Neither of us had chosen the circumstances we had been born into. And yet, here we were.
My partnership with Brodie in our inquiry cases, as well as our personal relationship, was somewhat unusual, and it was not the first time I was aware of the difference between our classes.
Yet, as I had informed him from the beginning of our personal relationship when he had pointed out that we came from different places, I saw a man who had fought his way out of poverty on the streets of Edinburgh and London and made something of himself. Someone with more dignity and purpose than any man I had known.
For his part, he didn’t attempt to change me, but had accepted me for who I was. Admittedly, with my own shortcomings, along with a somewhat stubborn nature, as heoften reminded me. And something that was important to me—he was someone I could trust.
It was just past midday when Mr. Conner departed, to hopefully find the coachman who had taken a fare at the Old Bell from a man who fit the description of the same one who had attacked Brodie.
I had made notes in my notebook as well and now tucked it into my bag. I had added coal to the stove, then looked up as Brodie went to the coat stand. It took some effort as he pulled on the coat once more.
“You should stay and rest,” I reminded him as I then went to retrieve my own coat, as a light rain had begun. “I’m perfectly capable of going to Portman Square to determine if Jardine went there after he disappeared. And you are in a great deal of pain.”
“Aye, ye are capable.”
There was that look in that dark gaze as he took my coat from the stand and then held it for me in spite of the pain.
“But the ribs will hurt whether I’m here or out and about,” he replied.
And when I would have objected further...
“Are ye goin’ to just stand there blatherin’ about it?”
I slowly counted to ten, something I had learned in dealing with a temperamental man who was accustomed to having his own way in things.
‘Pick your battles,’that inner voice whispered.
I thrust one arm into the sleeve of my coat, then the other, and left him to secure the office, as he bent with some effort to secure the lock to the office.
Mr. Jarvis had just delivered a fare on the Strand and swung his coach about.
Brodie gave him the address for Portman Square, and we climbed aboard, Brodie somewhat slower than usual as he took the seat across.
Portman Square was a pocket of middle-class residences that had emerged very near Regent Street, with the City of London’s efforts at improving housing in areas of poverty.
The Square was an example of former tenements that had been repaired, remodeled, and then made available to professional persons who worked at offices, and those with up-scale businesses such as those at Savile Row and Bond Street.
As Mr. Conner had commented, however, while it was not on an equal with Mayfair, Kensington, or St. James's by any means, it was an address that seemed far beyond the means of a tailor’s assistant.
Number 4 Portman Square was one of several apartments that fronted onto Old Bond Street, very near Regent Street, where one might find a cab or coach that could take him to Savile Row.
The question was, how might a tailor’s assistant be able to afford a daily driver to take him to work there? An inheritance as his employer assumed?
There was a great deal about Mr. Jardine that simply did not make sense. Not the least was his reaction upon seeing that gold button.
We made the ride in a timely manner. Brodie asked Mr. Jarvis to wait as we stepped down to the street.
The contrast from the stark poverty in old tenements to the apartments at Old Bond Street, only a half dozen blocks apart, was startling.
We easily found the apartment building at #4 Portman Square and entered the foyer. According to the information his employer had, Louis Jardine lived in apartment 4-E.
I rang the service bell at the entrance, and a woman appeared who informed us that she was the matron of the building.
She was acquainted with Mr. Jardine, a quiet man who worked for a tailor. His rent was always paid on time, and shefrequently saw him leaving of a morning, including earlier that same day. He then usually returned early in the evening after work. He had not yet returned today.
“I would know if he had,” she insisted. She then proceeded to explain that he frequently forgot his key to his apartment and needed to use her key to get in. She shook her head.
“Absent-minded, you see. But an excellent craftsman. He made the medallion that I carry on my set of keys.”
