A most fascinating response for someone who had a Viking longboat out on the green awaiting the day when it would beneeded to send her off in a blaze of glory…if she should need it once she reached a ripe old age.
The issue of where we were to live until we found suitable residence continued to linger out there unresolved.
I had briefly viewed properties that were available, yet they were either rat-filled tenements at the edge of the Strand or an overdone residence at the edge of Mayfair.
It was Aunt Antonia who suggested that I simply have the townhouse rebuilt in Mayfair.
“After all, dear, you own the ground where the townhouse once was, and the other people in Mayfair would assuredly appreciate it for their own property values.”
So, after discussion with Brodie, to which he replied, “It can be whatever you choose, but be finished with it. We have three new inquiry cases, and one is with the Home Secretary.”
It was decided, and I spoke with my great-aunt regarding a recommendation as to who should build it.
“That might be difficult, dear. The last construction was the manor at Sussex Square. Thomas Matthews was the contractor…however, that was well over a hundred years ago. I’m certain he must be dead.”
Of course.
“His grandson might be able to assist. He did the installation of the lift. His father, that would be Thomas’s son, took care of the electric. I highly recommend their work.”
I contacted young Alan Thomas and made arrangements to meet him and his father at the site where the townhouse had been before the fire. His father remembered working on Sussex Square.
“How does her ladyship like the lift?”
I answered that carefully so as not to offend the man. Neither he nor his son had been available for the installation of the lift at the office.
“It is a marvelous thing, however a work in progress,” I tactfully replied.
He roared with laughter. “She is a rare one, that. Told me a story about an ancestor who was a highwayman. Not that I believed her. No offense, Lady Forsythe, but the older ones pull yer leg once in a while.”
Pull the leg. I would like to see that one. I did not argue the point.
It did seem, however, that we were in for a lengthy rebuilding process. Mr. Matthews warned it might be a year or more, depending on his ability to get the appropriate materials.
I decided not to tell Brodie until later. It was always best to pick my moments or leave a note on the chalkboard. He was just beginning our inquiry case on behalf of the Home Secretary, which held the potential to be very difficult considering the well-placed people it might involve.
I returned from my initial meeting with Mr. Matthews over the proposed construction of the townhouse once the rubble had been cleared away. With the spring season very near, he hoped to make progress.
I entered the office and suddenly stopped as two rather grim expressions greeted me from Brodie and Munro.
Rupert, with his shaved coat mostly grown back except for the scar, had accompanied me from the street.
“What is it?” I inquired.
They both appeared quite serious, and I braced myself for some word regarding my great-aunt or possibly some other catastrophe from Sussex Square. Perhaps Mrs. Ryan threatening staff with a cleaver—there had been that one episode after she returned to Sussex Square following the fire. Or possibly Mrs. McAbernathy, my great-aunt’s housekeeper, threatening to depart over some disagreement.
I caught the look that passed between them.
“Miss Lily has left Sussex Square,” Munro replied.
“Left…?” I looked from one to the other. “What do you mean? Left? Where has she gone?”
“Sir Laughton called on Lady Montgomery this mornin’.”
Sir Laughton, my aunt’s lawyer. What did he have to do with this?
I immediately found a driver.
That question and more were all the more urgent as I arrived at Sussex Square and found Sir Laughton with my great-aunt in the salon.
