I retrieved my coat as well as my travel bag, and we left the office. He relented as far as taking the lift down to the street, which he had refused in the past.
Contrary to something I had once read, it did seem that it was possible to teach an old dog new tricks. It was tempting to comment on that, though I did not. It was undoubtedly best not to ‘poke thebear,’or in this case an injuredbear.
I had asked Mr. Cavendish to secure a driver before leaving the office. Mr. Jarvis sat atop his coach when we arrived at the sidewalk. He swung down and opened the coach door.
“Where will it be?”
Brodie gave him the destination in Germantown, and I climbed into the coach. He followed and slowly eased down onto the seat opposite.
I felt that dark gaze watching me as Mr. Jarvis eased the coach into midmorning traffic.
“Other things?” Brodie commented, referring to that earlier conversation with Mr. Conner about a woman’s place.
“Was that a complaint?”
I knew perfectly well what he referred to and refused to dignify that with an answer.
“It does look as if the rain might hold off a while longer,” I replied instead as I stared out the coach window.
He could be such a devil.
It was late morning by the time we reached the sports club.
Germantown was a community of immigrants who had arrived in London over the past several years, along with others. The conversations on the street a blend of English, their native languages, and others from across Europe.
Some had returned to their home countries, but the majority remained and established shops, taverns, or worked for others in the growing community.
Herr Schmidt had established the sports club at the edge of Germantown. His clientele came from across London and included the titled with a growing fascination in various athletic sports, as well ladies’ exercise classes.
As for my own interests, he had been most amused at my inquiries regarding fencing.
“It is not a discipline for ladies,” he informed me at the time.
Not to be put off, I had returned several days later with a rapier from the Sword room at Sussex Square and politely informed him that I had previous instruction.
“Very well, show me what you have learned,” he said with some amusement as he led me onto the floor of the gymnasium where a wooden training target hung by a chain suspended from the ceiling.
I had learned several maneuvers at those lessons in Paris, including the technique for parry, then the moves against an opponent, deflection when attacked, and countermoves.
After several moves, then a final strike against the target, Herr Schmidt had shouted ‘halt’ to end the exercise.
“It is not fitting for a woman to use such a weapon,” he had grumbled more than once. “I would not allow it for my wife. It would be too dangerous. But I know of a man who may be able to provide lessons.”
I had attended those lessons with Monsieur Montclair for over a year and learned considerably more. In that time, I had achieved a certain respect from the stout German, and he had since assisted us with a previous inquiry case.
When we arrived, an attendant at the front counter found Herr Schmidt out on the main floor of the gymnasium.
Not merely the owner of the gymnasium but also a trainer, he had been working with one of the participants for a boxing contest that was to be held at the week’s end.
He wore trousers, bare-chested, that long moustache at either side of thick jowls, as he wiped sweat from his face and neck, and made no apology for his appearance.
“Lady Forsythe,” he said in greeting. “You are the only woman not insulted by such a sight.”
He then looked over at Brodie, his gaze narrowing at the sight of the purplish bruise and cut below his eye.
“And the other one who gave you that, Herr Brodie?” he inquired.
“It is about that we need to speak with ye,” he replied.
