He was not one to condone the things the Agency did and certainly had not forgotten past misdeeds on the part of Sir Avery. Yet he was pragmatic about things, irritatingly so at times.
“I prefer to know what may be coming at me, rather than stumble into it later when it has become dangerous.”
As I was saying, irritatingly so, as I considered some of the things Sir Avery pursued might be issues of the Agency’s own making. But I had held my tongue, for the most part due to the fact there were times when Brodie was very much a Scot—stubborn, determined, and single-minded.
I had no idea the reason I put up with all of it...well, actually I did know the reasons.
He was the only man I fully trusted. He was honest, at times painfully so. He understood me as no one other than perhaps my great aunt ever had. He let me grumble and grouse about, speak my opinion. And had prevented me from running Sir Smith-Thomas through, which could have been a bit of a sticky situation. Although at the time, my life was in danger.
There was that other thing...Aunt Antonia had warned me about, albeit with a sly smile.
In the aftermath of the case, it did seem there were times when justice was served.
Sir Richard Montfort, Foreign Secretary, was presently being held on charges of conspiracy and awaiting trial at The Glasshouse Aldershot, under conditions described as medieval. I felt no pity.
Sir Andrew Smith-Thomas, Lord of the Admiralty, facing the same charges for the theft of the plans for B-10, had been sent to Bodmin Prison, Cornwall, to await trial.
For his part, Sir Robert Clinton, Under Secretary to Britain’s Ambassador to Germany, had been stripped of his office and recently tried and convicted for his collaboration. He had been the person who was to deliver those plans to his German counterpart.
The full extent of the conspiracy was exposed in the days that followed, as others were found who had contributed to the scheme in one way or another. Not that all were apprehended, as Brodie had explained.
“There are always the ones who live in the shadows and will sell out their mother for the right amount. But a word dropped here or there and they will eventually be found. Or taken care of by others.”
For the right amount.
Theodolphus Burke was buried with a service befitting a newspaper reporter with confetti of shredded newspapers. Four people attended, including Brodie and me. It was a trifle sad.
The tailor’s assistant, Jardine, was buried as well in a simple grave in the municipal graveyard on the outskirts of Westminster. There was no known family.
As for Adele DeMille, she had been well protected by Mr. Brown, and I was grateful.
She had provided a statement as well as the journal to Sir Avery regarding everything she knew from the time she first went to live at St. John’s Wood.
The journal was returned to her when the Agency had all the information it needed. I then promised her that I would write a book based on the journal.
I liked Adele very much, and we had spoken about what was to happen to her now. London held far too many dreadful memories for her. I had suggested a brand-new start.
With that, I had contacted my good friend Templeton, who was presently in a stage production in New York City. We spoke at great length, and she was more than happy for Adele to visit her.
She would introduce her to people she knew, with the possibility of a role in a play. Adele was thrilled at the prospect, with telegrams sent back and forth.
She had left St. John’s Wood with little more than the clothes on her back. My sister provided her clothes that she claimed she could no longer wear, ‘due to her present condition.’
I had paid for Adele’s passage to New York with the sale of that gold button and a little extra pin money. As Sir Smith-Thomas’s uniform coat was no longer needed in prison, I persuaded Alex Sinclair to see that it was confiscated, minus the other gold buttons.
Sir Laughton, my family attorney, knew someone who would buy them. The extra money would be deposited into the bank and then funds wired to Adele in New York.
She had left from Southampton the week before and would reach New York in five or six days. She had promised to send a cable when she arrived.
My brother-in-law was thrilled with the project. But our agreement was that the author credit would go posthumously to Theodolphus A. Burke. I suppose it was my way of helping him accomplish what he had aspired to become, a published author, in spite of his often callous and critical remarks about my Emma Fortescue novels.
I arrived in time for my appointment with James at his publishing office. That night at St. James's Palace had enlightened him as to the inquiry cases Brodie and I took on. He had since spoken openly that I should consider a series of murder mystery novels.
“There’s a growing audience for those, among the female readership, of all things.” He had been surprised. However, I was not.
More and more, the ladies of my generation were coming into their own. After all, if a woman could be Queen of England...
Next would be the vote for women. I had read that they were making enormous strides toward that in the United States. Britain was next.
