Chapter 15
Fortuitously, Gage returned home a short time after I’d emerged pink from the bath, having washed the stench of the printers from me. He had often been disarmed by the sight of me lounging barefoot before the fire, my long chestnut tresses cascading around my shoulders as they dried, and this proved no exception. As a consequence, any fury he felt upon learning that Bonnie Brock had come to our home was soon mitigated. Particularly when I assured him of the precautions I’d taken, and shared with him the fact that Bonnie Brock and Maggie were being hunted.
Gage sank back in the chair across from mine and turned to stare broodingly into the fire. “I suspected the police would make the apprehension of Kincaid their top priority, whether the evidence points to him being the murderer or not. And while we both know he’s committed an untold number of crimes.” He sighed. “I don’t think this time he’s the one to blame.”
“Did you uncover anything of interest at the bank or via Rookwood’s solicitor?” I asked, adjusting the belt of my indigo silk dressing gown.
He shook his head. “They confirmed Heron’s presence at approximately the times he said he was there, but neither visit was lengthy. As I expected, the solicitor wouldn’t share Rookwood’s will with me, though he did confirm that Rookwood has a sister living in Aberdeen.”
“Then it’s likely she’ll inherit.”
“Perhaps. I suppose we’ll know soon enough. The will is being read in a week’s time.” He looked up at me hopefully. “Did you learn anything helpful from Cromarty and your sister?”
“No, but Philip said he would find out what he could.”
“Then we’re left with little to go on.”
“Not unless Anderley’s day has been more fruitful.” I had been able to tell from Bree’s expression while she prepared my bath that hers had been unsatisfying.
Less than an hour later, we were able to find out. The fire in the drawing room had been built up to a blaze, warming the chill room as rain continued to pelt the windows. At times, the sharp strikes of precipitation sounded more like ice or sleet than rain, and I could only be glad we had no obligations for the evening.
“Although it wasn’t the most auspicious weather, I was able to speak with a few witnesses from the market, including the owner of that oyster cart you mentioned,” Anderley said, rifling his still-damp hair. “Sadly, he claimed he’d been too busy to notice who came and went from any of the shops across the street yesterday. And I must admit, if he was doing as brisk a trade as he was today, then I believe him. As for the ballad-seller, he wasn’t there. But that’s not entirely unexpected.”
“No,” I agreed. “His sheet music would have been ruined in this weather.”
“I’ll try to speak with him tomorrow, or find out where he’s gone.”
Gage nodded and then turned to Bree. “What of you, Miss McEvoy?”
“I spoke to Mr. Rookwood’s staff. There was only four o’ ’em, and three o’ ’em were happy to help. Though they didna ken much o’ note. But they seemed to have genuinely liked their employer.” Her mouth twisted. “But the fourth servant, the maid, she wasna as chatty.”
“Do you think she had a reason to not want to speak with you, or was she just mistrustful of strangers?” I asked.
Bree surreptitiously kneaded her left thigh through her gown, reminding me that it often ached in damp weather. “I’m no’ sure, but she definitely set her back up against me once I started askin’ questions. Before that she was friendly enough. And ye were right. She did clean his office, as well. Got that much oot o’ her before she became skittish.”
“I could try to talk to her, if you like,” Anderley offered, his gaze dipping to her hand where it rubbed her leg.
She ceased abruptly, clasping her hands in her lap as a furrow formed between her eyes. “Nay, I’ll try again tomorrow.” She forced a smile. “I think I ken noo how I can convince her to trust me.”
Whether or not it was obvious to the men, I could tell why Bree didn’t want Anderley’s help. She’d often teased Anderley and groused about his method for convincing females to confide in him, which was tantamount to flirtation, and I could tell by the stiff line of her shoulders that that was exactly what she was envisioning happening. Fortunately, he didn’t pursue the matter, instead seeming to become momentarily distracted as Bree reached up to adjust her hairpins for perhaps the fourth time since she’d entered the room. Her normally well-tamed strawberry blond curls had frizzed in the dampness and were threatening to come tumbling down around her shoulders. Apparently, Gage wasn’t the only male intrigued by a woman’s hair, and the intimacy implied by seeing it down.
“Anderley, I’ve another task for you anyway,” Gage told him, reclaiming his attention. He extracted a piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to him. “I need you to speak to the proprietors of these shops to see if Mr. Heron visited them yesterday, and how long he stayed. Then I need you to track down the author listed. He lives in Leith and is purportedly not the easiest individual to find.”
His valet scanned the list before slipping it into the inner pocket of his bottle blue coat.
“Though I’m still not sure all of these stops will account for the full amount of time Heron was absent from the office.” Gage lifted his teacup, cradling it before him. “Not to mention the fact that the locations of a number of his errands were in and around North Bridge Street near to Rookwood Publishing. He might have easily slipped in through the rear entrance, murdered his employer, and left again, with no one the wiser.”
“That’s true, but I don’t think he’s our culprit,” I replied, contemplating his nervous behavior that morning. “He definitely knows something he hasn’t yet divulged to us, but I don’t think it’s that he’s the murderer.”
“Perhaps he kens Mugdock’s identity,” Bree suggested.
“Maybe,” I conceded, having already wondered the same thing.
Gage tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Rookwood’s solicitor proved uncooperative, but he did let slip the name of the executor of Rookwood’s will. And I’ve a mind to track him down this evening at the club.” He turned to Anderley. “So you’ll need to set out my evening kit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Given the fact that the only club Gage was a member of here in Edinburgh was the New Club on St. Andrew’s Square, and they didn’t allow ladies entrance, I knew better than to ask if I could join him. Regardless, I had little desire to stir from the house in such weather, especially not to enter such a bastion of gentlemen smoking cigars and drinking brandy while they played cards and billiards. It was no wonder Gage hadn’t yet chosen to bathe away the stench of ink. Not when he would be wading through a cloud of smoke this evening.
For a moment I thought of protesting his absence. Upon my return from my chat in the garden with Bonnie Brock, Jeffers had informed me that Lord Henry Kerr had called while Gage and I were out. What if he returned this evening while Gage wasn’t present? But we couldn’t very well sit around waiting for him to call again when we had a murder to solve. As much as I wanted the truth to be revealed, I would also be lying if I didn’t admit I was relieved to postpone it for at least one more day. Because once Gage realized I’d been keeping this from him, I wasn’t certain how he would react, but I knew it would not be in my favor.
“Then I’ll spend some time trying to tease out what we do know,” I declared. “Maybe one of the books in our library can provide some hints as to why the author chose Mugdock as his nom de plume, or some other possibilities for the Bo or Ba Rookwood wrote before he died.” Though I suspected that list might be long. It wasn’t an uncommon beginning to a name. If that was even what it was.
“I can help,” Bree offered.
“Then we have our tasks,” Gage summed up as he pushed to his feet. He leaned down to press a kiss to my brow. “Don’t wait up. I’m not sure how late I’ll be.”
I caught hold of his hand before he walked away. “Be careful.”
He smiled in reassurance. “Always.”
Well, that book was singularly unhelpful,” I declared some hours later, pushing the tome aside, where it joined a pile of half a dozen other texts. Arching my back, I tried to stretch the muscles cramping along my lower spine. I glowered at the oak shelves filled with books covering three of the walls, many of their contents having been left behind by the previous owner of the house. “One would think the name Mugdock was plucked entirely from the air, but I just know that it wasn’t.”
“Aye, m’lady. It’s odd. But no’ odd enough for that,” was Bree’s mangled logic. But since I agreed with her, I didn’t question it.
I rubbed my tired eyes and sighed. “Perhaps I need a break.”
“Perhaps ye need to retire,” she suggested, peering up at me from the book in her lap.
I glanced at the clock on the mantel, finding it was an hour later than I’d expected. “Not yet.” I was determined to solve at least one mystery tonight.
Pushing to my feet, I strolled toward the windows, peering out through the drapes to discover that rain still lashed the glass. The garden was dark, the outbuildings at the opposite end little more than smudges in the blackness. While inside the fire burned cheerily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over my portrait of my niece Philipa, curled up in a chair asleep. She held a book open in her lap and pillowed her head on Earl Grey, who gazed out of the painting like a prince humoring his subjects. The aroma of a fresh pot of tea wafted over from the sideboard, and I was tempted to drink another cup, but I suspected it would only make me tense and keep me propped upright much of the night with indigestion.
There was a rap at the door, and I turned as Jeffers entered. “This just arrived for you, my lady.”
I accepted the letter perched on the silver salver he held out to me. Its writing was smudged, suggesting the messenger had not succeeded in keeping it dry. I flipped it over, not recognizing the seal, though for it to have been delivered at this hour and in this weather, it must have been urgent indeed. “Thank you, Jeffers.”
He bowed his way out, and I crossed toward Gage’s desk, taking the letter opener from the drawer to slit it open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bree watching me with curiosity, but she didn’t speak.
My gaze immediately skimmed to the bottom. “It’s from Lady Kirkcowan.”
I sat in one of the ivory damask bergère chairs positioned before the desk at an angle so that Bree could still see me, and then read aloud.
I’m so pleased to hear from you, though I do wish it were under better circumstances. If only my wretch of a husband would cease his foolish recklessness. He has already reduced his son’s inheritance to such a state that he shall likely have to resort to trade, and our daughters have no hope of receiving a dowry. But I digress.
No, I did not return a single item to him of the stash you helped me secure. Although some months following your departure from Edinburgh, he did accuse me outright of being involved with their theft. Where he received such an impression, I do not know, but he did his worst to force me to confess.
I pressed a hand to my throat, fearful of what precisely that meant, before continuing.
Soon after, I left Edinburgh with my children and the items mentioned. My father has proven to be more forgiving and supportive than I ever expected, and I’m more grateful than I can say for that. However, his grace does not extend to Kirkcowan, so I feel secure in the wretch not being able to harass us here.
This seemed an urgent matter, so I am sending my reply to you posthaste. I apologize that you must be confronted with Kirkcowan’s dissolute behavior yet again. If he is claiming said items were recovered and then stolen yet again, he is unequivocally lying. And I wish you all the best in proving it.
Write to me should you require any further information, and please send word when your child is born. It is lonely here in Lanarkshire, and I welcome any correspondence I can get.
“Well, I suppose that answers that,” I said as I lowered the missive. Though I still couldn’t comprehend how such a scheme helped him. If Kirkcowan had insured the jewelry, wouldn’t he have claimed the loss when they were first stolen? But then if they were recovered, he would have had to return the money. Unless he hadn’t reported their recovery and had instead insured them the second time with a different company. But then how had he proven they were genuine when he acquired the policy?
I rubbed my temple, certain I was missing something. But my attention was soon diverted by the opening of the library door a second time. Gage strolled inside with the hair at his temples damp and his demeanor serious. When another man appeared in the doorway behind him, I feared I knew why.
My heart clutched in dread at the sight of Lord Henry, whose gaze immediately locked with mine. But I couldn’t tell from his reserved expression whether he’d told Gage anything yet.
Sensing that the discussion that would follow might not be meant for her ears, Bree rose from her seat and curtsied as she beat a hasty retreat. Part of me wanted to order her to stay, if only to prolong the inevitable, for neither gentleman would speak openly about such a topic with a servant present.
“Good evening, darling. You know Lord Henry Kerr,” Gage began, gesturing to the man behind him. “I believe you spoke to him briefly yesterday evening at Miss Drummond’s debut.”
“Yes,” I replied, struggling to swallow to moisten my throat, which had grown desperately dry. I offered Henry my hand, feeling as if I were taking part in some cruel charade.
“Though he has refused to share his brother’s whereabouts, we’ve come to an understanding,” Gage relayed, never removing his firm stare from Henry’s face.
I blinked rapidly, my head whirling in confusion before I grasped that he was speaking of Lord John, and the fact that Henry had just returned from escorting him abroad to escape any consequences from his murderous actions at Sunlaws Castle.
“And he is in possession of some information that may be helpful to us.”
“Is he?” I replied, feeling ridiculous for uttering such an inane retort.
Fully expecting this information to be the disclosure of his relation to Gage, I felt my stomach flip over in anticipation of his next words. But instead, Gage leaned against his desk and continued to speak.
“I stumbled upon Lord Kirkcowan again tonight, betting as high stakes as ever in the card room at the club.”
I was sure I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Why was he talking about Kirkcowan? I looked down at the letter I still held in my hands, wondering if I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. Or worse, perhaps I was hallucinating.
“What?” Gage replied, having noticed my odd demeanor. “Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no.” I licked my lips, my gaze cutting to Henry, who now perched at the edge of the chair opposite mine. “Please continue.”
He scrutinized my features as I tried to appear unperturbed and then resumed his explanation. “Once again I found myself wondering how Kirkcowan is able to continue financing such a habit, particularly when he loses far more often than he wins.” He nodded at our guest. “That’s when Lord Henry approached me, and after our rapprochement, we found ourselves conversing about the baron.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Yes, a friend of mine told me that he had been privy to a private wager Lord Kirkcowan had made in the betting book at the club and, being aware of my acquaintance with you, wanted to know if it was true.”
I had been on the verge of rolling my eyes at the stupidity and foibles of man. Kirkcowan had gotten himself into trouble numerous times before for his ridiculous and insulting bets in the books at gentlemen’s clubs in both London and Edinburgh. The existence of such books was maddening, in and of itself, as they were filled with both degrading and asinine wagers that often reduced women to little more than chattel or broodmares. However, his mention of our connection to it made my ears perk up.
“What was his wager?”
His watchful eyes never moved from my face. “That a sequel to The King of Grassmarket would be published before Midsummer’s Eve.”