“You did insist that I take him with me when I was out and about on my own,” I pointed out, as more baying came from the street at the front of the tenement.
Rupert had a particular dislike of the police. It seemed very likely the two constables had returned. It also seemed that our search was at an end.
Brodie shut off the hand-held light and went to the door. He cracked it open and peered out into the hallway.
He nodded to me and I followed as we left the flat then made our way to the stairs. He flattened me against the wall of the stairwell with his arm as I heard voices from the entryway below.
“It’s nothin’ but the bloody peelers,” the man I had heard earlier in that ground floor flat. “Some sort of ruckus, most likely a stray in the trash. Hope the animal takes a bite outta ‘em.”
That was very likely, I thought. In the very least, I hoped that Rupert was able to keep the police occupied while we made our escape.
When neither the man nor his companion appeared, Brodie grabbed me by the hand and we escaped down those stairs to the entryway.
He opened the door, we slipped out the entrance, then down that alley toward the street behind the tenement.
The hound was right behind us.
We stopped at the end of the alley, where Brodie checked to make certain there were no constables about. He looked down at me.
“Ye would drive a man crazy, Mikaela Brodie. Nevertheless, I’ll keep ye.” He pulled me against him in a quick fierce embrace.
“If ye go off again on yer own...”
A familiar threat. I reached up and pushed my hand back through that thick mane of hair.
“Promises, promises...” I replied.
Eight
I satin at the threadbare overstuffed chair in the flat in Drury Lane, and studied my new notes after our adventure at Charing Cross.
We had purchased food from a street vendor who had set up his cart near the theater, and brought it back to the flat.
The hound was quite content, asleep at my feet after all the excitement and devouring a sandwich of his own, then the remnants of mine.
Brodie sat across from me in the wood chair at the table, glass in hand. I had poured us both a dram of my aunt’s very fine whisky that I had brought to the flat earlier.
“I know a man who might be able to tell me about that mark from the boot heel,” Brodie commented.
Me?As in himself, as if he was the only person involved in this now. The man could be most irritating.
I took another swallow of whisky and, for now, chose not to comment on that.
I had explained Rupert’s encounter the previous night at the town house. Brodie listened, unusually quiet, his mane of darkhair still wet after making thorough use of the washbasin, a cloth, and the soap he found there
“Aye,” he commented. “Abberline, havin’ ye watched.”
There was a weariness about him I had not noticed before, in the way he pushed a hand back through his overlong hair. I caught a glimpse of grey among the dark waves.
Now, he took another sip of whisky, stroking that piece of dark blue wool between thumb and forefinger, thoughts hidden behind that dark gaze.
“Tell me about the boy,” I said then.
That dark gaze met mine as I paused at the notes I was making.
He didn’t reply right away, and I saw the shift of expression on his face, the frown line between those dark brows deepening. He took another drink.
“I received a telephone call from her that night from the hotel where she worked. She was about to leave after her shift and saw a man waiting...she had seen him before and after everything that happened years ago, it frightened her.”
