Brodie went to the coal stove and added more coal, his expression quite serious in that way I had seen before, his mouth drawn with a frown.
I took the pot from atop the stove and filled it from the faucet in the water closet that had been added adjacent to the bedchamber. A recent addition that was quite marvelous, as it was no longer necessary to go to the accommodation down the hall, as when I first made Brodie’s acquaintance.
Or rather, re-acquaintance…
He was at his desk when I returned, the frown still there as he leaned back on the edge of his desk and stared at the chalkboard.
I set the pot on the stove and added coffee from the tin on the shelf above, an acquired accomplishment as my kitchen skills were somewhat limited. The silence after Mr. Dooley’s departure was still there.
“It is quite early for Mr. Dooley to call,” I commented in an attempt to learn the reason. Brodie was usually more forthcoming.
“And by his manner it would seem quite serious. Oh, very well.”
There was still no response as the pot on the stove began to bubble and hiss.
I let it bubble and hiss for a while, as I was quite familiar with his habit of pulling within himself when there was a matter that troubled him. There was no doubt this was the case now, considering the expression on his face, deep in thought.
Bubble and hiss, bubble and hiss. The smell of coffee along with the fire in the stove pushed back the chill in the office.
When it seemed that the pot had sufficiently completed its task, I picked up the towel for such things, seized the pot by the handle, and poured coffee in both our cups.
I returned the pot to the top of the stove where it continued to bubble once more, then took a cup to the brooding man whostood before the chalkboard, lost in thought as he stared at the notes I had made.
“I should dress in something more appropriate than my chemise and underdrawers if Mr. Dooley should return,” I commented. “He was apparently somewhat embarrassed to see me in my bare feet and your coat.”
There was a brief glance, clearly distracted, as Brodie took the cup, and then sipped the steaming coffee.
There was a sudden intake of breath.
“Is the coffee lacking?” I inquired, staring at him over the edge of my own cup.
I now had his full attention. He coughed, that dark gaze narrowed.
“Ye might have used a bit more coffee than necessary,” he commented, barely more than a whisper.
“It serves you right—there was an opportunity for you to see to it as usual. You know full well that my skills in such things are quite lacking.”
“I could stand up a spoon in it,” he replied, somewhat stronger now.
“It is not that bad.” I proceeded to take a sip and nearly choked. “Perhaps a bit stronger than your usual.” I set my cup on the desk.
“Will you now tell me the reason Mr. Dooley was here?”
He took another sip of coffee. Brave man, I thought. I did need to pay attention to his skill in such things if we were both to survive.
He set his cup on the desk. Most unusual. He was in the habit of drinking a substantial amount of coffee in the morning, even if a spoon might have stood up in it. He went through our bedchamber into the adjoining water closet, and I heard the faint sound of water as it entered the basin.
He was most efficient in his morning wash and brush-up and set the tooth powder back on the shelf above the basin. Yet that dark beard glistened faintly with drops of water that remained as the towel was hastily tossed aside.
That dark gaze met mine, a different expression in the shadows that I was familiar with.
“There has been another murder.”
He returned to the bedchamber and proceeded to dress for the day—a black jumper in place of the shirt, heavy socks with the boots, jerking the laces taut.
“I’ll need my jacket,” he said, matter of fact, as if he was setting off on some simple errand, for coffee perhaps, as I handed it to him, which left me standing in my chemise and underdrawers.
There was another expression that filled that dark gaze before he abruptly returned to the outer office.
