Chapter 7

Seven

Lily wanted to attend the funeral for Charlotte Mallory.

"I never been to a proper funeral before. Leastwise not for one like her," she said when we spoke of it.

"She was my friend. I hear it helps sometimes, being able to say good-by and all."

"Then by all means, you should attend," my great-aunt told her when we had the conversation. "I liked her very much as well. We shall both go. I will have Mr. Hastings bring round the coach."

The funeral service was at St. Paul's church in Knightsbridge, with burial service at Brompton in Kensington.

I had been to funeral services before, for one reason or another, in spite of my long-held preferences for a Viking send-off. However, this was Lily's first experience with the rituals of the upper classes.

Her previous experience with such things had been in Edinburgh, when one of the ‘ladies' who worked at the ‘Church' had succumbed to a malady and was taken off to burial in a common grave.

There didn't seem to be any memory before that, perhaps of some relation, before she was taken in by the madam at the ‘Church,' first to run errands, as so many orphaned children found themselves, then as a ‘ladies' maid' as when I had encountered her there.

Brodie and I arrived separately at St. Paul's church where we joined Lily and my great-aunt. I clasped Lily's hand as we entered the church.

"I never seen nothin' like this," she whispered, as we took our places inside the church. "It's like a castle."

It was quite imposing and beautiful, I suppose, if one was into that sort of thing, with that tall edifice now draped in clouds. Inside, tiled panels around the walls of the nave depicted different religious scenes, lit by dozens of candles in tall sconces. Pews lined both sides of the chapel.

"Sir Edward and Lady Mallory," my aunt whispered with a look at the front pew as the service began with the casket front and center. And beside Lady Mallory, was a young gentleman whom I presumed to be Charlotte's fiancé, Daniel Eddington.

Lady Mallory was dressed all in black as was the custom, with a veil over her face, frequently reaching under with a handkerchief. Sir Mallory was stoic, if a bit distracted, with a frown amid thick jowls that I imagined those in the Queen's court confronted in his profession as barrister.

He seemed impatient, even perhaps annoyed, as if the service was an intrusion, leaning forward to pass some comment along to Daniel Eddington who merely nodded.

Charlotte's fiancé was a pleasant-enough looking young man in spite of his somber expression and the frown under a neatly clipped mustache. I could only imagine how difficult this must be for all of them, when it was a wedding they had been planning with those invitations Charlotte had picked up from the print shop.

I had expected some long, drawn-out sermon about the cruelties of life and was surprised not only at the brevity of the service, but the tone as well.

The Anglican priest spoke of qualities of those who brought light into the lives of others, then spoke specifically of Charlotte's gift of music that she shared with her family and students.

It was very uplifting in spite of the circumstances as the priest described a young life ended too soon. Afterward, the casket was removed with the Mallorys following behind for the burial service in Kensington.

Coaches lined the thoroughfare as we arrived at Brompton Cemetery. The rain that had held off through the morning seemed to wait as we accompanied Lily and my great-aunt to the graveside.

There the priest from Brompton Chapel gave a brief service for all those who had gathered. There must have been thirty or forty in attendance to pay their last respects at the graveside. No doubt due to the Mallorys' standing not only in society, but Sir Edward's legal work.

Mourners filed past… couples, older gentlemen with whom he had no doubt served as a barrister, Mr. Eddington briefly responding as he stood as before with Sir Edward. Both men were stoic and somber, greeting those who passed by with a brief nod. Mrs. Mallory, small, with sagging shoulders, occasionally nodded at someone she apparently knew, a gloved hand reaching out.

"So many flowers," Lily commented. "It looks like all the flowers in London are here."

"Hmmm," Aunt Antonia replied. "Sir Mallory is quite well known."

Lily frowned as we joined the other mourners.

"I'd like to say something to her mother and father, but I don't know what's proper."

I offered what I thought might be meaningful for her as well as for Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory.

"Perhaps a word or two about what Charlotte meant to you. That she was a friend as well as your instructor."

She seemed to think about that.

"Come along dear. I shall go with you," Aunt Antonia told her. "At my age, I've had a good deal of experience with this sort of thing." She glanced over at me.

"Not that I intend to have a funeral for others to wail and carry on over," she added.

With a look from Lily, I decided to accompany them.

"I'll wait for ye at the coach," Brodie told me. "Take my umbrella." He handed it to me. "Ye seem to have left yers behind, as usual."

It was just a light rain, one he and Munro would have called a fine soft rain, but I knew quite well what London weather could turn to.

I caught up with Lily and my great-aunt as they reached Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory where they stood beside the white casket as others moved ahead, some placing flowers atop the casket.

Lily glanced at me and I nodded my encouragement as my great-aunt expressed her sympathies first, then waited for Lily to say what she wanted to say.

"Miss Charlotte was my friend," she began hesitantly, then seemed to find the rest of the words.

"I wanted ye to know that she made the most beautiful music I ever heard."

Not an eloquent speech but simple words from the heart. I was very proud of her.

Mrs. Mallory acknowledged her with a nod from behind her veil. Beside her, Daniel Eddington nodded, while Sir Mallory remained silent.

"Come along, dear," Aunt Antonia told Lily. "Or we will be thoroughly soaked with the rain."

It had definitely decided to make an appearance as Lily took my great-aunt's arm and they made their way from the burial site along the footpath back to the coaches, with others who paused to place bouquets of flowers on the casket.

There were more lilies and orchids with other winter flowers, in arrangements of all manner, size, and shape. It certainly seemed that Charlotte Mallory had touched many lives. Or perhaps it was in deference to Sir Mallory, as many of the mourners were older and perhaps professional associates.

He obviously knew a great many people and it seemed that they had come to pay their respects—ladies in appropriate mourning attire, with men in fine frock coats and top hats crowded under umbrellas as they paused, spoke briefly to Sir Mallory then moved on.

Eager to join Lily and my aunt, I might have missed it among the sea of lilies and orchids, except for the bold color amid white, pale pink, and lavender. Stark contrast to the usual funeral arrangements that surrounded it, a single red rose lay across the casket.

A red rose! A coincidence?

I left the line of mourners and immediately looked about for anyone who might have placed it there. Who would have left a single red rose?

Possibly Daniel Eddington? Mourning the loss of the young woman he hoped to marry?

Yet I had seen him place a bouquet of lilies on the casket just before my great-aunt had given her condolences.

"Mikaela?"

Brodie had doubled back, no doubt after Lily and my great-aunt had arrived at the coach.

"The rain has set in and her ladyship and Lily are waiting." He took one look at my face.

"What is it?"

I kept my voice low as other mourners passed by. "There, atop the casket."

That dark gaze narrowed as he saw the rose.

"Aye," he replied, then scanned the mourners who slowly moved past the casket, and others who lingered for the opportunity to say a word of sympathy to the Mallorys.

That dark gaze met mine.

"It could be a coincidence."

"You don't believe in them any more than I do. Why would someone leave a single red rose?"

"Did ye perhaps see who might have left it?"

I shook my head. "No, it could have been anyone. Is it possible that the murderer is here?"

If so, it was bold, arrogant, almost as if… the murderer was sending a message?

What message? And could it possibly have to do with Charlotte Mallory?

The rain had increased, and mourners that hadn't already departed quickly gave their condolences then left, making their way along the muddied path to their coaches.

Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory also departed, with Daniel Eddington, leaving only the attendants who slowly lowered the casket into the grave, taking that sea of flowers and that red rose with it.

"There's nothing to be done here," Brodie said, holding his umbrella over both of us.

We were the last to leave the graveyard, Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory, walking slowly ahead, Daniel Eddington behind them.

I glanced back as we reached the coach, but the only thing I saw were the graveyard workers who worked quickly to close the grave as the rain thickened. Everyone else was gone.

We didn't speak of what we saw on the ride to Sussex Square, with no idea what it might mean, if anything.

We accepted my great-aunt's invitation for a late luncheon. Lily was unusually quiet, barely touching her food.

"What is bein' done to find who kilt her?" she suddenly blurted out.

Not exactly dining table conversation, I thought, with a look at my great-aunt.

"It's quite all right," she assured everyone, then with a look at me.

And to put an end to any objection on my part… "As I recall you were given to speaking out when anything was important, or not. This is quite important."

When I would have given her a simple answer, for the most part because we didn't actually know anything yet, Brodie's hand closed around mine, stopping me.

"We have both been making inquiries on behalf of Miss Mallory," he explained. "To the police constables who reported to the crime that night, and Mikaela has spoken with the reporter at the Times who wrote the article for the newspaper. He was there afterward.

"We dinna have any answers as yet," he added. "But there are other persons to question who may have seen something that night.

"I know yer feelin's in this," he continued then, much like a father, I thought. And God knows he did understand, perhaps better than most.

"It's difficult to wait, when ye've lost someone ye care about. But I will say that one small piece of information usually leads to another, then another. And ye must know that this one," he looked over at me for emphasis, "is verra stubborn and determined."

Lily's sad gaze met mine.

"We both are," Brodie assured her. "And we will find the one responsible. I promise ye. As far as ye are concerned, it's important that ye continue with yer lessons just as if Miss Mallory was here. She would want ye to do that."

She seemed to think about that. "May I be excused?" she politely asked.

"Of course, dear," Aunt Antonia told her. "Perhaps Mikaela might join you in the sword room if you feel the need."

Lily nodded, rose from her chair and laid her napkin on the table, just as any properly raised young lady might.

"I have found that a bit of exercise with a sword is a great reliever of frustration," my great-aunt announced. "And as I recall, for you as well, my dear," she told me.

"Something that you should be aware of, Mr. Brodie," she added.

"I've already witnessed her skill in that regard," he replied, as we heard the first sounds of music from the music room.

"I do believe that is Chopin," Aunt Antonia announced.

Concerto No. 2, to be precise, and Lily performed it exquisitely. I knew that from countless agonizing hours I spent with my own music teacher very near the same age as Lily.

It was another of the talents I somewhat lacked, along with any artistic ability with oils or water colors. And the reason I was often given to question whether Linnie and I had the same set of parents.

My sister had acquired all the artistic ability, while I much preferred…

"The sword room and hiking about the forest in the north of Scotland?" Brodie commented when I mentioned the vast difference between Linnie and myself, as my aunt's coachman took us back to the office on the Strand.

"How could two sisters possibly be so very different?" I had asked.

"It would seem that ye favor her ladyship," he replied. "Considerin' the stories ye've told me when she was a young girl. And no doubt, bein' raised by someone of her nature might have rubbed off on ye a wee bit."

That dark gaze found mine through the shadows in the coach from the lanterns that Mr. Hastings had lit against the gloom of the day.

"We must find the person who did this," I replied, my throat suddenly tight. "For the Mallorys and Charlotte's fiancé, and of course for Lily. This is very hard for her."

He reached across the space between the two seats and took my hand.

"Aye, ye understand, lass. We both understand."

"A red rose," I said aloud, as I sat at the edge of the desk across from Brodie and stared at the chalkboard after returning from Sussex Square and the funeral service earlier for Charlotte Mallory.

In addition to the few pieces of information that we'd gathered, I had made a separate list of possible motives.

It was late and the weather was beastly. We chose to spend the night at the office rather than return to Mayfair.

It was very near midnight when I went to bed, while Brodie chose to continue to work in the adjacent office.

That was very much like him with a case, even when there were few clues as in the murder of Charlotte Mallory.

He went back over everything, a habit from his days with the MET—the time that the body was found, others who might have been on the street that early in the evening. And that rose.

He was inclined to be skeptical about the rose we had seen on Charlotte Mallory's casket at Brompton. However, while skeptical since there were dozens upon dozens of floral arrangements there, I knew from experience he didn't dismiss it.

For myself, it was more useful to lay everything out, make my lists, and then put information on the chalkboard.

I suppose it was the reason we worked so well together, suggesting possibilities—his experience from the streets, mine from growing up in what was referred to as polite society . If one could call murder polite!

It was sometime later, after I had retired for the night, when sounds from the office wakened me, and I realized that Brodie was not alone.

I pulled on my skirt and shirtwaist, then stepped into the outer office, the wood floor of the office cold beneath my bare feet.

Brodie was at the desk, a deep frown on his face. Inspector Dooley stood across from him, his own expression grave. He glanced up at the sight of me.

"Beg pardon, Miss Forsythe. I thought Mr. Brodie should know."

In spite of the fact that he was now a police inspector, Mr. Dooley continued to greet Brodie formally from their time together with the MET.

"The call came in barely a half hour ago, and by the sound of it…"

"Aye," Brodie replied, then with a look over to me, "A young woman has been found dead in St. James's Park with a wound similar to Charlotte Mallory."

"She wasn't found right away, due to being short-staffed of constables at the park," Mr. Dooley explained, "as there's never any crime to speak of in that part of London, and what with the weather last night and all.

"And strange it was. The constables who eventually found her found a flower laid over her, almost as if the killer had placed it there."

"Was it a red rose?" I inquired, even as my thoughts refused to consider that it might be. It was too much of a coincidence.

Mr. Dooley's gaze narrowed. "It was. Just that one red rose, and enough to make someone like me, who has seen a great deal on the streets, uneasy.

"Laid out like she was and with that one red rose, like it was some sort of ceremony."

"Or sacrifice?" I suggested.

That dark gaze met mine. I could see by his grim expression that he had the same thought.

"Have ye identified the woman?" he asked.

Mr. Dooley nodded. "By way of a previous report we had from two days ago that she had gone missing. It was a bit difficult with…" He hesitated with a look in my direction. "Beg pardon again, miss. The body was somewhat deteriorated."

"It's quite all right Inspector Dooley." Evidently the young woman was in an advanced state of decay.

"Who filed the missing person report?" Brodie asked.

"The father, Judge Harold Cameron, made the report."

"There's a bit more," Dooley continued. "Even with the time o' night the body was found, the interim chief inspector, Mr. Graham, insisted on returning to the office."

"Graham?" Brodie seemed surprised.

"You may recall the man from your work with the MET. It's to be a temporary position until Mr. Abberline returns…"

Brodie was as surprised as I was. Chief Inspector Abberline, whom Brodie had what might be politely considered difficulty with in the past, had been put on suspension after a previous inquiry case of ours.

"I heard something of it," he acknowledged.

According to Brodie, Mr. Graham was well liked among the inspectors of the Metropolitan Police, as well as most police constables.

He had apparently worked his way up through police ranks, and was considered to be a fair man who obviously wasn't put off by making himself available, apparently even at this time of the night.

And it seemed that due to his experience as a constable, and then an inspector working the streets, he wasn't above participating in an investigation instead of delegating it to others, as Abberline had.

"I assume there is more to this," Brodie commented.

Mr. Dooley nodded. "He knows that you have been making inquiries regarding the Mallory murder. And now, a second murder with similar circumstances." He hesitated.

"Go on, Mr. Dooley," Brodie told him.

"He's a good man, and most of the men would like to see him permanent in the position."

"Get on with it, Dooley."

"He asked me to bring the copy of that report and inquire if you would be willing to meet with him later this mornin' regarding the two cases."

Brodie's eyes narrowed. "I know ye well, Dooley. There's nothin' that goes on at the Yard that ye dinna know about, and I've been grateful for yer assistance in the past. Now, tell me wot ye know of this."

"The word is that he wants you to join the police investigation in the matter of both murders."