And since that was not something I would experience, the future generations of Montgomery/Forsythe offspring would have to be left to my sister, who, as our great-aunt said, had taken to motherhood like a goose to water .
When he returned, I had Mr. Hastings deliver me back to the office to make certain that the envelope had been delivered to Mr. Dooley.
It was well past ten in the evening when I arrived. Yet, as was his habit, Mr. Cavendish was there, along with the hound.
He rolled out from the alcove, the night mist from the river swirling around him.
“Good to see you, miss,” he greeted me. “Mr. Dooley made his way round earlier. He received the envelope, so no worry there.”
I caught his quick glance to the top of the stairs. A light shown in the window beside the entrance to the office.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, miss. He’s had worse to be certain.”
I was already halfway up the stairs.
The office was dimly lit from the light that shone through the doorway to the bedroom.
I found Brodie standing before the wash stand in the adjacent room. The wash bowl before him was a dark shade of pink. He turned, cloth in hand.
‘Not as bad as it looks’ might be subject to interpretation.
The front of his cambric shirt was dark with blood, as was the cloth in his hand.
“Before ye go off and get beside yerself, it’s not as bad as it looks,” he informed me as he wiped more blood from the source of the wound on his head.
I took a deep breath, then set my bag at the side table. I seized the bowl.
“You will need fresh water.”
He sat at the table in the office when I returned.
I wiped more blood from the wound on his head, then cleaned dried blood from his cheek and beard.
That dark gaze met mine. “It’s only a little blood. Ye dinna need to go at it as if yer smacking at midges.”
Smacking at midges—the thought was far too tempting.
“There’s no damage other than yer doctorin’—I’ve a hard head,” he added.
“I have noticed,” I replied. “Did you consider that perhaps you should not have been wherever it was that this happened?”
There was a faint smile just at one corner of his mouth. “Aye, it occurred to me, afterward.”
“You might want to have Mr. Brimley see to that,” I suggested as calmly as possible under the circumstances. “You might need stitches.” The cut was quite deep and still seeping blood.
He shook his head. “He’d put some of that powder on it to keep it from festerin’. I prefer yer way when ye aren’t the cause of more damage.”
As I say, it was too tempting. Yet, I suppose it was bad form to strike an injured man.
“What of the other person?” I inquired as I set the bowl of water aside and went into the bedroom for the medicinal powder left from a previous encounter.
There was no reply.
I returned with the powder and a roll of cloth that we kept after one of Mr. Brimley’s visits.
There was that look. The powder without a bandage obviously would have to do. I felt him watching me as I applied it amid that thick, dark mane of hair.
“You’ve been busy with your inquiry case, accordin’ to Mr. Cavendish,” he commented, as I finished and put the lid back on the jar of powder.
“I’ve made some progress,” I replied.
“And the missing young woman?”
It was obvious that Mr. Cavendish had shared a great deal.
“There are now two women missing under similar circumstances,” I replied. “And perhaps a third. I’m following information to learn more.” I didn’t go into details.
“What of your investigations?” I asked as I put away the rolled cloth, as if we were discussing nothing more than the weather.
“Oh, yes,” I added, before he could answer. “I remember now. You cannot discuss it, even though you’ve been injured and there might have been some difficulty where it could have been useful for someone to accompany you,” I added pointedly.
I returned the bowl to the washstand and set it down somewhat more forcefully than necessary. It was fortunate the bowl didn’t shatter. I seriously considered doing it again.
“You were at Sussex Square,” he commented without mention of the bowl or my sarcasm as I returned.
“A most interesting evening,” I replied, somewhat more congenial since it was obvious he was not going to share anything of his work for the Agency, and asking questions would gain me nothing.
“Aunt Antonia had her ladies there.” I did not mention Madame Orzcy. “Lily is doing quite well, as is my sister with the new baby. She and I will be attending an art showing tomorrow night,” I added conversationally, as if it had not been two days since I had last seen him.
“Aunt Antonia did mention that an acquaintance has returned after some absence, along with her husband who was once with the Foreign Service Office. Blandford is the name.”
That got a reaction I would not have expected.
“Just returned? From where?”
“Munich, according to Aunt Antonia.” I returned to the office. “It seems that Lady Blandford has relations there.”
I caught that narrow-eyed look of interest. I had most definitely drawn his attention.
“Is that so?”
“Of course, it might mean nothing more than traveling about,” I pointed out. “Still, it does seem odd to return to London when the heat of the summer is about to set in. I would think they would want to remain in a cooler clime, yet there must have been some reason for them to return now.”
He rose from the chair and poured himself a dram of Old Lodge whisky that he quickly downed.
“I could perhaps learn more about it, if you think it’s important,” I suggested.
“No need,” he replied, that dark gaze still narrowed as those thoughts churned.
“Of course not,” I sweetly replied. “You may come and go as you please, no matter how dangerous it might be.” Case in point, that nasty gash on his head.
“While I am expected to take trivial inquiries, then wait for you to come back bruised and bleeding.”
“Mikaela ...” There was a warning tone in his voice. I ignored it.
“And unless you hadn’t noticed, I am perfectly capable of participating in Sir Avery’s schemes. In fact, I could provide valuable assistance.”
“Ye dinna trust the man—ye made that clear.”
“Neither do you,” I pointed out.
“Not the reception a man might hope for when he hasn’t seen ye in two days, arguin’ about such things.” He attempted to change the subject.
“Nor what I might have expected either, patching up your wounds, and I am not arguing the matter, merely pointing out that you could use my assistance, and with information that it is obvious you were not aware of.” I was not yet finished.
I knew that if I was to make my point with him, I did need to do so forcefully.
“Aunt Antonia found it quite odd. It seems there has been much activity at the Blandford townhouse, servants appear to be packing everything away just as they have arrived back in London.”
I looked up and smiled.
“If you’re going to go about getting yourself injured or killed, dear, you might in the very least let me know so that I can acquire additional supplies or make the necessary arrangements.”
Not that he was fooled for a second, yet it was quite enjoyable to see his reaction as that dark gaze narrowed even further.
“Tell me what else ye’ve learned with yer own inquiries about the missing young woman.”
Diversion. It was a familiar tactic.
“Another young woman has gone missing. I hope to speak with the family tomorrow. Two of the young women apparently answered an advertisement in the Personals column of The Times.”
And because two could play this game …
“You were saying about the matter you are following?” I added.
He wouldn’t tell me more, of course. He had already made that perfectly clear. It was highly important, with utmost secrecy, a matter on behalf of the Crown, and all that.
“Ye are particularly striking, Mikaela Forsythe, when ye get yer red up. There’s fire in yer cheeks, and yer eyes.”
More diversion, distraction, and …
“That will do you no good, Mr. Brodie. You smell like a goat, and you are injured, quite bloody in fact—certainly an impediment to any robust activity.”
He sat back in the chair at his desk and emptied his glass.
“Ye know I canna tell ye more.” Then, “I see ye’ve made yer notes as usual. Wot more have ye learned?”
I smiled and poured him another dram. I explained about my meeting with Burke, then turned around at a faint rumbling sound and discovered that he had fallen asleep in the chair.
I was tempted to wake him. He would be far more comfortable in bed and he was injured, though it hardly seemed to bother him.
As I say, I was tempted, then decided against it—aggravating man. Let him stay the night in the chair.