Page 17 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Eleven

Clever girl. I had thought the same about that note. It was a chilling prospect and made it all the more important that we find who was responsible.

But who? What was the motive?

I stood back from the chalkboard as I tried to make some sense of what we had learned.

We had returned to Mayfair the previous evening after our visit to the mortuary at St. James’s. Lily had stayed over, and we had compared notes that we had each taken.

We had then taken supper, and she had retired for the evening, while Brodie and I discussed what we had learned that day.

We were still discussing it this morning at the office on The Strand after seeing Lily back to Sussex Square. She had handed me her notes before leaving.

“In case you missed anything Mr. Brimley found with his examination,” she suggested.

Cheeky girl.

I hadn’t missed anything when I compared our notes the night before. But neither had Lily. She was very observant and quite thorough.

“Ye canna prevent her doing as she pleases,” Brodie commented as we shared a second cup of coffee.

“It’s only that I had hoped…”

His hand brushed mine. “That ye could protect her by providin’ an education, and a fine place to live?”

It was that, but it was more.

“The options for young women are so antiquated and restrictive.” I knew that as well as anyone. “They are expected to marry well, have several children, then quietly sit at home while their husbands are off carrying on with all sorts of ridiculous pursuits, or affairs.”

“Yer sister seems to have married a good man,” he pointed out.

“James Warren is an exception to be certain,” I conceded. He was not titled but highly educated, hardworking, and not at all the sort to go off to his club, gambling away his home and family fortune, or causing scandals with his mistress.

I felt that dark gaze as he took another sip of coffee.

“And there is yerself,” he commented. “When ye swore ye would never marry.”

He knew the reasons. I had spoken of them. And here we were. A man from the streets with more honor than anyone I had ever known, someone I could trust.

“You were very highly recommended,” I pointed out. I did have my great aunt to thank for that.

“I believe there was something about yer toes?” he replied.

I looked at him with some surprise. I had never spoken of that, something my great aunt had shared with me.

“Her ladyship might have mentioned it,” he commented as he reached out and took my hand.

“And as for yourself, Mr. Brodie?”

He pulled me down onto his lap.

“It might have been yer red hair, natural the way it is, no chemicals or artificial color.” He proceeded to pull the pins from it.

“It might have been the way ye looked at me when ye were injured during that first inquiry, blood all over ye, and ye stood there like some avenging spirit. Or it could be the way ye refuse to give up on someone when it would be far easier to walk away.”

“I believe you call it stubborn,” I replied.

“Aye, there is that, and God knows ye have a wicked temper when ye get yer red up.”

“Not the usual qualities one looks for in a wife,” I admitted but refused to make any apologies.

His hand wrapped around mine.

“Or it could be that I wanted ye, more than I’ve ever wanted a thing in my life. In spite of that temper of yers and the habit ye have of getting yerself into things that ye shouldna that may be the death of me yet.” He kissed my fingers.

“You seem to have survived quite well until now,” I replied as I brushed my fingers across the beard on his cheek.

“Aye, until now,” he replied with that half smile.

“What is to be done about Lily?” I asked. I did value his opinion on things, although we didn’t always agree.

“It would seem that ye have two choices. Ye can ignore what is in front of yer eyes and attempt to keep her at Sussex Square with music lessons and whatever else it is that young ladies are taught. Knowin’ full well that she will take herself off, possibly to some Greek Isle on an adventure.”

That was not lost on me, as I had done that very thing, a few years older than Lily, but nevertheless…

“Or?” I inquired, most definitely uneasy about that possibility. Being a guardian most certainly had its drawbacks.

“Or,” he continued, “ye might consider allowing her to pursue one of our cases. She does have a mind for details, good instincts from her own experiences, and spirit.”

I knew that he was right. I could not simply leave Lily at Sussex Square where I knew she was safe and well-cared for, much like a favored pet. She most certainly had a mind of her own and would not hesitate to take herself off on some folly that could cause her harm.

“I will speak with her after our present inquiry, about perhaps assisting us from time to time on some of our simpler cases.”

“She has already assisted us,” he set me to my feet and went to the wall beside the chalkboard where I had tacked up both our drawings of that mark on young Huntingdon’s body.

“It couldna hurt to have her part of it now. If ye were to wait, she might decide to conduct her own investigation and get into some mischief.”

The wisdom of the Inspector of Police that he had once been?

“You are right, of course,” I replied with resignation.

The question was: what might that be.

I frowned. “I’ve been thinking that we do need to speak with the staff at the club where the son of Lord Salisbery was murdered. Someone there might have seen something as he was leaving.”

“Go to White’s? With Lily?”

“We would undoubtedly be refused entrance to the club, considering that it is for gentlemen ‘only,’” I replied. “It could be an important lesson for her regarding some of the aspects of our cases.”

I could see the objection in the way that dark gaze narrowed.

“A perfect suggestion for her to participate,” I decided. “In the meantime, you can make inquiries with the Salisbery’s personal physician who attended the young man before he was taken to the mortuary at St. James’s.” We had discussed that on our return from that place.

“There might be something the physician noticed about the body that could be helpful,” I went to the wall beside the chalkboard and studied the two drawings.

There was most definitely something peculiar about the marks. They were identical—Lily was the first to notice it. I couldn’t help but think that I had seen something very similar.

We stayed the night at the flat next to the office.

We rose early and I made a telephone call to Sussex Square to invite Lily to join me to call on White’s private club.

Even though I had little confidence that we would learn anything and might even be turned away.

Such was the hallowed domain of gentlemen-only clubs around London.

She was to meet me at the townhouse, and we would continue from there.

Brodie had obtained the name of the physician who had attended to the son of Lord Salisbery when his body was discovered after the brutal murder that had occurred after he left White’s.

Before I departed, Brodie handed me the note we had received from the Prince of Wales, requesting that we make inquiries into the matter with all due haste. It might assist in obtaining entrance into those hallowed walls.

We agreed to meet back at the office after our inquiries.

“Dinna let Lily go off by herself in the place,” he cautioned.

“Though I doubt there is anything she might see that would be surprisin’, considerin’ where she lived in Edinburgh.

Still, with wot ye’ve taught her, along with her skill with a sword and other weapons, I wouldna want anyone to be run through for an inappropriate gesture. ”

Lily arrived promptly at the townhouse. I was somewhat surprised to see that she was accompanied by Munro. It appeared that she was not pleased.

“As if I am a child that needs an escort to make certain that I arrive safely,” she had commented after being safely delivered. “I did not dare tell him where we were going. He would have accompanied us!” she added.

Instead, she “might have mentioned” that we were to go shopping at Harrod’s and then have luncheon. He did look at me with some suspicion.

“He is verra much like an old woman.” She shook her head after he left, that Scots accent from the streets of Edinburgh slipping through as it did when she was upset over something, or someone.

White’s Club was at St. James’s, on the near end of the street from where we were at the mortuary the day before.

It was imposing from the outside, set back from the street, five-stories of white cut stone with a slate roof, and occupied the double address of 37-38 St. James’s Street.

It was an exclusive club for gentlemen of society and rumored to have membership that included several members of Parliament and the Prince of Wales. However, that was not precisely known as that information was not for public knowledge.

I had previously been inside a men’s club in another inquiry case and knew what to expect as we stepped down from the coach and approached the main entrance.

Other than the street number 37-38, there was nothing to reveal that it was in fact a very exclusive club with rumors and gossip speculating over the activities that went on inside.

Those included the usual card games, gambling, betting between members and guests, and of course, certain activities that went on discreetly in those rooms upstairs.

The fact that a woman might call on them could be for only one reason, and the doorman was quite surprised when I informed him that I wished to speak with the director of the club.

“Do you have an appointment?” he inquired after regaining his composure. “Miss…?” he added as an afterthought.

“Lady Forsythe, on behalf of our client.”

There was the faint lift of the eyebrows, usually a result when I used my formal title.

“And your client would be?”