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It was worth considering. It would address some of the difficulties that I, like Bree, was having in believing that someone could commit such a heinous and irrational act. Perhaps it added credibility to the notion that it may have been an act of sabotage against the auctioneer.

“Ye mean like if someone wanted to halt the auction?” Bree queried, thinking along the same lines.

“Or perhaps harm the people, in general, who were bidding?” Anderley added.

Silence fell as we all contemplated this.

“Lord Eldin was a Lord of Session for a time,” Jeffers reminded us.

His chair creaked as he crossed one leg over the other.

“Perhaps some sort of criminal or plaintiff was after revenge and, not being able to have it on the man directly, decided to take it on his reputation, or his memory, if you will. After all, this floor collapse at the auction of his art collection is likely the thing people will associate with him most after those who knew him personally have died.”

“That’s an astute observation,” Gage agreed, seeming much struck by this. “Though I don’t think such a motive can be limited to only criminals and plaintiffs he might have crossed.”

“Even a friend or family member might possess such a desire,” Anderley said.

I arched my eyebrows. “Or someone disgruntled that their membership into a club had been blocked by the man in question.”

Gage recognized what I was referring to. “I agree, that is a sounder reason for Mr. Innes to be involved than the idea that he was targeting Mr. Smith specifically. Perhaps we should try to learn more about this Bannatyne Club.”

Mrs. Mackay nodded sagely. “They are kent for their rather notorious revelries.” My surprise at her knowing this seemed to amuse her.

“When ye’ve lived as long as I have, and served in as many households, few things escape yer ears.

I may ken someone who can tell us more. If Miss McEvoy wouldna’ mind lookin’ after Miss Gage one afternoon. ”

Bree’s face softened. “O’ course.”

Anderley observed this with a gentle smile, and I wondered if he was thinking of the future, of the possible children they might have, but perhaps I was being fanciful.

“I’m curious what Sir James Riddell might know about them as well,” I suggested, adding to our growing list of people to be questioned. “I’d like to ask him about his remark about Lord Eldin turning in his grave at the idea of his collection being auctioned.”

“A statement that is in direct opposition to the stipulations of his will,” Gage noted.

“Or so Mr. Winstanley claimed,” I cautioned. “Perhaps we should seek out Lord Eldin’s solicitor to find out exactly what the will says?”

“Let’s speak to Mr. Clerk first. If he confirms what the auctioneer told us, then it may not be necessary.”

“And Mr. Clerk is the beneficiary?” Anderley asked, seeking clarification.

“Of his properties and much of his estate, yes,” Gage confirmed.

“But all Lord Eldin’s brothers and sisters are supposed to share in the proceeds of the sale of his art collection.

” His voice dipped leadingly. “And we’ve been led to believe they’re not all happy with the manner in which the auction is being conducted.

Though it would be nice to confirm this with at least one of them besides William Clerk. ”

“From what I understand, most of them are scattered afield in various parts of Scotland,” Jeffers intoned.

I hid a smile. Trust our all-knowing butler to be already versed in this information.

However, my good humor was short-lived as I recalled what Mr. Rimmer had told me.

“Mr. Winstanley’s assistant mentioned to me that there is a dispute over the Adam brothers’ architectural drawings.

That some of Lord Eldin’s brothers and sisters are contesting their inclusion in the auction. ”

“Something else to discuss with Mr. Clerk, then. And it raises another point.” Gage turned to Anderley. “I’d like you to look into the auctioneer’s employees. Find out what you can about them.”

His valet grinned, agreeing to this request without further question. But then again, the pair of them had been working together on inquiries for quite some time. Their trust in each other ran deep, making them able to often communicate without words.

However, Bree wasn’t as willing to accede to this silently, and I couldn’t blame her after what had happened during our inquiry in Cornwall the previous autumn. “Ye suspect one o’ ’em’s involved,” Bree asserted, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Had Gage looked at me, I would have indulged in my own bit of silent communication, warning him not to disregard her concern. Fortunately, my husband held more respect for her than that. And perhaps he was also thinking of Cornwall and the danger he’d placed Anderley in.

“The method and timing of the sabotage have to make us wonder. Yes, it’s possible Mr. Clerk is the one involved.

And yes, someone might have broken into the house overnight.

The security was lax enough, and the locks easily picked.

But the auction employees had the greatest access to the house during the time the joist must have been tampered with, so they must be considered.

” His jaw hardened sternly as he turned to address Anderley.

“However, I don’t want you taking any risks.

This auction house specializes in art, and Mr. Rimmer, at the least, knows who Mrs. Gage is and is an admirer of her work. ”

I flushed as the others turned to look at me.

“So it would be safe to say he might know we have a valet who assists us in our endeavors,” Gage continued, lowering his voice. “They’re also all aware that the joist was tampered with, so tread with care.”

Anderley had sobered in the face of the undercurrents flowing between him and Gage and him and Bree, and he dipped his head in agreement.

“Of course.” Once Gage had released him from his gaze, he turned to Bree, who still eyed him guardedly.

Anderley’s fingers twitched where they rested against the sofa cushion between them, and I could tell he wanted to touch her in reassurance, but he knew better than to attempt it in front of an audience.

“There’s one other avenue I think we should explore,” Gage posited, steepling his fingers before him.

“I know you dismissed the possibility of the sabotage being done by a rival collector because even if they had no regard for human life, they wouldn’t wish to see the art damaged,” he told me.

“But what of a rival auctioneer? Someone who is angry that a firm from Liverpool was given the contract and not them.”

“Someone local?” I surmised.

“Yes.”

I tilted my head, weighing the prospect. “If they were not great art lovers themselves, then yes, I could see that. If they were angry and vindictive and callous enough.” I frowned. “Though I’m uncertain who those rival auctioneers might be.”

Gage turned to the members of our staff in turn, in particular Jeffers and Mrs. Mackay, to see if they might know.

“Let me find oot,” Bree stated, smoothing down her green skirt. “I can come up wi’ a list o’ local auctioneers. Shouldna be hard. And I’ll see what I can discover aboot their reputations as weel.”

“Add brokers to the list, too,” I said, wondering if such an intermediary could also be involved.

After all, there were some people who were less enamored by the mastery of the art itself than simply the act of possessing it, and those men usually hired brokers to amass their collections and do their dirty work.

I’d encountered a few such men in my time as an artist. In particular, the broker of one rather unpleasant earl who was outraged I wouldn’t undertake a portrait commission for him.

Bree’s whisky brown gaze met mine in comprehension. “Aye.”

“Then we all have our tasks,” Gage declared, rising to his feet. The others filed out as he crossed to the sideboard, pouring himself a finger of whisky. He downed it in one swallow.

“Your arm still aches,” I stated unequivocally.

“And you’re still subsisting on almost no slumber,” he challenged not unkindly.

I sighed. “I’ve done so many times before.”

His tone gentled. “Yes, but not when your body is still recovering from a ten-foot fall.”

“True.” I turned toward the window, where flecks of rain were striking the glass. “But if I lie down now, I won’t be able to sleep.”

His hand stole into mine, recapturing my attention. “Too many thoughts spinning in your head.”

I offered him a faint smile, for he knew me too well. “I’m going up to my art studio for a while.”

When my head and heart were most muddled, art had always had the ability to help me find clarity.

There was something about the way it freed my subconscious and yet focused it.

Something about the scent of linseed oil, gesso, and turpentine soothed me—contradictory as that might seem.

Each brushstroke was like a heartbeat, each rasp of bristles against the canvas notes of a symphony only I could hear.

Gage knew all this and didn’t fight it. He simply pressed a kiss to my forehead and sent me on my way.