Page 27 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Seventeen

I had thought of taking Lily back to Sussex Square after the meeting with Lady Walsingham.

However, there was only enough time to purchase a sandwich from a vendor, then continue to the meeting Sir Laughton had arranged with the former vice chancellor of Trinity College Cambridge at the time of that incident at the university.

Sir Lowery lived in Belgravia, an area of white stucco residences and townhouses to the east of Kensington. Afternoon street traffic was considerably less as we passed through Knightsbridge and arrived in a timely manner.

From what Sir Laughton had said, Sir Lowery lived in Belgravia with his wife, lecturing at the different colleges, and consulting as a Professor of Law Emeritus.

The housekeeper showed us into the library after we arrived.

Sir Lowery, with a warm brown gaze and a full beard, rose from his desk to greet us.

We exchanged the usual pleasantries, along with my introduction of Lily.

“I must say, Lady Forsythe, that I am an admirer of Emma Fortescue. Quite a remarkable woman. Reminds me of my dear wife, never a dull moment, keeps me on my toes to be certain. She introduced me to your first book.

“Now,” he said. “What manner might a college professor be of assistance? A question about law in your inquiry cases perhaps?”

His housekeeper appeared, followed by a small, robust woman with silvered hair. Lady Letitia Lowery, with an apron over her gown and smudges across one cheek.

“Forgive my appearance. I am transplanting day lilies, I don’t trust them to anyone else,” she said. “Yet, I wanted very much to meet you when Sir Lowery mentioned you would be calling today.

“That young woman— Emma , such a wonderful character. Brave, and much her own woman, that whole episode on the Greek Island, so exciting, and that mysterious man at the end!”

“My dear, Lady Forsythe is not here to discuss Greek adventures or her writing endeavors.”

She made a gesture with a smudged hand, as if to wave off the criticism. She was not the least intimidated or content to be “put in her place” as some women might have been.

“I do suppose that it is too early in the day for a dram,” Lady Lowery commented with that reference to my protagonist, Emma Fortescue.

“Coffee will be fine, Letitia.”

“Of course,” she beamed and sent their housekeeper off to bring it to the library.

“I must get back to my garden, it has become quite overgrown. I am thinking of adding narcissus and possibly crocus for next spring. The colors will be quite lovely.” She paused at the entrance to the library.

“I do hope there will be new adventures for Emma Fortescue, and perhaps more about that mysterious man.” She smiled and left without waiting for my response so that we might continue our conversation.

“You must forgive her boldness.” Sir Lowery started to apologize.

“Not at all,” I assured him. “She is quite wonderful.”

He smiled. “Narcissus and crocus. We shall see. Now, how may I assist you in this matter that Sir Laughton spoke of?”

I didn’t know how much detail to provide and so decided to begin with that notorious title four young university students had adopted thirty years before while at Trinity College.

“Tell me about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“An intriguing request on a subject not many know of.” Sir Lowery reached across his desk and picked up his pipe.

“Do you mind, Lady Forsythe?” he inquired.

“Not at all.”

Brodie smoked a pipe from time to time, most usually when he was deep in thought over a case, and I enjoyed the fragrance of it.

And very much the same, there was a thoughtful expression on Sir Lowery’s face as he scooped tobacco from a humidor on the desk into the bowl of the pipe, tamped it down, then struck a match and lit it.

He squinted slightly, eyeing me thoughtfully through a swirling cloud of fragrant smoke as he puffed away, then put out the match in the small ash pan on the desk.

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Revelations, in the New Testament as I remember from my early lessons as a boy,” he commented as he continued to study me through that haze of smoke. “Not the usual reading material one expects of an enlightened young woman.”

“Nor perhaps that of four young university students,” I replied.

He continued to puff away as he watched me.

“Sir Laughton did say that you were most inquisitive,” he eventually replied, then seemed to arrive at a decision regarding my visit.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Over thirty years,” I acknowledged. “When certain things might be forgotten. Yet, it seems that someone has not. What can you tell me about an incident that caused the Prince of Wales to suddenly withdraw from the university thirty-two years ago?”

I was prepared for the usual response—young college men caught in the usual pranks one hears. I hoped for more and waited.

Sir Lowery set his pipe in the ash pan then sat back in his chair.

“You are quite direct, Lady Forsythe.”

It was true that I had no patience for innuendoes or polite excuses. Three young men were dead, possibly murdered, sons of three of those four students now grown men in various positions of government and society.

“You seem to have knowledge that, for some, might best be forgotten. The Four Horsemen, brash, headstrong, foolish perhaps.

“I remember it well from my position as vice chancellor under Sir William who was master of Trinity College during that time.” He shook his head.

“There was a tragic episode that involved the young men you speak of and, others. It was kept private at the time and the ‘club’ as they called it, was ended and banned from any further activities, upon punishment of being dismissed from the university.

“Three of the young men continued at Cambridge, while Prince Edward departed for his time in the Queen’s army.”

“What was the tragic episode?” And what might it tell us about what is happening now?

He hesitated, then continued. “Many of our students who did not return home at the week’s end of classes frequented a local tavern in Grantchester, very near Cambridge, from time to time. It was well known at the university. The Rose and Crown, as I remember.”

“They were young men doing what young men did, as my great aunt had explained it.” I commented.

“From time to time, young females from the town would join them.” Sir Lowery paused, his gaze met mine.

“There had been rumors of certain activities at the tavern. It seems that one particular night, with an abundance of ale and other spirits, a young local woman was apparently compromised. By more than one young man.” He shook his head.

“A dreadful situation that was brought to our attention by the father of the young woman, the vicar of the local church.

“Four young men were identified. They were called in one by one and made to address the claim that was made. It was then that it was learned that several other young men had participated in a sort of contest where bets were made.” He shook his head. “Dreadful.”

“More than one young man insisted that the young woman made no protest,” he continued. “And, in fact, had willingly participated. Still, it would have been a dreadful scandal if the details were made known. Punishments were handed out, a handful departed, including Prince Edward.”

The “incident” then covered over as if it never happened.

“Do you remember the name of the young woman?”

“It was not made known by the bishop out of utmost discretion at the time. I do remember hearing that the young woman’s father was vicar at St. Andrew and St. Mary’s Church at the time. I believe that he left shortly thereafter. No doubt to put the scandal behind them.”

“The sins of the fathers will be visited upon the sons.”

Was it possible that the vicar, a man of God, but also a father, had decided to take revenge for what happened all those years before? But why now? He would no longer be a young man.

“Will you tell me now, Lady Forsythe, what has brought you here with questions from so long ago?”

Sir Lowery had been forthcoming in answer to my own questions, with information that had been very effectively eliminated from the newspapers, to protect four young men including the Prince of Wales.

We had no proof of anything, yet. Still, I was most grateful for his willingness to share information that might very well have some part in what was happening now.

“There have been three deaths over the past months, two quite recently. In two of those, a note was found that indicated there would be four deaths. Two of the young men were sons of the members of that private club.”

He frowned. “I read with great sadness of the death of young Salisbery, a robbery it was said in the daily newspaper. And an accident that claimed the son of Sir Huntingdon several evenings past at Marlborough House.”

“From what we have learned, it may very well have been no robbery or accident,” I replied.

I didn’t go into details, nor did I raise the possibility that there might very well be another accident that was no accident at all and had taken the life of the son of Lord Walsingham.

“Dreadful,” he replied.

I thanked Sir Lowery for his time. He stood as we prepared to leave.

“You will let me know more when you can, Lady Forsythe. My wife and I do not have children,” he added. “The young men at the university were very much like the sons we never had. I don’t suppose you understand.”

I assured him that I did and we would let him know. I thanked him then, and Lily and I departed.

“Do ye believe what is happening now is because of what happened all those years before?” Lily asked.

I couldn’t be certain. But the conversation with Professor Lowrey most certainly revealed something the Prince of Wales failed to tell us about that incident.

It was late afternoon when we returned to the office on The Strand.

Dark clouds pressed low over the city as we arrived, bringing with them the threat of more rain. Mr. Cavendish was there to inform us that Brodie had returned very near an hour before.

I was most anxious to hear what he might have learned about that woolen scarf Lily found in the forest at Marlborough House. And to share what we had learned.

“You’ve made it just in time before the storm comes in,” Mr. Cavendish said as we stepped down from the coach and I paid Mr. Jarvis.

“I’ve seen it before. There will be snow before mornin’,” he added. “Comin’ early this season.”

I had to agree. It had grown colder the closer we had traveled to the river.

As I turned toward the lift in the alcove, it was there again—a sudden tightness on the back of my neck, almost like a warning.

I searched the street and the sidewalk at the far side, then both directions of The Strand.

Did I see someone there among those who crowded the sidewalk and attempted to wave down a cab before the weather set in?

I saw nothing unusual or that I might have seen before. Still, it was there.

“Are ye all right?” Lily asked.

“Yes, of course. It’s just the cold.”

Instead of the lift, I took the stairs, which was admittedly far quicker as the first drops of rain fell.

Brodie looked over from the windows on the other side of the office, a frown on his face.

“Weather settin’ in.”

“It seems we returned just in time,” Lily said as she went to the stove to warm her hands.

That dark gaze met mine as he went to the stove and poured a cup of steaming coffee.

In that way that we had become familiar with each other’s habits and manner of things, he waited until I had removed my neck scarf and laid it across the coat hook where I’d hung my coat. He handed me the cup, his fingers briefly touching mine.

“Ye’re frozen through. Ye should have worn gloves.” He pulled his chair to the stove. “Sit and warm yerself.”

The coffee was strong, the sort he had once said you might be able to stand a spoon up in. It warmed me through as he poured another cup. He handed it to Lily.

“Ye met with the mother of the young man killed in that riding accident?” he commented as he filled his cup as well.

I nodded and told him about our conversation, and then about the faint marks on the silk shirt her son had worn that day, among things that Lady Walsingham had kept.

Brodie nodded. “Ye believe the marks were made by the same person.”

“And perhaps an accident that was no accident at all,” I added.

I then told him of our meeting with Sir Lowery, most particularly about that incident that apparently involved all four of the young men involved in betting, members of that notorious club, and apparently with the group forbidden to continue upon threat of dismissal.

And shortly thereafter, the Prince of Wales left Trinity.

“The young woman was the daughter of the local cleric at the church in the village. Sir Lowery was not informed of the girl’s name, a decision made by the church bishop at the time. However, it might not be difficult to learn the vicar’s name,” I added.

“Aye,” Brodie said with a frown. “It would seem there is a great deal His Highness failed to mention.”

Brodie picked up the scarf from Marlborough House and handed it to me.

“I called on Mr. MacInnis at his shop on Bond Street. The cloth was not of a quality he recognized, but most definitely not the sort a gentleman might wear. He suggested that I call on the merchant who supplies wool and other materials to him and other shops, a man by the name of Jesperson.

“He has wool brought from Scotland, the outer islands, and some other finer pieces for special orders. He recognized the material in the scarf. It’s not wool, but a specially woven silk.”

“Specially woven? For whom?”

“For churches and clerics as part of their vestments,” Brodie replied. “Most often with a symbol of the church sewn into it. Yet, there’s none on this piece.”

Was it possible that the man with the limp Lily had seen escaping from Marlborough House, might be the girl's father?

I thought of that first note found on the body of Lord Salisbery’s son—not robbery as it was first thought, but murder!

“The sins of the fathers will be visited upon the sons.”