Page 6 of Deadly Murder (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #14)

Four

brODIE

The Jampot coffeehouse, as it was referred to, so-called because it was founded when Jamaican coffee was first brought to London, was just off Cornhill at the edge of the financial district. It was an unlikely place to encounter any of the lads from the MET or Chief Inspector Abberline.

Inspector Dooley was there when he arrived and nodded a greeting from a table near the rear of the establishment where either one might make a quick departure if needed.

He had contacted Dooley the previous afternoon in an effort to learn what progress the MET had made with the robbery and murder of young Lord Salisbery.

Dooley had provided valuable information in the past for their inquiry cases, under the table so to speak, when Brodie’s direct inquiries at the MET had met with:

Obstacles. “We’re not allowed to give out that information, Mr. Brodie.”

Delays. “I put in the request, sir, but there’s been no response from high up as yet.”

Or no response at all.

As if the information had simply disappeared into the London fog, when time was most important, and other lives might very well have been in danger.

More often than not the information was important, and they had both avoided any confrontation with those “higher up” in the matter with a common excuse that the information was learned from “another source” that remained nameless when questioned.

To his way of thinking, the most important thing was solving the crime. If it required bending the rules from time to time, or acquiring information that might not otherwise be available, he was not one to lose sleep over the matter.

He took the chair opposite Dooley that faced out to the entrance if anyone from the service should arrive at the coffeehouse. He was not of a mind to put his friend in a difficult situation.

Mr. Dooley waved down the man behind the counter to bring another cup of coffee.

“The case you inquired about has been difficult,” Dooley commented, the accent of years in the Irish countryside still there after over twenty years in London.

“Robbery?” Brodie asked as the coffee warmed his belly.

“That would seem to be the motive. The young man apparently resisted…”

And robbery, frequent on the streets of London, particularly late at night, became murder.

“What about the club attendant?”

“He was questioned. A driver arrived as usual when the call was put out. The attendant saw the young man to the coach, as usual. Then they were on their way.”

“Private coach?” Brodie asked.

Dooley shook his head. “One of the city services. It seems the young man wanted to avoid any scrutiny and usually had a driver called for.”

Brodie sat back in his chair, turning over the information.

“Did the attendant notice anything unusual in Salisbery’s manner?”

“Only that he was well into his cups when he left.”

“What time was that?”

“Near three in the morning. He’d been gaming most of the night, and…other activities.”

“A woman?”

Dooley nodded. “The usual ‘menu’ according to the attendant. He said she goes by the name of Lady Dumont.”

Lady Dumont. It was not the first time that such a woman would stylize herself as a 'lady', except the 'lady' he was married too. Titles had a way of increasing the appeal, the clientele, not to mention the compensation.

“However,” Dooley continued, “we have not been able to question her in the matter. She seems to have disappeared, perhaps due to the events of the evening and a reluctance to be questioned by the police.”

“Where does the ‘lady ’ live?”

“Lady Dumont?” I commented as Brodie recounted his meeting with Mr. Dooley.

I sat across from him, my boots on the floor, my stockinged feet propped across his knee as we shared what we each learned with our inquiries. He was presently rubbing my right foot after my adventures with Lily at Sussex Square.

Upon my arrival, she had immediately challenged me to a duel with weapons from the Sword Room.

It contained an impressive collection of rapiers, swords, shields, and a claymore or two, not to mention other assorted daggers, pikes, and several flint lock pistols and other weapons acquired by generations of Montgomerys.

In the interest of preserving the room, we had taken the challenge out onto the green. Needless to say, I was not appropriately dressed for the challenge, with a long skirt and inappropriate footwear.

But who might be when unexpectedly attacked, I rationalized, as I carried on with the duel, much to the complaint of my feet afterward. My consolation was that I had won the challenge.

“Do ye know the woman?” Brodie asked with a doubtful expression.

Admittedly, I did not usually associate with enterprising “ladies of the night,” other than a previous case. However…

“Most inventive,” I replied.

“Her name or her profession?” he asked with a sip of Old Lodge whisky.

Cheeky fellow. I would have commented on that, except I did not want to interrupt his attention which was now on my left foot.

“Lady Dumont is a character in a somewhat risqué novel that was written several years ago.”

“A novel?”

“Not the sort that I write. I prefer murder.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” he replied as he gently massaged my toes that had suffered somewhat from the afternoon duel.

“She was a notorious character who contributed to the demise of Lord Wimberley, another character in the novel. It was quite difficult to obtain a copy since it was banned for a while.”

“Ye prevailed of course.”

“A friend managed to acquire it and passed it to me.”

“A friend?”

Not that he believed it for a moment.

“And just how did the man meet his end?”

I gave him a very long look with a smile. He did have the reputation for being quite clever at figuring things out.

“I’ll have to remember that as well.” He reached across and took my glass from me.

“No more for ye, if I’m to live through the night.”

I laughed, yet there was another matter that I had learned of that afternoon.

“Lily mentioned that she spoke to you about returning to Edinburgh the other evening, rather than leaving for Paris after the new year.”

She had spoken of it to me but hadn’t shared what his response was. I was aware that she looked to him as a sort of father figure, with their similar backgrounds and experience in Edinburgh.

“She does seem to value your thoughts on important matters. What did you tell her?”

He proceeded to massage my toes. “That it was not for me to say,” he replied. “I am not a good example.”

“You and Munro are perfect examples. You’ve come from the same place and some of the same circumstances,” I pointed out. “And there have been times when she and I have had those sorts of discussions, and she looks at me as if…”

“As if, what?” he replied.

“She reminds me too much of me, headstrong, fearless at times, and…”

“Stubborn?” he suggested as he looked up.

“Perhaps a little,” I conceded. “Yet you have such a marvelous way of knowing people, ‘reading’ them as you call it, and she does trust you.”

I had experienced that first hand myself, admittedly a bit disconcerting at times when I had learned early on to keep my thoughts to myself and then carry on as a sort of self-preservation as my great aunt called it. He had changed that.

“What advice did you give her?” I then asked.

“I told her that my experience was not the example to follow. I also explained that an education, such as ye have, will take her far as she is intelligent, and it would provide her opportunities that she wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“It appears that you weren’t entirely able to dissuade her,” I concluded.

He looked at me with that dark gaze. I could have sworn there was amusement there.

“As I have been able to dissuade ye from doing something that ye shouldna do?”

“I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

He proceeded to tickle the bottom of my foot, and my toes curled. The only thing that prevented further assault of my foot was the service bell that rang on the landing followed by…a knock at the door.

Brodie cursed, then went to the door and yanked it open. Mr. Cavendish grinned up at him.

“An envelope arrived with one of those gold seals on it. I thought it might be important and brought it up straight away.”

I smothered a smile as I set order to my skirts and crossed the office in my stockinged feet. He had obviously used the lift.

“Excellent, thank you,” I complimented Mr. Cavendish. “Most efficient.”

He tipped his cap. “I knew you would want it in short order.”

He spun around on his platform and returned down the companionway toward the newly installed lift.

“Aye, efficient,” Brodie commented.

He handed me the embossed envelope that had been delivered from Marlborough House.

I opened it. “An official invitation, it seems, from the Prince of Wales for his birthday celebration tomorrow evening,” I announced.