And then there was one…
“Do ye know the meaning of it?”
“I have no idea…”
I caught the slight change in Brodie’s manner. He didn’t believe him. Neither did I.
“We canna help, sir, unless ye tell us everything ye may know of the matter. We would be wasting our time and yers. But I will tell ye this from experience, the person who wrote that note will not stop.”
Strong words, perhaps stronger than most would dare use with His Highness.
“I will take the note and add it to wot we already know, but we should meet again tomorrow,” Brodie continued.
The Prince of Wales nodded, his face heavily lined with exhaustion and the horror of the evening’s events.
“You are right of course, Mr. Brodie. It should be in private, if possible, to avoid the newspapers learning of it. I will have Sir Knollys send round a message.”
Aunt Antonia’s driver, Mr. Hastings had taken her home earlier. He had returned and waited with the coach and four in the courtyard, along with her second driver.
He stepped down from atop the coach and waited until we had all stepped inside, then latched the door and climbed atop once more with instructions to take Brodie and me to the townhouse in Mayfair and then return to Sussex Square with Lily and Munro.
The coach lurched away from the entrance, then across the courtyard, and onto the roadway at the edge of St. James’s Park.
“It was no accident.” Lily repeated what she had told me earlier. “I know what I saw. That man pushed that young man over the railing.”
“I believe ye, lass,” Brodie replied through the shadows inside the coach. “It would seem there is more His Highness hasn’t told us.”
We rose early the next morning and immediately went to the office on The Strand.
Lily and Munro had returned to Sussex Square after leaving Mayfair the night before. Brodie had asked her to join us at the office this morning to share anything else she might remember from the events of the previous evening.
We had learned before parting that Munro had seen the shadowy figure of a man hurrying toward the queue of coachesbut thought it one of the guests leaving the festivities, as several others had already.
He discovered that it was not one of the guests when he encountered Lily. He did seem a bit put off by that as he explained it.
Suddenly overcome with laughter, I had smothered it back in light of the evening’s dreadful turn until my eyes watered at the image of Munro overcome by Lily who weighed no more than seven stone.
“I dropped ye on yer arse, when ye came from behind me,” she clarified so there was no misunderstanding. “Ye’re lucky I didn’t use the knife on ye,” she added.
“A cake knife?” he replied, indignant, and made one of those typical Scottish sounds, not exactly a word, however the meaning quite clear.
“Perhaps ye remember something about the man that could be useful,” Brodie suggested as Lily now sat across from me at my desk. My notebook was opened before me.
“Was he tall?” Brodie inquired. She shook her head.
“Not as tall as yerself or Mr. Munro.” She was thoughtful. “Shorter than ye.” She told me.
“Do ye remember the color of his hair or eyes?”
“His hair was brown, overlong at his collar and curled up. His eyes were grey.”
“Are ye certain?”
She nodded. “I was as close as I am to Mikaela. He turned, surprised that I was there. There was an odd look in his eyes.” She thought about that. “Almost sad. But his expression was… Not angry, but something.”
Sad. That seemed odd to me, as well.
“What else do ye remember?” Brodie asked.
