Page 15

Given the rain, our carriage was summoned to carry us the short distance to Lord Eldin’s former home.

We might have taken a hackney cab, as it seemed Maclean had since he’d not dripped all over our rugs, but our carriage was more convenient and infinitely more comfortable, even with Maclean occupying the seat across from us.

“The house is bein’ secured by a pair o’ constables at all hours,” he explained as our coachman urged the horses forward, confirming what we’d already learned from Jeffers. “We dinna want someone else disturbin’ the scene or stealin’ the valuables.”

“Were there a great deal of personal items left behind?” I asked quietly.

Maclean turned from the window where he’d been looking out at Queen Street Gardens. “Aye,” he answered, speaking as softly as I had, displaying some understanding that this was not going to be an impartial viewing, at least on our part.

Gage, meanwhile, seemed lost in his own contemplations, frowning at the squabs beyond the sergeant’s left shoulder.

“The most puzzling question—the one which seems to me to be at the heart of all this—is who was the culprit’s target?

Who was their intended victim?” He paused before voicing a more troubling suggestion.

“Or wasn’t there one?” He turned to Maclean and then me as if one of us might hold the answer, but I was as baffled as he was.

“Seems a rather…convoluted way tae go aboot killin’ someone,” Maclean agreed.

“And heartless,” I interjected forcefully. “After all, they must have known that more than their intended target would be hurt.”

“To that point, how could they have known their intended victim would even be injured?” Gage queried. “That they would be standing on that portion of the floor when it collapsed. Or was it simply a reckless shot in the dark?”

I clenched my hands in my lap, telling myself not to become emotional, to consider all of this logically. “There was one victim who died.” I glanced up at Maclean. “There was just one?”

“So far,” he replied in a voice that was far from reassuring.

“However, it seems faulty in a situation like this to presume that the one person who succumbed was actually the person intended to. Though I suppose the possibility can’t be entirely ruled out.”

“No.” Gage’s brow furrowed. “But at this juncture, it seems no one else who attended the auction Saturday, or any of the days prior, can be ruled out either.”

“Noo ye apprehend the right fankle I’ve stumbled intae, and why I need yer help,” Maclean groused.

We came to a stop in Picardy Place. A small crowd of people who were apparently anxious to see the sight of such a tragedy was still gathered outside its door.

I’d learned well how gruesome and macabre the populace of London and Edinburgh could be.

Had they not lined up by the thousands to view the murderous Burke’s anatomized corpse?

Had they not picked clean even the bark on the tree in the garden outside Bishop and Williams’s home in Bethnal Green, London, eager for any sort of morbid souvenir?

Their interest here would be no different, though perhaps less rabid as the newspapers had reported the calamity had been an accident.

As such, I doubted Maclean’s superiors would want us to be seen by so many people entering the building, given our reputation as inquiry agents of some renown.

The last thing they needed was speculations being made about our presence, particularly if the people making the speculations were newspapermen.

“Perhaps we should enter through the mews?” I suggested.

“Too late for that,” Maclean remarked as the crowd’s interest shifted toward our fine black-lacquered conveyance. It might not display a noble coat of arms, but its quality certainly marked us as people of distinction.

Gage agreed. “If we drive away now, it will only draw more attention. Best to brazen it out.”

“We were victims,” I pointed out.

“Aye, and we’ve had a few o’ those stop by.” From the look on Maclean’s face, I deduced their visits hadn’t exactly been welcome. They’d no doubt been demanding answers. Imperiously.

“Let’s go,” Gage urged, as our footman had lowered the step and now stood waiting with an umbrella.

There was nothing for it but for me to exit first, as I was closest to the door.

I accepted Peter’s hand to help me down, doing my best to appear solemn—tragic even—behind the half veil of the aubergine plaid bonnet Bree had fortuitously selected for me.

I was quickly followed by Gage, who took my arm and the umbrella from Peter and escorted me across the pavement and up the steps into Lord Eldin’s former home. Maclean followed close behind us.

We were ushered inside without objection, Maclean’s colleagues with the Edinburgh City Police presumably being aware of his errand.

That or they were too overawed by Gage to object.

The two footmen who had attended to the people arriving for the auction were no longer present, and I remembered that I’d wondered who had employed them—the auctioneer or Lord Eldin’s brother. I said as much to Maclean.

“I was told that Mr. Clerk hired them for the duration o’ the auction at the suggestion o’ Mr. Winstanley.

Mr. Winstanley has repeatedly made it clear that his auction house isna responsible for the security o’ the items or any private homes where an auction might be held, merely facilitatin’ the sales and ensurin’ the items are handled properly while doin’ so.

” Maclean had lowered his voice, I supposed so that the auctioneer and his staff wouldn’t overhear.

It wasn’t difficult to understand why Mr. Winstanley wished to emphasize this point.

I could even appreciate why his business was structured as such.

If the valuable art and treasures he was auctioning had been stored on his own premises, matters might have been different.

He could have ensured the safekeeping of the items. But each private home would prove an unknown quantity, and being responsible for securing the contents would infinitely increase his expenditures and liability.

“Then Mr. Clerk was responsible for the security of the building and its contents?” Gage deduced, matching Maclean’s tone.

“It appears so, as he’s inherited the town house. But he’s no’ willin’ tae accept liability either. Apparently, he trusted his brother’s home was built correctly.”

“As any normal person would,” I felt compelled to say in Lord Eldin’s brother’s defense. I scrutinized the nearly pristine stucco of the entrance hall’s ceiling. “It’s a relatively new construction, at a respectable address, and his lordship doesn’t appear to have spared any expense in its design.”

“Aye,” Maclean conceded. “However, Mr. Clerk didna bother tae read the auctioneer’s contract, and he insists nothin’ was mentioned verbally aboot his bein’ responsible for security, while Mr. Winstanley claims the opposite.”

Gage set his hat on a side table and began to unbutton his greatcoat. “There were no witnesses to this alleged conversation?”

“Nay. Though the contract does verra clearly lay oot the terms.”

“Have you seen a copy of Lord Eldin’s will?” I asked, electing to leave on my hazelnut-colored redingote.

Both men turned to me in apparent confusion, and I realized that this query required an explanation.

“It’s merely that I wondered who selected Thomas Winstanley and Sons as the auctioneers.

They do seem a bit of an unusual choice given they’re based in Liverpool.

In fact, we heard contradicting information at the auction about why they were selected.

Someone—I believe it was one of Winstanley’s assistants—told us that Lord Eldin had chosen the firm himself and stipulated as much in his will, while a friend of his lordship suggested he must be turning in his grave to see his collection sold off. ”

Gage tilted his head in contemplation. “I hadn’t caught that discrepancy, but you’re right. We did hear contradictory claims.”

“I havena seen the will.” Maclean’s eyes narrowed. “Though perhaps I shall have tae ask for it if we dinna get a plain answer from Mr. Clerk on the matter.” He began to lead us toward the doorway on the right which led to the dining room.

“The collection and all of Lord Eldin’s other effects,” Gage said. “Who inherits those? Mr. Clerk?”

“Partially,” the sergeant replied over his shoulder. “He inherits the effects from the houses, but the pictures and other collections, as weel as any proceeds from their sale, are tae be shared by all o’ his lordship’s brothers and sisters.”

Maclean didn’t hesitate at the entrance to the dining room, but I found myself more reluctant to cross the threshold into the chamber that adjoined the space where the floor had collapsed.

I peered through the opening to discover the room was even more crowded with objects than before, presumably because some of the artwork and other objects had been removed from the floor above.

From all reports, only the painting being auctioned at the time of the collapse had been damaged, the rest of the collection having been stored in the other rooms, so there was still a great deal of art and antiquities in the building.

Canvases leaned against the wall six deep in some places, while smaller drawings and engravings jostled for space on the various tables with china, bronzes, terra-cottas, and other items of virtu.

My gaze skimmed over the couch pushed against the far wall where Mr. Smith had expired shortly after we’d departed the house that awful day. The cushions were now laden with casts.