Twenty
Lily had stayed over again.And the office was somewhat nearer for our trip to St. Pancras Old Church to see what might be learned about the vicar, Mr. Chastain.
I made a telephone call to the parish church first thing in the morning and spoke with a clerk. As it was early and the middle of the week, there were no church services scheduled for the day.
She was to go me. We were given a time of one o’clock to meet with the vicar. Brodie was also to accompany us. He insisted after I had spoken of the two encounters—one across from the office and the other at King’s Cross station, before we left for Cambridge.
We ate at the Public House, then returned to the office on The Strand. Mr. Cavendish had just returned from the lift and met us at the entrance to the office.
“I took a message up to the landing. Appears to be from that man at the Agency. The bloody machine stopped twice between the ground floor and the second.”
The bloody machine being the lift. There have been some difficulties with it since it was installed.
As for the message that had been received, it appeared that it was from Sir Avery Stanton.
“Best take the stairs, miss,” he cautioned. “Or you might find yourselves trapped in the thing. I’ll send word round for people to repair it.”
Brodie followed on the stairs, his preferred means of traversing from street to the office. There was a frown on his face as he retrieved the envelope Mr. Cavendish had left.
Lily and I entered ahead. I set my umbrella in the stand, then removed my long coat and hung it on the coat rack.
Brodie’s frown deepened as he read the note, followed by a curse. He was not pleased.
“An official summons from His Highness for a meeting with the Home Secretary, and Sir Avery is to be included.” He thrust the note at me.
It was for this morning, and not something that could be declined, unless one found oneself run over by an omnibus or bound and thrown into the river.
Brodie looked over at me.
“Ye should wait until I return to go to St. Pancras, then I can go with ye.”
“It is the middle of the day. There will be others about. I doubt we will be in any danger in a church,” I replied. “And I do have the revolver.”
I was most anxious to learn what we might find there, particularly with the risk to the son of the fourth member of that exclusive club, the Duke of York.
“It would be far simpler, Mikaela Forsythe, if ye were a docile creature who did the laundry and cooking, and then waited for her husband to come home each day.”
Lily smothered a laugh.
“First of all, Mr. Brodie, the few times I have attempted laundry—one of them in a somewhat urgent situation thatinvolved your shirt—you will admit that it was a disaster,” I replied. “The shirt had ended in the rag bin, a glorious shade of pink.”
“Aye.”
“Second, my attempts at cooking have not fared better. I have more pressing things to do than measuring this or that, then hovering over a hot stove all day.”
Although not for lack of trying, with a roast chicken that was somewhat the worst for it afterward and provided Rupert with a tasty meal. But then, he’d been known to eat any foul thing found on the street.
“I am aware of yer lack of abilities in that area,” he commented. “It is a wonder either of us have survived yer attempts.”
“And third,” I had saved this for last. “I have never been considered docile, nor am I one to simply wait at home for the master of the house to return. In conclusion, Mr. Brodie, you knew very well I did not possess, nor was likely to ever possess, any of those qualities when you proposed to me.”
“It must have been momentary insanity.” He pulled me against him.
I fought to control the laugher. “Momentary insanity?”
“Or a wee bit longer. I’m not certain there’s a cure.” He kissed me quite thoroughly.
Lily smothered a laugh behind her hand.
