Page 52

Over the next few days, while Gage seemed calmer and less prone to vacillate between suspects and theories, there was still tension in the air.

I suspected much of it had to do with the feeling we nearly had all the facts we needed to solve both the sabotage and the theft—whether they were related or not—and yet we couldn’t quite put them together in a cohesive order, let alone prove any of our suspicions.

Reverend Jamieson seemed to be involved, as well as at least one of the auctioneer’s employees, but whether it was Sullivan, Fletcher, Rimmer, or one of the others was still up for debate.

That there was some connection to the collapse of the church balcony at Kirkcaldy appeared credible, but beyond the entry Lord Eldin had made in his memoir documenting his visit to the town, there didn’t seem to be any other record of a connection.

At least, none that Henry could find, and I trusted his thoroughness.

Mr. Sullivan remained elusive, though Sergeant Maclean was confident he would be apprehended. It was only a matter of time. Then maybe he could be persuaded to provide us with some answers.

I considered sending for Mr. Rimmer and asking him to keep an eye on his cohort Mr. Fletcher, or to at least report any strange doings.

Bonnie Brock had promised to find out what he could about the surly assistant, but we’d yet to hear from the rogue.

In any case, a note from Maclean made me question the wisdom of trusting Rimmer.

For the sergeant had discovered that Rimmer and Fletcher had both been absent from Picardy Place, allegedly running errands, at the time I’d been pushed in front of the mail coach.

As such, I couldn’t be certain either man could be trusted, though there was every chance that neither of them was the culprit.

Given the suddenness and unexpectedness of the attack, Gage had insisted that neither me, Bree, nor Mrs. Mackay set out on foot without a male escort.

I could hardly argue with him. Especially with Trevor in residence, eager to accompany me when Gage and Anderley were elsewhere.

Anyway, I rarely had time to venture far, for Emma’s birthday was drawing near and there was much to do about the house to get ready for the party.

When there wasn’t, I found myself standing at the door to my studio, or one rainy afternoon, actually entering it.

But I didn’t pick up a brush or even remove my apron from the wall peg.

Because Gage had been right. The portraits were finished.

All that remained was for them to be shown.

Yet still I shied away from the prospect.

The very thought of exposing them to other people’s eyes, to their criticism, made my heart race and my palms sweat. So I locked the door and stayed away.

Then the morning of the thirty-first dawned, and I realized that perhaps the main source of tension over the past few days, at least within me, had been the anticipation of this date.

It was the anniversary of the day we’d been ambushed and tossed into the depths of the vaults where I’d gone into labor. Where we’d been left to die.

Gage and I had endured many frightening moments since embarking on our inquiries together, but that had been the most terrifying by far.

Worse, it caused me to feel conflicted about the date.

For while it had been perhaps the worst day of my life, it had bled into the next day, which had been one of the happiest, for Emma was born.

I disliked this contradiction, wanting only to experience joy, but there was so much more within me.

Unsure how to confront it all, I instead opted for avoidance.

It being a Sunday, we attended church service at St. George’s and then ate dinner at Philip and Alana’s for a smaller celebration of wee Jamie’s second birthday.

Traditionally, while first birthdays and other important milestones were celebrated with some panache, other birthdays passed more quietly, but no one wanted Jamie to feel overlooked.

A number of additional family members who had come to town to celebrate Emma’s birthday were also there, including my friend Charlotte and her husband—my cousin Rye.

It was a joyous reunion, for I’d not seen them since their last visit to Edinburgh from their nearby estate some months prior.

However, the afternoon passed all too quickly, and since Emma had failed to nap, it was decided that we should return home so that she could get plenty of rest before the next day.

I’d hoped then that Gage, Trevor, and I might spend a quiet evening at home.

Trevor had yet to tell me how Alana had reacted to his telling her about his courtship of Matilda Birnam, but from the pinched speculation I’d seen on her face several times that afternoon when she looked at him, I guessed it hadn’t been entirely welcomed.

Or perhaps Alana was merely worried it was all progressing too swiftly.

Regrettably, at least for my plans, there was a letter waiting for my husband when we returned home.

Mr. Sullivan had been apprehended, and Sergeant Maclean wanted Gage to join him at the police house off Old Stamp Office Close for his interrogation.

I knew better than to ask to accompany him.

Gage would never willingly allow me to visit the police house and, truth be told, I didn’t wish to.

The short amount of time I’d spent at the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court in London when I’d been accused of several crimes following the discovery that I’d sketched anatomical drawings for my late husband was more than enough time in a police house for me.

Nevertheless, the afternoon was waning into evening, and with the memory of what had happened a year ago so fresh in my mind, I was not about to let him leave alone.

Gage resisted at first when I insisted he take both Trevor and Anderley with him.

I didn’t know if Gage had forgotten the significance of the day’s date or he was unruffled by the remembrance, but my genuine distress seemed to convince him.

In truth, I was very near tears when even my adamance seemed unable to budge him.

Gathering me close, he pressed a kiss to my temple and promised solemnly to return as soon as possible.

I watched through the window as the three men departed in our carriage before closing the sage green damask drapes to shut out the encroaching night.

Of course, that left me in greater gloom.

At least, until Jeffers entered to light the lamps.

I turned to watch him, my hands crossed before me, as I tried to still my agitated mind.

“Can I get you anything, m’lady?” Jeffers asked as he straightened. There was kindness in his eyes.

I wondered if I should feel embarrassed that my apprehension was so transparent, but then decided that was senseless. “No. Thank you.”

He nodded and departed, leaving me to my restless thoughts.

However, I soon discovered he’d done what he could to help without even saying so.

Having grown tired of pacing the drawing room, I began to wander from room to room and found that Jeffers had lit nearly every lamp and wall sconce, forcing back the darkness.

His thoughtfulness made tears threaten yet again.

The staff largely left me to my own devices, even Bree, perhaps sensing this was not something they could grapple with for me.

This sensation of being at rather tattered and loose ends would not abate from their company and, in fact, having them underfoot might only spark my fragile temper.

I knew well the temptation to vent fury when the other emotions one was feeling were far more uncomfortable.

So I paced, sitting down briefly in the morning room to try to politely eat some part of the small repast Mrs. Grady had prepared for me, though sadly I sent most of it back to the kitchen untouched.

I noticed a light mist had begun to gather when I peered out the French doors into the garden; gauzy tendrils snaked through the grasses and flower beds.

I hoped the men would return before it thickened.

If they were delayed and didn’t return in a timely manner, I feared the little I’d consumed wouldn’t stay put for long.

Then the haze shifted and a figure appeared, moving toward the house.

It didn’t take me long to recognize him.

In some strange way, I believed I’d actually been expecting him, given the date and the role he’d played in the events surrounding it.

In any case, my already taxed system barely wondered at his appearance.

Bonnie Brock’s pace slowed as he caught sight of me watching him. What he was thinking, I couldn’t tell. His expression was more inscrutable than usual. Or perhaps such minute observations were beyond my abilities at the moment.

I didn’t wait for him to knock but opened the door to allow him to slip inside. I knew he was no danger to me or those within. If anything, he would prevent harm from coming to us.

His brown greatcoat and his tawny hair were damp from the mist. “I ken Gage and his valet and yer brother are at the police house. That Maclean nabbed the auctioneer employee he’s been searchin’ for.”

“And so you decided now was a good time to pay me a call?” I surmised ironically, not in the least surprised that he was aware of all our comings and goings.

His gaze scoured mine. “I thought maybe you’d welcome the distraction.”

I blinked rapidly in the face of this compassion, feeling tears bite at the back of my eyes yet again. Seeing this, he took a step toward me, but I turned away, peering out into the garden as I blinked furiously, refusing to release the emotion threatening to strangle me.

“I also have information,” he said.

This, at least, was something I could focus on without losing my composure, and I gestured impatiently for him to continue.