“Get her out of here!” he shouted to Munro.
Then, everything was in chaos. There were shouts from the police as a dozen or more charged inside as I was dragged to the back of the shop.
I yelled at Munro to let go. Unable to break his hold on my arm, I fought and kicked. If I wasn’t being dragged behind him, I would have punched him in the face…
The sound of a gunshot stopped us. Munro glanced past me to the front of the shop as the shouts and chaos subsided.
“No…!” I cried.
Munro’s hand tightened around my arm and I was dragged out the back of the tobacco shop.
Fifteen
“He’s alive.”
I looked up as Munro came into the salon at Sussex Square.
“How do you know?” I finally managed.
“Those who still have connections into the MET,” he replied. He came and knelt in front of where I sat now, in front of a roaring fire, trying to make the cold go away. He took hold of both my hands.
“Mr. Conner,” he said then.
I nodded.
“No need to molly-coddle the girl,” my aunt announced as she entered the salon with a maid in her wake. “Set the tray there, then you may leave, Tassy. And please close the doors after.”
Then she poured three tumblers of her very fine whisky, and it wasn’t even midday yet. She handed one to Munro, then one to me. My hands shook slightly.
“Of course he’s alive,” she announced. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She took a long sip from her own glass. “Drink up, my dear. We must discuss what is to be done next.”
My aunt sat in her chair while Munro explained what had happened. She didn’t interrupt him, but nodded from time to time.
“Morrissey is dead,” he then announced with a look over at me.
That was the shot I had heard and had feared the worst. Now, the man who might have told Brodie more that he might have learned about the case was dead as well.
He had a family to protect! The words lay there like broken pieces of glass.
What about Ellie Sutton? What about her son? And Brodie, now imprisoned with charges of murder?
“I have contacted my lawyer and apprised him of the facts of the matter as well as the need for his services in seeing that these charges against Mr. Brodie are dropped,” my aunt announced.
“It is not the first time that Abberline has run afoul of our family. This will not stand.” She was like an admiral directing a military campaign.
“In the meantime,” she continued, “what is to be done next to find this woman’s murderer?”
I interrupted the campaign speech. “I want to see him.”
“Of course, dear. In due time...”
“Today.”
Sir Jamison Laughton, the Queen’s Council and my aunt’s lawyer as well, was able to make the arrangements.
“It required some persuasion on my part,” he explained as my aunt and I met with him in his office at St. James’s Park.
“I have been apprised of the charges against Mr. Brodie, as well as the history of the events. It would seem there is a strongcase against him in the matter of the murder of the woman, Ellie Sutton. Still,” he continued, “given your relationship with Mr. Brodie, I have been able to obtain a time when you will be allowed to meet with him at Scotland Yard this afternoon.”
