Chapter 3

Three

THE NEXT MORNING…

"You don't approve," I commented as our driver arrived at the office on the Strand and we stepped down from the cab.

The building did look substantially improved, with better signage, the sagging wood steps near the alcove replaced, and fresh paint over the old stones on the walls.

I did wonder if Brodie had made any inquiries about another location for the office. He was convinced that he would not be able to afford the rents for the new improvements once the new owner contacted him.

He had been unusually quiet, even for Brodie, since supper the previous evening with Lily's announcement and my great-aunt's enthusiastic support.

"It appears that it doesna matter whether I approve or disapprove. The decision has been made by Lily, yerself, and her ladyship," he snapped somewhat peevishly as Rupert the hound emerged from the alcove to greet me, followed by the keeper of the alcove, who rolled out on his platform.

Mr. Cavendish had lost both legs in an accident years before, and the platform provided a means for him to get around.

I chose to ignore Brodie for the moment as Rupert nudged my hand, looking for his usual morning treat compliments of Mrs. Ryan, usually sponge cake or possibly a honeyed biscuit. I handed Mr. Cavendish the wrapped package that included a piece for Rupert.

"You have a new platform," I complimented him. The old one was a precarious contraption. It was held together with strips of leather, and few random bolts that frequently loosened and disappeared on his forays about the Strand. He did seem to prefer high speeds, diving in and about carriages and coaches on the street.

"The old one was a bit worn. I was informed this one is more reliable, made of good stout hickory and stained with paint against the weather with metal bolts that lock to hold the bloody thing together." His eyes sparkled. "It corners like the devil, full speed."

Oh, dear.

"Most impressive," I complimented him.

I suspected who might have suggested the new platform. He did seem to have a stalwart friend in Miss Effie at the public house down the Strand, and she had commented more than once that the old platform would be the death of him. It did seem of late that their friendship might have progressed.

It also appeared that Miss Effie might have suggested the woolen trousers that had replaced the previous ones that were more a collection of patches, badly stained with whatever came up off the street as he paddled about. And there was a homespun shirt under the woolen vest. Altogether, he looked quite dapper. I complimented him.

"Mr. Dooley is up in the office," he informed us. "He arrived some time ago in the matter of inquiries you made?"

Indeed, I thought with a glance over at Brodie. He had been adamantly opposed to taking on the case of Charlotte Mallory's murder. Or rather silently adamant against it after supper the previous evening with Lily and my great-aunt. And then still silent in the matter this morning, except for that one comment.

I had decided to let him grumble a bit over it. As I knew only too well, he would eventually voice his objections and then come around to my way of thinking with a little persuasion.

"Best go up and see what he knows about the matter," he replied now.

I caught the look in that dark gaze, the glower there that only made him more handsome. Nothing like a brooding, cantankerous Scot, as he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Have ye exchanged all yer morning pleasantries?"

"Almost," I replied as I glanced over at Mr. Cavendish. We were both quite accustomed to Brodie's grumblings. I called to the hound as I joined Brodie on the stairs.

"I made a call to Dooley this morning while ye were still upstairs getting ready for the day," he explained. "It canna hurt to ask a few questions."

Brodie had worked with Mr. Dooley during his previous time with the MET, and a bond of mutual trust and respect remained between them.

After Brodie left the MET, Mr. Dooley had been a source for information from time to time. He had recently been promoted from constable to inspector after several years' service, but remained a stalwart friend and confidant.

He had let himself into the office and, good man that he was, had a pot of coffee simmering at the stove on this cold morning that had a hint of snow in the air.

"Nasty business, murder of that poor young woman," Mr. Dooley commented as he sat across from Brodie at the desk while I removed my hat and coat.

"Music teacher, she was?" Then with a look over at me.

"She provided lessons for my ward," I explained. "They became good friends as well."

He nodded. "And more's the pity, she had just left the print office where she apparently had picked up invitations. It seems that she was to be wed in a few weeks."

"What else can you tell us?" I inquired while Brodie listened from across the desk, coffee cup in hand.

"The fiancé's name is Daniel Eddington, according to the invitations that were found on the sidewalk, and the information the printer was able to provide."

"What about her family?" I then asked. "I understand they live in Knightsbridge."

He nodded with a look over at Brodie. "Her father is Edward Mallory, a barrister of some reputation. You might remember him from before with the MET."

Some reputation? I did wonder what that might mean.

Brodie nodded. "I gave evidence in two cases brought before the magistrate regarding persons he represented."

Mr. Dooley nodded. "Made quite a name for himself over the years. The fiancé is a member of his office. I would suppose that is how he and the young woman met."

"Have you spoken with the family?" Brodie inquired.

Mr. Dooley nodded. "Contact was made the night of the murder, and then yesterday as well, for any information the family might have. Sad affair, such a pretty young thing."

"What about any connection to the Whitechapel murders?" I asked, since Mr. Burke had asked the same question in his article for the daily.

Mr. Dooley shook his head. "I pulled up the old files. There are most definitely differences between the two. Miss Mallory was from a well-placed family, the murder took place in the West End, and there was no…" He hesitated before continuing.

"It's quite all right, Mr. Dooley. I read the articles about the Whitechapel murders when they took place."

He nodded, still a bit uncomfortable. "There was just the one wound with a sharp instrument, most likely a knife, and there was no sign of any other disturbance of the body."

I knew quite well what he spoke of. According to the articles at the time of those other murders that had terrified all of London, two of the women had been sexually assaulted before they were murdered.

However, whether or not it had been committed by the murderer was never established, as both women had worked as prostitutes.

"What information was the printer able to provide?" Brodie asked. "Did the man see anything?"

Mr. Dooley shook his head. "He only became aware of what had happened when a couple, a man and woman, found the poor thing, apparently right afterward, and put up the alarm. He wasn't able to provide any information other than Miss Mallory had just left his shop."

Still…

I knew how the police worked from that first inquiry case with Brodie. Admittedly it was possible that their methods had improved since. They were under a new interim chief inspector after Mr. Abberline was persuaded to take an ‘ extended departure .' Yet, it was also possible, as I knew only too well, that they had simply not asked the right questions.

"Might it be possible to see the body before the family makes their arrangements?" I then asked.

Mr. Dooley's gaze narrowed. "I might be able to make arrangements at the Yard where the young woman's body was taken."

"Are you making inquiries then on behalf of the family, or perhaps the young woman's fiancé?" he asked. "I'd not want to read about it in one of your books, Miss Forsythe. No offense, mind you. But it could bring about undue attention and questions."

"Not at all, Mr. Dooley," I assured him. However, I didn't reveal who our new ‘ client' was.

"Have the police spoken with the family?" Brodie asked.

"Not as yet, but in due time, out of respect for their loss," Mr. Dooley replied.

"Perhaps we could assist in that," I suggested and received a dark look from Brodie.

"Unofficially?" he asked. "The MET is short-staffed, as several lads left after the difficulty with Abberline. It seems some of them may have willingly ‘overlooked' some matters in favor of the man. The new fellow is said to be ‘cleaning things up,' as they say."

"Perhaps as consultants," I then suggested. "The old saying, ‘ many hands make light work.' And it might be helpful as well to speak with Mr. Eddington. Perhaps he can provide some insight into the matter."

Mr. Dooley looked over at Brodie.

"There would be only a small compensation in it, if any at all. But I suppose I could call it that if there should be questions. We have more than our share of crimes to follow, and you do have experience with such things. You would have to agree to share anything you learn with me."

"Of course," I replied. I chose to ignore Brodie for the moment. I could imagine what he was thinking.

Mr. Dooley nodded. "Well and good, then. I'll make arrangements for you as ‘consultants,' and send word when it's been arranged. When would you like to begin?"

"The sooner the better," I replied, keeping my thoughts to myself as we had already started.

"Consultants, is it?" Brodie asked after Mr. Dooley left.

"It was all I could think of in the moment, so that we might not encounter obstacles. Particularly where the family is concerned."

"Yer determined to humor the girl in this, then."

"Humor her?" I replied with some pique. "Hardly. You know her as well as I. Do you think she will be content to simply sit idly by while the police go about their business?

"She was quite fond of Charlotte Mallory. If we were to simply coddle her or placate her with excuses, I would not put it past her to simply take herself off and make her own inquiries. She hardly has the experience for that, particularly here in London. She doesn't know her way about here, and there is the other part of it," I added.

"Such as?"

"She is part of our family now. The least that we can do is make a few inquiries of our own on her behalf. There is the fact that she has hired us." I threw that in for good measure. "And, since you are acquainted with Sir Mallory, it would make it easier for us to call on them."

That dark gaze bore into mine.

"Three against one," he shook his head. "And all of ye are women. I know well enough that ye will go on yer way whether I say yea or no."

I smiled to myself. He did know me quite well.

" Consultants it is," I declared of our new titles. "Once Mr. Dooley has made arrangements, we need to visit the yard," I plunged on ahead before he could object.

"It might be helpful to call on the printer as well," I said now, from in front of the chalkboard where I had made a few notes.

"Perhaps there was something Charlotte might have said, perhaps she had seen someone on her way to the shop… I wonder if Mr. Brimley might be available to assist," I added of the chemist who had been invaluable in past inquiries.

To some people he might have been a bit off-putting, with his experiments and body parts in jars and choosing to serve the people of the East End rather than taking up a medical practice in a better part of London. But I had found him to be quite brilliant and an excellent source of valuable information.

"He does have a great deal more experience with bodies and wounds. He might be able to tell us something more than the police surgeon. And we will need the name of the constables who were the first to arrive."

Mr. Dooley called the office later that day and informed us that he'd made arrangements for us to visit the police holding-facility at Scotland Yard.

Brodie reminded him that we would also like to speak with the constables who were called to the print shop when Charlotte Mallory's body was found. Mr. Dooley said that he would have the man stop by the office the following morning before he went onto his shift.

I had contacted Mr. Brimley, the chemist, as we waited to hear from Mr. Dooley.

" Another body is it, Miss Forsythe, " he commented. "I suspected that it had been too long since our last adventure into the crime of murder. Of course I will meet you. The murder of the young woman, you say? Most exciting."

Even though it was later in the day, we agreed to meet at the old Scotland Yard that afternoon, arrangements having been made by the family to have Charlotte's body removed to a private location the following day.

"I know you have been acquainted with Mr. Brimley for some time," I commented after we found a cab and gave the driver the location of the old Scotland Yard. "But it has occurred to me that he does seem to acquire great satisfaction in viewing dead bodies."

"Just as ye seem to have a penchant for adventures, no matter where it takes ye?" Brodie suggested. "Museums, hiding out in coffins, trapped in the old city beneath Edinburgh, or perhaps the Greek Isles?"

I did see his point, although I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that I had a distinct dislike for rummaging around in musty museums or coffins, and I had to admit that I was concerned that I might not make it out of the caverns below Edinburgh alive. As for the Greek Isles?

That was an adventure all by itself. I was eighteen years old at the time, off on my first adventure. My guide had suggested that I might like to visit Crete rather than trudging along with my travel group to more ruins. And…

It was the ‘ and ' part—a dark-eyed stranger with that thick mane of hair, older than the guide, who was quite enthusiastic about leading me astray.

I could have pointed all of that out, including the part that he was obviously to blame for. However, that was another adventure to come, or several of them as it had turned out. And now…

We arrived at the old Scotland Yard with what was referred to as the ‘holding rooms' on the ground floor at the back of the building where there was access for the police vans to drop off the latest collection of bodies. It was just across from the ‘yard,' where horses were still kept in spite of the new motorized inventions that had begun to appear on the streets of London.

Brodie stepped down from the cab, then assisted me and paid the driver. We went to the back entrance, where Brodie informed the constable on duty that Mr. Dooley had arranged for us to visit the morgue.

The man checked a clipboard with papers then nodded.

"There will be another man joining us," Brodie told him. "By the name of Brimley."

"Right you are, guv'ner. And may I say it's good to see you again, Mr. Brodie."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "And yerself as well, Mr. Macky."

With that we stepped into that imposing building where Brodie had once been charged with murder and imprisoned.

I sensed rather than heard the deep breath he took and could only imagine his thoughts at that memory. I reached out and wrapped my hand around his.

"Let us see what we can learn to find Charlotte Mallory's murderer."

That dark gaze met mine, lines of anger easing from his face. His hand tightened on mine.

"Aye."