I thought of that message Blackwood had sent for Brodie—'I will take what you have taken from me.’—his family home, his reputation, his wife and son gone.
He had most certainly been partly successful as I walked up the blackened stone steps and stood at what had once been the entrance to the townhouse.
I glanced across the way to the residence of the gentleman who had seen it all, then to my neighbor directly next. The wall nearest to her townhouse appeared unharmed except for a bit of soot from the fire and water from the fire brigade’s efforts.
“Was anyone harmed?”
“The man with the brigade assured me no.”
I nodded. That was, of course, most important.
I peered through the still smoldering rubble of what had once been my sanctuary. Where I had planned my travel adventures and wrote my first novel, along with the ones that followed, purchased with the royalties from that first book. It had become Brodie’s home as well. Gone. All of it gone.
For a man who had nothing most of his life, it must seem preposterous to mourn the loss. Yet, I heard that quiet understanding that was always there in the softness of my name as he took me into his arms and brushed a tear from my cheek.
“It is only stone and brick,” I said, my head on his shoulder, his hand gentle as he stroked my hair—the only thing that really mattered. “The office will do nicely.”
Mr. Cavendish was there as we arrived. He glanced expectantly about, and I knew the reason. I explained what had happened.
He nodded, his mouth working with some emotion as I told him the hound had been injured. For a man who could be quite fierce in some matters, stoic in others, he was taken aback.
“I'd best look in on him then. He'll not take to bein' away from the alcove, or you, miss, for that matter.”
I watched as he set off through the misty rain, a man who was strong enough to endure the handicap that had become his life, even feared by some he encountered, yet undone by the thought that Rupert had been injured and needed him.
Sixteen
SIX WEEKS LATER
More easily said than done,we discovered, as we established full-time residence at the Strand.
Improvements had previously been made with the newly installed water closet and the lift, which was promptly repaired.
However, while it had once been adequate for Brodie in the past and both of us when a case required, it was a great deal smaller than the townhouse, and we often found ourselves stepping over each other as we went about the days and weeks that followed the Blackwood case.
I had noticed that my clattering away at my typing machine was bothersome as I wrote the last of our case notes, then went on to my next Emma Fortescue novel, delayed after the fire at the townhouse. And then there was the matter of the new clothes I was forced to purchase.
Brodie and I had previously shared a cabinet with his shirts and trousers and the few things I kept there. It proved somewhat challenging when he emerged one morning as he dressed for a meeting with the Home Secretary after the conclusion of the Blackwood case, dangling one of my silk undergarments that he’d found in the drawer with his wool jumpers.
“Ye know that I prefer ye without yer underthings…” he said, dangling a silk chemise. The threat was subtle, but there nonetheless.
Still, there were moments when we were stepping over each other.
My sister Lenore and her husband James suggested that we might take up the extra room at their residence. I caught the look on Brodie’s face when I mentioned their offer.
“With young Miss Catherine crawling about, causing the usual chaos?” he replied.
I had to admit that, as much as I adored my niece, I was in agreement on that. We made a polite excuse when Linnie unexpectedly discovered she was to have another child.
James was delighted. My sister was somewhat taken aback by the possibility of two babies barely more than a year apart. I graciously declined the offer, and I believe they were greatly relieved.
“You might consider taking up your old room here at Sussex Square,” Aunt Antonia suggested one morning when I needed to leave the office.
Brodie had set off earlier to meet with a new client who had been referred to us by Mr. Holmes, who was taking himself off to India.
They did seem to get along quite well no doubt due to their common profession with private inquiries. I personally thought the man quite odd, and there were rumors of his strange habits. Yet he was quite proficient in the ancient art of self-defense and complimented me after we encountered one another at the gymnasium.
“Remarkable,” he said at the time. “A woman with the ability to protect herself. Mr. Brodie is a brave man.”
