I might have been about the age of ten or twelve, after she had taken Linnie and me to live with her.
I explained the old saying to Lily about bees being attracted to honey rather than vinegar as far as attempting to persuade someone to do something.
“Vinegar is foul and nasty,” she agreed. “However, it would bring far quicker results.”
I made no comment on that as we added notes to the chalkboard regarding our meeting at White’s and Brodie’smeeting with Lord Salisbery’s physician, most particularly his impression regarding the mark that had also been made on the first victim’s body.
Brodie quickly returned from the courier office. He had been assured by the clerk that the message would be delivered straight away once the man saw where it was to be delivered.
A response, from the Prince of Wales, arrived barely more than an hour later, and we prepared to depart for Marlborough House with my notes, and the sketches that Lily and I had made.
“I would like very much to accompany ye,” she commented. “I believe that I have contributed adequately with my sketch and information we learned today.”
She was correct, of course. She had shown enormous intelligence, poise, and tenacity, as now.
“Of course,” I replied.
I could have sworn that little voice inside that made itself known from time to time, suddenly laughed.
It was a silent ride to Marlborough House in that way that Brodie had of turning things over in his thoughts such as how best to present what we had learned, and then the questions we now had for things the Prince of Wales had not previously shared.
I had retrieved Lily’s sketch from the wall of the office and given it to her before we left The Strand. She had tucked it into her bag with a solemn expression that suddenly disappeared at the sight of the uniformed guards and footmen dressed in formal livery as we arrived.
“Crivvens!” she exclaimed. “Do they dress like that every day?”
The coach came to a stop before the main entrance and a footman approached. Lily and I were assisted, then Brodie stepped down as well.
The night of the celebration for the Prince of Wales’s birthday, Marlborough House had been overflowing with arrivals, guests already within, dozens of liveried footmen to see to the needs of each.
This afternoon was quite different by contrast, although there were still a good many staff and servants going about their duties. Along with those who were there to meet with the Prince of Wales on some matter of official business.
The Queen was the monarch. Yet it was also known in certain circles that the Prince of Wales was kept informed on matters affecting the government, including the military and foreign developments.
We were escorted into the foyer where we were greeted by Sir Knollys.
“If you will be so good as to wait, I will inform His Highness that you have arrived.”
He then went to the library where we had previously met with Prince Edward.
A gentleman I recognized emerged from the library with a leather document case. He briefly nodded in acknowledgement.
“Lady Forsythe.”
I replied and explained as he departed.
“He is the Foreign Secretary. We met previously.”
He was immediately followed by Sir Knollys’s return.
“If you will please follow me.”
Prince Edward was cordial in his greeting as we arrived at the library. Then, at a nod, Sir Knollys departed, the door closing behind him.
“You have new information, Mr. Brodie?” His Highness inquired, once again dispensing with any formality.
“Aye,” Brodie replied, as Lily and I took seats before the desk. “And questions, sir,” he added.
Brodie then explained those we had spoken with, information we had obtained—or not, as in the case of the newspaper archives—and our visit to the St. James’s morgue.
