With that, I proceeded to the lift with Rupert.
As we had both been to the newsroom previously, there was only a brief nod of acknowledgement when we arrived at the floor where the staff reporters had their desks lined up in an open space.
Two reporters pecked away at typing machines while others wrote information down in notebooks. One, a young staff writer by the name of Edward Ealing, greeted me from the counter as an older gentleman grabbed his coat from a coat rack in quite a rush, cap askew on his head, notebook in hand.
“Where are you off to, Mr. Casey?” he inquired.
“I’m meeting with Mr. Holmes,” he replied somewhat crankily. “He’s finally agreed to discuss his latest case.”
I nodded as he passed by with a tip of his cap. I did wish him luck with that. It was widely known that Mr. Holmes could be somewhat erratic in his habits, particularly where newspaper people were concerned.
I had met Mr. Holmes once at a reception upon the release of one of my Emma books.
He had entered the shop unrecognizable in a disguise and merely wandered about until most of the people had left. He then approached the table as I was preparing to leave as well.
I do not claim that he actually complimented me on the thinly disguised plot of my book that closely mirrored the first case Brodie and I had pursued. Instead, he stood back, watching me with just one word. “Fascinating.”
There followed a brief discussion about what that might mean.
“It is fascinating that a woman would write such a grisly tale,” he had explained. “But then, I suppose one may write anything they might imagine. It is, after all, fiction.”
Yes, well. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was condescending. However, I was tempted to explain the specific case I had written about more thoroughly. Although fictionalized to protect certain persons.
Instead, I simply replied, “The bullet wound has healed quite nicely, although there is a rather nasty scar.”
Mr. Holmes burst out laughing.“You remind me of someone I know—beautiful, charming, and a bit dangerous.”
We had discussed several points in my book, which he eventually conceded was a ‘rather nice little tome.’
And then, a thought in parting.“Do keep up the good work, Lady Forsythe. There are far too many evil persons in the world. And poor writers.”
It was a most unusual encounter. However, I considered it a compliment that Mr. Holmes had taken the time to engage in conversation.
I noticed in a quick glance that Mr. Burke was not among those in the newsroom.
He had been provided a private office once more after a fall from grace, as it were. I turned at the hallway that led to that office.
His door was closed. I knocked lightly, did not wait for a response as he would surely have told me to go away, then opened the door and stepped inside.
“I left instructions that I was not to be disturbed if I am to meet this deadline,” he announced without looking up.
“Then I shall only take a few minutes of your time,” I replied.
His head came up. “I would say that it is a pleasure, Lady Forsythe. However…”
He abruptly pushed back from the desk and seized his umbrella as if it was a weapon.
“And what the devil is that animal doing here!?”
“As you well know, he is quite docile unless provoked,” I replied. “And he has a particular dislike of umbrellas.”
He slowly lowered the weaponized umbrella. Rupert immediately sat down but kept a watchful eye on him.
“I have a deadline to meet…” Burke snapped as he returned to his chair.
“As I explained, I shall only take a few minutes of your time. It is in the matter of an article you wrote for the morning edition of the Times. The one about the murder of Chief Inspector Dawes as well as the murder of Constable Joseph Martin while he was on patrol in Piccadilly two nights previous.”
I knew from past experience that Mr. Burke often knew a great deal more about a story than he initially revealed. He had been known to gradually reveal information in subsequent, often sensational, articles to keep readers purchasing additional editions of the newspaper to read his crime reporting.
