“No,” he replied. “Ye cannot and will not.” He looked over at me briefly. “We will see that ye are safe.”
“But how?” she said with tear-filled eyes. Yet her expression was defiant. “You do not know them. You cannot understand what they will do if they find me!” As if to make certain he understood, she pushed aside the collar of the gown she wore over that dreadful mark.
“This is what they do—their butcher, the German. And worse. The one you call Steiner. He burned me.”
I shook my head as Brodie looked over at me. Then I took Adele by the arm and spoke to her in French.
“Ca suffit pour l’instant.”
That was enough for now. Then I persuaded her to follow me into the adjacent bedchamber.
She was exhausted, as we all were. Yet I knew that her exhaustion was different. It came from being horribly used, terrified, and then learning that Burke was dead. It seemed that she was already asleep before I pulled the blanket up over her.
Mr. Conner had wakened in the outer office as I returned from the adjacent bedchamber, and closed the door behind me so that Adele might get a few hours’ sleep.
He was alert in the way that I had seen in Brodie, and I wondered if he had actually slept at all.
“What is to be done now?” I asked the obvious question as I returned to the chair that sat before Brodie’s desk.
“The first thing is to make certain she is safe,” Brodie replied and looked over at Mr. Conner.
“I could have her stay over at my flat,” he suggested.
Brodie shook his head. “Ye’ve been seen about London, tonight particularly, and perhaps by the man, Steiner. It needs to be a place where even Steiner and the others would not only not think to find her, but would not dare to go.”
“Mr. Dooley might be able to have her protected until we can learn more wot this is about,” Mr. Conner replied.
“With wot the coachman told ye about where he delivered Steiner, best to stay low for a while. The fewer know about this the better, my friend,” Brodie told him.
“In other words, I’m out of a job.”
Brodie smiled. “Wot ye dinna know canna hurt ye, aye?” The smile disappeared then.
“I am grateful for wot ye learned about Steiner, but I will not put ye at risk. The woman’s notes prove out wot ye learned. But we dinna know how this one who calls himself ‘Torch’ is involved.”
“I could tell ye that it is my choice to make,” Mr. Conner replied.
“Aye, ye could. But yer thirty-odd years older.”
That grin again. “Aye, but I’ve the experience of those thirty-odd years, and...I dinna fight fair.”
There was a look that passed between them.
“All right, but I will help find the woman a safe place. Wot do ye have in mind?”
“There is a man we both know...”
In that language of men where little is said, but much is understood, Mr. Conner seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
“Aye, yer right in that. There’s no one would risk going up against the man and his fellow cutthroats.”
I was certain who they spoke of—a man who was known to control criminal activities across London and who had never been caught. Mr. Brown.
Brodie was thoughtful. “She will need other clothes.” He looked over at me.
I had clothes—trousers, shirt, and jacket borrowed from Brodie that I had worn in the past.
Mr. Conner glanced toward the door to the bedroom. “When do ye want me to take her?”
