“I will let you know. And once again, Mrs. Ryan, supper was magnificent,” I complimented her.
“Not that anyone would know by the small amount you ate, not enough for a child. I put the roast chicken in the icebox and locked the door for the night,” she continued. “Good night, miss.”
And she was gone, mumbling something about her efforts with the sponge cake she had prepared for dessert.
I looked over at the hound stretched out across the rug before the fireplace.
“You do seem to have put on some weight,” I commented. His response was the snoring that continued uninterrupted.
Then there was only the sound of the door closing from Mrs. Ryan’s room beyond the kitchen, and the hiss of the fire in the fireplace as I continued the next chapter in Emma Fortescue’s latest adventure.
It was well after midnight. Two paragraphs in more than two hours…!
I pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter and wadded it in frustration. It joined several other pieces on the floor. I looked over at the hound.
I had obviously disturbed his sleep.
“What are you looking at, sir?” I demanded. Not that I expected an answer. I glanced at the clock on the mantel.
It was after midnight, several hours since supper…several more since I had sent that message to Brodie.
Was there some difficulty getting it to him? Had something happened to prevent Mr. Cavendish getting it to Brown’s man?
Rupert groaned and laid his head back on the carpet.
It was quite marvelous, the way he was able to simply ignore everything around him and return to sleep. Not unlike someone I knew.
“Oh, bloody hell.” There was nothing more to be done in the middle of the night.
In the morning, I would return to the office. Mr. Cavendish would be there, and I would learn if he was successful in delivering the message.
I retrieved from my bag the revolver Brodie insisted that I carry, and put it into the pocket of my dressing gown, then went to the fireplace.
Rupert did not move a hair as I set the screen in front of the fireplace, one of those small things Brodie usually did when he was here. I then turned off the lamp on my desk, rechecked thelock on the front door, then turned off the electric in the hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
I placed the revolver on the floor beside the bed as Brodie did each night, then removed my dressing gown and crawled under the covers as the rain beat on the window.
There was a faint scratching at the door, then the familiar sound of Rupert’s nails on the wood floor. He paused. Undoubtedly a question, if one was into communicating with animals.
Oh, very well, I thought. “Are you going to just sit there?”
He responded by leaping up onto the bed and settling himself without further ado at my feet. Undoubtedly a mistake on my part. It was Brodie’s fault for not being there.
Where was Brodie?I thought, as the hound settled himself, quite content.
Had he received that message…? Was he safe?
In spite of my current bed partner, the bed seemed cold and empty. I tucked my feet against Rupert. At least my feet were warm…
It was some time later that a sound wakened me. Coming out of sleep, I realized that it was Rupert. He was no longer on the bed but somewhere near the door and obviously upset in a way that I recognized.
Another sound came then, far different, and seemed to come from downstairs.
I left the bed, put on my dressing gown, then retrieved the revolver from the floor beside the bed. I went to the door and slowly opened it, then placed a hand on the ruff at Rupert’s neck that was standing up. He whined softly.
“Stay,” I gave the command I had been teaching him. With mixed results, as he had a mind of his own.
He obeyed and stayed by my side as I left the room and went out onto the second-floor landing. Beside me, the houndgrowled, low and threatening, as I glanced about the ground floor, fully illuminated by a ceiling light in the foyer.
