“Then we will make a day of it,” I promised her. “We will have lunch in the restaurant and see what we may find for a gift.” I was confident there would be no difficulty there.
She nodded. “Will Mr. Brodie come as well?”
I could almost hear his response, something very colorful about ladies shopping.
“Probably not. Now, you must tell me how you are coming along with your reading lessons.” My great-aunt had mentioned that Lily attempted to claim the book in question, a rather cumbersome historical volume, had somehow been misplaced and she had no idea where it was.
“Your tutor will be returning tomorrow and will expect a progress report.”
Even as I said it, I couldn’t believe the words that came out of my mouth. By the expression on her face, Lily obviously felt the same as I had, reading stuffy old books written by stuffy old men, when I preferred Jane Austen and Mr. Dickens.
“I’m reading another book that her ladyship assured me would be all right,” she added, avoiding a direct question about the ‘missing’ book. At the excited expression on her face, I was almost afraid to ask.
“It’s an adventure story written by a lady by the name of Emma Fortescue. It’s real excitin’.”
Well… that was most interesting.
“Which book?” I inquired. “I hear that shehas written several,” I did hope that it was not the one with the adventure in the Greek Isles.
“It’s the one about a long train trip across Europe and the dangerous people she meets in a place called...” She tried to pronounce it.
“Istanbul?” I suggested.
“That is the one, right enough. Have ye read it?”
“I have heard of it.”
That particular novel was one of the less ‘adventuresome’ sort. At least as far as handsome strangers were concerned.
“I suppose that will be all right,” I added, knowing full well from my own reading experiences that it would do no good to ban her reading other books. She would undoubtedly find a way to read them anyway.
I sighed. We were no blood relation, yet as both Brodie and my great-aunt had pointed out, we were very much alike. It did seem that now the shoe was very much on the other foot.
Brodie went out onto the landing of the office.
It was late, verra late, and still no word from the Mudger. He had told the man to return no later than nightfall, as the chances of finding Thomas Brown or any of his people would run afoul of the weather. And now it was well into the night.
He cursed as he returned to the office. Wot was keeping the Mudger? Had he encountered Brown and several of his men?
He could handle himself well enough with one or two. Brodie had seen it himself. Or had there been an accident of some sort?
With the weather anything was possible, the man navigating that bloody platform about as if he had a death wish. And wot of the hound? That bloody, smelly, vagrant.
Did the beast know enough to return to the Strand if there was a difficulty?
He had before, but then it was possible that something had happened to him as well, given Brown’s reputation… if the Mudger was able to find the man.
He heard both sounds almost at the same time—a frantic scratching at the door of the office and the bell clamoring out from the landing. When he opened the door, the hound charged past and shook himself off in a puddle of water on the floor of the office.
He could have sworn the beast grinned up at him. Mikaela had taught him to do that, he was convinced of it. She had a bond with the beast from the beginning, feeding him biscuits and sponge cake.
He went out on the landing and then down the stairs where the Mudger waited on the sidewalk.
“I told ye to take care not to be out late o’ the night. Was there trouble?”
“You also asked me to find someone,” the Mudger pointed out.
“Ye found him, then.”
