“There is mail on the side table,” my great-aunt then mentioned, changing the subject quite handily as she continued.
“I opened a letter from your sister. It was over two weeks old. It seems that Mr. Warren has proposed. Lenore has thoughts about a springtime wedding; however, Mr. Warren has suggested Christmas,” she continued. “He does seem quite eager.”
James Warren was the publisher of my novels. He had been most excited about taking on my author career after I had encountered some...shall we call it opposition, even condescending attitudes from other publishers who, I had always suspected, took meetings with me in deference to my great-aunt’s standing.
Mr. Warren had been enthusiastic and most eager for additional books, and I liked him very much. I had ‘arranged’ for him and my sister to meet. They did seem perfect for one another.
“The time is quite short,” my aunt continued. “It would require some rather quick planning. However, it will make the Holidays most exciting.”
I smiled to myself. I did wonder if that might include a sail down the River Nile at Sussex Square. I had poured myselfa dram of my great-aunt’s whisky, and the feeling had finally returned to my toes.
The planning of a wedding most certainly would give her something to do after the excitement of our recent travels.
“Oh, and there is a telegram that the boy from the village delivered along with the mail,” she added. “It’s there on top of the letters.”
A telegram? Was it possible that it was from Brodie?
I downed the rest of the whisky and casually approached the table. When what I wanted to do was snatch it up, take it to my room, and tear it open.
It was addressed quite formally, and I felt a sudden disquiet. It was the sort of missive that might be sent from an administrator or possibly...an attorney. It was addressed:Lady Mikaela Forsythe, Old Lodge, Inveresk, Scotland.
Brodie had been so very angry when we had argued. Was it possible that he had decided to end our marriage.
My hands shook...
Two
“Areyou going to open it, or merely stare at it?”my aunt asked in her very direct way.
Also, in her very direct way, she had left no doubt as to her opinion regarding my decision to accompany her on safari.
“Out of concern for my well-being, my foot!” she told me at the time, when I had announced my intention to accompany her.
“And what of Mr. Brodie?”
I had explained, somewhat vaguely, that he needed some time to recover from that recent inquiry case and his injuries, and left it at that. However, not one to be subtle or to let the matter lie...she had made a more recent comment regarding my residence at Mayfair and his very obvious absence from an occasional visit to Sussex Square.
“I would imagine that Mr. Brodie should have sufficiently recovered by now. If not, he may have succumbed. However, I have not read of it in the death notices. Hmmm?”
I had replied that I was certain he had recovered, although my source for that was Munro.
And then there were her musings on the nature of men in general, from her vast experience.
“Men can be somewhat difficult at times even to the point of stubbornness. I do believe there must be something in the blood that makes them so, Scots particularly,”she had added pointedly.
I continued to stare at the envelope. The flap had been sealed by the telegraph operator. I quickly opened it and pulled out the telegram. Best to get this over with, I thought.
However, in my wildest musings, I was not at all prepared for what it contained.
Lady Forsythe.
Urgent that you return at once to London without delay. Your assistance is required. Contact me immediately upon your arrival.
Sir Avery Stanton, Special Services Agency, London
“Bloody hell.”
“Is there something wrong, dear?” my great-aunt asked.
