“He said the money for the cottage was an inheritance he didn’t know about beforehand. I thought it was strange at the time, as both our families were simple people, and I never heard about any inheritance.
“Afterward he kept the books for the church and other places about the village to pay for food and medicine for our son.
“Our boy died that next winter. The doctor who makes calls in the village said that his lungs were ‘gone’ and his heart just gave out. My John was not the same afterward. He blamed himself for the loss of our boy.
“John got sick just about this time last year. The physician said that it was the influenza that so many got about that time. I took good care of him, but he only got worse. I never caught it. The doctor said that it happens that way sometimes.”
She stared down at her hands wrapped around the chipped tea cup.
“It was near the end when he told me where the money for the cottage came from. It was as if he needed to ease his mind about it.”
She reached across the table and picked up the envelope that contained the first letter with that cryptic message she had sent Charlotte Mallory. She stared down at it.
“He said that he was given the money for doing something important for the man he worked for, but it was necessary for us to leave London afterward. He did it for our son. I know that doesn’t excuse what he did…”
Secrets and lies, I thought.
“Who was the man he worked for?” Brodie asked.
“Sir Mallory, the barrister, for several years,” she replied. “It was a good position and paid well.”
“And the reason he was paid to leave London?” I inquired.
Cora Walmsley looked up then, and I had never seen a more miserable expression on someone’s face.
“Because of what he saw,” she replied in a soft voice.
“Wot did he see?” Brodie asked.
“He had left work and he was on his way home. He wasn’t able to find a driver so he walked that night. He passed by Rules, that fancy restaurant. Just beyond, he heard a boy, one of the newspaper boys finishing his shift, shout that a young woman had been found dead just beyond.
“The police had been summoned. That’s when a young man ran into my husband as if he was running from a fire. He was finely dressed and had blood on the front of his shirt.”
I sensed there was more.
“He didn’t recognize the young man at first. The newspapers were filled with the story about the young woman who was murdered. Her father was a well-to-do merchant. Harris was the name.
“There were those who heard the young man and woman arguing. He was taken in by the police. Johnathan said that the young man claimed to have been another place when the young woman was attacked and killed. His family hired the best lawyer for his defense against the charges.”
“The young man’s name?” Brodie inquired, although I already fairly certain what that was.
“Ormsby,” she replied. “A very well-placed family it seems.”
“And the lawyer hired to defend the young man?”
“Sir Mallory.”
The finest lawyer that Ormsby money could buy, and John Walmsley’s employer.
“John went to him and told him what he had seen that night. He was told that it wouldn’t be necessary for him to speak in court.”
“And it was shortly thereafter that it was suggested that he leave London,” Brodie concluded.
Cora Walmsley nodded.
“And the letters?” I then inquired.
“I saw the announcement that Sir Mallory’s daughter was engaged to be married to the man who came to my husband and persuaded him to leave.”
