Page 19

I progressed slowly through the back parlor and then the front drawing room, checking the collection against the catalog as best I could.

But with some items having already been packed away for transport and many others having been haphazardly shifted to different spaces, there was no way I could be certain everything was accounted for.

The best we could do was trust that Mr. Winstanley and Mr. Rimmer had been speaking truthfully when they’d asserted nothing was missing or stolen.

Gage and Sergeant Maclean remained with me as I sorted through the items on the upper level, presumably for my security, and I listened as they overviewed the investigating the police had already done.

Maclean and some of the other officers had already spoken with the people in the neighboring buildings, asking if they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary, especially during the night when no one should have been at Lord Eldin’s former residence.

This had been done prior to the story being published in the Caledonian Mercury claiming the collapse was accidental, but even then, they’d had to tread with care so as to not alarm anyone.

Yet no one had reported anything suspicious, and now it was too late to put out a broader request, asking for anyone with pertinent information to come forward.

Not without revealing the newspaper’s allegations to be faulty and possibly inspiring panic.

I could acknowledge the need to maintain calm, but I also found their logic somewhat flawed.

For there were still a great number of people fearful for a different reason.

A fear the Caledonian Mercury and other newspapers had espoused, cautioning those who lived in the “City of Palaces” which comprised the New Town to have the upper floors of their homes inspected before hosting any dances or large routs to ensure the timbers were sufficiently robust to withstand such heavy use.

Men of the appropriate expertise would be kept busy for some time examining all the homes in question.

However, if these same people had been made aware that the joist in question had also been tampered with, the alarm might not be so pronounced and the urgency for inspectors so great.

“Was any sort of saw found on the premises?” Gage queried as I sorted through the drawings stacked in a crate. “One that would be capable of cutting the beam as it was.”

“Aye. In a closet off the kitchen,” Maclean replied.

“That’s an odd place to find such a hefty tool.”

“?’Twould normally be kept in a gardener’s shed or the like,” he agreed. “But there’s also nothin’ tae prove it was the implement used. ’Tis merely possible it’s the blade in question.”

“And anyone might have stowed it there once the cutting was done. It wouldn’t be hard to slip down the service stairs to the ground floor, stash it in the nearest closet, and slip back upstairs again.

” There was a lull in their conversation, and when Gage spoke, it was clear he’d been contemplating the matter.

“It would take a great deal of strength to wield a saw like that effectively over your head. I’m not sure I could even do so with any ease. ”

“Not with your arm still healing from that laceration, you couldn’t,” I warned, lest he take it upon himself to attempt it.

I could hear amusement in Maclean’s voice as I moved on to a box of prints. “I take yer point. No’ just anyone could do it. And almost certainly no’ a lady.”

I didn’t dispute this. Which wasn’t to say there weren’t women capable of the described feat, but it was unlikely they would go unnoticed. I tilted my head, examining a print allegedly by Dürer as a thought occurred to me. “Unless they weren’t working alone.”

When neither man replied, I glanced over my shoulder at them.

“There’s nothing to say two men—or two women, or a man and a woman—didn’t work together.

” I resumed my scrutiny of the inventory.

“Though I suppose that would require two ladders, and only one was found. Unless they removed the second.” I frowned at the image of St. Jerome with a lion.

“But I suppose that raises a whole different set of possibly unnecessary questions. Why remove one and not the other? Were they almost caught? Or was it to another purpose? Are there even any other ladders on the premises?”

“Aye,” he surprised me by answering. “In the gardener’s shed.”

“Then perhaps we should take a look at it,” Gage suggested.

“We’ll do so when I show ye the rear entrance. Are ye finished here?” Maclean asked me as I straightened from the last crate.

“Yes.”

I followed the men back to the ground level, beginning my assessment of the inventory in the breakfast parlor while Gage and Maclean checked all the exterior doors and the doors to the study for evidence of tampering.

The constables had since returned to their posts outside the two entrances to the study, and they looked on in interest. The study doors themselves were broken and shattered from the tools used to force them open, making their inspection all the more difficult.

It would be easy to confuse the marks left by our rescuers for those that might have been left by someone picking the lock.

As the sergeant and my husband made their way belowstairs to examine the servants’ entrance and gardener’s shed, I moved to the dining room.

I didn’t know where Mr. Winstanley and his employees had all gone—perhaps belowstairs as well—but I was grateful to be left to my own devices.

It was awkward enough to have the constables as an audience.

I worked with particular care given the crowded state of the chamber and the unwieldy size of some of the paintings.

As with the other rooms, I recognized the impossibility of ensuring all the unsold and uncollected pieces from the auction were accounted for, but I could tell the principal pictures were there.

I wished for better lighting to examine them more closely, my skin tingling and my heart rate accelerating with the pleasure of being in such close proximity to so much masterful artwork.

Having recognized a fellow aficionado, I wondered if Mr. Rimmer felt this every time he examined a new collection.

The thrill of potential discovery must have been the most exhilarating part of his job.

As if summoned by the thought, he appeared by my side as I was taking in the Van der Neer I’d hoped to bid on at a closer angle.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Yes,” I stated without equivocation.

We stood silently for some minutes simply enjoying the skill and beauty of the painting, the play of light and shadow, and the delicate brushwork.

Though Gage and my brother and sister and various friends tried to appreciate art as I did, they could never truly see it the same way.

My husband’s valet, Anderley, possessed the ability, but we did not often rub shoulders in the places such art was exhibited except for at private country houses, and then usually only during investigations.

“I’ll ensure you’re notified when this piece is to go up on the block,” Mr. Rimmer informed me as I returned the painting to its original position.

“Thank you,” I said, for I would genuinely have liked to own it.

He cleared his throat, drawing my attention as he glanced warily toward the door.

At first, I thought he was about to broach the subject of my impending art exhibition again, and I found myself wishing Gage would provide another interruption.

But when he began to speak in a hushed voice, I discovered he had another matter on his mind entirely.

“I didn’t know how to say this before, but there is one matter I think you should be aware of.

While it’s true that Mr. Clerk’s grievance with us is largely due to his brother’s will and the manner designated for the disposition of his assets, there is one set of pieces that the entire family is loath to part with. ”

“The Adam brothers’ architectural drawings?” I guessed, having remembered the remark Mr. Rimmer let slip the first time we’d met that they might not go up for auction. He’d described the problem as a family dispute.

He didn’t seem surprised I’d deduced as much and, in fact, seemed relieved not to be the one to have to make the matter plain. “You already know, then, that Lord Eldin’s mother was the sister of the Adam brothers.”

I nodded. “It makes sense that someone within the family—a brother or sister or cousin—might wish to keep the drawings.”

Robert Adam; his older brother, John; and his younger brother, James, had been the preeminent British architects of the late eighteenth century, designing and remodeling both the exteriors and interiors of countless public buildings, churches, and private homes and estates for the upper echelons of society.

Their neoclassical style had made an indelible mark on the country, and particularly on Edinburgh, as the brothers were Scottish.

“I don’t dispute that. But…” He frowned.

“I do wonder to what lengths they might go to make sure of it.” His gaze was troubled.

“I haven’t seen Lord Eldin’s will, but I’ve heard Mr. Winstanley discussing it with his lordship’s solicitor, and there is no ambiguity in the matter.

Lord Eldin wanted the drawings sold along with the rest of his collection. ”

I understood what he was trying to convey. If it was unlikely William Clerk and his brothers and sisters would prevail legally, what might they do in order to triumph by other means?

“Except the Adam brothers’ drawings are still accounted for.” I’d just seen them in several boxes in the corner of this room. “So I fail to see what goal they could have hoped to accomplish by sabotaging the joist.”