How to answer that? There were so many things people did to one another. Part of the harsh reality I had learned in the inquiry cases Brodie and I took. And now a question from a young woman, perhaps not so very different from myself.
Had I sinned when I had shot a woman in that first case? I thought not, considering what she had done.
I reached out and squeezed her hands.
“I think it is not a sin, when one is trying to survive. And you are not responsible for Burke’s death. That belongs to another.”
And Burke’s own ambitions? Perhaps.
I rose and went to the safe Brodie had purchased and had brought to the office. For confidential papers that related to our inquiries, and money that he insisted we keep there, rather than at the bank.
Along with a handful of documents that included the title to the building, the signed registry certificate from when we married. And perhaps the thing that meant most to him—the plain bronze ring of his mother’s that she always wore and had given to him before she died.
“It is most precious to me, this simple bit of paper,”he said at the time, holding aloft the certificate.“A memory that I will always carry. It is wot it means, and the words ye spoke with me.”
For a man who rarely showed any emotion or shared his thoughts, I was completely undone in the moment.
I had learned to handle myself with his stubbornness, that Scots temper, and his criticism over something that he was usually maddeningly correct about. But that moment...
I went to the safe, opened it, and retrieved the envelope with that gold button. I showed it to her, with that emblem identical to the mark on her shoulder.
“Where did you find this?”
“In your room at the house at St. John’s Wood. I found it on the floor.”
She slowly nodded as she held it.
“The one man lost it the last time...”
There was no need for her to say more—a man who had treated her as what he had paid for. A hostess for his friends, an actress to play a role and ask no questions, and of course...the rest of it.
“What are their names?” I asked.
How powerful were these men? And what were the meetings that were held there with them? And of course, the man known as Steiner.
She shook her head. “I never knew their real names. They called each other by other names—Sir Torch, Mr. Hammer, and Sir Saber. As if it were some child’s game.”
We were both startled by the sound of the bell at the landing. It ended abruptly followed by the sound of heavy steps on the stairs, and then someone at the door.
I reached for the small Webley revolver, held it with both hands, steady as I took aim at the door.
“Go into the other room,” I told Adele. “Do it now!”
A key in the lock, a curse...and that thick Scots accent.
I pulled the chair back, and the door abruptly opened.
Brodie stared at the revolver in my hands.
“Bloody hell! Put the thing down before ye shoot someone.”
That was the idea—however, not the irate Scot who stood in the doorway.
Mr. Conner grinned as he came up behind Brodie. “Always good to be prepared. Is that coffee I smell?”
Eight
“Wot isthe meaning of the names?” Brodie asked from across the desk in the office.
