And I wondered about the other Brodie, the one I had stood beside in that simple ceremony in Scotland, who had comforted me countless times, and challenged me. He had opened his heart a small piece, and I had stepped in, when I had never needed or wanted someone in that way.
I had seen him take down a criminal, and gentle an injured child on the streets. He had shared a glimpse of his past with me, what made him who he was. And I had wanted more.
He could be maddening, overbearing, impossible to reason with. At the same time, he had only to say that one thing to me—“I will not have ye hurt, lass.”
How did he know precisely how that melted my own anger, stubbornness, and whatever point it was that I was trying to make him understand?
I felt the weight of the medallion he had given me, where it lay against my skin under my shirtwaist—a simple token that meant more to him than anything else—and I wondered, who was he now?
I was about to find out.
He knew that I intended to pay a visit to the newspaper archive, and then with the writer who had covered the story about Ellie Sutton’s murder.
“I spoke to Theodolphus Burke,” I began. “He wrote about the case ten years before as well. Burke gave me the name of a man who worked at the Clarendon Club the night that Stephen Matthews was murdered. An usher by the name of Iverson. There is a possibility that he is still employed there. It will be simple enough to find out. It could be helpful to know if he saw anything the night Stephen Matthews was murdered that might be helpful now.”
I paused, but Brodie said nothing.
“I then had Mr. Brimley inspect the tumbler I found in the flat in Charing Cross.” I caught the sudden change in his expression, however I had no way of knowing what it meant.
“I also had him look at the toy locomotive that we found. He made several interesting observations—most particularly that the metal was stamped on the bottom. It seems that toys of that quality are often registered. I then went to Hamley’s toy shop. The locomotive was purchased there and registered to the person who purchased it.”
For the first time that dark gaze met mine.
“The entire train set of ten pieces, including the locomotive, was requested by Mrs. Adelaide Matthews—Stephen Matthews’ mother. It would seem that she reached out to her grandson with that gift.”
“Aye.”
“Ellie Sutton was a witness the night Stephen Matthews was killed,” I continued. “She left London to protect her child, then returned just over a year ago.
“It seems reasonable that after the death of their son and Ellie’s disappearance, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews wanted a relationship with the child now that Ellie had returned to London. It’s possible that she might have told them something. It could be useful to speak with them.”
When I would have pursued it further, Munro asked, “What have ye learned about the man who was seen outside the town house in Mayfair?”
“I spoke with Dooley and Conner.” Brodie shook his head. “They made inquiries with those they know who take on outside work from time to time. Men who provide private protection for those who want it.”
“Whoever it was that I saw watching the town house isn’t part of the MET.”
Someone else then. But who? I thought. And what did it mean?
“What about that boot print we found at Charing Cross?” I asked.
“According to a bootmaker near the Strand, the boot is expensive, made of Italian leather. The sort usually worn by a gentleman or someone of means.”
“What about Morrissey? Was he able to tell ye anything?” Munro asked of the former police inspector.
He shook his head. “I spoke with his wife. She was not pleased to see me, and she was scared. It seems that he hada visit from a man right after the news about Ellie’s murder broke.” He exchanged a look with Munro.
“He refused to discuss the man with her, only saying that it was regarding an old case.”
“Did she see the man?” I asked. “Was she able to describe him?”
“She didna recognize him, but she did say that he wore a finely made suit and a bowler hat.”
I thought about that. “Do you believe that he might have been sent by Abberline?”
That dark gaze narrowed on me, then went to Munro.
“Has something happened?”
