The persistent ringingof the service bell brought us both up out of sleep, followed by the determined pounding at the office door.
Brodie cursed, first in Scots, then in the Queen’s English, for whoever might be outside the door, as he grabbed his trousers, then wool jumper against the cold in the room.
“Who the bloody hell is it this time of the night?”
Actually, it was very near morning—very early morning to be specific with a glance at the faint edge of light on the window shade.
The pounding at the door continued, joined now by furious barking by the hound.
“Stay where it’s warm, while I learn who it is needs to die this early in the mornin’,” Brodie said as he left the room.
He was not serious, of course, still the sentiment was there. I reached for my pocket watch.
It was only half past five in the morning!
I thought of several reasons someone might be at the door that time of day, the first that something had happened with my great-aunt. At her age, I could never be certain how much longershe had, even though she was quite determined to outlive the Queen, and several other persons of her acquaintance, before boarding a Viking long boat into the great beyond.
That thought also included my sister and her family. What if it was some difficulty with the baby, Catherine, who was hardly an infant any longer?
My next thought, as I heard voices, was for my ward, Lily Montgomery, whom I had brought from Edinburgh as a child after one of our cases.
Although she was now very much an independent young woman who had a habit of taking herself off ‘exploring,’ as she called it. The last time it had been in my great-aunt’s motor carriage for a drive about.
Munro had eventually learned the direction she had taken across London and proceeded to find her. It had not ended well for Munro, who was my aunt’s estate manager. It was he who had discovered that the motor carriage was missing.
All had ended well enough several hours later when Lily returned with cheeks smudged with mud from the street, the expression in her eyes afire as she recounted her adventures to my great-aunt, who had eventually summoned me to Sussex Square to hear the tale.
“She is quite like yourself,” she pointed out, not for the first time. While I struggled between thoughts of stern reprimand for someone who was now somewhere near nineteen or twenty years of age.
The alternative was choking back laughter at the memory of a similar incident of my own that involved my great-aunt’s racehorse and an unauthorized turn about the racetrack at Ascot in full view of the Royal family.
Was it possible that Lily had taken off on another adventure and gotten herself into some difficulty?
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed as I recognized Mr. Dooley’s thick Irish accent and the excitement in his voice.
I was hardly dressed for callers in my chemise and petticoat…still, this did seem urgent. I grabbed Brodie’s dress coat from the chair back, wrapped it around me and went into the outer office.
“With all that’s happened, I thought you should know straight away,” Mr. Dooley was saying.
“Aye.” Brodie replied.
“The same?” I heard him ask.
Mr. Dooley nodded. “The very same that Constable Martin was killed, and everyone at the courts in a fit and falling in the middle of it over how it could possibly have happened. They have brought on extra men and sent them across London.
“The thought is that it had to be someone who had good knowledge of the Old Bailey,” he continued. “And that the judge would be found there after hours at end of day, when there would be fewer people about and it would be easier to move around. It’s thought that he came in with the cleaners.”
Rupert had pushed inside the entrance to the office. He had ceased barking as he recognized Mr. Dooley and now sat on the floor, head cocked, ears alert as if he understood every word.
Mr. Dooley looked over and nodded as I entered the office.
“Beg pardon for the intrusion.”
“It is no bother, Mr. Dooley,” I assured him.
He returned to his conversation with Brodie. “I’ll be leading the inquiries since this began with the attack on Constable Martin. Remember, whoever is behind this is clever and had specific targets, it would seem.”
I caught the look that Brodie gave Mr. Dooley. He nodded and then left the office. It did seem there was a great deal more to their conversation—their voices low before I entered the room.
