Page 31 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Nineteen

MARLBOROUGH HOUSE

Brodie looked up as the motion of the coach changed, and the driver slowed the team at the gate.

He provided his name and informed the uniformed guard that he had an appointment with His Highness. It seemed that a message had been provided to the guards, a list checked, and then the driver was waved through.

He had gone back through the information the Prince of Wales had provided since taking the inquiry case, along with information they had learned that had not yet been made known.

Brodie understood the need for discretion. He had encountered that before in his time as an inspector with the MET and after taking on certain cases when he left the Metropolitan.

Most particularly with a first case for Lady Antonia and then a second one to retrieve her niece who had gone astray on some island.

There had been the need for discretion as well, in a previous inquiry case regarding a threat against the royal family.

And now, as Mikaela often said? An accident the night of the birthday celebration that was no accident, a note left on the young man’s body with that unusual message, and an attack days earlier on another young man outside his club during a robbery with another note:

“Sins of the fathers.”

A biblical reference according to Mikaela. And then Lady Antonia had spoken of an incident more than thirty years before. Brash university students, full of themselves, as Mikaela described, and their club with exclusive membership:

“The Four Horsemen.”

His own knowledge of the Bible sorely lacking, Mikaela had explained the meaning of it, from the book of Revelations, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The Prince of Wales hadn’t mentioned it, nor anything of that particular incident when he had suddenly departed university for the military, followed by an extended time away—traveling across Europe.

Brodie stepped down from the coach and was greeted by another set of uniformed guards at the entrance of Marlborough House. He presented his calling card to another guard.

“I will inform Sir Knollys.”

The official gatekeeper. What did the personal secretary to the Prince of Wales know about that time and the incident they’d discovered with their inquiries? An incident that, it was undoubtedly hoped, would never be made known?

There were always secrets, he had his own. Everyone had things they preferred to be left unknown.

What would the Prince of Wales be willing to tell him now?

Sir Knollys had appeared and greeted him with that same closed expression and polite words.

“His Royal Highness will see you now.”

He was escorted to the library where they had previously met. Sir Knollys announced his arrival, then discreetly left, closing the door behind him.

The Prince of Wales sat at his desk; papers spread in front of him as before. He wore a formal suit of clothes, as he had when they last met, a medallion of some sort over the breast pocket of his jacket. His beard was neatly trimmed as he frowned over those papers.

It was several moments before His Highness looked up and acknowledged him.

“Mr. Brodie…” he glanced past him and commented. “Lady Forsythe has not accompanied you.”

“No, sir. An appointment in the matter of our inquiries needed her attention elsewhere,” he explained, matter of fact.

“Is there some progress in the situation?” Prince Edward inquired.

“There is.”

When he said nothing further, His Highness finally looked up. He laid his pen at the desk, then sat back in his desk chair.

“By all means continue,” he said. “And we can hopefully be done with this dreadful business.”

“Wot can you tell me, sir, about the particular incident that led to you leaving university?”

Silence filled the library except for the sound of the clock on the wall as the prince’s gaze met his.

In that moment, they were simply two men, no more, one tasked with finding the truth, the other with secrets.

“You have been most diligent, Mr. Brodie.” His Highness pushed away from the desk and stood.

He paced across the library until he stood before the windows, staring out at the massive green and the forest beyond where Lily had chased after the man she’d seen at the gallery the night of the birthday celebration.

“A long time ago,” Edward finally replied. “The foolishness of young men. You perhaps understand, Mr. Brodie.”

“The sins of the fathers...?” he repeated what was written in that first note.

His Highness flinched. “What have you learned?”

“What you might have shared from the beginning, sir.”

Brodie saw the control His Highness asserted in the way he straightened his shoulders, his frown. And perhaps denial of any knowledge of it?

He was prepared to walk out of the library and be done with it all. Let Sir Avery continue with his inquiries. Brodie would not be persuaded otherwise, to simply overlook certain matters.

“What happened at university all those years before?” he inquired. “I must know all of it before we can continue.”

His Highness returned to his desk and slowly sat in that chair. He leaned back, eyes closed for those few moments.

There was no pretense: no posturing as Brodie might have expected.

Sir Knollys returned as if at some previously agreed time.

“All is well,” His Highness assured his personal secretary. “We will have coffee, and please cancel my meetings for the rest of the afternoon.”

#204 THE STRAND

After arriving back in London, Lily and I returned to the office.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon going over everything we’d learned from our trip to Grantchester in our search for information about that night over thirty years earlier.

According to what Mrs. Hollings had shared, the vicar at the time, Reverend Chastain, had been assigned to St. Pancras Old Church in London by special order of the archbishop after that dreadful situation with his daughter.

The church where he had then taken up service was in an older part of London, some distance from The Strand.

According to what Lily and I had learned, those who served the church did so for a term of three years, usually assigned elsewhere afterward.

How long had Mr. Chastain been at St. Pancras? Had he continued on, or left at the end of his term? If so, where might he have gone?

It was possible that his daughter might have eventually married after leaving Cambridge.

Would there be a record of it? If she had not married, then what had happened to her?

I knew from past inquiry cases that girls who had suffered such things often ended up on the streets.

What was Mary Chastain’s fate?

And now, all these years later, who was responsible for the murders of three young men whose fathers were connected to that horrible episode?

What was the motive? I thought not for the first time: A father’s revenge? But why after all these years?

Blackmail made sense, yet no blackmail demand had been made to our knowledge.

I put down my pen and closed my notebook. Perhaps Brodie might learn something in his meeting with His Highness.

It had been hours since we had eaten last in that rail station cafe in Cambridge. Food was most definitely in order. We left word with Mr. Cavendish and set off across The Strand to the Public House.

The food there was simple but hearty, more the sort favored by workers at end of day. We both ordered meat pie.

“Not to forget, miss,” Miss Effie reminded us. “We have the chapel at All Saints for the eighth of December.”

Miss Effie and Mr. Cavendish were to be married on that date.

What began as simple friendship had grown deeper for both of them, although the proposal had come from Miss Effie as Mr. Cavendish was convinced no one would ever want to be with a man who had lost both legs.

Miss Effie, a woman of strong character, had been forced to take the matter into her hands, so to speak—she had proposed to him , insisting that he make an honest woman of her.

I was pleased for them. It was clear to anyone who knew them that they were quite taken with each other. Brodie had been hesitant.

“How the devil will he provide for them?” he said at the time when the announcement was made. “With the small amount she’s no doubt paid at the Public House?”

I did see his point.

“There is a simple solution,” I told him. “You must increase what we pay Mr. Cavendish for his services here. With what she makes, they should be able to manage quite well.”

I pointed out that it was not unlike our own arrangement with the trust that had been set up for my sister and I, along with substantial royalties from my books.

In addition, I might provide Mr. Cavendish with additional funds as his responsibilities to us have increased substantially, that included his resources on the street for information.

“I can well afford to compensate him, and take care of ye as well,” Brodie replied. “I’ve no need of yer money.”

An argument in the past.

“You must tell him straightaway,” I told him. “Or I can deliver the news if you prefer. It will make them both very happy.”

He glared at me at the time, that dark look that was hardly intimidating.

“How did I lose the argument?” he demanded then.

So, here we were with the month of December, the holidays, and a wedding rapidly approaching.

Lily and I had only just returned to the office on The Strand, when the service bell rang on the landing. Brodie arrived, a frown at his mouth.

It did appear it had been a difficult meeting with His Highness, one that had gone on quite long.

I had stoked the fire in the coal stove when Lily and I returned from the Public House. Brodie removed his long coat, then went to the stove and extended his hands toward heat.

“We brought supper for ye,” Lily commented.

He eventually looked up. “Aye.”

I sensed it was not food he needed at present and went to the cabinet that sat against the wall adjacent to his desk. I retrieved a bottle of Old Lodge whisky and poured a dram into a tumbler. I handed it to him.

A faint smile made it past the frown as he took the tumbler, then tossed back the contents.

“A difficult meeting?” I inquired.

He held out the tumbler for another dram.

“Aye.”

He had said before leaving that we would not continue if His Highness was not forthcoming with answers to the questions he intended to ask.

I had prepared myself for it, although I did not agree, considering what Lily and I had learned on our trip to Cambridge.

“It seems there was considerably more His Highness chose not to tell us about the matter.” He stared down into the glass as he swirled the contents about. “I informed him that we would make no further inquiries unless he told me everything.”

I could only imagine how that might have been received, no doubt a surprise for someone who was used to being obeyed in all things.

I did admire Brodie for his forthright manner. He would have called it being direct, something he had pointed out about myself more than once.

I waited as the whisky had its way, smoothing the edges so to speak.

“It seems that he was contacted several months ago by the person who may be responsible for the murders,” he began, having drained his glass once more.

“A matter usually handed off to those in his staff who are familiar with such things. It was not until the incident outside White’s and that particular note was discovered that it seemed the threat might be verra real.”

“And he then contacted us to investigate the so-called ‘robbery,’” I concluded the obvious.

“At the time, he claims that he thought it much the same as with her ladyship, someone who had learned about the rumors of that incident years before and determined to make profit from it.”

“Except there was no demand for payment,” I suggested from what we knew. “And then the incident at Marlborough House happened.”

He nodded. “And another note that was obviously part of it.”

I went to my desk and retrieved the note I had received from Lady Walsingham. I handed it to him.

“It seems that she found it in Sir Walsingham’s desk after I met with her.”

“Aye, another piece of the puzzle, as ye like to call it.

“ And then there were three .”

Yet, apparently not sent for blackmail in that instance either.

I explained our visit with the vicar at the church in Grantchester and our search of the parish records there.

“Chastain?”

“He was vicar there for less than a year, then suddenly left after the incident.”

“There is a woman in the village who remembered,” Lily added. “The archbishop arranged for the vicar to leave and take a new assignment.”

“He was sent here,” I added. “To St. Pancras.”

Brodie frowned. “He would be quite old now.”

I had thought that as well. If he was still with the church there.

“What of the daughter?” he inquired. “Was there any word about her?”

“She went with him. As you can well imagine, she would have had few prospects after what happened. Although she might have married after arriving here.

“We also learned that each vicar is given a three-year term, then sent on to another parish,” I went on to explain. “There should be a record of where he was sent after he left there, if he did at all.”

I had already decided that Lily and I would go to St. Pancras in the morning, as it was still the middle of the week, and there would be no scheduled church services to interrupt.

Brodie nodded. “It could be useful to speak with someone there.”

At the same time, I sensed there was something else from his visit with the Prince of Wales.

“I learned something more in my conversation with His Highness,” he said. “It seems there was a man who was in service at Marlborough House until a few weeks ago and then left. A stableman according to Sir Knollys.”

Another detail that His Highness had not mentioned or did not know about at the time, in that way that things regarding servants and staff were handed off to others.

“Was there a description of the man?”

“He was described as tall, thick set, and verra strong, according to the stablemaster. He was quiet spoken in his manner, and he knew his way around horses.”

Someone who might have assisted the murderer in his escape that night at Marlborough House?

Had I seen a man who fit that description?

Admittedly, the street and sidewalk had been crowded at the end of the day and the weather dreadful. It was only a glimpse, and then he had disappeared.

“I may have seen the man Lily described.”

That dark gaze narrowed.

“Where?”

I explained about the man who resembled that description, whom I had seen across the way from the office. I went on to describe the other suspect from my brief encounter at the rail station before Lily and I departed for Cambridge. A man who appeared to have a limp, and had then disappeared.