Page 57

In the end, it was my cousin Morven’s soft exclamation that gave me the courage to look up.

I knew that sound. I knew it was one of revelation and astonishment.

And I knew she was seeing what I’d hoped she would in the painting she was examining.

The sweetness of the Irish mother’s relationship with her child, the bone weariness of each of her plodding footsteps along the road, the flickering hope in her eyes that life would one day be easier for her little one.

As my gaze swept around the room, I saw similar expressions of absorption and connection with the subjects of the portraits, and the terror that had gripped me nearly in a stranglehold began to abate, replaced by a mixture of wonder, profound relief, and overwhelming gratitude.

I squeezed Gage’s hand where he still gripped mine and peered up at him to see his eyes were shining with triumph and not a small amount of smugness. I let him have it.

In any case, I had questions to answer and love and praise to receive.

Each word and stunned shake of the head and embrace was a precious balm to my artist’s soul.

Even Alana, who was so much more concerned with class expectations, only had good things to say.

But then, she had always supported my art.

It was my involvement with murderous inquiries she struggled with.

They each pledged their help in arranging the exhibition and spreading the word to make it a success.

Philip even confessed he intended to share the matter with his fellow Whigs, as they were planning to leave for London in a week’s time, following Easter Sunday.

It was more than I could have hoped for, and I had Gage to thank for forcing it upon me.

As much as I wanted to be angry at him for that, I simply couldn’t.

Not when I knew he’d only had my best interests at heart.

Had it been anyone else, I never would have tolerated it, but he knew me, and he knew the people who loved me well enough to understand that this was the safe push I needed.

I might have arrived at the realization that I couldn’t leave the paintings gathering dust. I might have told my husband this, but he’d known I would continue to drag my heels for months if not years, despite my art being ready, if he didn’t force my hand.

Given that, it seemed best to forgive him for his high-handed interference.

Best to forgive and express my appreciation.

I made certain to do so appropriately that night.

· · ·

With the excitement of Emma’s birthday over, we settled our minds back to the inquiry.

Sergeant Maclean had sent word that evening that Mr. Fletcher hadn’t been seen in two days at either Picardy Place or the White Horse, where he was lodging, and no one seemed to know where he’d gone.

The barmaid Bonnie Brock’s associate had spoken with had confirmed her story with Maclean, but denied having said anything to Mr. Fletcher that might have led him to believe his secrets were no longer safe.

Whether this was a lie or Mr. Fletcher had become leery for a different reason was beside the point.

He was missing and potentially dangerous to those who were aware of his guilt.

As such, Gage reiterated the necessity of none of us venturing out alone when we gathered in the library the morning after the soiree.

This time, Trevor had joined our number, as well as Henry.

All told, we were a party of seven, plus Mrs. Mackay, who was in the nursery with Emma but would be informed of our discussion later.

Yet our larger numbers meant nothing when Mr. Fletcher had stealth on his side and several days’ lead in planning his next move.

“Are we all in agreement that we can eliminate most of our other suspects?” Gage asked after recapitulating what we’d recently learned. “Innes and Clerk and Brade Cranston?”

“What about Sullivan?” Anderley asked. His face was drawn and pinched, making me wonder how much he’d slept the previous night.

Gage’s gaze shifted to meet mine. “While Mr. Sullivan had a hand to play in the theft of those coins, I think we can eliminate him from the sabotage of Lord Eldin’s town house.

His actions the day of the collapse speak for themselves, and his elusiveness following your discovery of his cousin’s employment at Brade Cranston can easily be explained by his fear of being caught for the bribe he took. ”

“What of Reverend Jamieson?” Jeffers inquired, his posture as impeccable as always, even seated on one of the sofas. “You seem convinced he was behind the theft, and Mr. Sullivan appears to have confirmed it, but what of the collapse?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I confessed when no one else leapt in to voice their opinion.

I turned to frown at the overcast sky outside the windows.

“The trouble is, we still don’t understand the motive behind the sabotage of that joist, why someone would do such a thing and risk so many lives.

Until we do, it’s difficult to say whether Mr. Fletcher was working alone or with an accomplice.

If he was the head of the operation or he cut the beam at someone else’s behest. Someone like Jamieson. ”

Bree lowered the stitching she’d brought with her. “But wasna Mr. Fletcher injured in the collapse? Wouldna he have done whatever he could tae steer clear o’ the room if he ken the floor was goin’ tae give way?”

“Yes, but if he didn’t show up to work that day, he must have known suspicion would fall on him,” Anderley pointed out.

“Perhaps he thought he could switch tasks with another employee but then was unable. Or maybe he thought he would have enough notice of the pending collapse to escape before it happened.”

“He was one of the people standing closest to the entrance to the front drawing room.” Gage shook his head.

“But I don’t think we’ll be able to answer that for sure until we talk to Mr. Fletcher himself.

” He leaned forward, motioning decisively with his hands.

“But the motive…I think it must have something to do with the building itself. With past collapses like at Kirkcaldy.”

“There have been a number of articles and editorials in the newspapers debating current building practices and the laws around them, and speculating as to whether there are other such calamities just waiting to happen,” Henry chimed in to say.

Trevor bumped me with his knee as he lifted it to rest his ankle over the opposite leg. “There’s been a scramble to have buildings inspected to ensure they’re secure.”

“A scramble here in New Town at the private residences of the wealthy.” Anderley’s voice was forbidding. “But what about the public buildings? Particularly those in the older parts of the city. And what of the tenements?”

It was a justifiable question, with unsettling implications. One that none of us held the answer to.

“Have you read the Edinburgh Evening Courant , by chance?” Henry asked Anderley in curiosity.

“No?” he replied, a query in his voice.

“There was a letter to the editor published there just a few days ago. It asked much the same question, and suggested we’d learned the wrong lesson from all of this. That it will happen again, with perhaps even more devastating consequences, if the law isn’t changed and enforced.”

This was a sentiment I could agree with, but the grave look on Henry’s face made it clear there was more.

“The writer even went so far as to reference Easter Sunday, when all the churches will be packed with worshipers.”

My gaze flew to Gage, wondering if he found this as pointed and chilling as I did.

“What was the writer’s name?” he asked his half brother.

“I’ll try to find the article again to check,” Henry replied. “But if my recollection is correct, it was a concerned citizen or some such code for anonymous.”

Henry could look, but I trusted his memory was correct. The very fact that the writer hadn’t wanted to include his real name made me all the more uneasy. We needed to find Fletcher by Sunday. We needed to uncover everyone behind the sabotage and why they’d done it.

Gage ran his index finger over his lips, glaring unseeing at the floor before him.

“Mr. Clerk did find an entry in his brother’s memoir that described a visit he made to Kirkcaldy soon after the collapse.

He apparently made some sort of grand declaration that he would ensure something was done.

But neither Lord Henry nor I have been able to find any reference to Lord Eldin actually doing anything to help Kirkcaldy or change the law.

He seems to have just been spouting proclamations. ”

“Which could be our connection to Lord Eldin’s former town house, except what do Fletcher and Jamieson have to do with Kirkcaldy?” Trevor turned to Gage. “You said Fletcher was from Liverpool?”

“All of Winstanley’s employees purportedly were.” He nodded toward his valet. “But of course, Anderley uncovered that wasn’t actually the case with Sullivan. So who’s to say that another of them might not also have lied?”

This stirred a vague recollection in me. One I couldn’t immediately place. So I brushed it aside in favor of sharing a fact I knew was relevant.

“Reverend Jamieson knew the minister at Kirkcaldy. I heard him discussing it with another fellow at the Inverleith Ball. He was familiar with the congregation there.”

Trevor lowered his leg and slid toward the edge of his seat. “Then we need to speak to Jamieson.”

“He’s still missing,” I reminded him.

“Or so his staff claimed.” Gage turned to Jeffers. “But a staff loyal to their employer might prevaricate on his behalf. Even to the police.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jeffers answered regardless. “Especially to the police.”

Gage nodded, recognizing this as a statement of loyalty to us as well as confirmation of Gage’s inference. Not that there was ever any doubt. “So he might be hiding under our very noses.”

“I could speak to his staff,” Anderley offered. Then his gaze flicked toward Bree. “Miss McEvoy and I could.”

Gage considered this, but then shook his head. “No, I think I have a better idea. If Lord Henry and Mr. St. Mawr were to show up on his doorstep, he’s less likely to be suspicious.”

“And the staff will be, too,” Jeffers interjected. “If the police have asked after the reverend, the staff will already be on guard to anyone asking questions of them.”

“But what pretense would we give for wishing to see him?” Henry asked with an uncertain glance at Trevor.

“Tell him that you’re scholars interested in the Scottish language,” I suggested. “That you…read his Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language and wished to meet the author…to compliment him on his publication.”

“I suppose that could work,” Trevor said.

“But what if he starts asking us questions?” Henry protested. “I’m no lexicographer.”

Gage pushed to his feet, moving toward one of the bookshelves closest to the hearth.

“You need only stall him a few minutes,” he explained, running his fingers along the spines of the books.

“If you are willingly admitted to the house, then we shall take that as an admission of his being at home. We’ll be close by, watching, and will force our way inside, if necessary.

You only need to keep him talking and prevent him from leaving the room.

” His finger stopped, apparently finding what he was searching for, as he pulled a book from the shelf.

“If it makes you feel better, you can brush up on Jamieson’s work beforehand. ”

He passed the hefty tome to Henry, who flipped it over to reveal it was the etymological dictionary in question.

Henry briefly flipped through some of the pages. “I would prefer to have at least a few hours to prepare.”

Sinking back into his seat, Gage yielded to this. “I’ll need to speak with Maclean to arrange matters anyway.”

“I would also like to have a word with Mr. Rimmer,” I informed him. “Though I’m sure the police have spoken with him, he might have withheld something he knows, either purposely, or because he doesn’t realize he knows it.”

“And you think he’ll tell you?”

“Yes.”

Gage didn’t question my perhaps unfounded assertion. “Then let’s put our plans into motion.”