Page 48

“I told ye before, I wasna even there,” Mr. Innes protested, the temper I’d witnessed on the second day of the auction flaring. “So hoo could I have stolen somethin’?”

A pair of men strolling among the gravestones deeper into Canongate Kirkyard turned at the sound of his raised voice.

I found myself wondering if he would have spoken thusly if we’d called upon him at his rooms along the South Back of the Canongate, alarming Mrs. Stewart, his landlady.

If so, it was fortunate for him that we’d spotted him striding down Canongate with a portfolio tucked beneath his arm.

He’d clearly not been happy to see us, but he’d allowed us to coax him into the kirkyard rather than stand in the midst of the busy street.

“Where were ye, then?” Maclean replied unruffled. “Ye never did say.”

Mr. Innes scowled. “I was meetin’ wi’ my editor, if ye must ken. ’Tis no’ secret. I write for Blackwood’s .” A popular magazine in Edinburgh and elsewhere.

That would be easy enough to verify, and I could tell from the sergeant’s nod that he was satisfied with the answer as well.

The gentle breeze from earlier had increased, the wind blustering through the gaps in the buildings and sending the remnants of the dried leaves from the previous autumn scuttling across the kirkyard between the gravestones.

One particularly strong gust nearly blew the hats from the men’s heads and tugged at my bonnet, fastened under my chin with ribbon.

“What was it that went missin’?” Mr. Innes inquired.

“We’re no’ at liberty tae say,” Maclean answered.

He frowned. “Weel, it must be valuable if the police are involved.” His hooded gaze shifted to us. “As weel as Mr. and Mrs. Gage.”

“Did the Bannatyne Club ever call their special meeting?” I asked, deciding to be direct with him.

“Nay,” he grumbled. “?’Twas postponed. Again .”

“But you expect them to approve your membership?”

Mr. Innes glanced distractedly toward a plinth erected as some sort of monument. “Honestly?” He heaved a sigh. “Nay.”

His awareness of this surprised me. “You don’t?”

“Reverend Jamieson came tae call on me some days ago. Told me that a number o’ the members were still determined tae uphold Lord Eldin’s obstruction o’ my membership.

” His mouth twisted with contempt. “That they intended tae use the excuse that since they’d published some o’ Eldin’s father’s drawings, that havin’ me as a member would be some sort o’ conflict o’ interest.”

“Did your father write poor reviews of those as well?” Gage asked.

“Nay.” Mr. Innes scoffed. “?’Tis all rubbish.” His shoulders drooped as he glowered at the wall behind us, separating the church from the road. “But there’s naught more that can be done.”

I remembered what he’d told us about why he wanted to join the Bannatyne Club in the first place. “Do you truly need them? Couldn’t you simply print the tracts yourself?”

“It costs money. Money I dinna have.” He lifted his hand to secure his hat as another gust of wind blew past us, billowing my skirts. A more hopeful light entered his eyes. “But Reverend Jamieson said he might be able tae find a way tae help me wi’ that.”

“How?” Gage asked, clutching the brim of his own hat.

He shrugged. “A sponsor perhaps. He dinna say. But we made plans tae meet next week.”

Maybe that was what Jamieson had meant when he’d said that there were those who were left who were trying to set things to rights. It had struck me as being significant to him at the time, but I hadn’t understood why. Maybe this was the answer.

As Mr. Innes departed, the three of us huddled near the wall next to the lych-gate, hoping it would block some of the wind.

I could tell from Gage’s stony silence and the look in his pale blue eyes that he was turning something over in his head. When he looked up to find me studying him, he finally dared to voice it.

“I know you spoke with Reverend Jamieson at the Inverleith Ball, but I think we should pay him a visit. He seems to intersect with a number of the people and organizations and events in question, and I’d like to find out what else he can tell us.

” He frowned. “It also might behoove us to learn a bit more about him.”

“You suspect something?” I deduced.

“No.” He paused. “Maybe.” He shook his head. “Let’s just find out more.”

So we made plans to meet Sergeant Maclean at Jamieson’s address in George Square on the south side of the city the following afternoon before parting—Maclean on foot and us in our coach.

But we didn’t make it far when the door was unceremoniously yanked open at about the same time we heard a shout from Peter, our footman.

A man hurtled into the carriage before Joe, the coachman, could set off again.

Even without the advantage of sight, I could have guessed who would be insolent enough to attempt such a stunt.

True to form. Bonnie Brock grinned remorselessly back at our scowls.

Peter soon appeared in the doorway, looking frazzled.

“Be at ease, Peter,” Gage told him, never removing his gaze from our guest, whom he eyed with disfavor. “Apparently, Mr. Kincaid wishes to beg a lift.”

“Sir?”

“Tell Joe to carry on.”

“Aye, sir.”

The door was shut, a word was shouted to Joe, and the carriage rocked lightly as Peter climbed back onto his perch. Then we were off again at the sedate pace town travel required.

“What do you want, Kincaid?” Gage demanded of our guest when he didn’t speak but simply lounged deeper into the plush squabs.

“Who says I want somethin’,” he replied idly. “Maybe I saw ye passin’ and desired a moment o’ yer company.”

Gage’s expression communicated what he thought of this nonsense. “Mrs. Gage, perhaps. But not me.”

“True enough.” He tipped his hat back so we could better see the mischief in his gold-green eyes, and I realized this might have been the first time I’d seen him wear anything on his head.

Normally he went without. But I supposed if you were trying to blend in—or at least not stand out among the general populace—some sort of hat was necessary.

“Word is,” he continued, “there’s been a theft.”

“Wouldn’t be your handiwork, by chance, would it?” Gage replied, pouncing on the opening he’d provided.

“No’ my style. And no’ profitable enough,” Bonnie Brock replied, not bothering to hide his complicity in other such crimes. Of course, I also had cause to know, for we’d worked together on one special robbery in the past. “Does it relate tae the floor collapse?”

“We don’t know,” I said, earning a frown from Gage, I supposed for sharing information. But Bonnie Brock was not part of this. If anything, he’d been helpful, cautioning us that the collapse wasn’t an accident, warning us that Anderley had been identified. “But it’s suggestive.”

Bonnie Brock nodded, slumping to one side so that his fine linen shirt gaped open at the throat to reveal a chest sprinkled with hair. “I’ve no’ seen the cabinet the coins were stored in, but the back door is no’ difficult to pick. A green lad could probably do it if he’d enough nerve.”

Gage arched a single eyebrow. “And how would you know that?”

“Professional curiosity.” He shrugged one shoulder, widening the gap in his shirt even farther.

Something I was quite certain he was aware of, for he darted a glance at me as if to see if I was looking.

But while he possessed the muscular stature I’d already anticipated—given my close encounters with him in the past and the way his trousers always molded to his legs, especially when he was seated in such a gauche position as now—I was not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him know I’d noticed.

In any case, Gage’s physique was far more impressive.

“And how do you know it was coins that were taken?” I inquired.

He feigned a weary sigh. “Must we really go over this every time? My sources are my own. Noo…” He straightened. “Bein’ the obliging lad I am, I’ll ask aroond tae see if anyone kens who did the job. That is, if ’twas done by professionals.” He sounded doubtful that it had been.

“And what’s that going to cost us?” I well knew his penchant for keeping a tally.

Bonnie Brock merely flashed me a grin as he leaned forward to peer out the carriage window.

Before he could alight, I made the decision that if we were in for a penny, we might as well be in for a pound. “Then if we’re already going to be in your debt, how about you find out whatever you can about Mr. Fletcher as well? After all, you’ve suggested he’s the one to watch.”

I was aware I’d essentially thrown down a gauntlet, and I fully anticipated the rogue wouldn’t be able to stop himself from picking it up. The glint in his eye told me I was right. And that I just might regret it.

“Done.”

With this, he reached up to rap on the roof of the carriage and had descended before I could lift a hand to halt him.

Once we continued to roll forward again, crossing North Bridge Street, I turned to find my husband scrutinizing me.

“You’re playing with fire, Kiera.”

I batted this concern away. “Oh, Bonnie Brock will never hurt me.”

“It’s not him hurting you that I’m afraid of.”

I whipped my head back around to look at him, but he was facing the opposite window.

· · ·

I had steeled myself to return to my art studio the following morning, knowing that later in the week as we approached Emma’s birthday, I would have a harder time getting away. But this time I was foiled not by my own doubts and misgivings, but by Mr. Clerk.

Lord Eldin’s brother arrived unexpectedly on our doorstep in the midmorning.

He seemed agitated as he was shown into the drawing room where Gage, Trevor, and I were gathered.

His footsteps faltered for a moment at the sight of my brother, but he swiftly recovered.

Given his troubled expression, I thought perhaps he’d learned of the missing coins from his brother’s collection, but the leather-bound book he clutched in his hands soon made me suspect differently.