I tucked the paper into my bag that usually held my writing pen, notebook, and the revolver Brodie had given me.
It wasn’t that she wouldn’t find out about it. The London gossip mill was most proficient in spreading stories, and the ones about the Whitechapel murders had kept the city filled with terror and almost morbid curiosity years before. Mr. Burke had built quite a reputation on those unsolved murders.
“I will be going to the office. I will need a driver,” I decided as I crossed the parlor, then ran up the stairs to change my clothes. Emma Fortescue would have to wait!
THE STRAND
“I read about it earlier,” Brodie commented as I paced the office. “My thought is that it’s not the same as the Whitechapel murders. Those victims were all found in the East End, and known to solicit customers from time to time. This young woman… do ye know her?” He looked at me with a thoughtful expression.
“In a manner of speaking. She gave Lily music lessons after Mr. Finch was dismissed.”
That had not been entirely unexpected after the somewhat colorful performance Lily gave at Sussex Square with a bawdy song she’d learned on the street. I had commended her on her skill at the piano—most creative.
“Music?” Brodie replied.
I nodded. “After that previous performance at Sussex Square, it was determined that perhaps he was not best suited for her. It was thought that someone else might be better suited. Charlotte Mallory was Lily’s instructor for the past several months. They got along quite well. This will go very hard for Lily.”
Lily had once lived in a brothel in Edinburgh. We met during a previous case. Point of fact, she had saved my life.
She was street-wise beyond her years and might well have spent the rest of her life in that brothel rather than merely as the young lady’s maid there when Brodie and I encountered her.
I was quite fond of her and couldn’t bear the thought that was all her life would be. I had spoken with Brodie on the matter since it affected us both. In the end, I had brought her to London as my ward with the promise of an education other than the street education she had acquired, along with the opportunity for a better life.
She was intelligent, had a mind for numbers and codes, and had also proven herself quite accomplished with clues we uncovered in a previous case.
Our inquiries often took both Brodie and me far afield at odd times of the day or night, and it was therefore decided that it was best for her to live with my great-aunt. Or I should say that my great-aunt decided it.
Not that the arrangement was without some concern, as my great-aunt was eighty-six years old, somewhat of a free spirit, as my friend Templeton described her, and at the time was planning to go on safari to Africa, a trip that eventually included Lily and myself.
We were gone for almost four months. During that time, I took the place of her academic tutor, more or less, as academics were never a favorite pastime. But we both survived the arrangement.
Charlotte Mallory had been her music teacher before our departure some months before, and Lily had recently resumed those lessons with her.
She was only a handful of years older than Lily, and they were soon thick as thieves, as the saying goes, with a friendship that went beyond student and teacher. Miss Mallory hadn’t blinked an eye when Lily acquainted her with that particular song learned on the streets. It had reduced Charlotte Mallory to laughter until she could hardly breathe.
And now? I could only imagine that the news would be devastating for Lily.
“Will you see what you can learn about it from the police?” I asked.
Brodie still had a close relationship with a handful of officers at the MET and relied on them from time to time as needed, along with his old friend Mr. Conner, who was now retired but shared drinks with some of his fellow police at the local taverns. And then there was Mr. Dooley, who had recently been promoted to inspector.
“I’ll see what can be learned. Hopefully the lads have more information than Mr. Burke has been able to learn.”
As I knew all too well from past encounters with Mr. Burke, it was not unusual for him to hold back information, to be written about in subsequent articles, hooking the readership in like fish.
“What about Lily?” he asked.
“I need to go to Sussex Square…she needs to be told,” I replied. “She will have questions. I hope she hasn’t read about it in the daily. Mr. Burke is particularly known for his somewhatgraphic and gruesome details. I wouldn’t want her to read about it first.”
“I’ll put a telephone call in to Mr. Dooley.” That dark gaze met mine. “Then I’ll go with ye. No need to do this alone.”
“Thank you.” I appreciated that very much. Both were Scots and somewhat given to shutting things away inside until they festered, much like a boil. He had a way with her, an understanding that came from a shared background, even though he had shared more than once that we were quite alike.
“She is a lot like ye, even though there’s no blood between ye. She has a temper, and will want justice for her friend.”
There it was. I had no idea where he came by that.
I put through a telephone call to Sussex Square. It was picked up by the house steward. I asked to speak with my great-aunt and explained what we had learned.
