“Yer like a brother, but dinna go against me in this! I dinna want her part of this. Ye know the sort of man Matthews is. I have my reasons.”
“I know well enough,” Munro replied as their voices faded in the hallway as they continued toward the infirmary. But not so far away that I didn’t hear what he said next.
“Ye should have told her from the beginnin’. She’s a strong, braw woman. And this business with Matthews, yerself held here with charges against ye…? Ye need to trust her. There are those here who can assist. Ye have no choice.”
“No!” Brodie replied. The rest of it faded as they reached the infirmary and the door closed behind them.
It did seem that our confrontation at Scotland Yard, when he was first arrested, wasn’t merely a reaction to the pain or even the fact that he’d been arrested.
There was something more...some reason that he was adamant that I wasn’t to involve myself. It was a little late for that, I thought, and not without frustration and no small amount of anger.
What was it? What hadn’t he told me?
With everything that had happened, Brodie now under arrest and held here, virtually a prisoner at the Tower, he was still adamant that I wasn’t to continue?
Bloody hell, I thought. I was not of a mind to be lectured, which I was certain would happen if I entered the infirmary now, asking his thoughts on what I had learned.
It was not the visit I thought we might have, once I was assured that he was going to live.
Bruises would eventually fade and ribs would heal, Dr. Watson had assured me. In the meantime...
Let him sit there with whatever it was he should have told me, imprisoned for all intents and purposes, I thought, with no small amount of my own anger. Perhaps it was a good place for him.
A young woman had been murdered, and a young boy was now an orphan. I had managed to get this far in the case and learned valuable information without his assistance. I would bloody hell finish it, and clear him of charges!
I silently cursed all stubborn, pig-headed Scots!
Twenty-One
It was mideveningwhen I returned to Sussex Square with Munro and the hound.
Rupert immediately dashed off to the gardens and the forest beyond, doing what hounds do.
The ride from the Tower had been mostly silent.
Now, Munro reminded me that there were others at the Agency who would proceed with the case on Brodie’s behalf. After all, Alex had the notes that had been made on the board in his office. The Agency, with his assistance, would take the next steps.
I didn’t argue or attempt to persuade him otherwise. After all, Munro had been supportive of my involvement and had even argued the matter.
The silence on our return from the Tower had given me time to think, and I wasn’t about to sit on my hands when I could help clear Brodie of murder. Either with or without his approval.
I thanked my aunt once more for her assistance in getting him removed from Abberline’s supervision, a situation I was certain would have become only more dangerous for Brodie, considering the man’s obsession with revenge. I didn’t mentionthe difference of opinion between us regarding my involvement in the case.
We shared a dram of her very fine whisky, which I was much in need of with everything that had happened. It did help to soothe my earlier anger.
“What do you know about Argosy Shipping?” I asked over a second dram.
While she left her business affairs to Munro and her attorney, a woman who was reported to be wealthier than the Queen and had several enterprises including the distillery in Scotland, did have some business sense of things. Not to mention, she knew people.
“Hmmm, this is a particularly excellent production, don’t you think?” she suggested as she took another sip of whisky.
I was not one to argue the matter.
“Argosy,” she said with a thoughtful expression and another sip. “Quite successful an enterprise with Sir Edward’s determination, of course.”
“You know him?” I asked. It was not impossible that she might have encountered him and his wife at one of the social functions she attended.
“Met him once at Ascot. He attended with his son—dreadful business about that. It must be over ten years ago now that young Matthews was killed in that situation at the Clarendon Club. And no other children—a son, for an heir to the business,” she added thoughtfully.
