Page 4 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Three

“What are you thinking,” I inquired as we made the ride this morning across London to the office on The Strand.

Brodie sat across from me in the coach, elbow braced on the window’s edge, chin propped on his hand as he stared out the opening with a thoughtful frown. That dark gaze met mine.

He had said little about our meeting with HRH the previous evening, but I knew he was turning it over in his mind, considering the merits of it…considering the difficulties that would be involved. It had been there this morning over breakfast as well.

“I’m thinkin’ that matters involving the nobility are more often than not complicated and difficult, as ye well know.

They have that penchant for secrecy in order to protect their good name.

And dinna look at me with yer brow raised like that, Mikaela Forsythe.

Ye know well my meanin’, and truth is that ye and perhaps her Ladyship are the rare exceptions. ”

It was not the first time the difference between our classes had raised its head. I usually chose to ignore it. It made no difference to me.

“Most will do anything to protect their good name, title, and reputation, and it can make a case impossible to solve, not to mention dangerous.”

He was right, of course. We had both encountered that difficulty in past inquiries. While I understood where it came from, I refused to accept it when lives were at stake.

“We should at least meet with Lord Salisbery,” I pointed out. “And then decide if there is any way that we may help in the matter. If not, we will simply have to be honest with both Lord Salisbery and His Highness.”

The look he gave me indicated that he didn’t think it would be that simple. Yet, he said nothing more.

Mr. Cavendish met us on the sidewalk as we arrived.

Brodie paid the driver, then inquired about the work that was being done to the building.

“There was a bit of difficulty yesterday,” Mr. Cavendish replied. “The workmen arrived to finish the lift and connect the electric…”

“And the difficulty?” I inquired.

“The hound managed to get himself trapped in the bloody thing between the first and second floor. The workmen had to disconnect the electric, then lower the compartment by hand crank.

“They said that never happened before, as if the lever inside the compartment might have been meddled with. Although I cannot imagine how it might have happened. It’s all good now.”

Most interesting, I thought. Particularly since it seemed that there was no food or a body part involved. Rupert had survived the ordeal and was already out and about on the streets.

“I will take the stairs,” Brodie announced as I went to inspect the compartment that contained the lift with a door that opened near the alcove.

I stepped inside the compartment, closed the gate, then engaged the lever. There was a faint humming sound as the compartment slowly lifted, then arrived at the second-floor landing and stopped with a soft bump. I opened the gate and stepped out onto the landing.

“Marvelous,” I announced as Brodie stood waiting at the door to the office. “Particularly when the weather sets in, no need for a mad dash up the stairs in the rain. And it does increase the value of the building.”

He was not convinced. “And cost a bloody fortune.”

I ignored that. The cost had actually been quite reasonable, when figured in with the other improvements that were being made. And, as I had previously pointed out to him, once the work was completed, the rents for the other parts of the building would more than cover any cost for the lift.

“Most of the professional buildings about London have them now,” I reminded him. “I have heard that someone is working on an inclined elevator to take passengers from one point to another,” I continued as I joined him at the door to the office.

“Much like climbing a hill, but the machine does it instead with individual steps that move along.”

“I suppose ye will be wanting one installed here,” he commented.

“It might present a difficulty for Mr. Cavendish.” I smothered a smile as I replied. “It has been described as a series of steps that move by way of a belt.”

He shook his head. “I prefer things that dinna move under my feet.”

“We are very near the new century, Mr. Brodie,” I pointed out. “There is talk that the underground tube across the whole of London will be opened very soon.”

“Stairs that move, a train that moves through an underground tube,” he replied as he opened the door to the office and waited for me to enter before him. “The next thing ye know, people will be flying about in contraptions with wings. I would not put it past her ladyship to acquire one.”

He did have a point there.

“Far more efficient than an air ship,” I pointed out, reminding him of that prior adventure over the streets of London.

“Those things appeal to ye, do they?”

“Along with some old-fashioned things,” I replied, as the old-fashioned man crossed the office and set coal in the stove.

While he prodded the fire back to life, I went to the chalkboard and added the notes I’d made in my notebook from our meeting the previous afternoon with His Royal Highness.

Before we left Mayfair, Brodie had made contact with Mr. Dooley, an Inspector with the MET, and an old friend from their days working together.

He had agreed to meet with Brodie late in the morning at a coffee shop a distance from the stationhouse where Mr. Dooley was assigned, in order to avoid being seen by any of the constables or others who might raise questions about their meeting.

Most particularly Mr. Abberline, who had recently been reinstated as Chief Inspector after being suspended for a period of time over his misconduct in one of our previous cases.

Needless to say, there were still difficult feelings over the situation on the part of both parties.

Personally, I would have preferred to see the man permanently removed from the police service.

He was quite unscrupulous, driven by his own ambitions.

In short, a thoroughly disgusting man. And he was quite short in stature.

I had my own opinion in that regard. In my experience, it did seem as though men lacking in height were determined to make up for that shortcoming by other means. It did appear to be about power, or lack thereof.

I thought of what I had read about Napoleon Bonaparte, quite short it seems from written accounts.

I was most appreciative that Brodie was tall.

He was self-assured with no penchant for exercising his authority over another.

Unless provoked, of course. But that came from his early life on the streets and some sort of survival instinct.

“What is that look for?” he inquired now as he prepared for his meeting with Inspector Dooley.

He was not in the habit of wearing a tie. However, I had persuaded him that it had a way of setting him apart under certain circumstances.

This morning, he had added one, tying it as if he would rather have avoided the whole thing—which of course he did.

I had finished my notes and went to assist.

“I am most grateful that you are quite tall,” I commented as I straightened his tie for him.

His eyes narrowed in speculation. He was most definitely not accustomed to receiving compliments.

“What might that have to do with matters?”

I finished tying.

“I have never fancied short men. They do seem to constantly be making up for that inadequacy.”

“Inadequacy? Would that include the Greek guide I found ye with some years before in yer misguided youth?”

“Misguided?” I inquired as he pulled me against him.

“Aye, taking yerself off with a man ye didna know could have been dangerous.”

Though it had been several years earlier, it was obvious that he had not dismissed it.

“Being abducted by yourself could have been dangerous,” I pointed out. “You might have had your way with me.”

He shook his head. “I did not abduct ye. And I was not in the habit of taking advantage of young women full of themselves. The fact was that I was being paid a great deal to bring ye safely back to London by her ladyship.”

“How mercenary of you, Mr. Brodie.”

“Ah, well, the rent was due for the office, and I had just finished another case at the time.”

It was so like him to dismiss it as nothing more than another case or well-paid errand.

“There was that other part though.”

Other part?

“What was that?” I demanded with some pique at being reduced to an errand.

“Ye are a troublesome baggage. Strong-willed, and there was that part on the boat when ye threatened to pitch me overboard into the sea. I was tempted to bind ye and tie a cloth over yer mouth. Ye do have a way with words. It’s that temper of yers.”

How very endearing, I thought. “You seem to have survived.”

That dark gaze met mine. “I prefer a challenge. I’d never met a lady who knew those words.”

Yes, well…I had tried to temper my vocabulary since. I had discovered other effective means.

He kissed me quite thoroughly, which made me consider that we might perhaps put off our inquiries for the day?

His hands slipped onto my shoulders then he gently set me from him.

“I will see ye at the townhouse,” he said in parting.

I knew that he also intended to visit the scene of the crime, as he called it, with that former police inspector’s perspective.

“Perhaps,” I replied.

He could be such a devil, and it was all that I could think of in the moment. And then there was that smile curving one corner of his mouth.

“Then we can discuss what we learned.”

As I said, such a devil. He knew perfectly well that I would want to know everything he was able to learn about the police investigation into young Lord Salisbery’s murder, as well as his thoughts about where it had taken place.

After he left, I seized my travel bag with my notebook and left the office as well.

While he met with Mr. Dooley, I intended to call on the print shop that had provided calling cards for our inquiry business.