For a girl who once could only read numbers in the amounts the prostitutes charged their customers and a handful of words when they gave her a note, her reading skills had substantially improved since arriving in London.
It occurred to me that Lily had changed in other ways as well, that included the sad news that day. A little bit more of the young girl was gone, replaced with that sad, solemn expression.
“Aye,” Brodie replied. “A most difficult case. Perhaps this one will be quickly resolved.”
Lily nodded as she stared down at that glaring headline of the newspaper on her lap with a frown. Then she looked up, the expression at her face now quite determined.
“I want to hire you to find who did this.”
To say there was a moment of surprised silence is an understatement. I looked over at Brodie. Of all the things I might have imagined when she learned about Charlotte Mallory’s murder, this was not it.
Hire us to find the young woman’s murderer?
“A marvelous idea!” my great-aunt announced, lifting her whisky glass. “You will begin immediately of course.”
Three
THE NEXT MORNING…
“You don’t approve,”I commented as our driver arrived at the office on the Strand and we stepped down from the cab.
The building did look substantially improved, with better signage, the sagging wood steps near the alcove replaced, and fresh paint over the old stones on the walls.
I did wonder if Brodie had made any inquiries about another location for the office. He was convinced that he would not be able to afford the rents for the new improvements once the new owner contacted him.
He had been unusually quiet, even for Brodie, since supper the previous evening with Lily’s announcement and my great-aunt’s enthusiastic support.
“It appears that it doesna matter whether I approve or disapprove. The decision has been made by Lily, yerself, and her ladyship,” he snapped somewhat peevishly as Rupert the hound emerged from the alcove to greet me, followed by the keeper of the alcove, who rolled out on his platform.
Mr. Cavendish had lost both legs in an accident years before, and the platform provided a means for him to get around.
I chose to ignore Brodie for the moment as Rupert nudged my hand, looking for his usual morning treat compliments of Mrs. Ryan, usually sponge cake or possibly a honeyed biscuit. I handed Mr. Cavendish the wrapped package that included a piece for Rupert.
“You have a new platform,” I complimented him. The old one was a precarious contraption. It was held together with strips of leather, and few random bolts that frequently loosened and disappeared on his forays about the Strand. He did seem to prefer high speeds, diving in and about carriages and coaches on the street.
“The old one was a bit worn. I was informed this one is more reliable, made of good stout hickory and stained with paint against the weather with metal bolts that lock to hold the bloody thing together.” His eyes sparkled. “It corners like the devil, full speed.”
Oh, dear.
“Most impressive,” I complimented him.
I suspected who might have suggested the new platform. He did seem to have a stalwart friend in Miss Effie at the public house down the Strand, and she had commented more than once that the old platform would be the death of him. It did seem of late that their friendship might have progressed.
It also appeared that Miss Effie might have suggested the woolen trousers that had replaced the previous ones that were more a collection of patches, badly stained with whatever came up off the street as he paddled about. And there was a homespun shirt under the woolen vest. Altogether, he looked quite dapper. I complimented him.
“Mr. Dooley is up in the office,” he informed us. “He arrived some time ago in the matter of inquiries you made?”
Indeed, I thought with a glance over at Brodie. He had been adamantly opposed to taking on the case of Charlotte Mallory’smurder. Or rathersilentlyadamant against it after supper the previous evening with Lily and my great-aunt. And then still silent in the matter this morning, except for that one comment.
I had decided to let him grumble a bit over it. As I knew only too well, he would eventually voice his objections and then come around to my way of thinking with a little persuasion.
“Best go up and see what he knows about the matter,” he replied now.
I caught the look in that dark gaze, the glower there that only made him more handsome. Nothing like a brooding, cantankerous Scot, as he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Have ye exchanged all yer morning pleasantries?”
“Almost,” I replied as I glanced over at Mr. Cavendish. We were both quite accustomed to Brodie’s grumblings. I called to the hound as I joined Brodie on the stairs.
