“He might question that from time to time… however, we manage to work through our differences.”
She looked at me with obvious confusion.
“Mr. Brodie is my husband,” I explained. “We work together in the cases that we are asked to take.”
“How very extraordinary,” she commented.
Extraordinarywas an interesting word, and for the first time I glimpsed past the sadness and pain of the past days.
“There are moments I am not certain that he would agree with you on that.”
The smile deepened on another thought. “My father was a barrister. My brother as well. I have always been fascinated by the law. However, Sir Mallory pointed out a long time ago that it was not a profession for women.”
There was something wistful in her voice and I thought howextraordinaryit would be for a woman to be a lawyer defending clients in English court.
“I should be returning home now,” she said, as if reminding herself. “I didn’t intend to be away so long. I must return before…”
I instinctively sensed she was about to say, before Sir Mallory returned at the end of the day.
“Of course,” I replied, easing her past the moment. I could not imagine being caught in such a relationship, and thought of my own marriage, quite unusual, different than anyone might have called appropriate for one of my title and station.
I realized that I would not have had it any other way.
I had Mr. Cavendish signal a cab for her. He rang the bell when it arrived. Mrs. Mallory put on her coat and gathered her umbrella.
She stopped at the door and turned before leaving.
“I envy you, Lady Forsythe.” She looked around at the office, the simple but comfortable furnishings, then added, “No matter what it takes, find the person who murdered my daughter.”
To say that my meeting with Althea Mallory was not at all what I expected was very much an understatement.
As sad and horrible as the circumstances of the case, I sensed beneath the black mourning clothes that she wore and the sad expression from a pain that would never—could never—go away, was a strong woman.
I liked her very much and ached for her loss. I hoped that Brodie and I could at least bring her peace by finding the person responsible.
I stayed at the office to await Brodie’s return and some word as to whether he had been successful in obtaining a meeting with Judge Cameron. I spent that time reading the two letters sent by someone by the name C. Walmsley in Guildford, Surrey.
The first letter was more of a brief note and was dated 4 June 1891. It included a clipping from the Times of London with the announcement of Charlotte Mallory’s engagement to Daniel Eddington. It was brief and quite cryptic:
“People are not what they pretend to be.”
I opened the second envelope. The message with it was even more cryptic, almost a warning, as those few words seemed to leap off the page:
“Secrets and lies are the devil’s work.”
I then read the newspaper article that had been sent with it. It had been written by a writer with the Police Gazette at the time by the name of Alvin Morris and reminded his readers aboutthe trial of a young man from a prominent family who had been accused of the murder of a young woman.
The subsequent trial had been dismissed along with all charges against the man for lack of evidence. The young man’s name was Ormsby!
I sat back at the desk chair, trying to make sense of it all.
What did someone, apparently a woman by the name of Walmsley who lived in Guildford, Surrey, know about that ten-year-old trial and a young man by the name of Ormsby? Further, what reason had she contacted Charlotte Mallory with that cryptic note? Because of the wedding announcement? A warning? But for what reason?
What did the woman know? Or was it a trick, as often those of certain families experienced from time to time?
I had certainly experienced my share in the past, mostly from anonymous sorts who pretended to be potential suitors who admired‘my adventuresome spirit.’Or perhaps it was the Montgomery family name.
Then more recently when my books were published and it was learned who the author truly was, I had attracted a different sort who thought that it was‘absolutely marvelous’that a woman might succeed in that endeavor.
