Page 18 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)
I presented him with one of our calling cards, tastefully printed with our names—Brodie and Forsythe—and the address of the office on The Strand, along with that note from His Highness. He stared at it.
“Are you going to leave us standing at the street?” I inquired in my best imitation of an affronted lady.
“No, it is only that…Brodie and Forsythe, Private Inquiries?” he read the card, then looked up at me. “That is unusual.”
“I am certain Sir Barton-Fellowes would not care for this conversation to continue on the street,” I added.
“Of course not, Lady Forsythe,” he assured me more than a little surprised at the name I presented him as it was not well-known who the present chairman was at any given time. Another of those closely guarded secrets.
“Then, please let him know that we are here.”
“Of course.” He stood aside and we entered the foyer of White’s.
“I will announce your arrival to the chairman.”
I thanked him and he set off across what could have passed for an elegant front entrance of a palace.
“That is the first time I’ve heard you use your title,” Lily whispered as we waited.
“Desperate moments require desperate measures,” I replied.
Yet, it remained to be seen if my performance would achieve the meeting I hoped for.
“And you know the chairman’s name?”
“There is usually more than one according to Aunt Antonia. She is somewhat an authority.” I did not go into details.
“She is well acquainted with Sir Anthony, and I took a chance that he might be about.” I did not go into details about her acquaintance with him either.
The attendant returned, somewhat contrite.
“Sir Barton-Fellowes will see you now. If you will follow me.”
I caught the look Lily gave me and smiled.
“I must say, Lady Forsythe, this is somewhat of a surprise.” Sir Barton-Fellowes rounded his desk in greeting and took my hand. “We don’t normally have lady visitors.”
I thanked him for meeting with us.
“And this young lady would be?” he inquired.
“Miss Lily Montgomery,” I made the formal introduction.
“A very old and distinguished family,” he replied with a curious look at Lily. She nodded with a polite smile.
“Please, do be seated.” He indicated the chairs before the desk. “Tell me what has brought you to White’s.”
“I do realize this is most unusual,” I began, then explained the reason we were there.
“You must understand, Lady Forsythe, that we are in no position to make any comment regarding a member of White’s. Privacy is to be maintained at all times. I would think that any inquiries into the matter would be made directly to the family.”
“Of course, and in due time,” I replied. “However, I would like very much to speak with the footman who was here that night and would have summoned the coach for the young man.”
He sat back at his chair. “That would be highly irregular.”
“I understand, however anything he might remember from that night could be most helpful in bringing this matter to a close. I’m certain you understand the importance of that for Lord Salisbery and his family.”
I then asked, “Is the footman who was here that night available?”
“That would be Mr. Masterson, a long-time employee of White’s.”
I caught the hesitation and sensed the refusal that would come next. I reached across the desk and laid the note from the Prince of Wales on the desktop in front of him.
“He has asked us to make every effort in the matter to resolve this dreadful situation,” I informed him.
Even though he was a gentleman for whom discretion and composure were paramount, I caught his reaction in the sudden tightening of his jaw as he read the note that Brodie had been given.
“I understand,” he replied. “I will summon Mr. Masterson. You may meet with him here in my office. If you will wait, please.” He then offered to have tea or coffee brought in while we waited.
“That will not be necessary,” I politely replied. “We have an appointment afterward. I am certain you understand the urgency and that a particular person should not be kept waiting.” I then pointedly retrieved the note and tucked it into my notebook.
Let him think what he would about whom that appointment was with.
“What appointment?” Lily whispered after he left the office. “With the Prince of Wales?”
I wouldn’t have called it a lie, more of a hint that I had put out there so that we might be able to speak with the man.
“Ye let him believe that we would be meeting with the Prince of Wales,” she continued to whisper with a look that could only be described as amazement. Then she smiled. “Quite clever.”
The chairman returned expeditiously with an older gentleman whom he introduced as Mr. Masterson.
“Well done,” Lily whispered.
brODIE
The physician’s office was on Harley Street, in a row of discreet red brick offices near the private hospital in Marylebone. This was information Mr. Dooley had provided from the official police investigation into the death of young Charles Holt-Densmore, the son of Lord Salisbery.
He was told Robert Chapman, physician, should be returning any time from an early morning visit to the hospital. The woman who appeared in the outer office, Mrs. Chapman, was polite and informed him that if it was a medical issue, he could find the doctor at the hospital
“Not at all,” he thanked her. “It is a private matter.”
And he waited and made a handful of observations about the good doctor from the certificates and commendations framed on the wall behind a desk.
Chapman had graduated from King’s College according to a framed certificate, as well as a surgeon with honors from the University of Edinburgh Medical School. There were several other framed certificates, as well as one that noted his military service.
He was obviously well connected as there was also a photograph that included two other men, one notably Lord Salisbery, obviously at the hunt with a stag at their feet as they posed with rifles in hand.
Well educated, a man who had served with the military, obviously highly thought of, and the person Lord Salisbery had contacted when his son was brutally murdered. Would the man be willing to discuss the situation with him?
The answer to that came as the door opened. He turned and met the steady gaze of the man in that photograph.
Mrs. Chapman appeared and informed the doctor that he had been waiting to meet with him.
Brodie immediately caught the speculation in the man’s expression as they had not previously met.
He provided his name and one of the calling cards he now carried.
“Professional Inquiry Service?” Dr. Chapman read the information on the card.
“In a private matter, sir,” Brodie replied. “If ye please.”
Dr. Chapman removed his great coat and neck scarf and indicated for him to take a chair across the desk. With a curious glance, his wife reminded him of a consultation he was to attend, then departed.
“In what way may I be of service, Mr. Brodie?”
“In the matter of the death of the son of Lord Salisbery.”
He caught the guarded look that immediately appeared.
“A most tragic situation,” Chapman replied. “You are here on behalf of the family?”
“On behalf of His Royal Highness,” Brodie replied.
He would have preferred not to bring the Prince of Wales’s name into it. Yet, he knew well enough that he might not have learned anything otherwise.
“He has asked us to make certain inquiries into the matter.”
Dr. Chapman took a deep breath, his expression thoughtful with fingers steepled before him.
“You obviously would not make such a claim if it were not so, and risk arrest by the police,” he commented.
“I was previously an inspector with the Metropolitan, sir. As I stated, I am making inquiries at his request, and ye are correct that I would not risk being arrested.”
The man was careful, obviously protective of his patients, yet despite the fact that it might complicate this inquiry, Brodie liked the man. He was straightforward in his manner, and hopefully Brodie would be able to learn something in the matter of young Lord Salisbery’s murder.
He felt that scrutiny, then the way the doctor’s expression eased.
“How may I help you, Mr. Brodie?”
He spoke of the information in the police report and from the coachman that night, then asked his questions about the physician’s part in the examination of the body afterward.
“Horrible situation,” he described what he observed after he was called to the hospital by Lord Salisbery.
“There was extensive damage to the upper body, including internal organs.” Dr. Chapman shook his head. “And the loss of a great deal of blood.
“So tragic,” he added. “I knew the young man through my acquaintance with Lord Salisbery. I only wish that I could have helped him. And now I have heard of the death of a second young man?”
He was obviously well informed in spite of efforts to keep the murders out of the dailies.
He was thoughtful. “You mentioned that you were previously with the MET. Has there been any development in the search for the those responsible for these dreadful situations?”
“That is the purpose of my visit, sir. With the hope that ye might be able to provide assistance.”
“Of course, if there is any way that I can.”
“Were there any unusual marks on the young man’s body other than the wounds you have described?”
“Marks?” Dr. Chapman remarked. “There were several as I have already said. Any one of them might have caused death. The other wounds unnecessary, almost as if…”
“As if wot?” Brodie inquired.
“As a surgeon and in my time with the Queen’s service, I have seen many wounds, but none made with such viciousness, with something very near fury, almost as if the attack was personal.” He looked across his desk at Brodie.
“You must understand that is merely an impression.”
Most interesting.
He took the sketch Mikaela had made at the mortuary at St. James’s from his inside coat pocket.
“Is this familiar?” he handed the sketch across to Dr. Chapman.
The doctor studied it, then slowly laid it on the desktop. He seemed to be attempting to decide what to say next.
“You must understand, Mr. Brodie, that it was an impression that drew my attention. As I’ve said, the wounds were horrific, deep, any one could have caused death.” His gaze dropped to that sketch.
“There was a mark, quite superficial in comparison, that caught my attention. It looked very much like your sketch. Almost like…”
“Like what, sir?”
“I am not a religious man, Mr. Brodie. Yet when I first saw the mark, it looked very much like a cross that had been made on the young man’s chest. Mind you, it was crudely made. But there were no other marks nearby. The other wounds were low in the abdomen.
“I have seen a great many things, Mr. Brodie, in my service with the Queen’s army in foreign places, and in my profession. But in that one moment, the thought occurred to me that it was very much as if the murderer had left a deliberate mark.”
But what did it mean?
“Considering who you are making inquiries for, I suppose there is no harm in telling you that I’ve had another visitor regarding the matter,” Dr. Chapman added.
“A gentleman by the name of Sir Avery Stanton.”
Brodie was not surprised. Stanton was intelligent and persistent, not to mention that he was director of special services to the Queen, charged with investigating certain matters that might pose a threat to the Crown.
“I have worked with Sir Avery in the past,” he replied, then retrieved the sketch and tucked it into his coat pocket.
It was true as far as it went, and he left it at that. There was no point in discussing the present situation other than the reason he’d been asked to make inquiries, which he had already provided.
“I thank ye for yer time, sir.”
Nor was he surprised when he arrived back at the office on The Strand and Mr. Cavendish informed him that a gentleman by the name of Stanton had called at the office earlier.
“He left this envelope; said that he would return.”