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“No’ officially. They’ll no’ want tae create panic.

Especially no’ across more than fifty churches on perhaps the busiest Sunday o’ the year.

And dinna forget, they’ve no’ given us permission tae share the truth o’ what happened at Picardy Place.

” One of his eyebrows arched in mild chastisement at my rogue decision to tell Reverend Jamieson, though it had worked to our advantage.

“As far as the public is concerned, ’twas an accident.

So any word o’ caution would be phrased along those same lines, and it’s likely tae be dismissed by those who believe their buildings tae be o’ solid construction. ”

I’d not considered this complication. One that was growing increasingly restrictive and hazardous.

After all, forewarned was forearmed. In truth, it was playing into Fletcher’s hands.

For if another collapse did occur, the public would instantly assume it was an accident.

And if the authorities then tried to backtrack and claim the incident at Picardy Place was sabotage, many would fail to believe them, seeing this as a ploy to stifle alarm.

“Have you searched his belongings?” Trevor asked, earning a glower from Maclean.

“Aye, the little he left behind. Gives no indication o’ what he plans or where he went. My men will continue tae canvass the city, searchin’ for Fletcher. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” The tick in his jaw communicated he didn’t believe this. “Are ye comin’?” he demanded of Gage as he turned to leave.

Gage looked at me, and I urged him to follow. “Go. Trevor and Henry will see me home safely.”

He nodded, trotting after the sergeant while the rest of us retreated to the carriage, bound for Albyn Place.

· · ·

“How is he?” I asked Bree softly.

She was seated in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the window of our second guest chamber, mending a hem while Mr. Rimmer lay unmoving on the bed nearby. A bandage was wrapped around his head, and he’d been changed into one of Gage’s nightshirts.

“No alteration since he arrived, I’m afraid,” she replied in a normal voice, reminding me the goal was for him to wake, so speaking quietly was decidedly unnecessary.

I gazed down at his closed eyes and pale countenance, battling a rising sense of urgency. Reminding myself it was only Tuesday, that we had five more days until Easter, did little to help. “We need to know what Mr. Fletcher was so anxious about you discovering.”

This plea was met by silence and an empathetic smile when I turned toward Bree with a long sigh.

“Do you need a break?” I asked her.

“Nay. I’ll let ye ken as soon as he starts tae come aroond.”

I appreciated her confidence in this, but I was feeling far less optimistic. Poor Mr. Rimmer.

I went up to the nursery to look in on Emma, spending some time snuggling and playing with her. As always, her smiles and babbles soothed me, and even her tears, as she accidentally smacked herself in the forehead with one of her drumsticks, served to distract me. At least temporarily.

When I returned to the library, it was to discover that Anderley had joined Trevor and Henry there, and they were conferring about what we should do.

From the sounds of what I’d heard coming down the corridor, the valet was proposing he return to the White Horse to try to glean more information from the staff and regulars, and Fletcher’s former coworkers.

I couldn’t say I disagreed with his proposal, though the manner in which he fell silent as I entered suggested he thought I would.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I told him, deciding it would be a foolish waste of time to pretend I hadn’t heard. “Though you should ask Gage what he thinks when he returns. I already know he’s going to insist you take someone with you.”

“I could go,” Trevor offered.

I suffered a tremor of uneasiness at the thought of either of them venturing to a place we’d been warned away from. But the reason for that warning no longer boarded there, and finding Fletcher was of tantamount importance. If only he was in custody, we could all breathe easier.

I settled on the vacant end of one of the sofas, resting my elbow on the arm as I reached up to massage my temples.

“How’s Mr. Rimmer?” Henry asked.

“Sadly, no better.”

“It may take some time,” he consoled. “Why, I remember when my brother John took a hard knock to the head during a tussle on the stone stairs with Traquair.” Their eldest brother and the duke’s heir.

“We were all terrified he might not wake, but after a day and a half, he roused with little lasting damage other than a mild headache.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” he confirmed, but then his face fell.

However, I suspected this had more to do with the location of his brother now than that long ago event.

For John was living in exile, having been hustled out of the country after it had been uncovered that he’d killed a man.

The circumstances were complicated, and given the fact he was a duke’s son, it had been doubtful that John would have been convicted.

But he’d chosen exile anyway over possible incarceration, not to mention the scandal the trial would have caused.

At the time, Gage and I had been extremely displeased with the duke’s entire family, including Henry, who had been tasked with escorting his brother to parts unknown.

Truth be told, it was still irksome. But that did not inhibit me from feeling empathy for Henry.

I knew he missed his brother and that John’s actions had grieved him greatly.

I was also grateful for his attempt to cheer me. Perhaps Rimmer would wake up. Perhaps he would have the answer to Fletcher’s whereabouts or at least which church he intended to target. We just had to be patient.