Brodie saw the control His Highness asserted in the way he straightened his shoulders, his frown. And perhaps denial of any knowledge of it?
He was prepared to walk out of the library and be done with it all. Let Sir Avery continue with his inquiries. Brodie would not be persuaded otherwise, to simply overlook certain matters.
“What happened at university all those years before?” he inquired. “I must know all of it before we can continue.”
His Highness returned to his desk and slowly sat in that chair. He leaned back, eyes closed for those few moments.
There was no pretense: no posturing as Brodie might have expected.
Sir Knollys returned as if at some previously agreed time.
“All is well,” His Highness assured his personal secretary. “We will have coffee, and please cancel my meetings for the rest of the afternoon.”
#204 THE STRAND
After arriving back in London, Lily and I returned to the office.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon going over everything we’d learned from our trip to Grantchester in our search for information about that night over thirty years earlier.
According to what Mrs. Hollings had shared, the vicar at the time, Reverend Chastain, had been assigned to St. Pancras Old Church in London by special order of the archbishop after that dreadful situation with his daughter.
The church where he had then taken up service was in an older part of London, some distance from The Strand.
According to what Lily and I had learned, those who served the church did so for a term of three years, usually assigned elsewhere afterward.
How long had Mr. Chastain been at St. Pancras? Had he continued on, or left at the end of his term? If so, where might he have gone?
It was possible that his daughter might have eventually married after leaving Cambridge.
Would there be a record of it? If she had not married, then what had happened to her?
I knew from past inquiry cases that girls who had suffered such things often ended up on the streets.
What was Mary Chastain’s fate?
And now, all these years later, who was responsible for the murders of three young men whose fathers were connected to that horrible episode?
What was the motive? I thought not for the first time: A father’s revenge? But why after all these years?
Blackmail made sense, yet no blackmail demand had been made to our knowledge.
I put down my pen and closed my notebook. Perhaps Brodie might learn something in his meeting with His Highness.
It had been hours since we had eaten last in that rail station cafe in Cambridge. Food was most definitely in order. We left word with Mr. Cavendish and set off across The Strand to the Public House.
The food there was simple but hearty, more the sort favored by workers at end of day. We both ordered meat pie.
“Not to forget, miss,” Miss Effie reminded us. “We have the chapel at All Saints for the eighth of December.”
Miss Effie and Mr. Cavendish were to be married on that date.
What began as simple friendship had grown deeper for both of them, although the proposal had come from Miss Effie as Mr. Cavendish was convinced no one would ever want to be with a man who had lost both legs.
Miss Effie, a woman of strong character, had been forced to take the matter into her hands, so to speak—she had proposed tohim, insisting that he make an honest woman of her.
I was pleased for them. It was clear to anyone who knew them that they were quite taken with each other. Brodie had been hesitant.
“How the devil will he provide for them?” he said at the time when the announcement was made. “With the small amount she’s no doubt paid at the Public House?”
