“You were quite determined. For a moment I thought you might walk away,” I commented. That dark gaze met mine.
“There are things that ye must be prepared to walk away from,” he admitted.
“But Sir Avery is a man of some influence…” I thought of Brodie’s present work in private inquiries and the possibility of advancement with a man like Sir Avery.
He had been appointed directly by the Queen after certain situations and dangerous incidents in the past. It appeared that he answered only to a handful of people very high up, perhaps only to the Queen herself after some nasty business that included an assassination attempt.
I glanced over at the man next to me in the coach. Stubborn to be certain, but the most honorable man I had ever known.
“What is the next step in our case, Mr. Brodie?” I asked.
It was late afternoon when we returned to the office on the Strand with that new photograph and instructions from Sir Avery to find the person or persons responsible.
“We need to speak with the second girl’s family as soon as possible,” he commented as we entered the office. He set his umbrella in the stand. “And I will ask to see the files the MP has on the Whitechapel murders. I left the MP before that case was opened.”
“You believe there may be a connection?”
“It canna hurt to see any evidence they had in the cases along with possible suspects. No stone unturned,” he added.
And I wanted very much to speak with Jefferson Talbot, who provided crime scene photos for the crime pages of the Times. An odd duck, Lucy had described him.
Uncertain how he might be contacted, I turned over another stone and sent round a note by messenger to his studio in Stepney.
* * *
“I’ve been thinking…”
Actually, I had been doing a great deal of thinking regarding the situation between us. But everything had been quite hectic since returning from Scotland, what with the new case, my aunt’s pending party, and now with Lily’s arrival.
He had said that he would give me time. What did that mean? A week? A month? Longer?
I did feel that I owed him an answer. There just never seemed to be the right moment…
He looked up with that dark gaze that I found so intriguing and quite stirring, and now with his thoughts obviously on the case before us.
I had rehearsed it several times. “It’s just that…”
The telephone rang, that jarring, jangling sound that my great aunt hated after having one installed at Sussex Square. As much as I supported new inventions as they came along, at present I was inclined to agree.
Brodie picked up the earpiece. “Aye, of course.” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind me that had been installed after the fire some months before in the course of another case.
“I understand, and thank ye.” He set the earpiece back in the cradle.
“Sir William Abbington-Thorpe’s representative,” he explained. “We have an appointment in one hour with the gentleman and his wife.” He abruptly rose from behind the desk and went to the coat rack.
“There was something ye wished to say?” he reminded me.
Now was not the time, I could hardly tell him in the process of going out the door to question a family that had just learned their daughter had been murdered.
I went to the rack and seized my long coat and gathered up my travel bag.
“There will be time later,” I replied. I brushed past him and that delicious scent of cinnamon— his alone, that I had become accustomed to, but not without noticing the frown as his dark brows came together.
Coward, that little voice whispered.
The ride across London was most silent.
* * *
