Page 6 of Deadly Ghost (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #12)

Five

Lily’s hand tightened on my arm.

“It is perhaps somewhat premature,” the woman suggested, “yet I wanted to see the exhibit, and of course I hoped that Lady Montgomery would be here as well.”

Perhaps premature , I thought when we had only just received word of her claim.

“And you are Mikaela Forsythe, of course—your travels, books, and your private inquiry work. It is well known and fascinating.”

“Lady Mikaela Forsythe,” Lily announced and made no effort to disguise the tone in her voice.

“And this would be?”

“Miss Lily Montgomery Forsythe.” Aunt Antonia made the formal introduction.

There was faint surprise and a smile, and I was immediately fascinated by the resemblance Lily had described. It was there in the woman’s features—a similarity in the curve of her face, her nose, the manner in which she looked back at me now, and the color of her hair very near my own.

Was it possible that she was the daughter of my father’s affair with another woman?

“Mikaela! The most exciting news ...!”

I heard the almost breathless excitement in Linnie’s voice, then the small sound that followed as she joined us.

“Oh ...”

For myself, there was surprise, shock, and disbelief that the woman had made an appearance here, on an occasion that should have been about Linnie’s success.

Aunt Antonia, with vast experience and expertise in navigating social challenges, was the lady of the hour as she rescued the situation.

“What is your news?”

Linnie stared at the woman, then recovered somewhat.

“I’ve been asked to exhibit in May by Monsieur de Laudier from the gallery in Paris. I didn’t know that he would be here this evening.”

The Paris Gallery. I remembered it from our school days and endless visits that I endured. Linnie had dreamed of one day having an exhibit there. It was quite prestigious, with many artists’ works then included in the Louvre.

“I seem to have interrupted the conversation ...” Linnie started to apologize.

“Not at all,” I assured her and reached out a hand to squeeze hers. “It is wonderful news, and the reason we are here tonight.”

I was not usually the one to smooth over awkward situations. Aunt Antonia often said that the elite French finishing school I had attended had very likely been wasted on me. I was usually more direct and outspoken.

However, this was not about me, nor was it about the woman who stood across from me.

This was Linnie’s time, one that she had worked hard for, then had her earlier efforts dashed by someone who thought more of himself than her. That was in the past, this was now. She should be able to enjoy the moment, and there was her condition to consider as James took her arm in silent support.

Brodie had quietly joined us, standing just behind my great aunt, his expression void of any emotion—his inspector face , I called it.

It was not his way to interfere in ‘family matters,’ as he called them. His own manner of dealing with things could be quite direct, in the way of the police inspector he had once been.

Except for that gaze that now met mine, in support I had learned to read and understand.

“Miss Grantham.” Sir Laughton entered the somewhat uncomfortable situation. “There will be time enough later for conversations. This is neither the appropriate time, nor the place.”

She stiffened.

“I do apologize,” she replied. “I should have perhaps waited ...”

“Yes,” Aunt Antonia replied in a voice that could turn water to ice.

Victoria Grantham nodded. “You will forgive me. It is only that to now have family that I never knew. It is most remarkable ...” She turned to me.

“And your successes as well as your inquiry business—most fascinating, I am envious. I can only hope that we may talk about all of this very soon.”

I nodded. She turned and bid everyone good evening.

“Good heavens!” Linnie exclaimed. “Did you know that she would be here?” She directed the question to our great aunt.

“Not at all,” Aunt Antonia replied, then turned to Sir Laughton.

“You might be able to assist in this situation.”

“Of course. I will see the matter taken care of. However, you do realize that there will need to be a meeting, considering the claim that she has made.”

“All in due time,” Aunt Antonia replied.

No translation was needed. This particular encounter was over.

And Lily, never at a loss, “That one is too bold,” she commented, staring in the direction Victoria Grantham had made her departure. “I’ve seen ones like her before. They’re always out to better themselves.”

Outspoken most certainly. As a diversion, I suggested that Linnie explain her technique for creating her particular style of painting. That was met with a slight roll of the eyes—Lily’s.

The exhibition closed at ten o’clock in the evening; however it would continue for a month. And then there was that invitation for my sister to exhibit her paintings in Paris.

In spite of the evening’s encounter, Linnie ‘soldiered on,’ as the old saying goes, though she did pull me aside as the guests departed and we prepared to leave.

“What if her claim is genuine?” she asked.

“We shall cross that bridge when we come to it,” I replied. “You are not to worry. You have yourself to think of and that forthcoming exhibit.”

She gave me a knowing look.

“You’re going to make inquiries about her,” she concluded.

“Of course,” Aunt Antonia commented as she and Lily prepared to leave for Sussex Square.

She smiled and nodded to Brodie where he stood beside me.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Her ladyship can be very masterful with only a few words,” Brodie drily commented as he attempted to loosen his tie after our return to the townhouse.

There was, of course, a curse or two in the process. I crossed the dressing room and pushed his hands aside before the knot could be hopelessly tightened and require scissors to remove.

“You thought she would simply accept this woman’s claim?” I replied as I worked the silk fabric loose. I looked up and found him watching me. “You should know better. She will want answers.”

“Aye. I have had some experience with that.”

I finally freed the knot from his tie.

He wrapped a hand around mine, then brushed stray hair back from my cheek with the other.

“Where will you begin?” he asked.

“My father undoubtedly had a circle of friends at his club, perhaps gambling partners. I will make inquiries there. After all, he lost a great deal of money there in the past.”

“The past can be ... difficult.”

I must admit I was not looking forward to it. This was very much like opening a door that was closed a long time ago.

“Gentlemen’s Clubs are not the sort of place where a lady should go.”

“Aunt Antonia will undoubtedly remember who some of his acquaintances were at the time. I’ll start there.”

“Aye. And there is someone who might be able to tell us something about those documents.”

Someone? Undoubtedly someone from his ‘other’ life. I had discovered there were a considerable number of them.

“Does this person have a name?”

“He goes by the name The Forger. Mr. Cavendish might be able to assist in finding him. He keeps on the down-low due to the nature of his business.”

The Forger . Most interesting. It was one of his acquaintances I had not met before.

“He’s been known to assist those needing letters of transit and other documents.”

“And you just happen to know him.”

There was that smile.

“It is possible that I might have needed his services in the past.”

I learned something new about Brodie from time to time. It did keep life most interesting.

I telephoned my great aunt after Brodie left for the office on the Strand to learn what Mr. Cavendish might know about where The Forger could be found. He did have his ear to the street, as they say, and usually knew where someone might be located in the East End.

“Clubs?” Aunt Antonia echoed my question. “That would be Brooks, dear.”

It was well known in the family that she had breached that ‘sacred male bastion.’

“The membership now is members of Parliament, and others of some means. Quite boring.”

“There was Boodles and White’s, of course. It was Constance Abberfeldy’s scheme when we were a bit younger—a club a night, to see what was inside those sinful places. You remember Constance? She has passed on, but oh the adventures we shared. Her husband didn’t approve of our “ladies’ nights out and about.” And no wonder. Ha! So, she rid herself of him. As for your father ...

“It was no secret that he spent a great amount of time at Brooks. On more than one occasion he was delivered home to the residence he shared with your mother at the time, by a driver from Brooks.” She paused on the other end of the telephone call.

“Henry Portman was a name your mother mentioned. That would be 2 nd Viscount Portman, and then Sir George Trevelyan. They were both members of Brooks at the same time. Your mother mentioned there was some financial arrangement between your father and Trevelyan, a loan perhaps.

“I am acquainted with Trevelyan’s wife, Lady Genevieve, and Sir Laughton may be able to assist with Portman. At last, I am able to assist in one of your inquiry cases. This is so very exciting.”

That did give me pause. I had always attempted to keep family out of our inquiry cases, unless absolutely necessary. Granted, I had not always been successful in that, particularly when it came to Lily. And admittedly I had relied on information from my great aunt on more than one occasion.

It was not the first time she had spoken of it. And of course, there was the matter of Lily, who seemed quite determined to learn more about becoming an inquiry agent.

For now, I had the names of two men who were acquainted with my father at the time he supposedly had an affair with Anne Grantham.

What might they be able to tell me? Still, a better question might be, what would they be willing to tell me?

Men’s clubs about London had the reputation of being most secretive about their membership and activities. I knew this from a previous case.

As for questions from a woman about such things?

I was prepared to use my great aunt’s social position as well as my own, although, as Brodie had warned, I might learn things I would rather not know. And then there was the pain and anger that had never gone away. This was not going to be easy, for so many reasons.

After my conversation with my great aunt, I then decided to call on my brother-in-law. Linnie had been greatly upset by the previous evening’s encounter and knew that I was going to be making inquiries. Before parting the night before, she insisted that I inform her what I might learn.

I had reluctantly agreed.

I had Mrs. Ryan call for a cab, then dressed for my meeting with James Warren.

I arrived at his office just as he had finished a meeting with his staff.

“Do come in. So good to see you again. After last evening I wasn’t certain whether this would be professional or personal.”

“Personal,” I replied. “I will be making inquiries regarding the woman’s claim.”

He sat behind his desk as I had seen him do dozens of times as my publisher, always relaxed, curious, and supportive. However, this was different.

“Yes, Linnie told me.”

“My first concern is for her,” I explained. “Even though she has insisted that she wants to know everything I’m able to learn.”

“I understand, and I appreciate that,” he replied. “This child is very special for her, for both of us.”

“Therefore,” I continued, “I would hope that you might assist in this.”

There was a moment of surprise. “Of course, in whatever way I can.”

“As Brodie and I are able to learn something that might be important, I would very much prefer to share it with you first, whatever that might be. It might perhaps be more easily heard from you. Not in great detail, of course, yet ...”

“A carefully edited version?” he suggested, with one elbow braced on the arm of his chair, chin resting on one hand.

That was precisely the word for it.

“We have only been married a few months,” he replied. “However, I have learned a great deal about your sister in that time. She is very perceptive and can be somewhat stubborn about things. I believe the two of you share that.” He was thoughtful.

“I will agree to this, but you must be aware that she will have questions, and I will not keep anything from her. I will not have her hurt or distressed over the matter, and risk her health or that of our child. If there is something that would be better for her to know afterward, then I would ask that you keep it for yourself and Mr. Brodie.”

“I am counting on her being preoccupied with the forthcoming exhibit in Paris, as well,” I pointed out.

He nodded. “I’m not certain just how that will work. The baby is due the first part of April.”

I smiled. “You did mention that she is stubborn. I am confident that she will manage both quite well.”

There are things I suppose everyone would rather leave in the past, most certainly myself.

Yet, here I was setting off on my own inquiries, about to open the door on my childhood and all the pain and other emotions that went with it.

That day, very near twenty years earlier, I had yelled and cursed at my father. Although admittedly, my vocabulary in that regard was somewhat limited at the time.

I remember the anger, the feeling of helplessness, questions that could never be answered. There certainly had been no answer from my father’s lifeless body after he took his life. And so, I had locked everything from that day away.

Now I was opening that door on the past in an attempt to find out who Victoria Grantham was.

Brodie understood, more than I suppose anyone could. He had his own painful memories.

I returned to the townhouse after meeting with James Warren.

Mrs. Ryan met me at the door.

“You have two messages brought round earlier. They’re on your desk.”

I recognized one of the envelopes. It was from Sir Laughton. However, I did not recognize the second one. I opened the one from Sir Laughton.

He had made contact with Viscount Portman, and let him know that it was an important matter with a request to meet with me. The meeting was arranged for that afternoon at the office the Viscount maintained at Parliament.

Sir Laughton would continue to attempt to reach the other two men my great aunt had mentioned who had acquaintance with my father all those years before, as well as membership at Brooks Club.

The meeting with Viscount Portman was for four o’clock, after members would be adjourning for the day.

I was familiar with the sprawling buildings at the river that were part of Parliament, and had just enough time to eat the luncheon Mrs. Ryan set out and then change my clothes for my meeting with him.

I hastily opened the second envelope. It was from Victoria Grantham. Her greeting momentarily stopped me:

Dear Mikaela,

I realize our meeting at the gallery was somewhat difficult last evening. I apologize.

I want only to know my family after so many secrets and so much sadness. It is something that I know you must understand as well.

It is my hope that we might meet in private. Please send your response to my representative. I look forward to seeing you.

Victoria Grantham Forsythe

I had to agree with Lily. That was too bold, already asserting herself by using the Forsythe name.

Was she in fact my sister? With the little I remembered of my father, the possibility of an affair was not impossible. And a child born from that affair?

I returned the note to the envelope and called to Mrs. Ryan that I would need a driver for an appointment. I then tucked both envelopes into my bag, and went upstairs to change for my meeting with Viscount Portman.

The houses of Parliament, the House of Commons and the House of Lords, were located in the Palace of Westminster. The oldest part of the palace was Westminster Hall, built during the reign of King William, an ancestor according to my great aunt.

Over the centuries as the demands of government expanded, alterations were made that included a library, new law courts, meeting halls, and the private residence for the Speaker of the House of Commons.

It was built of sand-colored limestone and dominated the left bank of the Thames, with a number of small gardens and the green that extended down to the riverbank.

It was a maze of meeting rooms that included the robing room, long halls, the Queen’s Hall, and was said to contain over two hundred private offices for the members.

I had not been back to visit since a previous inquiry case with Brodie. As my driver angled the cab around to the main entrance, I noticed there were still faint powder marks—gun powder, that is, from that previous case—on one wall that led down to the river.

Word had been sent down to the clerk’s office inside the main entrance regarding my appointment. I signed in and was then given directions to Viscount Portman’s office.

There were lifts throughout to accommodate the number of people who worked here. They were connected by a maze of stairways. It had made navigating the building in that previous case most interesting.

If I had not been there previously, I might have become lost. As it was, I arrived at the clerk’s desk outside the office of the Viscount in time for our meeting. Once again, I signed in with the clerk, a measure put in place after threats were made in the past against certain members of Parliament.

The clerk announced my arrival, and I was immediately shown into the Viscount’s office.

Viscount Portman was a stout man of medium height with graying brown hair, side-whiskers, and a pale blue gaze beneath the overhang of thick brows. I thanked him for meeting with me with no previous appointment and on such short notice.

He rose from behind his desk and circled round, then offered me a chair before the desk.

“I must say that I was most curious when I received Sir Laughton’s request that I meet with you.”

During the ride from Mayfair, I had been rehearsing what I might say when I met with the Viscount. I was fully aware that he might be reluctant or simply refuse to discuss things that were over twenty years old.

“There is a matter that affects my family, including my great aunt, Lady Antonia Montgomery.” Never let it be said that I was opposed to using family influence when necessary. “It is my hope that you might be able to provide information that could be helpful regarding your friendship with my father, Sir John Forsythe.”

That one word, father , caught slightly. I pushed past it.

I watched him as I explained the reason for my request to meet, and saw the slow breath he took as he studied me.

“Lady Forsythe,” he repeated. “After the previous situation here at Westminster Hall that you assisted in thwarting, I considered that it must be most important even though it is somewhat ... surprising for a lady to undertake such things. I do hope we are not facing another situation such as that, although it does seem that the world has become more dangerous.”

It was not the first time I had heard that sort of comment regarding expectations for women. I ignored it.

“Not at all,” I assured him. “This is more of a personal nature that I hope you can assist with.”

His expression was mildly perplexed. “In any way that I may. But first, you must tell me about Lady Montgomery. I hope that she is well.”

“Very well, and it is with her insistence that I requested the meeting. She does hold you in high regard.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Although I do not know how I may assist in the dear lady’s affairs.”

“There is a somewhat delicate matter that has been brought to the attention of the family, and it is hoped that you might be able to provide some information, regarding Sir John Forsythe.”

Once again, I caught that faint change of expression that was quickly masked.

“A sad situation, a very long time ago. My sympathy to you and Lady Montgomery.”

I was not after sympathy.

“I am aware that you both belonged to the Brooks Club.”

His expression changed to mild curiosity.

“Yes, as I remember it, we had joined about the same time. You seem to be well informed.”

I didn’t bother to explain that my great aunt had attended the club with Constance Abberfeldy, both dressed as men.

“Undoubtedly there are things that gentlemen would share over a game of cards, or brandy.”

That curiosity sharpened to some other reaction.

“As ladies undoubtedly do when they get together and gossip about things. What precisely is the ‘matter’ you speak of?” he asked.

There was no polite way to say it, other than to say it.

“A young woman by the name of Victoria Grantham has come forward and made the claim that John Forsythe was her father.”

“Grantham, the name is familiar,” he repeated. “He was once a member of Parliament.”

I nodded and continued on.

“Naturally, it is important for our family to determine the truth of the situation, as I am certain you can well understand. In view of your acquaintance with Sir John Forsythe as well as shared experiences at Brooks, it is possible that something may have been known of the situation . Something that should be spoken of ... between men.”

He stiffened noticeably.

“And you are here to learn what might have been spoken of over a game of cards,” he replied in a measured tone, as he drummed his fingers on the desktop.

Several moments passed. I made an attempt to ease the difficult conversation with an apology or some other comment, as he continued to drum away.

“I understand the need to protect one’s reputation ...” he began. “Yet, I would remind you that it has been more than twenty years since your father’s tragic death.”

He stood then. “You have my sympathies, Lady Forsythe and Lady Montgomery as well; however, I cannot assist in this. Surely you understand, after all this time ... You must give my regards to Lady Montgomery.”

Sympathies? Cannot assist? An answer, and yet no answer at all.

It was obvious that I had come up against that typical attitude of men, of protecting their own.

He was clearly choosing not to discuss what he knew, and our meeting was at an end.

“Insufferable! Arrogant! Bloody ass!”

Brodie looked at me with some surprise as I paced back and forth across the office.

“What did ye expect?” he asked. “That he would tell ye if yer father spoke openly of an affair?”

“I hoped that, in consideration of the situation, he might have been willing to share something that might have passed in conversation between them, particularly in view of Aunt Antonia’s considerable influence.”

“Did ye now?”

I looked over at where he sat behind the desk, insufferably handsome in a black jumper with turtleneck over rough work pants, that made him look very much like someone who might make off with the Crown Jewels. Most stirring. And I was not in the mood to be stirred! At least not in that way.

I had already told him of my visit with the Viscount, along with the letter from Victoria Grantham.

“Insufferable louts!” I repeated. “Men discussing their conquests over drink and card games,” I added. “And who knows what else in private rooms. But it must be kept secret.”

Brodie continued to watch me with that aggravating, slightly amused expression.

“The least he could have done was to confirm or deny there had been an affair,” I pointed, quite logically. “Men do discuss those things. Their conquests?”

“And the ladies do not?” Brodie replied.

When I would have denied any such thing, I had to stop myself. I had never indulged in that sort of thing, but I thought of Aunt Antonia. Very definitely a woman ahead of her time in that regard, sneaking into men’s clubs and that sort of thing.

I threw myself into the chair opposite the desk and glared at him.

“Are ye quite through now?” he asked in that maddening way he had when I was stirred up about something.

“I’m getting there.”

“It’s possible that I had a bit more success with The Forger.”

“You were able to find him?’

“Mr. Cavendish was able to find where he’s now set up shop, so to speak. Ye have him to thank for it.”

He spread one of the documents across the desk. I knew what he was doing, of course. He was distracting me.

“What was he able to tell you?”

“The record of residence at the ‘ private home’ in France would seem to be a copy. The ink is not as old as on the registration of birth.

“That might be authentic, although it’s written in French. That was more difficult to determine, as the official stamp on the paper appears to have suffered some damage. He was able to determine that something had been spilled across it and distorted the stamp so that it was impossible to read the information.

“But there’s more,” he continued. “A name that appears to have been added to the birth registration sometime after—the name of the father.”

There was no need to explain further. I knew the name on the document.

“Was he certain?” I asked.

“Aye, for a few more shillings.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He would have no reason to lie and every reason to hope for continued business in the future.”

The question now was, who had added John Forsythe’s name? Victoria Grantham, after she found the letters? In an attempt to prove her claim? Yet the larger question remained, why after all this time?

She had been living in France, according to what she told us, and had returned when her mother was taken ill and then died, with Sir Grantham’s death several years before.

“Wot will you do about the woman’s request?” Brodie asked.

I wasn’t yet ready to meet with her. I needed to know more.

There was another person I wanted to meet with—Lady Genevieve Trevelyan. According to Aunt Antonia, Sir George Trevelyan had been a close friend of my father and had apparently made a loan to him for some amount.

To cover mounting gambling debts? Or for some other reason? Perhaps Anne Grantham’s extended stay in France?

Was it possible that Lady Trevelyan knew something about it?

What would she be willing to tell me?