I saw the hesitation and for a moment I thought he would accept.
“Thank ye, no. It is late enough, and there are arrangements to be made.”
It was not likely that he meant Mr. Cavendish, or the information he was going to have Dooley follow up about Herr Schmidt’s brother-in-law.
“Rory?”
“Aye. I was to take him to the museum.”
I could have sworn that he winced.
He had said little about the boy at the office on the Strand and our travel to Sandringham. There had been other matters of concern.
Since my return, I had paid several visits to Lady Matthews in the aftermath of that very difficult inquiry case.
It did seem that Rory was doing quite well. He had started his studies with a tutor, and now a visit to the London Museum had been planned.
After all the sadness and heartache that she had been through, Adelaide Matthews seemed genuinely happy. And Rory seemed to be doing well.
“The lad seems to have an unnatural curiosity for things, and Lady Matthews thought he might like the museum.”
“Lily has become quite fascinated with it,” I confided. “Of course, she much prefers the weapons gallery.”
He nodded. “She is abrawyoung woman.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Like yerself.”
There was something in his voice, and then gone.
“I try not to overly influence her,” I added. “However, with the tales my great-aunt tells her, it may be a losing battle.”
“Aye, but she’s a smart one. And ye did right bringing her to London.”
That had been a mutual arrangement. And now?
We stood there, very much like strangers I thought, trying to find the right things to say after perhaps too many other things had already been said. And I supposed that we were strangers after everything that had happened.
I thought of something I once heard, that once spoken, words could never be taken back. They were always there.
“Mikaela…” He hesitated.
It seemed there was something more he would have said.
Instead, he bid me good evening.
“I will meet you at the rail station in the morning.”
I stood at the entrance to the town house and watched as he returned to the cab, tall and lean, dark hair curling over the collar of his coat.
He gave the driver instructions, then climbed inside.
“Well, damn,” I softly swore to myself as the cab disappeared down the street.
Nine
We wereto meet Alex Sinclair at Charing Cross rail station by ten o’clock for the trip to Dover.
