Mr. Conner had not complained when he arrived.
“Aye, strong. Just the way I like it,” he said when I poured a cup for him as well.
“What about the cabman Fitch spoke of?” he asked now. “There could be something there if he remembers where he delivered the man.”
Brodie nodded. “And perhaps a visit to Germantown. The man who attacked me last night might be known at the gymnasium. The blows he threw were not the sort learned on the street.”
“So it would seem.” Mr. Conner nodded.
“The man was sent by someone. The question is, who might that be and for what reason?
"Burke made his reputation on sordid, sensational articles that he wrote for the newspaper. It didn’t seem to matter whether the subject was someone in Parliament or a member of the peerage. Any one of them might have taken exception to something he wrote.”
Brodie shook his head. “He’s insulted dozens of persons across London, and nothing has come of it before.” He frowned. “There’s more to this, and it has to do with the name on that note he gave Mikaela.”
“There is also the address in Southwark,” I pointed out. “It could be important.”
Brodie explained the receipt that I had found. Mr. Conner nodded.
“Southwark is not a place where you should go.”
If there was anything worse than one badly bruised Scot who’d had little sleep the night before, it was another overbearing Scot, in spite of the smile and the twinkle in his eyes.
“But ye have no doubt heard that before.”
“I suppose my place would be here brewing coffee and keeping my notes,” I replied.
Brodie angled a look at me that spoke clearly about my efforts at making coffee or anything else that might require skill in a kitchen. I chose to ignore him and his bruises.
“There are other things for a woman to see to,” Mr. Conner commented with a look across at Brodie.
“It would seem that ‘other things’ are now sharply curtailed due to the events of last evening,” I replied.
“Did I say something to offend?” Mr. Conner commented.
“Ye have been warned,” Brodie told him.
“I apologize if I offended, Lady Forsythe,” Mr. Conner added.
“Apology accepted. However, you may make your own coffee.”
Brodie laughed, winced, then cursed at the pain it caused.
It was decided over a second pot of coffee that Mr. Conner took it upon himself to set on the stove, that he would make inquiries about the coachman who aided the murderer’s escape the night Burke was killed.
I would call on Herr Schmidt at the sports club in Germantown to see what might be learned about the man who was seen the night Burke was murdered and had attacked Brodie the night before.
“Ye’ll not go alone,” Brodie told me after Mr. Conner left.
“I could easily go to Germantown myself so that you might rest. I do know Herr Schmidt,” I pointed out, that dark gaze watching me.
“I can take the hound with me,” I added. “Then you would be here when Mr. Conner returns with any information about the driver.”
That dark gaze narrowed as he finished buttoning his shirt. I had my answer.
“Very well,” I continued. “However, you have only yourself to blame if you injure yourself further.”
It took considerably more effort to pull on his coat.
