined to find him, no matter where that took the search or what it required.

However, this was Brodie. He had lived on the streets, including the East End of London. I had no doubt that he knew people and places where he could simply disappear. But for how long? And then?

Knowing him, he would be determined to find the murderer in spite of the arrest warrant Abberline had taken out for him. But one man against a substantial number of constables and a private inquiry firm? The odds were not in Brodie's favor.

"What else were you able to learn?" I asked Lucy.

"According to the person I spoke with at the paper, the landlady where the woman lived heard a horrible disturbance from the woman's flat. She went to check on her afterward, and that is when she saw Mr. Brodie and the boy."

"A boy?"

Lucy nodded. "According to the landlady, the boy is about ten years old."

The woman had a child, now caught up in this dreadful business?

What had he heard, or perhaps seen? Not unlike what Brodie had experienced years before in the death of his mother? It was no surprise that he had taken the boy with him.

But where would they go? Who would Brodie go to for help?

He had not come to Mayfair or gone to Sussex Square to enlist Munro's help. I was not surprised. Munro had already spoken of it—that the search for Brodie would extend to me. But that didn't mean that I was going to sit by and wait for the outcome.

"What was the woman's name?" I inquired.

"Ellie Sutton, apparently not her real name." Alex frowned, then, "You cannot think to find him yourself. Abberline is most determined. He'll want to speak with you as well considering…your relationship with Mr. Brodie," he added. "He will assume that he has been in contact with you."

I was grateful for his concern, still I refused to be intimidated by the fact that I might receive a visit from the Chief Inspector.

"Then, Mr. Abberline will also be aware that I cannot be forced to provide information about my husband." Even if I knew where to find him.

"He told Sir Avery that he wouldn't let anyone stand in his way."

I did appreciate Alex's concern. However, I refused to be intimidated by Chief Inspector Abberline, or anyone else.

"I have no intention of ‘standing' anywhere," I replied.

"How can I help?"

I did appreciate his offer of assistance.

"If I were to tell you that, it could be useful to Abberline if he merely thought you were helping me."

"I do see your point," Alex admitted. "You will call on me if I can be of assistance? I owe Mr. Brodie that and…I could always go to work for the two of you, if Sir Avery gives me the sack." That boyish smile briefly reappeared.

I promised that I would contact him if needed and thanked them both. Then I walked with them to the door as their driver arrived.

"Do be careful," Lucy told me.

I assured them both that I would.

I watched as their cab moved off down the street and turn at the corner, the hound beside me at the entrance to the town house.

When I went to close the door, I caught a sudden change in the hound's manner, ears perked, that usually friendly demeanor suddenly alert, the ruff of fur at his neck standing up. His attention was fixed across the street in that line of town houses across the way.

I saw nothing there, the windows darkened in the residences, as it was quite late of the evening. But then I was not accustomed to roaming the streets of London late at night.

There followed a low rumble from Rupert and he was off as he charged through the opening then across the thoroughfare.

I didn't attempt to call him back as I knew well enough that was pointless when he was on the chase of something. Or perhaps someone?

I thought of Alex's warning regarding Abberline and his determination to destroy Brodie as I glanced once more into the shadows across the way where Rupert had disappeared.

I saw nothing. Still…

I closed the door and bolted it. Rupert would return when he chose, as he had in the past and let me know with either a scratch on the door, or a howl if I didn't promptly let him in. Out of respect for my neighbors I was usually most diligent in that.

I returned to the parlor and went to my desk. I needed to make notes about what I had learned about the counterfeit case, and then decide precisely how I was going to help Brodie.

I did wish that I had a chalkboard at the town house. It always helped to see everything more clearly written out where I could consider it from every angle.

Quite often something I had not thought of seemed to pop out at me. In the matter of finding Brodie, it was undoubtedly best that I didn't write down anything that might be seen by others.

I wouldn't put it past Abberline to simply barge into the office on the Strand or the town house, in his search for him. Best to simply add my notes into my notebook.

I opened the desk drawer where I kept an assortment of writing implements along with an extra notebook in search of a pen and frowned at the elegantly carved wooden box that had been a gift from Brodie. I opened it. The fountain pen was the color of dark red wine with my initials in gold lettering, M.F.B.—Mikaela Forsythe Brodie.

He had purchased it from Hancock's Jewelers, for a sum I could only imagine. He had given the pen to me on my birthday, just after we had returned from Scotland.

"For ye to make yer notes, and so that ye know that ye are now part of me,"he had added.

To say that I was surprised was an understatement. Hancock's was an exclusive jeweler in London, and notably carried only the finest jewelry and accessories.

I was not given to wearing jewelry other than the pendant, a medallion that had great meaning that he had given me, and the simple bronze wedding band. But more than that, Brodie was not a man given to excess sentimentality, and he had grown up painfully poor.

He had chosen something that held deep meaning to me, and had reduced me to tears at the time. And I never cried.

I had put it in the drawer to be used when I was working at my desk, but hadn't the opportunity yet. I removed it from the box. It wasn't the gift itself, but what it represented.

I had never needed or wanted anyone before. My family was my great-aunt and my sister, and more recently Lily.

But now…?

The seriousness of the present situation was not lost on me, and my throat tightened.

Where the devil was Brodie? Who had killed Ellie Sutton? And where had he taken the boy?

I gathered my thoughts, then sat at the desk and began making my notes about what I knew.

It was long after midnight when I finally heard the scratch of paws at the door. I set the pen aside and went to the front entrance. Rupert had returned.

He trotted past me, then sat down, and dropped what appeared to be a large piece of cloth on the floor in front of the hearth.

My first thought was that at least it wasn't some poor dead creature that he'd scavenged. Such as Mrs. FitzHugh's prize Pekingese, which she let out at night to relieve itself. Something that was a source of aggravation among the other residents.

"What have you got there?" I asked the hound. Not that I expected an answer. Still, that grin…

The scrap of cloth was dark blue, almost black, and made of wool, most definitely not the sort of rag that would have simply been found lying about. Particularly in this part of London. And in spite of the fact that it was torn about the edges, it was in excellent condition considering it had been in the teeth of the hound.

I picked it up and inspected it. The scrap of wool looked very familiar, the same sort of fabric in a police constable's uniform.

It was rare for a constable to be out and about in Mayfair, unless there was some incident that required their presence. There were other areas of London that required their presence due to a great deal of crime.

I thought of the hound's reaction just before he charged off across the street after Alex and Lucy left, and there had been Alex's warning that I might receive a visit from Abberline.

It seemed that I had. Or at least one of his constables, keeping watch if Brodie should pay a visit?

I set the lock on the door, and returned to the parlor.

Neither my guests nor I had touched Mrs. Ryan's raspberry cake. I set the dessert plates on the floor.

Rupert was quite pleased. He was very fond of Mrs. Ryan's cakes.

"Good boy," I told him as I tucked the piece of wool into my notebook. "Well done."

The rail car lurched sharply around a curve as it sped through the night.

Away from London.

The boy slept on with his head against Brodie's shoulder, occasionally jerking awake as memories slid into dreams, a thin hand twitching as if he wanted to grab something.

Something, anything, to fight off the nightmare dreams and the people that were in them, Brodie thought. He understood well enough.

Kings Cross station, then north.

He wanted to tell Mikaela where he was going, the one person he trusted above all others. But then there was the warrant Abberline put out. He couldn't, wouldn't involve her in this.

This was something only he could do. He needed to get the boy out of London, to a place no one would think to look for him.

The answer came from his old friend—the chemist, Mr. Brimley.

Late the previous night he had showed up at the back entrance to the chemist's shop, the boy exhausted and shaking beside him.

There were no questions.

With his medicines, microscopes, and medical knowledge from an education at Kings College, Mr. Brimley had assisted in previous inquiry cases.

The bond was more than merely professional with the care and assistance the chemist provided to the poor in the East End.

"I'll not be forgettin' that you saved my boy from the gaol," the chemist told Brodie at the time.

"When the time comes, I will see that you're repaid for what you did."

The East End of London, running with those who had little care for anyone but themselves. More bad choices, and young Brimley was the only one identified in the robbery of a smoke shop by a group of lads.

Mr. Brimley had come to him, desperate to save his son from gaol, or worse.

Brodie knew someone, a man of some means who had contributed financially to one of the foundling homes.

He had helped the man before, someone whose career would have immediately ended if it was learned that he had assisted more than one young person escape the legal system that was flawed, and a sure sentence to prison.

But this was different. Young Brimley had needed to leave London before he was arrested. Brodie went to the man. Young Brimley was given a choice—remain in London where he would most certainly be arrested, or leave.

It was a situation where there was no real choice. Arrangements were quickly made, and he left London with Brodie for Leeds and a position with a man of some property who raised sheep.

It was far from London and far from the streets. Safe. And in time, the young man admitted that it had saved his life.

He had stayed in Leeds, worked hard, and saved his wages. He eventually acquired a small plot of land of his own and then another, along with a small herd of sheep. He was married, and now had two boys of his own.

No telegram was sent, no telephone call was made, to a small community where those things would have been known by all in a matter of time.

Instead, Brodie boarded the train at King's Cross Station with young Rory. And not a word from the lad the entire trip.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived at the station in Leeds, the only passengers that left the train that time of the night.

He found a room at the local inn, where the woman at the counter appeared in her nightcap and dressing gown. He provided a story about traveling to visit his ‘sister.'

He spent the night watching over Rory. The boy only cried out once in sleep. The rest of it stayed buried in his dreams.

The following morning, the owner of the tavern provided the name of a man who rented out his horse and cart at the local livery.

Young Brimley, a man full-grown now, well-muscled from life on the sheep farm, was already far afield when they arrived. His wife greeted them at the door, two young boys racing about.

"I know who you are, Mr. Brodie," she had gently smiled. "And who might this young man be?"

She nodded when he introduced Rory, then sent one of the young lads to the field to summon his father.

No questions were asked when young Brimley returned to the stone cottage with his oldest son.

"You seem to make a habit of rescuing young lads," he commented. "We've room enough, and he'll be good to have around for the young ones," he assured Brodie.

"The son of a relative as far as anyone needs to know," he then added, the story that would eventually make its way around the nearby village.

"Yer leavin'?" Rory said, fighting back the tears when it came time to go.

"There are things I must do." Brodie assured him that these were good people, and he must tell no one about what happened in London.

"I need you to be brave, as brave as yer mother would want. Do ye ken?"

Rory slowly nodded. "Ye'll come back?"

"Aye," he had promised, then turned the cart back toward the village.