Such condescending drivel.
Was this a trick? Attracted by the family name? Or was there some sort of connection.
No stone unturned, I thought.
When Brodie returned, I did need to suggest that we learn more about C. Walmsley in Guildford, and I wanted to go to the newspaper archive and see what I might be able to learn about that ten-year-old murder.
While I waited for Brodie, something I was not yet used to but had agreed to be more conscientious about, I made additional notes on the chalkboard.
It was late afternoon when the bell sounded from the landing. It was fairly safe to say that Mr. Cavendish would not have rung the bell to announce Brodie’s arrival. I went out onto the landing.
On the street below, my great-aunt stepped down from the automobile she had recently acquired, driving goggles in place that gave her the appearance of a bug. Granted, a very colorful bug in a vivid purple driving costume.
I had not previously seen this one. It seemed that she was acquiring quite a wardrobe for the roadway. However, this did raise the concern about her setting off during the day with all of the usual London traffic about.
There was a blast of sound, a horn, as Lily stepped down, along with what appeared to be some colorful language—I could only imagine, as a horse-drawn tram swept past quite close.
“Hello, dear,” my great-aunt greeted me as she arrived on the landing, Lily following.
“The roadway is quite congested this time of day. I had never noticed,” she commented as she removed the goggles.
“Mr. Munro was good enough to follow in the coach if there should be any difficulty.” She leaned toward me as if sharing a secret.
“He can be quite protective of Lily.”
Yes, of course, I thought.
“Not as if he didn’t trust my driving skills,” she added. “Mr. Hastings just happened to need to pick up a new harness from the leathermaker.”
And they would no doubt be returning by way of the Strand.
“How are you, dear?” she thought to ask. “Lily was quite anxious to speak with you, and I thought… why not drive to the office?”
Why not? Although a call on the telephone might have worked just as well. I had learned not to ask such questions.
“I was not prepared for how rude some people can be,” she added.
Considering the scene I had just witnessed, I could only imagine and managed a smile in greeting.
“Will your machine be safe parked on the street?” I inquired.
“Mr. Cavendish has promised to alert us if there is any difficulty,” my great-aunt replied. “Kind man, he is most diligent. And Mr. Munro will be along shortly.”
There it was, her escort. I had visions of several years from then with countless little old women let loose on the streets of London in automobiles. It was a rather frightening prospect.
“The office does appear remarkably improved, and the building as well. Don’t you think, dear?”
I provided tea and coffee. It did seem that a bit of whisky might be dangerous if she was to return to Sussex Square in the automobile. Not that my great-aunt hadn’t proven that she could hold herspirits, as she called them.
Lily had been unusually quiet. Even now as she moved about the office, then stopped to inspect the chalkboard with my latest notes.
“What did you wish to speak to me about?” I asked. The girl who turned to me then hardly seemed a girl, but a young woman and most serious.
“It was something I thought of after ye left,” she said, crossing to Brodie’s desk where she picked up a pen then set it back down, fidgeting as my great-aunt had frequently scolded me.
She looked up and it struck me again that the girl was no more, but had been replaced by a very striking, if serious, young woman.
“Ye said that very often in the inquiry cases that ye and Mr. Brodie investigate it’s something someone says and is not even aware of that provides a clue.”
