What then had changed? What had possessed Brodie to propose? And the way he had proposed? What was the reason that I had hesitated?
However, I knew the reason he had proposed. He had told me that day at Old Lodge.
“I want more…”
And, the truth was, when I chose to admit it,Iwanted more. What then was the reason that I hesitated?
I knew the answer if I was completely honest with myself. It was there in the memory of finding my father dead in the stables as a child. Then, the aftermath of the scandal, the lies, his infidelity, and my determination even at that young age that I would never let such a man into my life. Even as I knew that Brodie was not the same.
There was more, of course. More that I had mentioned before, the things that I knew were important and that a man obviously wanted— family. Most particularly, I was certain it was important for a man who had lost the only family he knew when he was just a young boy.
Why couldn’t things remain as they had been?
With a parting word, Brodie paid the driver after we arrived in Mayfair.
Mrs. Ryan, my housekeeper, had supper waiting, one of her specialties— traditional Irish stew that she had often made for my aunt. It was her own version that included a good amount of dark beer, perfect on a crisp autumn evening with the threat of rain.
She had prepared it in the past and Brodie had complimented her by consuming two servings at the time. That, in spite of the fact he had teased her it was an Irish concoction after all, but he assured her that he would forgive her for that.
To say that she was quite taken with him was an understatement. I was certain it had everything to do with the fact that she rarely had anyone else to cook for. When I was working on one of my novels, meals were often quite simple and taken in the front parlor as I worked.
“It has been a while since you were here last, Mr. Brodie,” she greeted him now as we entered the foyer just as the rain set in.
“Aye, well, there have been other matters that needed my attention,” he replied, and left it at that as he gave her his hat and coat.
“I knew you would be here tonight, of course,” she continued in that faint Irish brogue. “We Irish have our ways, you know— the wee-folk out and about, particularly this time of the year. Knew it was going to rain, as well.”
“It’s never wise to doubt thewee folk,” he replied, humoring her.
Not that it would have been difficult to determine that it might rain, I thought, as their conversation went right around me as if I was not there. A look out the window would have certainly revealed that.
“And I’ve made my cherry chip cake for dessert,” she added as she turned toward the kitchen. “Though you must save a portion to take back with you for Mr. Cavendish. And there was a telegram received today, miss,” she added. “Sent round from the messenger office. I put it on the desk, along with other mail.”
Her Irish stew was a success, although neither of us seemed to have much appetite. Brodie was thoughtful, barely touching his bowl while I idly pushed around the food in mine, contemplating what we’d learned earlier that day.
“Amelia and Captain Mathison didn’t know each other very long,” I pointed out, in an attempt at conversation. “Only a few months as he recovered from his injuries.
“It is possible that there was some disagreement between them,” I continued. “Perhaps all was not as well as he or her friend, Beatrice, would have us believe. An argument that he chose not to tell us about that might cast suspicion?”
“Perhaps,” Brodie replied as he sat back in the chair.
One word over the last hour. It was like trying to take a bone away from the hound. However, I supposed it was progress.
“They were to have met alone,” I added what we had been told. “It would have been easy enough, I suppose. A disagreement that got out of hand, tempers flared and all that.”
I realized that it was all conjecture of course. “And then in a fit of rage when she rejected him… Motive, means and opportunity?” I reminded him.
“Perhaps.”
There was thatboneagain.
I laid my napkin aside and rose from the table. Brodie did as well and followed me into the front parlor where I usually did my writing when working on one of my novels.
“What about the photographs that were sent?” I asked as I reached for the bottle of Old Lodge whisky and poured us each a dram. “Captain Mathison certainly had the opportunity and the means,” I pointed out, the tension at the back of my neck turning into a full-blown headache. “And he knew where she would be.”
“They were to have met at St. James Square,” Brodie pointed out. “What reason would he have had then to go to Hyde Park, a man in his condition with the injuries he has? And the motive?” Brodie inquired.
He was right of course as far as their arrangement to meet at St. James Park and then continue on to the Grosvenor Hotel, quite near to the rail station that would take them to the Port of Southampton or some other location where they might have married.
