Chapter 5

While I had promisedthat I would not attempt to follow Mr. Conner into Whitechapel for his meeting with the man who might be able to provide information about Brodie, that did not mean that I was going to sit idly by.

I needed to know more if I was going to help Brodie. With Mr. Conner's warning about Abberline, not to mention the incident the night before, it seemed that I was being watched. And perhaps followed as well. That required extra measures, and Templeton was the one who might be able to assist with that.

Visiting my friend was always an adventure in the unusual, to say the least.

She was a highly acclaimed actress, had traveled widely in numerous productions, was rumored to have had an affair with the Prince of Wales—something she would never come right out and admit but used to her advantage from time to time. And she had a most unusual companion—Ziggy.

Ziggy was a four-and-a-half-foot-long iguana from South America, presented to Templeton as a gift from an ‘admirer' with whom she had spent some time on one of her tours. When she left Buenos Aires on her return to London, Ziggy had accompanied her.

He had resided in the London Zoo for a time. He had rejoined her at the theater more recently after she discovered that he wasn't eating and had lost considerable color.

Not having any knowledge about iguanas, I could only assume the matter had become quite serious.

At the theater, he usually had the run of the place until curtain time. In his wanderings about, usually in search of food—he was an herbivore according to Templeton—he had periodically terrorized stage workers, fellow actors, and members of the orchestra.

With that in mind, I arrived at the Drury and kept a watchful eye out as I stepped into the foyer of the theater. There I was met by another acquaintance of my friend—an imposing, life-like statue of William Shakespeare.

Templeton claimed, and with some evidence to support it, that she communicated regularly with Sir William, who happened to have been dead for very near three hundred years.

Not that I doubted her...the evidence had been information he had supposedly provided on more than one occasion in our inquiry cases.

Brodie was convinced that she was quite insane. I preferred eccentric. If she thought that she communicated with William Shakespeare, who was I to question it? I had experienced far more unusual things in my travels.

Templeton arrived at the entrance in attire far different from her costume for the play, a riding habit, along with a crop. Most unusual for someone who was not inclined to go riding on a horse.

According to her, they were unpredictable, prone to running off unexpectedly, and relieved themselves at the most inopportune moments.

This from a woman who kept a pet iguana that was quite unpredictable, and had the habit of running off and causing havoc throughout the theater.

I had no idea about the rest of it, except that I had gotten in the habit of checking the bottom of my boots after a visit with her.

She was quite excited now as she clasped both my hands.

"He said you would be paying a visit," she excitedly announced. "How wonderful!"

There was no one else in the foyer, no attendant that early in the afternoon. Only that statue...as I was saying, but who was I to doubt her.

She looped her arm through mine as we walked together toward the adjacent hallway that led to her dressing room.

"I thought it might be Lily at first," she continued. "I decided that couldn't be, as she is undoubtedly at her studies most of the day. The girl is quite marvelous. She has spoken of becoming an actress?"

In addition to her musical skills and solving codes.

Templeton leaned in and whispered. "Wills thinks she is quite marvelous as well. He has a particular play in mind for her. I did explain that she is quite young and that you might have a say in it."

"I do appreciate that," I replied.

"And what is this nasty business about Brodie?" she asked.

She was not in the habit of reading the dailies or keeping company with officers of the MET.

"You've spoken with Munro?" I asked.

They had a history, as they say, and had spent a great deal of time together—that was probably the most discreet way of describing it. And that had included Templeton being accused of murder, along with a rather graphic piece of artwork.

There had been a ‘separation,' as she called it, when she left for performances in France and Italy, Munro declaring that she was impossible, unpredictable, and he would not take place in line with other rumored lovers.

"I haven't seen him," she replied with something that could have been a bit of sadness in someone I had never known to have regrets over a man.

"He is being quite impossible, unpredictable, and there is that whole Scottish thing. He can be stubborn, domineering, and he does have a temper."

All things that I recognized from first-hand experience.

"It was Wills who told me the news," she said then. "And he is most distressed about it. That is the reason he knew you would be coming to see me."

Of course.

"So, tell me, what is to be done to assist Brodie?"

I did feel a bit like Alice, who had fallen down a rabbit hole. I then explained how I thought best to go about investigating the situation.

Templeton nodded. "Yes, a costume is in order. We must simply find the right one for you. There are dozens upon dozens in the costume room. I'm certain that we will be able to find something.

"This is going to be such fun!" she announced as we reached her dressing room and she explained to Mrs. Finch what was needed.

The adventure began in the room in the theater where the costumes of her fellow actors were kept. She went among the rows of racks hung with costumes as if shopping at Harrods, emerging with several items of clothing over her arm.

"We'll start with these," she said as we returned to her dressing room.

I had to admit that the transformation was quite amazing in spite of the fact that I had declined both the wig and makeup.

When finished, I thought it might be best to disguise myself as a man particularly due to my height, with trousers, a threadbare jacket, stained shirt, and a cap with my hair tucked up.

The entire ensemble made me look like a character from one of Mr. Dickens' novels, and I wasn't certain that I would have recognized myself.

"Some smudge to the face and it will be perfect!" Templeton announced where she sat at her dressing table. Then a much different expression crossed her face.

"No one will recognize you, and Wills agrees," she announced. "Still, he cautions that you must be very careful and not forget the weapon you always carry."

Of course he would know about that.

"Oh, I do wish that I was going with you."

That might very well have included Ziggy, and I wasn't at all certain that the streets of London were ready for him.

"When will you begin?" she asked.

"Tonight."

I wanted to go to Charing Cross as soon as possible to see what I might be able to learn from the place where Ellie Sutton was murdered.

"Where will you stay while you investigate this nasty business? You can hardly return to the town house. Abberline has quite the reputation when pursuing things."

Yes, I was aware. I had shared with her about Rupert's midnight adventure.

"Wait..." she suddenly said.

A message from Wills? She did have that look about her, as if staring off at something over my shoulder.

"You absolutely cannot stay at the office either. Wills is most adamant about it."

Oh dear. Not that I believed it. I wasn't one to call the man a liar. And the truth was that the office might very well be on Abberline's list of places to look for Brodie. It made sense.

"I know the perfect place," Templeton announced. "It's nearby, a flat used by one of the actresses who usually appears in the afternoon short plays.

It seemed that the young woman was presently away for a time.

"A man she has been seeing proposed to her," she continued. "He wants her to give up the theater. They had a falling-out over the issue and she decided some time away was called for. She left for Paris and the flat is empty. No one would ever think to look for you there.

"The landlady is quite used to theater people coming and going so there should be no difficulty from that quarter. And I'm certain there is no problem having the hound with you." She retrieved a key from her dressing room table and handed it to me.

"Sophie left this with me in case she should need me to send her anything she might have forgotten, or decides to stay longer in Paris."

That certainly did not bode well for the marriage proposal.

Templeton provided a carpet bag for the clothes. I quickly stowed them away. She hugged me as I thanked her and stood to leave.

"You must be very careful," she warned.

"Of course," I replied.

I found a cab for the short ride to the office on the Strand.

Mr. Cavendish paddled out from the alcove, a club in his hand. He lowered a club he had been holding when he saw Rupert and then myself. He lowered the club when he saw Rupert.

Brodie had not returned. Still, there were others who had been there, just as Wills had predicted. Score one more for the bard.

"The bloody peelers," Mr. Cavendish said. "Kicked in the door and had their way with the place while I was out and about. The office is a mess. Miss Effie came over earlier and cleaned up a bit, and I had a man in to repair the lock." He grinned.

"Somethin' new for him—he's usually breaking into a place, not locking up. He left a new key." He handed it to me.

"They're lookin' for Mr. Brodie and anything or anyone that might tell them where he is. You need to be careful, miss."

It was amazing how diligent Abberline could be when it served his own purposes.

I was aware that in the past Mr. Cavendish might perhaps have done some things that could possibly put him afoul of the police. Minor issues to be certain, but I reminded him that he needed to be careful as well.

He nodded. "I'll be stayin' at the Public House for now. The owner has a particular dislike for the police."

And perhaps with Miss Effie, I thought. There did seem to be something there, as she was always providing him and Rupert with food, and made certain the door to the storage room at the back of the Public House was open for them when the weather set in.

"Whatever Mr. Brodie is about, that one is determined to find him. And he wouldn't hesitate to use you as well, if you get my meanin'."

I did.

Before leaving, I went up to the office. It was obvious that it had been searched quite thoroughly.

Files had been pulled from the file cabinet, and were stacked atop the desk in piles that had spilled over onto the floor. A bottle of my aunt's very fine whisky was still there. I put it in my bag. I was not about to leave it for one of Abberline's men, should they return.

The blackboard had been pushed against the far wall, obviously in Abberline's search for something that might tell him where he might find Brodie. There was some satisfaction that he didn't find anything there.

The telephone line was still intact. I placed a call to the town house. Mrs. Ryan eventually answered.

"Praise the saints that yer safe," she said, then proceeded to tell me that Abberline's men had been there as well after I left that morning.

The Chief Inspector and his men had indeed been busy. They had an official paper signed by the magistrate allowing them to search the town house.

"Irish trash, the man was!" she exclaimed, which was quite a statement, as Mrs. Ryan was Irish as well.

There was more—however, the connection crackled, went silent for a moment, then she was there again.

"...gave them a piece of my mind, I did!" I caught part of the rest of it. "Said they were lookin' for Mr. Brodie. I told them he hadn't been here in days, but that wasn't good enough. Then, they began to tear the place apart. I wish the hound had been here!"

I explained that I would be away for a few days, but didn't say more, or where. The less she knew, the safer it was for her. I then told her that she should go to Sussex Square.

I knew that she would be safe there. There were boundaries even Abberline dared not cross, unless he wished to find himself sweeping the streets in his next position, which was an entertaining thought.

And there was Munro, of course. A confrontation with Abberline's men would not end well for any of them if the Chief Inspector was foolish enough to go there and attempt what he had done at the office and the town house.

I didn't leave a note for Brodie if he should return. Best not to let anyone know that I had been there if Abberline should return. I then locked the door behind me, obviously not that it would stop anyone.

Mr. Cavendish was on the sidewalk when I reached the street below. Rupert lay at the entrance to the alcove. After his behavior the night before, I was confident that if there was anyone lurking about now, he would have let us know.

We accompanied Mr. Cavendish to the Public House. I ordered supper, though I had little appetite. My thoughts churned over what I had learned, dozens of questions, and the matter of what to do next.

This part of the case was where I would usually have exchanged ideas, thoughts, and those questions with Brodie. At present, I was very much on my own.

It was an odd feeling, still I was determined to continue. I could only hope that he was aware of the warrant, and either Mr. Conner or Munro would find him. I was confident that he could elude the police until the murderer was found. He had, after all, once been one of them, and with the additional experience of living on the street.

"Is the food not to yer likin', miss?" Miss Effie asked, of the meat pies she had served.

I realized that I had barely touched mine, while Mr. Cavendish and the hound had finished theirs.

"It's excellent, as usual," I replied. "I seem to have no appetite."

"I can well understand." She exchanged a look with Mr. Cavendish. "I'll put it in a tin to send along with you."

When she returned, I paid for the meal and we left the Public House.

"Where can I reach you, miss, if I should hear from Mr. Brodie?" Mr. Cavendish asked.

I could have explained about my temporary lodging at the flat on Drury Lane, but decided against it.

He had once been severely injured in a past inquiry because of information he had. With the incident at the office, I would not take that risk that he might be injured, or worse, if Abberline returned.

"I do think the hound should remain with you," I told him out of concern. "I can take care of myself."

He shook his head. "Mr. Brodie would have none of that. Besides, you have the extra meat pie. The hound gets hungry late of the night. And he'll just follow you."

It was a poor excuse. It was obvious he wouldn't be persuaded.

"If you learn something, you might pass it on to Mr. Conner." That seemed the best.

He nodded. "Be careful, miss."

Then I set off, the tin with the meat pie in one hand, Templeton's carpet bag—somewhat heavier with the bottle of Old Lodge whisky in it—over my shoulder, and the hound at my side. It occurred to me that we were an odd sight, as I watched the street and the alcoves near the front of shops as I crossed the Strand.

Drury Lane was not far; I could have easily walked there. However, something Brodie had taught me came to mind, that it was best to let others think one thing while doing something different.

Case in point, we had once hired a cab and had the driver deliver us to one location, then found a second driver to take us to our intended destination, thereby eluding anyone who might have followed. And I wanted to make certain we were not followed, even though I was confident Rupert would have alerted me to anyone who lingered, followed, or suddenly approached.

I waved down a cab and we climbed aboard. I had the driver let us off several blocks away, then secured another cab and had the driver take us to the theater, going back round the way we had just come.

Those attending the evening performance had begun to gather. I then slipped through the crowd, continued down the street to Drury Lane, then circled round to the back of the building where Templeton's friend Sophie had her flat.

With Rupert beside me, I made my way through the back entrance to the flat where the young actress had lived before fleeing her lover.

I turned on the electric, a single fixture glowing on the wall beside the door. The flat was small, with a bedroom off the main room, an overstuffed chair, quite worn in several places, a coal stove, and a small table and chairs. I put the tin with the supper I had not eaten in the food box on the counter.

A shadow suddenly scurried away, the remnants of a moldy loaf of bread scattered about. I looked down at Rupert, who sat on the rug.

"I do expect you to take care of that sort of thing," I informed him. He merely lay down and stared up at me with large soulful eyes that seemed to say that rats were not his favorite fare.

The flat was quite cold. I set pieces of coal in the stove and lit the fire. It gradually grew, glowing across the rough wood floor and a simple but adequate rug, illuminating a half-dozen or more handbills tacked to the wall announcing forthcoming plays.

A pull-cord to a light fixture over the table, hung over a vase of crumbling roses. No doubt remnants of that marriage proposal.

The bedroom was nothing more than a narrow bed pushed against the wall with a small table and washstand. More handbills and posters decorated the walls, including one that featured Templeton. Bedcovers had been neatly folded. It seemed that Sophie was confident she wouldn't need them.

With a thought to the other occupant of the flat that I had discovered fleeing the breadbox, I did wonder if there might be other occupants in the bed. It was not uncommon in parts of London.

Until I had the opportunity to make further inspections, the overstuffed chair in the outer room would have to do.

I made notes in my notebook, including the hound's encounter with Abberline's constable the night before, and the fact that the police had come calling at both the office and the town house.

I then put more coal on the fire, and checked that the lock on the door was secure. Pouring myself a bit of my aunt's very fine whisky, I settled myself in that chair before the coal stove, with Rupert at my feet.

Unfortunately, sleep was long in coming, even with a second dram of whisky. It was well past midnight when I last checked the watch pinned to my shirtwaist, questions stirring my thoughts.

Who was murdered ten years earlier? Who was the man who had supported Ellie Sutton for a while? Someone high-placed? Whom had she seen the night that she was forced to leave London? Supposedly she'd fled a threat? But from whom?

I hoped to learn some of the answers the next morning.

Mayfair

The night air was cold, mist slipping along the rooftops and across the sidewalks.

No light shone from inside the town house—no late fire gleaming from the fireplace in the front parlor, no light spilling out from the tall windows that lined the street.

Nor had there been anyone at the office on the Strand, although there were signs someone had been—the splintered wood around the door frame, a new lock, and other things seen through the glass panes in that door—files stacked atop the desk, the chalkboard wiped clean.

And below? Neither the Mudger, nor the hound. Both were gone.

Brodie made his way down from the office, and then to Mayfair.

It was the same, not even a light at the servants' entrance.

Slipping through the shadows, he caught a sudden movement across the way just beyond the circle of light from the street lamp.

Someone returning from a late-night engagement? Perhaps one of the residents out for a walk? Or, someone else…?

Then the flare of a match, followed by a stream of cigarette smoke in the cold night air, and a shadow. A man, stocky, hiding there, watching the street. Watching the town house?

The thought went no further than the obvious—Abberline!

No stone unturned, Brodie thought grimly. Anything and everything to feed the man's ambition.

No matter the harm it caused. No matter the truth.

He watched until the glow of the cigarette was crushed out and only that shadow shifting against the cold night air remained, watching, waiting.

He glanced again at the darkened windows of the town house.

Where was Mikaela? What had happened?

Had Abberline already been there?

He cursed—Abberline and his ambitions, his schemes, and Ellie's foolishness that had cost her life, and now this! If Mikaela was harmed in any way...

The thought went no further. She was too intelligent, resourceful, and stubborn. Then there was the next thought—what would she do?

He cursed again. He didn't like this part, the two of them off in different directions, apart, when what he wanted...was to make certain Mikaela was safe, to be with her. It didn't matter where as long as they were together.

When had she become so important to him?

From the beginning, he supposed, when she had walked into the office on the Strand and both aggravated and fascinated him.

And now? She was a part of him. She had somehow slipped inside him, just there when he took a deep breath, when she was finally near. But she wasn't.

He moved through the shadows at the side of the town house, back past that darkened servants' entrance, and disappeared into the night.