Page 23

Perhaps she was angry at me and Gage for taking on another murder inquiry, for asking Anderley to put himself in potential danger.

It was a fair complaint considering how severely Anderley had been beaten by those smugglers in Cornwall.

Though I didn’t know how to resolve it. Gage and I weren’t going to stop conducting inquiries.

Not when justice was required and murderers needed to be stopped.

Not when the newly established police forces in cities like Edinburgh and London still focused on preventing crime, not on investigating after the fact.

I supposed we could always refuse to allow Anderley to be involved, but I knew he would not thank us or Bree for that.

Furthermore, we needed him. He was a valuable asset.

Nonetheless, I still felt for Bree and hoped to find a way to draw her out.

As we neared the garden at Drummond Place, situated to the rear of the Custom House, which had formerly been the mansion Bellevue owned by the Marchioness of Titchfield, Maclean leaned forward, lowering his voice as if to impart something important.

“When we arrive, the pair o’ ye go on in tae speak wi’ Clerk.

I’ve a few questions I’d like tae put tae his manservant.

” From the glint in his eyes, I suspected he was relishing this task.

I understood once we were ushered inside.

Though Mr. Clerk was merely a court clerk, the butler who greeted us at the door was quite possibly the most supercilious I’d ever met.

His nose was pointed so high up in the air that I could practically count the hairs in each nostril.

Which I suspected outnumbered the ones still clinging to his scalp.

When he spied Sergeant Maclean entering after us, his mouth contorted as if he’d eaten a crab apple.

Normally, a policeman would be expected to use the tradesman’s entrance, something it was unlikely Maclean begrudged, as he was often involved with police matters in New Town and undoubtedly accustomed to this protocol.

As such, I doubted this was the reason for his dislike of the manservant, even when he attempted to close the door in his face, coming up against the immovable block of Maclean’s foot.

“He’s with us,” I told the butler, trying to smooth over matters. Only to be answered by a sniff and a withering eye cast over my person. One so disdainful that my back stiffened and I felt the temperature of my blood rise.

“We’re here to see Mr. Clerk,” Gage informed him in a voice that brooked no argument. Clearly, he’d not missed the butler’s snub of his wife.

“He’s expecting you. Or rather him,” he droned with a sneer at Maclean. “I’ll show you…”

“We’ll show ourselves up, shall we?” Gage interrupted, pulling my pelisse from me and depositing it into the butler’s arms, which already cradled our hats and gloves. Then he turned his back on the man, escorting me across the narrow and gloomy entrance hall toward the stairs.

“Aye, I’ve some questions just for ye,” Maclean declared with a hint of menace, speaking over the butler’s efforts to protest.

“Is this routine something the two of you have performed before?” I murmured to my husband as we mounted the steps.

His lips quirked. “No, but I recognized Maclean’s intent. He needs the man off guard and rattled enough he might answer his questions honestly. Namely whether his employer was in residence when he said he was and not off tampering with the construction of his brother’s home.”

I peered back over my shoulder to see that Maclean had the fellow cornered with his arms still full of our outer garments. “I don’t know about that, but he might be outraged enough to let something slip. At least, enough to indicate whether he’s lying.”

Once we’d reached the floor above, we turned our steps toward the open door at the front of the house.

We’d decided that Mr. Clerk was most likely to have planned to receive us there, as the drawing room would be the most formal.

However, his butler’s remark about having not expected us but only Maclean made me second-guess this assumption.

In any case, there was nothing for it but to try that room first, buying the sergeant more time.

The drawing room proved to be rather small compared with many in New Town, however the furnishings within were of excellent quality, with scrolls and embellishments and little carvings.

The walls were papered in a floral-patterned silk and the drapes fashioned of a gossamer-like fabric of palest pink.

It was not the type of decoration I’d anticipated for an old bachelor, but neither was the sight of Mr. Clerk lounging in a loose silk banyan, smoking a cigar.

His head was buried behind a newspaper, and though he didn’t look up, he must have heard us enter.

“I dinna appreciate bein’ expected tae wait upon a policeman’s convenience,” he replied crisply after exhaling a puff of smoke toward the ceiling.

“I’ll give ye five minutes o’ my time and no more.

” One leg was crossed over the other, and the foot jostled up and down—pale and shockingly bare.

“That’s too bad,” Gage intoned, finally startling Mr. Clerk into lowering his paper with a sharp rustle. “For it means we’ll simply have to return until we get all the answers we seek.”

He glared at Gage, his eyes all but disappearing beneath his heavy brow. Between that and a rather pugnacious nose and thick lips, he wouldn’t be described as attractive, but he certainly wasn’t unassuming.

“I’ll no’ be held responsible for my brother’s insistence on that foolish auction,” he declared, rising to his feet and setting the newspaper aside.

He reached for the pewter dish on the table at his elbow, stubbing out his cigar, I supposed in deference to my presence.

As a rule, gentlemen did not smoke in front of ladies.

He disappeared briefly through a doorway that led into the adjacent room.

In our town house, a type of small butler’s pantry connected the drawing room to the library.

I wondered if here it was the same. When he returned, the pewter dish and cigar were gone.

“Then you didn’t wish to hold the auction like your brother had stipulated in his will?” Gage inquired as Mr. Clerk came to a stop behind the leather armchair he’d been seated in.

The query seemed to surprise him, for he scrutinized us both again in turn.

“Nay. It should have been handled quietly and privately. No’ this…

” he waved his hand as if searching for the right word “… spectacle Winstanley has put on.” His mouth screwed up in disgust. “If it is compensation ye seek, ye should talk to him .”

Ah, now I understood his reaction to us, and I couldn’t help asking, “Have many come demanding such?” For their injuries or loss of property.

He scowled. “Nay. But there’s always a first.”

And he’d been anticipating it. I wasn’t sure whether this made him a better suspect or worse.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Gage told him, persisting despite the skepticism etched across his features.

“We’d heard contradictory rumors that Lord Eldin both stipulated the terms of the auction and the auctioneer to conduct it, and that he was rolling over in his grave to see his relatives auction off his collection. ”

Mr. Clerk scoffed.

“We wondered which it was.”

“John always had tae have things his way. Even in death.” His face screwed up in disgust. “As I said, this entire farce was his idea.” He shook his head. “Nay, I would’ve handled it quite differently.”

“With private bidders and such?” I replied, seeking to understand.

Mr. Clerk gestured toward the scroll-end settee on our right while he rounded the armchair to resume his seat.

I noticed he’d donned a pair of embroidered slippers.

“No need for this pageant . But John always did like to show off. No doubt he expected accolades for his collection, even though half o’ it is scarcely more than rubbish.

Scraps from treasures that were truly worth somethin’. ”

I had also noted that while some of the pictures and drawings and objects of virtu were of great value, others were barely more than detritus. Detritus from an ancient civilization, yes, but detritus all the same.

Gage lifted the tails of his coat before sitting beside me. “Were you aware of the terms of his will before he died?”

A humorless chuckle rumbled in Mr. Clerk’s throat. “John left that surprise for after his death. Though I’d kent he’d hired a firm from Liverpool to assess his collection.” He turned away, muttering under his breath. “Couldna’ stop crowin’ aboot its alleged worth.”

“Were you aware that you were going to inherit his properties?” Gage asked.

Our host’s gaze sharpened. “Aye, as I’m the next eldest. But I’d always planned tae sell the town house. I dinna need it.” He gestured to the ceiling and walls, indicating his current home. “And neither do our other brothers and sisters.”

“What about your nephews and nieces?” I interjected.

He sat back, clasping his hands over his lap. “Dinna have any. None o’ us have married. We’re determined bachelors and spinsters all.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. Seven children and yet none had married. I wondered why and then acknowledged it was none of my business. At least, as long as it had no bearing on this investigation.

It was during this lull that Maclean appeared. We heard him before we saw him, even though I could tell he was trying to step lightly. He bowed his head to Mr. Clerk, who glowered at him before turning to Gage.

“Mr. Clerk has confirmed Mr. Winstanley’s claim about Lord Eldin’s will.”

At these words, Mr. Clerk’s neck stiffened as he eyed both men suspiciously and then me, recognizing that we were collaborating. “I see. Then I take it ye’re aware that the joist was tampered wi’. Somethin’ I canna be held responsible for.”

“No’ unless ye or someone ye hired did the tamperin’,” Maclean replied.