Munro was waiting for us. He had spent the time I was with Adelaide Matthews in conversation with the caretaker of this part of Highgate.
They had gotten along like old chums. It seemed the man was a Scot—Mackenzie by name. Imagine that.
“You were a long time with the Matthews woman,” Munro commented after we delivered her back to her coach and driver.
“Were you able to learn anything from her that might be useful in helping Mr. Brodie?”
The truth was that I didn’t know.
What I had learned was that Adelaide Matthews had suffered greatly in her marriage. She had then lost her son, and any opportunity to know her grandson. Until Ellie Sutton had returned.
I had Mr. Hastings take us to Mayfair. I was in need of additional clothing, and it was safe to assume that if we had been followed or someone was lurking about the town house, I was quite safe with both Munro and Rupert.
It was well into the evening when we arrived back at the Tower.
I went first to the infirmary where I discovered that Brodie was not there. Dr. Watson informed me that Brodie had spent the past several hours with Alex and Sir Avery, against the physician’s advice.
“I was afraid that attempting to confine him to bed might cause further harm. He was most adamant about being up and about.”
Adamant. I could only imagine. There was another word for it, or rather three, to be precise—bloody stubborn Scot!
I found him with Alex Sinclair and Lucy Penworth in Alex’s office. As much as I was very glad to see him, I was inclined to agree with Dr. Watson.
The bruises on his face had taken on a blue-green color. The bandage over his left eye concealed the cut from the beating that he had taken at Scotland Yard. As he stood before the board that Lucy and I had filled with information, he held himself in such a way that suggested any attempt to straighten himself would cause great pain.
It appeared that he had washed. The dried blood on his face and in his hair was gone, and he had acquired a clean pair of trousers and shirt. He didn’t look at me, didn’t so much as even acknowledge that I was there. My stomach knotted. He was angry, I could feel it. However, we were not alone and it would have been awkward to go to him. I saw Alex Sinclair’s hand in his improved condition. All-in-all, a remarkable improvement from the last time I saw him in the infirmary.
Lucy and Alex both greeted me in that familiar way.
“I say,” Alex then commented. “You’ve been gone for some time. Were you able to learn anything new?”
He knew me well enough by now to know that I had not spent the day shopping or taking luncheon with friends.
“I met with Mrs. Matthews,” I replied, with a look at Brodie. “I wanted to know what she remembered from her son’s murder ten years ago. I thought there might be something important that could be helpful now. It was very difficult. I feel sorry for her, with the loss of her son and grandson.”
“Was there anything that might be useful?” Lucy asked.
“I’m not certain. I thought it could be useful to add the notes to the board.” I looked again at Brodie. That dark gaze briefly met mine, then angled away.
“Her son is buried in her family plot at Highgate. Not under the Matthews family name, but under her name. It seems that there was a great deal of difficulty in the marriage. She shared that Stephen was not Edward Matthews’ son.”
“That couldn’t have been easy for her,” Lucy commented.
“It wasn’t,” I admitted with another look over at Brodie.
He had taken it all in, yet made no comment. Unusual, I thought, however he was obviously dealing with a great deal of pain. If he had been up for hours, against Dr. Watson’s advice, he was undoubtedly exhausted as well.
I crossed the office to the board. I wanted to add my notes as I had not had a chance earlier to make note of what I’d learned that afternoon.
Brodie handed me the chalk he had been using. Our fingers briefly touched.
I could have been mistaken, but it seemed that he pulled his hand back quite suddenly as he went to a nearby chair and took great care as he eased down onto it.
It was just the pain and exhaustion, I thought, as Alex and Lucy told me what they had been able to learn.
Lucy had spent most of the day going through police archives hoping to learn more about the official investigation into Ellie Sutton’s death.
“It’s almost as if …”
