Page 91 of A Scot Is Not Enough

“The Jacobite ledger is a money trail His Grace asked me to review.”

She slapped the table, rattling dishes. “More treasure in London! I knew it!”

“The second letter in the file was an undated correspondence from the Cluny of MacPherson to Charles Stuart, claiming almost thirteen thousand French livres remain of the Loch Arkaig treasure.”

“That miserable rat.” Her lips curled against her teeth. “The Cluny told Anne he had only a few hundred French livres.”

“The Government is aware of him,” he said dryly. “Though we don’t know his exact whereabouts.”

“He’s in a cave somewhere in western Scotland,trying to foment another rebellion. Gone a little soft in the head, I think.”

“But the treasure has the interest of many.”

“Gold’s fever.”

“Even the king has it. That is why I have been tasked to study that ledger,” he said. “I’ve tracked columns of dates and names, smudged and torn bank drafts. But one entry stood out. Payment to Lady Pink.”

“A code name, I collect.” She grimaced over her brandy. “Better than Pickle.”

He drew a slow circle around a knot in the table’s surface. The storm within was building.

“Lady Pink was compensated handsomely for shipping a French clergyman fromAfor Antwerp toLfor London in September 1750. She also arranged for his departure six days later... each movement matching the information in Charles Stuart’s letter.”

“Intriguing, but I don’t see why it matters to me.”

He braced himself. “Payment for delivering Stuart was seventeen hundred French livres.”

Cecelia stood up fast, her face blanching.

“To the Countess of Denton?”

“To Lady Pink,” he corrected. “Notes in the margin said she would disguise herself with a pink mask and a pink powdered wig.”

“It’s unfathomable—Lady Pink is Lady Denton.”

“Lady Pink was the only one paid in French livres... facts which are too damning to ignore.”

Cecelia paced the kitchen like a caged cat. “Seventeen hundred French livres is the exact amount we found in her safe.” She barked harsh laughter and gave him the gimlet eye. “But don’t try to tell me she is a Jacobite. I won’t believe you.”

“If I were to hazard a guess, Lady Denton has adapted her ethics to her circumstances.”

“Is that barrister-speak for vile, greedy, and cruel?” she snapped. “Because the woman has no ethics.”

“She is a thief for a selfish cause. Herself.”

“While I am a thief for an unselfish cause?” she said archly. “Were you going to say that next?”

Cecelia was restless and upset. He tried to interject calmness.

“I was going to suggest we prove she is Lady Pink.”

“How?”

“Evidence, of course. We start by looking for ship’s records.”

She eyed him silently, warily.

“Think of it,” he said. “Together, you and I possess unique and powerful knowledge.”