Chapter 13

Thirteen

We stayed the night at the office. I returned to Mayfair in the morning in my attempt to meet with Mrs. Mallory, while Brodie hoped to meet with Judge Cameron.

There were still questions as well over the urgency with which Doctor Cameron had left his office that previous evening, along with no mention of the rose that we had found after we returned to his office.

The patient appointment was obviously an excuse to end our meeting with him. What did that mean? And where had he gone after he left? Did it have something to do with our meeting with him?

As of yet, more questions than answers. Still, I was hopeful there might be something to be learned from a meeting with Mrs. Mallory.

However…

" Mrs. Mallory is not receiving telephone calls or visitors at this time ," I was informed in a typically upper-class response from the butler.

I gave him my name, using my formal title, and ended the call.

Mrs. Ryan appeared at the entrance to the front parlor.

"I am on my way to put in the weekly order with the grocer," she announced. "Will Mr. Brodie be joining us for supper?"

The obvious answer would have been that I couldn't be certain.

"I will be preparing my Irish stew," she added.

It was a favorite of Brodie's, never mind that she was thoroughly Irish and frequently reminded him of it.

"Of course," I replied. The truth was that if he didn't take supper at the town house, Rupert the hound would eat quite well afterward.

"Is there anything else in particular, miss?"

"Some of your sponge cake would be greatly appreciated." Brodie was fond of it, as was Rupert.

"I'll not see it wasted on that beast of a hound," she declared.

"And perhaps some of your biscuits?"

I was in the midst of going over the notes in my notebook when the telephone jangled sharply from the stand in the hallway.

On her way out, Mrs. Ryan answered the telephone and informed me that the caller was Mrs. Mallory.

" I can only speak briefly," she hurriedly explained as I picked up the earpiece.

Out of concern that she might be overheard by the servants? I did recall her watchfulness the day we met at the Mallory residence.

I quickly gave her the address for the office on the Strand, then added, "Charlotte received two letters, one several months ago, and one quite recent. It might help if you were to bring them…"

There was a polite response that could mean anything to someone listening at the other end of the call, then the call abruptly ended.

I had no way of knowing when, or even if, Mrs. Mallory might in fact be able to meet me, yet I went upstairs, quickly dressed, then called for a cabman.

"Mr. Brodie left earlier," Mr. Cavendish informed me when I arrived at the office on the Strand.

"Did he say where he was going?"

Mr. Cavendish shook his head. "I did hear him tell the driver to take him to the Old Bailey."

It seemed that, failing Judge Cameron's cooperation in setting an appointment, Brodie had decided to go directly to the courts. He was determined to speak with him in spite of the difficult situation over the death of his daughter.

Mr. Cavendish handed me the newest issue of the daily. The latest article by Theodolphus Burke filled most of the front page. The deaths of two London women were now being called the Rose Murders. Mr. Burke was determined to elevate his career no matter what it took—sensationalism, mostly repeating what had already been printed about the two murders.

I then climbed the stairs to the office and read the daily. The details of the first murder were repeated, then the second murder as well. There was speculation with the writer of the article ‘following leads to discover who had committed the dreadful crime, possibly at risk to himself.'

It was quite dramatic, yet when reading the article, it became very obvious Mr. Burke had nothing new to write about.

I put the daily aside and then spent the next hour reorganizing my notes on the chalkboard, then adding a note about meeting with Mrs. Mallory. Then I created a second list of inquiries yet to be made that might provide additional information.

It was very near midday, and I had arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Mallory was not going to appear when the bell on the landing rang out.

Most unusual, Mrs. Mallory had arrived in a rented hack rather than a private coach. She now stood hesitantly on the sidewalk speaking with Mr. Cavendish, the hound at his side. I did hope that Rupert didn't greet Mrs. Mallory in the usual way. I had visions of her screaming then collapsing on the sidewalk in horror.

He did have a way of greeting people, myself included when I first made his acquaintance, that was somewhat off-putting. As a child, I was constantly around dogs and quite used to their ways.

The hound was different, and I had long suspected that his usual greeting was a deliberate move to establish dominance. As for myself, I had firmly established that I would not put up with such ill-mannered habits.

An old boot, some poor creature brought back from the streets, were one thing. Rudeness was quite another.

I quickly descended the stairs to rescue Mrs. Mallory, and discovered there was no need. She had the situation firmly in hand, or rather her umbrella that Mr. Cavendish held for her as she knelt on the sidewalk murmuring several endearments, her gloved hands stroking the hound behind the ears. She looked up as I hastily arrived, prepared to reprimand the hound.

"He is quite a marvelous fellow, isn't he," she said in a soft voice. "Once one looks past the soot and mud."

"Beg pardon, you must forgive him," Mr. Cavendish started to apologize as the hound made himself prostrate on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Mallory.

"He's spent his life on the streets with no manners or care for others until Miss Mikaela came. He does seem to have a preference for the ladies."

Mrs. Mallory slowly stood and brushed her hands down the front of the black coat she wore over a black gown.

"I have discovered that animals are better than most people," she said in a soft, thoughtful voice. "And always honest. My daughter loved animals." That sad gaze met mine.

Together we climbed the stairs to the office.

Althea Mallory, as she insisted I call her, explained that she had left her private coach and hired a driver who brought her to the office on the Strand, so to avoid any questions about her visit with me.

How very sad, I thought, that she was forced to take such steps so not to be discovered, or questioned by anyone. Her husband perhaps?

I thanked her for agreeing to meet with me as I poured tea and placed several of Mrs. Ryan's biscuits on a plate. I set them on the small table I had recently added to give the office a less… sparse appearance. After all, Brodie and I did spend a great deal of time here.

"My husband has spoken regarding Mr. Brodie's efforts in two of his cases in the past," she began the conversation. "I was not aware that he had taken on an associate until our meeting the other day."

"It was in the matter of the disappearance of my sister," I then explained. "I have never been one to stand aside when there is something that I might be able to do. I am often reminded," I thought of Brodie, "that it might very well be a flaw."

"Perhaps," Mrs. Mallory replied. "However, it seems a flaw that very likely saved your sister's life."

I had not revealed all the details of that sordid affair. I deliberately left out the part where I had shot the woman at the center of the conspiracy. I was aware that sort of thing could be somewhat off-putting.

"I did appreciate your sharing that with me," she told me. "This morning when I received your telephone call, it helped me to understand what I had to do. I was hesitant at first. Everything the last few days has been so very… difficult."

I wanted to ask what finally changed her mind about meeting with me, but I realized that she needed to tell me, to say it in a way I did understand all too well.

"You said something when you came to our residence. That if the situations were reversed, your sister would do the same for you."

As different as we were, as difficult as that might be for some to believe, I was convinced that Linnie would do the same for me as I had done.

"The thought that brought me here was that if my situation was reversed with my daughter, I would want her to do everything to find who did this to me." She reached inside her handbag then.

"I have no way of knowing if these will be helpful." She took out the two envelopes that were mentioned in that letter found with her daughter's body.

"Charlotte was put off by the first one. You will note the date when you open the envelope. We both thought it nothing more than someone attempting to make money off the information. It was written right after…" her voice broke softly. "It was right after the engagement was announced."

"And no doubt written about in the newspapers," I suggested.

Mrs. Mallory nodded. "She chose to ignore it. I thought she had thrown it away until the second letter arrived all these months later. She came to me about it. That is when I discovered that she kept the first letter.

"This second letter made her angry with the things that were written, and she decided to respond to it, even though I attempted to persuade her to ignore it as she had the first one."

At a glance at the two envelopes, it did seem that the person who had sent them—C. Walmsley in Guildford, was the same person whose name was on the envelope Charlotte Mallory intended to post late in the afternoon the day she was murdered.

"Will these be helpful?" Mrs. Mallory asked, her voice stronger with hope.

"Everything we can learn is helpful," I replied, knowing that she needed something to hold onto amidst such terrible loss.

"Does this name mean anything to you? Might your daughter have known this person?"

She shook her head. "She had no idea who the person is or the reason they would write to her with the things that are in those letters. You will see how disturbing they are when you read them."

She was thoughtful again. "When this is over, I would like the letter returned that was found… with her. It is the last thing that she wrote."

I promised that I would see that it was returned to her.

She drank the tea I had provided as she stared at the chalkboard.

"The name of the person who sent those letters is on the board," she commented.

"I find that notes about every aspect of a case helps me organize my thoughts," I replied.

"You wrote them?"

I nodded. "Mr. Brodie's writing leaves a great deal to be improved."

There was a faint smile. "He is fortunate to have such an accomplished assistant."

"He might question that from time to time… however, we manage to work through our differences."

She looked at me with obvious confusion.

"Mr. Brodie is my husband," I explained. "We work together in the cases that we are asked to take."

"How very extraordinary," she commented.

Extraordinary was an interesting word, and for the first time I glimpsed past the sadness and pain of the past days.

"There are moments I am not certain that he would agree with you on that."

The smile deepened on another thought. "My father was a barrister. My brother as well. I have always been fascinated by the law. However, Sir Mallory pointed out a long time ago that it was not a profession for women."

There was something wistful in her voice and I thought how extraordinary it would be for a woman to be a lawyer defending clients in English court.

"I should be returning home now," she said, as if reminding herself. "I didn't intend to be away so long. I must return before…"

I instinctively sensed she was about to say, before Sir Mallory returned at the end of the day.

"Of course," I replied, easing her past the moment. I could not imagine being caught in such a relationship, and thought of my own marriage, quite unusual, different than anyone might have called appropriate for one of my title and station.

I realized that I would not have had it any other way.

I had Mr. Cavendish signal a cab for her. He rang the bell when it arrived. Mrs. Mallory put on her coat and gathered her umbrella.

She stopped at the door and turned before leaving.

"I envy you, Lady Forsythe." She looked around at the office, the simple but comfortable furnishings, then added, "No matter what it takes, find the person who murdered my daughter."

To say that my meeting with Althea Mallory was not at all what I expected was very much an understatement.

As sad and horrible as the circumstances of the case, I sensed beneath the black mourning clothes that she wore and the sad expression from a pain that would never—could never—go away, was a strong woman.

I liked her very much and ached for her loss. I hoped that Brodie and I could at least bring her peace by finding the person responsible.

I stayed at the office to await Brodie's return and some word as to whether he had been successful in obtaining a meeting with Judge Cameron. I spent that time reading the two letters sent by someone by the name C. Walmsley in Guildford, Surrey.

The first letter was more of a brief note and was dated 4 June 1891. It included a clipping from the Times of London with the announcement of Charlotte Mallory's engagement to Daniel Eddington. It was brief and quite cryptic:

"People are not what they pretend to be."

I opened the second envelope. The message with it was even more cryptic, almost a warning, as those few words seemed to leap off the page:

"Secrets and lies are the devil's work."

I then read the newspaper article that had been sent with it. It had been written by a writer with the Police Gazette at the time by the name of Alvin Morris and reminded his readers about the trial of a young man from a prominent family who had been accused of the murder of a young woman.

The subsequent trial had been dismissed along with all charges against the man for lack of evidence. The young man's name was Ormsby!

I sat back at the desk chair, trying to make sense of it all.

What did someone, apparently a woman by the name of Walmsley who lived in Guildford, Surrey, know about that ten-year-old trial and a young man by the name of Ormsby? Further, what reason had she contacted Charlotte Mallory with that cryptic note? Because of the wedding announcement? A warning? But for what reason?

What did the woman know? Or was it a trick, as often those of certain families experienced from time to time?

I had certainly experienced my share in the past, mostly from anonymous sorts who pretended to be potential suitors who admired ‘my adventuresome spirit.' Or perhaps it was the Montgomery family name.

Then more recently when my books were published and it was learned who the author truly was, I had attracted a different sort who thought that it was ‘absolutely marvelous' that a woman might succeed in that endeavor.

Such condescending drivel.

Was this a trick? Attracted by the family name? Or was there some sort of connection.

No stone unturned, I thought.

When Brodie returned, I did need to suggest that we learn more about C. Walmsley in Guildford, and I wanted to go to the newspaper archive and see what I might be able to learn about that ten-year-old murder.

While I waited for Brodie, something I was not yet used to but had agreed to be more conscientious about, I made additional notes on the chalkboard.

It was late afternoon when the bell sounded from the landing. It was fairly safe to say that Mr. Cavendish would not have rung the bell to announce Brodie's arrival. I went out onto the landing.

On the street below, my great-aunt stepped down from the automobile she had recently acquired, driving goggles in place that gave her the appearance of a bug. Granted, a very colorful bug in a vivid purple driving costume.

I had not previously seen this one. It seemed that she was acquiring quite a wardrobe for the roadway. However, this did raise the concern about her setting off during the day with all of the usual London traffic about.

There was a blast of sound, a horn, as Lily stepped down, along with what appeared to be some colorful language—I could only imagine, as a horse-drawn tram swept past quite close.

"Hello, dear," my great-aunt greeted me as she arrived on the landing, Lily following.

"The roadway is quite congested this time of day. I had never noticed," she commented as she removed the goggles.

"Mr. Munro was good enough to follow in the coach if there should be any difficulty." She leaned toward me as if sharing a secret.

"He can be quite protective of Lily."

Yes, of course, I thought.

"Not as if he didn't trust my driving skills," she added. "Mr. Hastings just happened to need to pick up a new harness from the leathermaker."

And they would no doubt be returning by way of the Strand.

"How are you, dear?" she thought to ask. "Lily was quite anxious to speak with you, and I thought… why not drive to the office?"

Why not? Although a call on the telephone might have worked just as well. I had learned not to ask such questions.

"I was not prepared for how rude some people can be," she added.

Considering the scene I had just witnessed, I could only imagine and managed a smile in greeting.

"Will your machine be safe parked on the street?" I inquired.

"Mr. Cavendish has promised to alert us if there is any difficulty," my great-aunt replied. "Kind man, he is most diligent. And Mr. Munro will be along shortly."

There it was, her escort. I had visions of several years from then with countless little old women let loose on the streets of London in automobiles. It was a rather frightening prospect.

"The office does appear remarkably improved, and the building as well. Don't you think, dear?"

I provided tea and coffee. It did seem that a bit of whisky might be dangerous if she was to return to Sussex Square in the automobile. Not that my great-aunt hadn't proven that she could hold her spirits , as she called them.

Lily had been unusually quiet. Even now as she moved about the office, then stopped to inspect the chalkboard with my latest notes.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" I asked. The girl who turned to me then hardly seemed a girl, but a young woman and most serious.

"It was something I thought of after ye left," she said, crossing to Brodie's desk where she picked up a pen then set it back down, fidgeting as my great-aunt had frequently scolded me.

She looked up and it struck me again that the girl was no more, but had been replaced by a very striking, if serious, young woman.

"Ye said that very often in the inquiry cases that ye and Mr. Brodie investigate it's something someone says and is not even aware of that provides a clue."

I remembered the conversation. I exchanged a look with my great-aunt.

"Quite remarkable," she commented. "The coffee you made is most excellent."

"Please continue," I told Lily as I sat at the desk.

Lily took the chair that I usually occupied when Brodie and I were discussing some point about a case.

"It was the time that Miss Charlotte came to Sussex Square for my music lesson, before…" she stopped, emotions there in that blue gaze. She gathered herself.

"She was right sad. When I asked her about it, she didn't want to say at first. But after a while when I asked again, she said it was a difficulty between her and the man she was goin' to marry. She said it was probably just nervous feelings before the wedding."

Understandable, I thought, having experienced such things myself.

"Did she say what it was over?" I asked.

"It seems that someone came to her with some information about him, from a long time ago, and asked a lot of questions about something that happened before."

"Did she say who it was?"

"She said that he was from the newspaper and wrote for the dailies."

"Did he give a name?"

"She mentioned it…"

"Was the name Burke?" I asked.

She nodded. "That was the name. She said that he was serious, that he found some information about a case that her fiancé had handled and asked if he had ever mentioned it. It frightened her."

Theodolphus Burke, doing what Mr. Burke did, obviously looking for that next story. The man really was a snake.

"Did she say what that case was?"

"She was too upset, and then ended the lesson time. It was the last time I saw her."

That blue gaze filled with tears. "Do ye think it could be important?"

I reached across and squeezed her hand. "As I said, everything is important until the case is solved."

She nodded. "I just wish I thought of it before."

"But it may help now," I told her.

Blaming oneself was too easy, I knew for a fact.

"They ye'll tell Mr. Brodie when he returns."

I promised that I would.

The service bell rang on the landing. It did seem as though Munro and Mr. Hastings had returned from the leathermakers. And the weather had set in, rain hitting the street and sending clouds of mist into the air as I went out onto the landing.

I assured Lily that I would add what she had shared with me to the chalkboard, and attempt to learn what it might mean. I then watched as they departed, Lily with a strong arm looped through my great-aunt's arm as they descended the stairs.

I might have done the same once or twice while my sister and I were growing up.

It did seem that there was a deep affection between them.

Munro was there at the curb as they arrived. There were several moments of conversation and I caught the stubborn angle of my great-aunt's chin, when she finally accepted the point he was obviously determined to make.

He assisted her into the coach. Once the ‘cargo' was secure, somewhat reluctantly, Mr. Hastings maneuvered the coach into traffic toward Sussex Square.

Mr. Munro glanced up at the landing as he assisted Lily into one side of the motor carriage. I nodded in acknowledgment.

I did so appreciate his care and protection when it came to my great-aunt, and now Lily. He then rounded the motor carriage and climbed inside.

That was something new, I thought and watched with some trepidation as he started the motor carriage, then set it in motion and maneuvered the chugging beast into the line of carts, cabs, and trams on the street.

I pitied anyone they encountered.

Brodie returned sometime later, ‘dark as thunder' my great-aunt had once said of someone. It was a description that perfectly described him now. His attempt to meet with Judge Cameron had obviously not gone well.

I was learning how to navigate these moments with a bit of Old Lodge whisky and silence. Until that dark gaze found me along with the frown.

"I left several messages with the judge's clerk," he finally explained. "Without a response. Then, as the hour grew late, I was informed by the same scrawny clerk that the judge had left for the day." He looked past me to the chalkboard.

"Wot is it ye have there? More notes?"

What I had there was the information from my meeting with Mrs. Mallory and then the visit from Lily and my great-aunt.

I explained each of the notes that I'd made.

"Burke?" he commented. "Wot the devil would the man be bothering Charlotte Mallory about?"

That was what I intended to find out. And then I thought a trip to Guildford might be necessary. However, that was for the following day, after my visit to the newspaper archive. It did seem that there was much Mr. Burke had failed to mention about what he knew.

This wasn't a race. It was about finding and stopping a murderer. It did appear that Mr. Burke had not yet found that information.

"Aye, it could be useful, most particularly with that letter Charlotte Mallory intended to send."

He was thoughtful, in that way that I liked to watch—the frown surrounded by the beard, that dark gaze staring off with thoughts churning behind them, then finding me, and the way it softened.

"Mrs. Ryan will be waiting supper for us at the town house," I casually mentioned. Food to soothe the savage beast?

"Ye could tempt a dying man."