Page 59

Alana had not been as enthused about his interest in Miss Matilda Birnam as I had been.

However, she’d not voiced outright disapproval, but rather had advised caution.

When Trevor had told me not three-quarters of an hour earlier about her suggestion that he introduce Miss Birnam to us before he decided anything, I’d agreed it wasn’t a terrible idea.

This had drawn some of the irritation he’d been directing at our sister onto me.

Though when I proposed that we should invite the Birnams to the house party Gage and I had discussed hosting at Bevington Park in June or July, he’d been pacified slightly.

Enough that, hopefully, he wouldn’t botch this ploy.

That same confidence couldn’t be applied to Henry, who tugged repeatedly at his collar as they waited for someone to answer their knock.

As Jamieson’s front door opened, I instinctively shrank backward, coming up against the resistance of the back of the bench. The same maid who had admitted us the week before listened briefly to Trevor and Henry before telling them I knew not what and retreating into the house.

My shoulders slumped. “Perhaps he’s not at home, after all.”

“Just wait,” Gage urged, seeing that Henry and Trevor were not departing, but rather stood waiting by the door.

The maid must have gone to confer with someone, which might very well indicate Jamieson actually was at home.

Or it might mean that Trevor and Henry were a breed she hadn’t been instructed how to respond to.

Perhaps she was fetching a senior servant or even the mistress of the house to see to them.

Had we known what she’d told them, we might have had a better idea.

Trevor’s continuing to swing his walking stick and Henry’s tugging once more at his collar told us almost nothing.

I tried to remain cautiously hopeful, but enough time passed that I’d begun to slide into disappointment. Then the maid returned, ushering them inside.

My heart climbed into my throat despite the stern reminder I gave myself that this was also not confirmation that Jamieson was home.

Trevor and Henry might have been invited in to speak with Mrs. Jamieson or someone else.

However, I clung tenaciously to hope all the same that our suspicions had been correct and they were sitting down with the reverend even now.

I watched the front windows avidly, for we’d instructed them, if they were taken to either of the front rooms and given the chance, to signal us somehow.

But none of the curtains even twitched, so we remained where we were, with Gage eyeing his pocket watch.

We’d decided that if they remained inside for longer than three minutes that would be our indication that they’d likely been received by Jamieson himself.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the windows, lest I miss their signal, so I had to trust that Gage was minding the time passing, though it felt like triple the number of minutes had passed before he suddenly snapped the pocket watch shut and urged me to my feet.

This, too, was Maclean and his men’s signal, and as we approached the front door, I noted several men fanning out from their own positions where they’d been idling—some in everyday clothes and others in their distinctive gray greatcoats. Maclean met us at the door.

When Gage tried the handle, he found it unlocked, allowing us to stride inside unimpeded.

However, the sound must have alerted the maid, for she appeared in the corridor from a door on the right.

Her eyes widened in alarm, but before she could utter a sound, Gage silenced her with a look and a nod toward Maclean, who loomed over my shoulder.

Gage opened his mouth as if to ask her where they were, but I squeezed his arm to halt him.

I could hear voices coming from a room above, so I pointed up the stairs.

He nodded, and then with silent feet we quickly ascended.

In the upper corridor, we encountered another maid. This one emitted a startled squeak before we could stop her, quieting the tenor voice of the man who’d been speaking in the back room. Not wishing to completely waste the element of surprise, Gage strode over and pushed open the door.

Though I’d not anticipated violence from the man of God, a part of me had still feared I was wrong.

That we’d sent my brother and brother-in-law into a potentially lethal situation.

After all, we didn’t yet know the extent of Jamieson’s role in the events that transpired on the third day of the auction of Lord Eldin’s collection.

Whether he’d callously risked the lives of nearly one hundred people and killed a friend all in the quest of some goal.

If he’d been capable of that, would his conscience even balk at taking the lives of two nosy gentlemen?

But when Gage opened the door, I could see that both Trevor and Henry were sitting unharmed in two ladder-back chairs while Reverend Jamieson was propped upright in a bed.

Rather than react with anger or alarm at the sight of us, he gave a sigh of weary resignation and even grinned with fleeting amusement.

“Pride, my besettin’ sin, has ousted me.

And rightly so, for me thinkin’ I knew better than everyone else.

Come in. Come in,” he urged when we hesitated in the doorway, still grappling with the sight of him in bed and his response to our presence.

A wet cough rumbled up from his chest as he even tried to jest. “Dinna be shy.”

I supposed that answered our question as to if he was truly ill, though the redness of his nose and the dark circles around his eyes had given some indication that he’d not been in bed at three o’clock in the afternoon for no reason.

Even dressed respectfully in a plaid dressing gown and cap, it was obvious he’d only recently pulled himself together to receive his visitors.

“I s’pose, then, that ye’re no’ really admirers o’ my dictionary?” he said good-naturedly to Henry and Trevor as they rose from their chairs.

Henry flushed and then frowned, though Trevor merely shrugged.

“Weel, I’ve been put in my place,” Jamieson added, his voice rattling.

“Why did you refuse to receive Sergeant Maclean when he called to speak to you?” Gage queried in bewilderment. “Why did you tell your staff to lie about your whereabouts to the police?”

He heaved another sigh. “My wife warned me I shouldna have done that.”

“Then why did you?” Gage pressed with Maclean standing at his shoulder, giving Jamieson no quarter.

“Because I didna want to answer the questions ye wished to put to me. ’Specially no’ in this condition.” Jamieson gestured to himself, indicating his nearly prone position in bed.

“Ye ken I’ve arrested Mr. Sullivan?” Maclean asked, unmoved by his honesty.

“Aye, and I need tae set that straight,” he said grimly. “Mr. Sullivan is guilty o’ nothin’ more than bein’ too trustin’.”

Maclean’s eyes narrowed. “Then ye didna bribe him tae leave the coin room unattended?”

“Ye must have misunderstood. ’Twas merely a contribution tae help wi’ his poor mother’s medicine and doctor bills. She’s been verra ill these past few months.”

“And after ye gave him this…contribution, he just happened tae look the other way while ye stole four ancient coins?” Maclean’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“That strains credibility, Reverend,” Gage added.

“Stole?” Jamieson repeated, struggling to stifle a cough. “Why, that’s preposterous. I would never…” He broke off, turning aside to cough into a handkerchief.

It didn’t escape my notice that he was doing everything possible not to tell a direct lie, even possibly forcing himself to cough.

“Come now, Reverend Jamieson,” Gage countered, turning on his charm.

“We know it must have been you, and that you almost certainly did it for Mr. Innes’s benefit.

To fund the publication of his texts. It was Lord Eldin’s fault he’d been denied membership to the Bannatyne Club, and so it only seemed fitting that he should be the one to help him, even in an indirect way.

” His lips curled into a coaxing smile. “Why, I imagine you even planned to inform the auctioneer—anonymously, of course—that the coins you swapped out for the real ones were fake before they ever went up for bidding. Because you had no intention of harming anyone else. Just to put a small dent in Lord Eldin’s reputation in aid of setting a wrong to right. ”

I recognized he was using the words I’d told him Jamieson had spoken to me at the Inverleith Ball. The ones that had struck me as being significant, for it turned out they revealed his motive.

However, Jamieson simply turned his head toward the other wall. “I dinna ken what ye’re talkin’ aboot.”

Gage looked to each of us, clearly undecided whether to continue to try to cajole the reverend or cede the field to one of us.

I knew Maclean’s intimidation tactics would never work.

Nor did I think I could stomach them, especially while Jamieson was ill.

But I also knew we could not leave here without information.

Not when we suspected Fletcher had plans for further violence.

“Reverend, please,” I leaned forward to plead.

“This is far more serious than a few missing coins.” I glanced sideways at Maclean, hoping he wouldn’t be angry at me for what I was about to do.

“The floor collapse. It wasn’t an accident.

Someone deliberately sabotaged that joist so that it would break under the stress of all those people in the rear drawing room standing on it for the auction. ”

Jamieson turned back toward us, a slowly dawning horror transforming his face.

“We know that Matthew Fletcher, an employee of Thomas Winstanley and Sons, performed the actual act of sabotage. What we don’t know is if he was working alone or at someone else’s behest.” I fell silent, allowing Jamieson to work out the implication.

Which he did, with admirable speed. “Ye think I was part o’ it?” His eyes were wide in his ashen face. “Nay! I could never…Nay!” he spluttered. “That ye should even suspect it o’ me.” He began to cough, shaking his head.

I lifted my hands in a helpless gesture. “How can we not when you won’t be straightforward with us?”