Munro stepped past me and went down on one knee beside the body as he swept the light of his hand-held over the man who had tried to attack us.
He was thin beneath the blue wool suit of clothes that any man of society might have worn, except for the stains and the frayed cuffs. Now, it sagged in loose hollows, the once-white shirt covered with blood as he stared sightless past Munro.
It wasn’t the clothes, so obviously out of place here, but his features, the scars and marled flesh on his face, a mask I thought at first, and scars on his hands, a knife clutched in one.
And yet...there was something familiar, as I remembered the stooped figure of a man on the street days before, there watching.
I looked over at Brodie. “I don’t understand. Who?”
“Simon Harris.”
It took me a moment, everything we had learned, the lies, the murder of another young woman years before.
It made sense in a strange way as we returned to the wagon with Lily and the hound, then made the long ride back to the office on the Strand at the edge of the theater district, the lights and sounds in stark contrast to what we had left behind.
Upon our arrival at the office, Rupert had jumped down from the wagon quite pleased with himself, and then set off with Mr. Cavendish for a very late supper at the Public House. He deserved it, and more.
I provided soap and a towel for Lily, and she bathed in the accommodation down the way from the office, then crawled into bed in the room that adjoined the office. She took my hand as I tucked her in.
“That man...with the scars. He said he was sorry when that other man put me down in that room. Why would he say that?”
There were no easy answers. An apology perhaps? Madness at what he had set out to do, revenge against those he held responsible for his daughter’s death all those years before? Perhaps to ease his own guilt? We would never know.
“Try to sleep,” I told her and tucked the blankets in around her. She nodded.
“I don’t think I can.”
There was a yawn, then she turned onto her side, her eyes drifting closed.
I had telephoned my great-aunt to let her know that Lily was safe with us and would return to Sussex Square in the morning.
There was time enough to sort everything else out tomorrow, and contact both Sir Mallory and Judge Cameron, as well as Mr. Dooley to have the police retrieve the bodies from Queen’s Docks.
Munro left for Sussex Square. He would return in the morning for Lily. I was exhausted as well, with my own bruises.
I made use of the accommodations with a fresh cloth and some soap, ignored my own bruises from my encounter with Carney, and returned to the office to find cartons of food on the desk.
“The Mudger sent a boy over. He thought ye might be wanting supper,” Brodie explained.
Dear man, I thought.
Along with supper, were two glasses each with a dram of Old Lodge whisky. I needed that, and I needed food. In spite of the gruesome events of the evening, I was starving.
I have no idea what time it was when I suddenly looked up and realized that I had nodded off, and Brodie was there.
He took the empty glass from my hand and set it on the desktop, then proceeded to untie my boots and remove them.He pulled me up from the chair then over to blankets and a comforter spread on the floor.
“It’s time fer bed, unless ye want to sleep with the girl.”
“This will do quite nicely,” I replied.
He added more coal to the stove, checked the bolt on the door, and returned the revolver to the desk drawer. He then joined me on the floor, pulling me against him, then drawing the comforter up over us both.
“Why?” I asked, thinking of the clues on that chalkboard that had taken us to Queen’s Docks that night.
“Ye asked what the motive was,” Brodie replied, his voice low amidst the hiss of the fire in the coal stove.
And then, “Revenge, for his daughter’s death, against the man who killed her, and those who set him free.”
