Page 15 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Nine

THE STRAND

Lily and I spent several hours at the Times newspaper archives. I was familiar with the archives from previous visits in other cases. Most past issues of the dailies had been archived on film with a cataloguing system by date and could be viewed on microfilm reading screens, much like a camera.

However, for far older issues, if they even still existed, it could be a long and tedious process with many dates no longer available due to loss or faded issues that were impossible to photograph.

Lily had accompanied me previously, yet that had been when she was somewhat younger, after first arriving in London, and had become easily bored with the search for information. This time was different.

She had a sharp mind, excellent memory and deductive quality, and certainly wasn’t intimidated by some of the things she had encountered. No doubt owing to her somewhat precarious early years in an Edinburgh brothel.

Experience, as I knew only too well, was an excellent teacher and oftentimes a relentless task master.

I might have wished for her to be innocent of the things she had experienced.

Yet, as my great aunt had once pointed out about myself after one of my adventuresome episodes, those experiences had made me who I was.

I remembered what she said at the time of my adventure to a Greek Island, instead of a reprimand.

“I would not change a thing about you, dear girl, even if I could. You are intelligent. What you have experienced in the past has made you stronger because of it. I simply ask that after one of your adventures, you find your way back safely.”

And I had, after several adventures, including the inquiry cases I now undertook with Brodie.

He accepted me as I was—strong-willed to be certain, somewhat rash at times, a troublesome baggage as he often called me. Yet he was someone who understood me as no one ever had. I could do no less for Lily.

I understood her, the quiet strength that hid a temper that could be quite intimidating, the wounds deep inside that we both carried for different reasons that were really not so very different. Along with a certain amount of stubbornness.

And so, we returned briefly to the office on The Strand and made the few notes we had discovered while I’d been at a reading machine while she retrieved the next roll of film only to determine that there was almost nothing to be learned.

“What does it mean?” she inquired as we arrived at the office.

Then, as if to answer her own question, “There were other articles about members of the royal family, but all of it was about vacations at the Isle of Wight, train trips north to Scotland, someone who was decorated for something, but nothing written about any incidents while the Prince of Wales was at university.”

We were able to find the film archive from the year 1861, but there were several editions of the daily that were missing. Perhaps damaged editions that could not be salvaged. Or…

“Perhaps removed,” I replied.

“Removed?”

“To prevent anyone reading it.”

“For what reason?”

“Possibly to prevent scandal,” I added, something I had been thinking on the way back to the office.

“Do ye believe the families of the young men might have had the articles removed?” Lily asked, that clever mind of hers working through the possibilities. “Perhaps the Queen?”

“I believe that certain people will go to great lengths to protect themselves or others.”

Lily had gone to the chalkboard upon our return and made a brief note, “missing information,” along with a reference to the Prince of Wales’s name.

“How will ye and Mr. Brodie learn if there is something connected to that missing information?”

I smiled to myself. She was already thinking about the next step.

“It may be necessary to meet with the Prince of Wales and ask the question.”

After our adventure at the Times archive and our return to The Strand, I accompanied her back to Sussex Square.

“Ye will tell me what ye learn,” she insisted as we parted in the foyer of the hall. “I want to help.”

I had the distinct impression that if we didn’t keep her informed, she might very well take herself off to make her own inquiries about the case.

“Of course, and if there is something you can assist with, I will let you know.”

“Yer word on it?”

“Yes,” I replied as I became aware that we were not alone in the foyer.

In that way that Munro came and went, often without a sound—no doubt from his days living on the streets with Brodie—he nodded a greeting, then informed Lily, “Her ladyship inquired if ye had returned.”

I caught the brief change in her expression from our conversation to some other reaction at the reminder.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Munro,” she replied somewhat frostily.

That was something different that I had noticed of late. They usually got along quite well. I did wonder if there had been a difficulty between them.

I caught the frown on Munro’s face.

“Stubborn chit,” he muttered after she left.

“Hmmm, yes,” I commented. “However, she is hardly a child any longer.”

That sharp blue gaze met mine. “Next, she’ll be thinking of takin’ herself off on some dangerous adventure.”

There had obviously been some difficulty there.

“We cannot keep her here forever,” I replied what Brodie had said to me. “And she does have that strong Scots temperament.”

I could have sworn I heard a muttered curse as I departed.

Lights glowed along the streets as I returned to The Strand, and from the office windows on the second floor. With a single light that shone below the sign that had been recently added and announced, “Brodie and Forsythe Private Inquiries,” even though it had met with some resistance.

“I dinna need a sign for people to know where we are. They find their way easily enough,” Brodie had commented rather strongly when he first saw the signage, which was quite discreet without the usual garishness of some of the other signage along The Strand.

“It’s not as if that fella over on Baker Street has a need to advertise his services.”

It was a fact that most all of our inquiry cases came through people we knew or on the recommendation of others. Still, I thought it looked quite professional.

He did have a point. I would not be surprised to return to The Strand at some point and find the signage had been removed with the excuse that it was due to weather or the occasional sort who left somewhat colorful chalk messages on the sidewalks or on the front of buildings over some complaint.

“Mr. Brodie arrived a short while ago, and in somewhat of a temper,” Mr. Cavendish informed me. “A warning, miss. It seems that he did not have an agreeable day.”

Interesting.

“I was about to take meself over to the Public House for a bit of supper,” Mr. Cavendish added as he guided the platform that he sat upon to the curb.

“I could bring a carton back,” he suggested.

“No thank you.” I replied. “We’ll be along.”

As I entered the office, I appreciated the warmth of the fire in the coal stove along with the bottle of Old Lodge whisky open on his desk, and the man who stood before the chalkboard where Lily had made our notes earlier.

So far it seemed safe enough, I thought as I smiled to myself and closed door behind me.

Then, without turning, without even the least acknowledgement, he gestured to the board.

“It seems that yer day might have been much the same as my own.”

I approached where he stood before the board, took the glass from him and downed some of my great aunt’s very fine whisky, from Old Lodge in the north of Scotland.

“And your inquiries at Marlborough House?” I inquired.

I went to the desk and refilled the glass, then handed it back to him.

“The Lord Steward arranged for me to speak with the people on the list ye gave me and several others. Only one man thought he recognized the man in the sketch, though he couldna be certain.”

There was more.

“And His Highness’s staff is to be commended. The landing where the man pitched young Huntingdon over the edge has been thoroughly cleaned of any unsightly matter.”

“What of your conversation with the Master of the Stables? Did he see the man Lily went after?”

“It was dark, impossible to see anything more than the figure who ran past and then disappeared. And not a mention about a limp or difficulty as the man ran.”

Once again, I was not surprised.

“Lily could have been mistaken.”

He shook his head. “I trust Lily’s word on it. But I did find something on the floor of the hall where the encounter took place.”

He reached across the desk for the pipe that he smoked on occasion. He lit it, then sent a stream of fragrant smoke into the air towards the chalkboard.

“I found traces of blood on the balustrade. It seems that the young man might have been injured before he was sent over the rail.”

I frowned. “There was no mention of a wound from His Highness’s physician who was there that night. It could have been from some previous situation.”

“It did seem as if the fall itself was the cause of the young man’s death.”

“Aye.”

“What are you thinking?”

“It could be important to see the young man’s body. I made the request to His Highness’s personal secretary. What of yer visit to the newspaper archives?”

I frowned. “There was no mention of the incident at Cambridge, nor that unusual title of the group of young men while students. There was a great deal of gossip about the fact that His Highness left the university just prior to Prince Albert’s illness and death.

“One might almost think that any mention of incidents involving the group might have been removed from the copies filmed for the archive. And no original issues of the newspaper from those dates exists.”

“Ye believe they may have been deliberately removed.”

“It would not be the first time.”

“And not mere gossip?” he added.

“I trust Aunt Antonia’s memory of things. It can be almost frightening at times. Either that or she is clairvoyant.” Which was a possibility.

I reminded him that his request to view young Huntingdon’s body might very well be denied by the family or others.

“Her ladyship might have some influence in the matter,” he pointed out.

I was not eager to involve my great aunt. It would only encourage her interest in our inquiry cases. Yet, he was right.

It was still early in the evening, and I placed a telephone call to Sussex Square.

“Of course, dear,” Aunt Antonia replied when I explained the situation.

“So unfortunate about the young man. Most certainly Sir Knollys can be somewhat difficult. He is the official gatekeeper for the Prince of Wales. I will speak with Sir Knollys over my concerns of rumors that are circulating about the situation, or something of that nature. I’ll come up with something to move him along, as they say, with your request.”

I did have the distinct impression as I ended the call that I might very well have opened Pandora’s box in the matter.

Brodie had heard my part of the conversation. I caught a faint smile.

“We may very well regret it. You know how strong-minded she can be when she wants something.”

“I’ve had some experience with that.”