Page 2 of Deadly Ghost (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #12)

One

NOVEMBER, 1892, LONDON

We had all been encamped at Old Lodge, my great aunt’s estate in the north of Scotland, over the past several months, waiting out the influenza epidemic that had gripped London.

The wife of the estate manager, Mrs. Hutton, had provided her homemade remedy for the midges that made life intolerable in the warmer months. A concoction I knew well from my own childhood stayovers at Old Lodge, a mixture of peppermint oil and witch hazel, liberally applied. Very effective if one didn’t mind the smell. We did not, in exchange for respite from the voracious, stinging insects.

Aunt Antonia had returned to Sussex Square with her household staff weeks earlier, as reports of influenza, all but gone from the city, had eventually reached us. After all, she had the forthcoming holiday season to prepare for, never at a loss for some rather unusual but always fascinating ideas for the Christmas celebration.

My sister and her husband James Warren, who also happened to be my publisher, had traveled first to Brighton for a brief stayover when the epidemic first occurred, then remained until the health crisis had passed.

They had returned to London the week before, after being assured that it was quite safe, particularly for my sister, Linnie, who they announced was expecting their first child. They hadn’t lost any time on that one!

Linnie had been previously married, a disastrous affair that ended badly, and she had lost a child during that time. That loss had changed her. Always quite serious, gifted with her painting talents, she had withdrawn even further at the subsequent scandal from that first marriage.

We had traveled together to the South of France, then an earlier trip to Brighton with the hope of drawing her out once more. In time, she seemed to put that painful episode behind her. And now there was James Warren.

Intelligent, quite handsome, and with a sense of humor that often left us all in stitches, he had ignored my sister’s resolve to live a solitary life with her paintings. He didn’t give a fig about the past scandal and had persuaded her that he simply could not live without her.

He supported her return to her painting and refused to let her dwell on the past. Both were creative—her with artistic successes, James with his publishing endeavors. They were very much like two peas in a pod.

A child had been very much hoped for. I was enormously happy for both of them.

At Old Lodge, Lily, whom I had persuaded to come to London, had discovered a part of Scotland far different from the poor streets of Edinburgh where we first met. She was very near eighteen years of age now as near as she could guess, having been orphaned to the streets.

Her early life working as a lady’s maid in a brothel had imbued her with a certain mistrust of people. She was extremely intelligent, frequently cynical, inquisitive, and too often bold with a blunt sarcasm that appeared at the most unexpected moments. She reminded me much of myself.

The agreement for her to come to London had included education, a place to live, and an admittedly odd collection of family that included myself, my great aunt, my sister, most certainly Brodie, along with his companion in childhood crime, Munro, and of course James Warren.

“ That one will try yer patience, not to mention her ladyship’s,” Brodie had commented about Lily when the arrangement was made.

Yet he had stepped in as a sort of surrogate ‘uncle,’ as it were. They did have a great deal in common, and he wasn’t fooled by her schemes.

I wasn’t concerned about my great aunt taking on the responsibility of another young person. She had survived raising both my sister and me. As unconventional as she was with her interests, early travels, and a family line that went back to William the Conqueror, she was thrilled at the idea of another young spirit at Sussex Square.

“ She must of course live here,” she insisted at the time. “It makes no sense for her to live at Mayfair, and certainly not the office on the Strand when you and Mr. Brodie are off on your inquiry cases. Here, we can plan our adventures together.”

As I have said, it was a somewhat unusual arrangement, but Lily had thrived, with a few bruises, lectures, and boring tutors along the way.

As for Brodie ...

In addition to a successful private inquiry enterprise, he had acquired a family, if albeit an unconventional one, after losing his own early on as a child.

I had never intended to wed. After a previous engagement, my travels, and my sister’s dreadful first experience, I had quite simply decided that expectation was not for myself. I was of the opinion that there was not a man I might consider living my life with.

The house at Mayfair with my housekeeper was quite enough. I could not envision running a household, throwing society parties, wiping children’s runny noses, and patching up skinned knees, while said husband took himself off to his club for ... shall we say, other interests, such as gambling and ruining the family fortunes.

I did have vivid memories of those failings from my own childhood and was determined that I would not experience them in my own adult life.

Then, there was Brodie.

Not at all what society would have approved for me, with his inquiry business and previous work with the Metropolitan Police, not to mention a somewhat criminal past that raised its head from time to time.

And perhaps still? Most fascinating, I had to admit.

He had lived first on the streets of Edinburgh, where he learned to survive by his wits with his good friend Munro, and then on the streets of London. Not at all what was expected, least of all for myself.

And then there was that other thing, along with a colorful recommendation from my great aunt of all people.

“ He is a man you can trust. He does exactly as he says, and gets the job done. And ...”

That other thing she had recommended highly—he made my toes curl in such a delicious, maddening way.

It might also have been the way he looked at me with that dark gaze, the way he understood me, valued my opinions and thoughts.

Of course, there was also my determination, which he referred to as my ‘blasted stubbornness.’ As he was not hesitant to point out, that often took me in a direction I perhaps shouldn’t go in our inquiry cases, in spite of his concerns.

There were other words that went along with that, in Scots, which I did not understand however needed no explanation.

Quite simply, how could I possibly not accept that simple marriage proposal at Old Lodge? I could not.

Brodie had been encamped with all of us at Old Lodge, and returned to London the week previous, while Lily and I had remained for several more days.

He had been immediately drawn into an inquiry case with the Agency. When I returned, he had simply explained that it was a routine inquiry case, possibly a matter of a philandering husband, although one of some high rank in Parliament.

That off-handed explanation was undoubtedly meant to avoid my protests—not for the first time—against working with Agency.

Not that Lily’s and my return left us without anything to occupy ourselves.

My publisher and new brother-in-law, James Warren, had arranged a reception for me at Hatchards in Piccadilly upon the release of my latest Emma Fortescue novel.

The book series had come from my travels abroad and met with enormous success. It seemed that readers in London and beyond, mostly women I will admit, were quite enthusiastic about reading something that was not ancient literature.

James was convinced that it was not only due to the mystery in each one, but the adventures that seemed to appeal to a great many.

Lily and I had returned the day before quite late, and she had stayed over at the townhouse in Mayfair. She was to depart in a few days for Paris to enroll in the private finishing school my sister and I had both attended. To say that the dear girl was not particularly eager to be sent off was somewhat of an understatement.

She had been tutored in French for the past several months and had made great progress. That progress, I had discovered while at Old Lodge, included several colorful words that I had immediately recognized, forcing me to hold back my surprise and laughter all at once as tears rolled down my cheeks.

We had a conversation about proper etiquette and deportment at the time. She had looked at me with a wide-eyed innocence that reminded me that I had said far worse things in the past.

After breakfast provided by my housekeeper, Mrs. Ryan, we arrived in good time at Hatchards bookstore. There was a robust crowd inside the store with a line that had begun to form on the sidewalk beyond in spite of the cold chill of the morning.

Lily grinned at me as the excited buzz of conversations greeted us as we entered the store.

“The ladies of London seem to be fond of Emma Fortescue,” she commented as a woman nearby, who appeared very near my great aunt’s age, appeared to be somewhat overcome as she spoke with a companion.

“Emma is so daring, so brave, and the things she does. Have you read the previous book? You absolutely must purchase it as well. There is a man she has taken up with,” she fanned herself in spite of the cold morning, as she leaned in closer to her companion. “It’s rumored that he also appears in this latest novel. Sinful, absolutely sinful,” she added with a smile. “It’s rumored that the man is an acquaintance of the author.”

Those rumors—acquaintance indeed.

I recognized the expression on Lily’s face that could only be described as a smirk.

“It’s good that Mr. Brodie doesna read your books,” she commented.

Cheeky girl. Yet I could only imagine the protests that would cause.

“So good to see you!” James greeted us enthusiastically as we arrived at the desk in a small area at the back of the store. There, copies of my latest Emma book awaited those who hadn’t already purchased one, while a tea service was arranged beside them.

“I considered that a bit of Old Lodge whisky might be preferrable but the manager is a very proper sort,” he teased. “Yet, I wouldn’t put it past him to take a nip once in a while.”

I laughed. “Only one?”

“Or several,” he suggested in a lowered tone, then added, “We do seem to have a tremendous response today to your new novel.”

“It might be the character she introduced in her last book,” Lily interjected with an expression of wide-eyed innocence.

“Ah, yes. Mr. MacKenzie,” James replied. “Linnie mentioned something about that from the early draft you provided her. She was quite ... intrigued,” he added with a smile.

I did remember her reaction several months earlier, as she read an early draft of the book.

“Good heavens, Mikaela! You simply cannot put that in there!” she said at the time, as I had noticed the sudden color in her cheeks. “ However did you come by such a thing?”

I replied that I had it on good advice from our great aunt. Linnie had been left quite speechless.

“Be that as it may, I can say that your ‘publisher’ is most appreciative,” James commented. “The only issue might be having enough books to sell today. I will see to having more brought over from the warehouse.”

And he set off to see it done.

“I will have a look about,” Lily announced as the manager of the bookstore arrived and greeted me. “And see what other comments the ladies make.”

As I said, cheeky girl.

Over the next several hours there were several questions from those who purchased the books:

Did the things I wrote about actually happen?

Was it exciting to travel the Continent?

Was it dangerous? Did I actually know that ancient art of self-defense?

And then a frequent comment:

I do hope that you will be writing about the gentleman again ...

Gentleman. Brodie would have been highly amused.

Lily returned frequently through the afternoon that followed, with her usual observations about the customers she observed while wandering about the book shop.

“That woman in the green gown just popped a button. One more and she will be completely undone.”

That would make an interesting comment in the daily newspaper.

“The other one with her reminds me of a goat.”

Which of course raised the question, when had she ever seen a goat, since she’d lived in Edinburgh and now London, with occasional trips to Old Lodge?

“I’ve seen pictures!” she protested.

I was reminded that she would make a successful inquiry agent when she completed her education, beyond burst buttons and goats, of course, and in spite of Brodie’s objections.

And then she was off once more. “I might even find a book to read.”

I recommended Jane Austen or Mr. Dickens, and received what I referred to as the ‘Lily look,’ mouth twisted into a frown with a sideways glance for emphasis.

As the afternoon passed, the line of customers thinned. Mr. Holloway, the manager, was pleased, as his clerks had sold a good number of books.

“It is always a pleasure to have you visit us when you have a new book, Lady Forsythe,” he had commented as another woman stepped from the line with a book in hand.

“ The adventures are quite exciting ,” she commented. “I’ve never traveled outside London, and I do look forward to the book.” Then the oft-heard comment of the day.

“Is Mr. MacKenzie in this one as well?”

I assured her that he was.

“Oh, marvelous,” she replied with an excited smile.

I signed a half-dozen more books the manager had requested, as Lily returned from exploring the store, and café across the street, and other fascinations.

“Yer here!” she commented with obvious surprise as she returned, the Scots accent slipping through, as it had a way of doing when she was excited about something.

“As I have been most of the day,” I replied the obvious as I put on my jacket, then gathered my travel bag with a copy of the book for my great aunt. She was quite a devotee of Emma Fortescue’s adventures.

“It’s just that ...” She frowned. “I thought I saw ye just there on the street, looking in the shop window ...” She indicated the front of the shop. “But when I looked again, you were gone. I thought ye might have stepped out for some air. This place is stuffy.”

“I’ve been here the entire time,” I informed her as I handed the clerk the additional books that I’d signed.

Lily’s frown was still there in spite of my assurances. Having lived by her wits on her own, I had discovered—as had a series of tutors—that she had a keen mind and wasn’t easily deceived. I didn’t doubt that she had seen someone . I had also learned it was best not to argue a point with a stubborn Scot.

“I know what I saw,” Lily insisted as we left the bookstore.