No stone unturned, Brodie thought grimly. Anything and everything to feed the man’s ambition.
No matter the harm it caused. No matter the truth.
He watched until the glow of the cigarette was crushed out and only that shadow shifting against the cold night air remained, watching, waiting.
He glanced again at the darkened windows of the town house.
Where was Mikaela? What had happened?
Had Abberline already been there?
He cursed—Abberline and his ambitions, his schemes, and Ellie’s foolishness that had cost her life, and now this! If Mikaela was harmed in any way...
The thought went no further. She was too intelligent, resourceful, and stubborn. Then there was the next thought—what would she do?
He cursed again. He didn’t like this part, the two of them off in different directions, apart, when what he wanted...was to make certain Mikaela was safe, to be with her. It didn’t matter where as long as they were together.
When had she become so important to him?
From the beginning, he supposed, when she had walked into the office on the Strand and both aggravated and fascinated him.
And now? She was a part of him. She had somehow slipped inside him, just there when he took a deep breath, when she was finally near. But she wasn’t.
He moved through the shadows at the side of the town house, back past that darkened servants’ entrance, and disappeared into the night.
Six
DRURY LANE
The early morningsounds in the building wakened me—the creak of floorboards overhead, voices, then the slam of a door. Usual morning sounds that moved past the door, followed by silence as others in the tenement left for the day.
And then there was the hound, staring up at me, a paw on my arm as I struggled out from what little sleep I had managed after dozing off in the chair.
Waking up in a different place was always a bit confusing, those first moments as the brain gradually stirs disorienting. On my travels, my brain had quickly adjusted to different surroundings, with curiosity and energy to start the day and explore.
This morning my brain seemed to be somewhere else, possibly due to those two drams of whisky. I required another stroke of Rupert’s paw to rouse me from the past few hours in the chair.
I sat up, wincing at the pain in my back from the chair and a dull headache. First things first, as Rupert went to the door of the flat and whined. I was much of the same opinion.
I checked the hallway, then went to the rear entrance to let him out.
“If you’re not back in good time, I’m leaving you here,” I told him as if I expected an answer. I opened the door and he bolted out into the alley.
When I would have returned to the flat, I encountered a stout woman with a stained apron. Her frown was surrounded by a faint mustache of the sort older women tend to acquire, and she clutched a broom in both hands.
“What ‘ave we ‘ere?” she demanded.
It is always best to stay as close to the truth as possible when conducting our investigations. Therefore, I explained that I would be staying in Sophie’s flat while she was away. The larger truth was that I had no idea how long I would need to be there.
“Sent by one of the theater people?” she asked with a narrowed gaze beneath one long eyebrow where two should have been.
She would have made a great character in one of my novels.
I nodded, the headache beginning to throb.
“What might be yer name?”
Considering everything that had happened, it was obviously unwise, perhaps even dangerous, to give my real name. Nor was I willing to involve Templeton by mentioning her name.
