Page 17 of Death at a Highland Wedding (Rip Through Time #4)

SEVENTEEN

Once the postmortem is complete, we need to wrap Sinclair’s body and take it back to the estate. There’s nothing else we can do with it. A city like Edinburgh has a morgue, but towns and villages do not.

In my time, the body would be transported to an undertaker, but when I first told Gray that, he’d been baffled. What would an undertaker do with the body? In that capacity, Gray has nothing to do with the dead themselves. He just makes the arrangements for the funeral and burial.

Bodies are often kept in the house of the deceased, where the women in the family will tend to it before burial. That burial will come as soon as possible because… Well, as comfortable as Victorians may be with their dead relatives, they don’t want them in the house after they get too far down the path to decomposition.

With Sinclair being a murder victim, Gray won’t want him buried any sooner than necessary. Lacking the proper storage facilities, though, all he can do is wrap the corpse tightly and keep him at the estate.

Simon and Gray brought Sinclair in fully wrapped, and that’s how they’ll take him out.

We thank Dr. and Mrs. Rendall for their hospitality, and then go to fetch Simon. While Gray talks to him, I open the coach door. The June sun is blazing, and the coach is going to be an oven, which is never good for dead bodies.

I prop open the door, and I’m inside wrestling with a sticky window when I fall on my ass, thankfully landing on the seat. As I go to rise, though, something crinkles. I turn and find a piece of paper half wedged in the seat. One glance tells me it’s not something that just fell out of a pocket. It’s old paper, tattered and creased from folds, with smudge marks from ink.

One side of the paper has multiple bits of writing on it. Like a piece of scrap left on a desk for jotting notes. The paper is coarse, the writing on it from different hands.

We aren’t in a time period when you can grab a hundred-sheet notebook at the dollar store. Paper is plentiful for someone like Gray, but like most things in this world—from clothing to household wares—if you’re poor, you reuse it until it’s falling apart.

That’s what this is. A piece of paper that has been used and reused. Different handwriting suggests multiple writers, all of them semiliterate, using mostly pencils. I see a few dates, as if someone wrote them down to remember them. There are a few rough calculations, too. Other writing seems to have been deliberately smeared with fresh ink. To hide what was beneath? When I hold it up, I realize that one edge has been carefully torn away. A larger sheet, then, ripped down to a smaller size, maybe four inches by two.

How did this get into the coach?

It’s not Simon’s or Alice’s. They both have good penmanship and access to quality writing utensils and paper.

Did someone sneak into our coach while we were inside the Rendall house? Looking for valuables and accidentally dropping this? Maybe, but I’ll give the locals the benefit of the doubt and consider it more likely that if someone entered our coach, it was purely out of curiosity.

I can imagine a child or teenager sneaking into this “fancy” coach for a look. I can also imagine a piece of paper dropping out of their pocket. But the page really looks as if someone blotted out some of the writing before leaving it, and that clean torn edge—while the others are dog-eared and tattered—suggests it was ripped recently. Someone took an old piece of paper and studiously removed any identifying bits… before accidentally dropping it in our coach?

That’s when the answer hits me, making me groan with the obviousness of it.

I turn the paper over.

“Excellent detective work, Mallory,” I mutter to myself as I see the writing on the other side.

Someone has indeed written on the back, which is otherwise blank.

Whoever wrote the note doesn’t appear to have much experience with a pen and ink, because it’s badly smeared, with letters running together. It takes me a couple of minutes before I figure out what it says. And when I do, I’m out the coach door in a flash, hurrying along the Rendalls’ front path, where Gray and Simon are circling the cottage to get the body from the back.

Simon hears me first and glances back. I wave the note and hurry to catch up.

“I found this in the coach,” I say.

Gray takes it and frowns down as he works on deciphering the hand.

I put my finger on the words and read, “‘He deserved it for what he did to Nora.’” I look up at Gray. “That’s what it says, right?”

“It certainly does appear to be. He deserved it…” Gray’s head snaps up, and he meets my gaze.

“I’m guessing they mean the murder,” I say. “Someone saw us carrying the body into the doctor’s and figured out why. We already know the rumor was circulating.”

“The rumor being that Archie was dead,” Gray murmurs. “Murdered. But the body we carried out was obviously not Archie’s.” He stops and then shakes his head. “No, the body was wrapped in a sheet.”

I nod. “That boy who ran into the Rendalls’ said His Lordship had been murdered. Archie isn’t a lord, but the Hall siblings called him that.”

“But how did this get in the coach?” Gray’s gaze rises to Simon, who has been quietly listening. “Did you step away from it?”

Color rises in Simon’s cheeks. “Er, yes, sir. An older fellow needed help and, er, I did not think anything of leaving the coach. I checked to be sure you had not left anything valuable inside. If you would have wished me to stay with it, I apologize—”

“You were not required to stay with it. I am only trying to understand how this was left.”

Simon still shifts in obvious discomfort at Gray’s abrupt tone and lack of body-language cues. I’ve known Gray long enough to recognize this tone as efficiency rather than curtness or annoyance, but Simon isn’t so sure.

“May I speak to Simon about this?” I say to Gray. I flash a smile. “Practice my interview skills?”

Gray doesn’t miss a beat. “That is an excellent idea. I will tell the Rendalls that we are briefly delayed in our departure.”

“Can you also ask whether Dr. Rendall saw anyone near the coach? Maybe get the name of the boy who came running to tell them of the murder?”

“Certainly.”

As Gray heads into the Rendall house, I lead Simon out toward the road. There’s a huge old oak tree nearby, the canopy providing welcome shade and a bit of shadowed privacy. I wave Simon there.

“I was set up, wasn’t I?” Simon says.

“Hmm?”

“Being led away to help that fellow. Someone wanted me to leave the coach unattended. In the city, I would never have fallen for it.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe? It’s just as likely that whoever left the note was watching for a chance. Can you tell me what happened?”

Simon leans against the thick trunk as he relaxes. “I moved the coach, getting Folly out of the sun. Then I heard a shout. There was a cart full of logs that seemed to have struck a rut in the road and the logs tumbled out. Seeing me, the cart driver waved for help, and I went to provide it.”

“Where was that?”

He points. “In front of the third house there. You can see the rut in the road.”

“Would you know the man if you saw him again?”

“I would. He was elderly, which is why I was quick to help. He said he lived a few cottages down…” Simon walks onto the street and shades his eyes. “There. The cart is in front of the house, and he is unloading it.”

I walk out onto the road for a better look. While the man is a few hundred feet away, he’s clearly gray-haired and stout, and very obviously unloading a cart of logs.

Simon continues, “He’d received permission to chop up a dead tree in the kirkyard and he was taking the pieces home to dry for next year.” He pauses, still watching the man. “While I ought to have been more careful, there was nothing suspicious in it.”

“I agree,” I say. “I’ll note the house, but I’d be shocked if it were a setup. Someone took advantage of you stepping away from the coach to leave a note.”

Simon’s voice drops, though there’s no one else around. “Is Dr. Gray annoyed with me? If he is, I would rather he said as much.”

“He’s not,” I say. “That’s just his face.”

Simon laughs under his breath. “Good. I trust you would tell me if he was.”

“I would. Now, before you were called away, did you see anyone lingering about?”

“There have been many people lingering about. I believe most of the village has found some reason for walking past the coach. I have been asked at least a half-dozen times what happened up at the castle.” He lifts his hands. “I said that I am merely the coach driver for one of the wedding guests. For those who know that we transported a body, I said I only do as I am asked, and I was given no further details.”

“Am I right that people seem to think the victim was Mr. Cranston?”

He nods. “Several of them believed the deceased was the lord of the estate and that he was murdered.”

“Did you notice anyone lingering for longer than is polite?”

“A few lads. I ran them off. They seemed mostly curious. One tried to offer me a ha’penny for a look inside the coach.” He rolls his eyes. “As if I would endanger my position for that.”

“It’d take a half crown?”

He laughs softly. “I do not think there is any bribe worth that, although I did feel bad for not letting him have a peek. I understand the curiosity. They do not see many such coaches here.” He pauses and then curses under his breath. “And if I was concerned about village lads poking about the coach, I ought not to have walked away from it to help that fellow. In my defense, the boys were long gone.”

“And you knew there was nothing of value in the coach. Dr. Gray would have told you to go and help. I will take a description of the boys, though.”

“Because the one who wanted to pay for a peek might have really wanted to plant the note.”

He tells me what he can remember of the boys, especially the one who offered the ha’penny. Then he glances at the Rendall cottage before lowering his voice. “There is something else I need to speak to you on, Mallory. A… situation. At the estate.”

I stiffen. “Has someone been giving you trouble? Or is bothering Alice? I’ve been trying to pay attention, but things have…” I flutter my hand. “It’s been a lot.”

“With the murder and all?” He smiles. “No one has been giving us trouble, and if they did, we can take care of ourselves. You are not responsible for us, but it is sweet that you try to be. You are…”

“Not Catriona,” I murmur. For everyone else, this is a good thing. Simon is the one exception. Catriona’s only friend, and the one person who misses her, however much he tries to hide it.

“No longer the Catriona I remember,” he says carefully, “but there are times…” He sighs and shifts his weight. “Am I a terrible friend if I admit that there are times I remember you are not her and I am relieved? There was more to her than others saw, but I was not blind to the rest, and I was always waiting for her to betray Mrs. Ballantyne and Dr. Gray’s trust. I had even begun to suspect she was… unkind to Alice.”

I school my features, emulating Gray’s blank mask. “Alice has not said anything of the sort to me.”

He exhales in obvious relief. I’m not lying. Alice hasn’t admitted anything.

“Catriona was not an easy person to like,” Simon says. “But I did care for her.” He glances over. “It seems odd sometimes, speaking to you this way, as if you and Catriona are different people. That is what it feels like, though. As if she left, and her sister came. I miss Catriona, but you are…” He clears his throat. “Better for all.”

A moment of silence passes before he glances at the cottage again and says, “At this rate, I will not say what I need to say. It is about last night. When the murder occurred. I know everyone must tell where they were, and I ought to say I was in my bed. But I was not.”

“Ah.”

“Nor was I alone, which is the greater problem. I was with Mr. Cranston’s valet.” He glances over. “If you would like me to say we were discussing horse care, I can say that.”

I sputter a laugh. “No need. So you hooked up—got together with—Mr. Cranston’s valet.” I waggle my brows. “He’s very handsome.”

I expect Simon to blush, but he only rolls his eyes. “He is, but I am hardly smitten. Grooms and valets and lady’s maids often accompany their employers on such trips, and it is not uncommon for servants to mingle.” He gives me a sidelong look again. “Is that more than you wish to know?”

“I know Catriona was very straitlaced”—“prudish” would be the word—“but that’s not me. You’re saying that staff who accompany their employers on holiday have some fun among themselves, which makes sense. Easier than hooking—getting together with people you run into regularly. That’s what you were doing with the valet.”

“Yes. Holidays such as this are particularly useful for finding… others who share my inclinations.”

I nod. That also makes sense, especially in Simon’s case, where being gay got him into trouble. He’s extremely circumspect these days. Hooking up while on holiday would seem like the safest choice. Unless you do so on the night a guest is murdered.

“You and Mr. Cranston’s valet were together last night,” I say. “And you’re not sure how to answer if Constable Ross asks where you were.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t bother. He’s never investigated a murder before. But you two need to make sure you tell the same story, and I’m going to strongly suggest you stick to a variation on the truth. You joked about discussing horses. You can go with that if you like. For the investigation, why you were together isn’t as important as the fact you were not in your respective beds.”

He gazes out at the road, and I know that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“You can’t lie, Simon,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. You cannot risk getting caught up in a murder investigation.” I lower my voice. “I think you know that.”

That’s how he ended up in Isla’s employ. He’d been framed for murder. Very clumsily framed, according to McCreadie, but when it involved the murder of a powerful man and his gay lover, it was damned easy to lay the blame at the foot of that lover’s best friend… who was also gay.

“Dr. Gray will know the truth,” Simon blurts after a moment. “Dr. Gray and Detective McCreadie and Mrs. Ballantyne. They will all know why I was with Mr. Cranston’s valet, and they will think I do not appreciate the second chance I have been given.”

“That’s not…” I pause a moment, thinking of how to frame this in the most period-appropriate way before realizing I have no idea how to do that. “The only second chance they were giving you was an opportunity to start over in a new job, in a safe place. No one expects you to change who you are. That’d be like expecting Dr. Gray to change his skin color.”

Simon slants me a look. “It is not exactly like that, Mallory. People like me do change who they are, if they wish to fit into the world.”

“Change who they are? Or hide who they are?”

He shrugs. “People expect the first and get the second. I cannot change my nature, but I can suppress it, so as not to embarrass my employers. I have been very discreet. Even last night, I would have refrained, had we not been sampling a bottle Mr. Cranston gave us.”

I meet his gaze. “I am one hundred percent certain that neither of our employers—or Detective McCreadie—would be shocked or disappointed to learn you’d slipped off with Mr. Cranston’s valet. I understand the matter must be handled delicately, and I think handling it delicately means I need to warn them. May I do that?”

He leans back against the tree. “Is that necessary?”

“If you prefer, I would only tell Dr. Gray.”

“Of the three, he’s the last I’d choose.”

“Then you’ve misjudged his character gravely. But if you are set against it, I’ll tell none of them, and we can hope that Constable Ross doesn’t ask where you were. And that no one else saw you and reports it and then Ross decides it’s very suspicious that you and Mr. Cranston’s valet didn’t see fit to tell anyone you were together last night.”

Simon sighs.

“ Did you see anything?” I say. “That’s more important, as far as I’m concerned. If you saw something but you don’t want to tell Ross, tell me and I’ll see if there’s another way to handle it.”

“I saw you,” he says. “That is the other part of my dilemma. Both Theodore—the valet—and I saw you and Dr. Gray heading up onto the hill. Together. At night.”

“Ah. Well, we both had bad timing, didn’t we? Don’t worry about that. If it comes to it, go ahead and admit you saw us. We’ve already discussed it with Detective McCreadie. He knows we were out, and that we’ll need to tell Constable Ross.”

“And what will you tell him?”

I shrug. “The truth. I’d had trouble sleeping, so Dr. Gray took me for a moonlit walk.”

Simon stares at me. “That is even worse than my horse excuse.”

I cross my arms. “In my case, it’s true. I even have the note to prove it. Dr. Gray invited me on a walk, and he brought a basket, and we had a picnic.”

Simon studies my expression until I say, “We did. We are friends. I know that’s hard for everyone to understand.”

“Because it is obvious to everyone with eyes that your feelings for him go beyond friendship, Mallory.”

My cheeks blaze. “We are friends,” I say firmly.

He watches me for a moment and then rubs his mouth. “I have not known how to discuss this with you, but as someone who is also your friend, I feel it must be said.” He meets my gaze. “Take care, Mallory. You tread a path nearly as dangerous as my own.”

“I’m not treading any—”

“What if Dr. Gray intended more than a picnic?” He raises his hands against my protest. “I am not saying he did. I am saying what if he had. If he made advances, would you have received them?”

“He did not, and he will not, so the point is moot.”

“No, the point is not moot because if you think he will never make those advances, then you are as blind—” He rubs his mouth again. “Dr. Gray is an honorable man, and if he has any intentions, they are honorable, but what he intends and what will happen are two very different things. You were a housemaid. He has elevated you to the position of assistant, but that does not change the fact you were a housemaid, one with a very dubious background. He would say that does not matter. So would Mrs. Ballantyne. They are correct that it should not matter, but just because a thing should be acceptable does not mean it is.”

I say nothing.

He continues, “I made that mistake. I told myself that as long as I was not hurting anyone, then what I did was my own business, and I shouldn’t need to hide it. I was young and naive, and I nearly paid the price with my life. I’m not saying it’s the same for you. But I am concerned. For your sake. There’s the world within our town house, and there’s the real world, and we can do as we like inside those walls, but we cannot stay inside them.”

I still say nothing. I can’t, because I know he has a point, and my only argument is that it’s a moot one. And if a little voice in my head whispers What if it wasn’t? I shove it back into silence.

My feelings for Gray don’t matter because they aren’t reciprocated, and I’m okay with that.

Okay with that? Or relieved, because if they were reciprocated, I don’t even know how I’d deal with that. I’m his employee, and if we ever tried moving beyond friendship and it didn’t work out, I could lose everything. My home, my job, my friends.

My heart picks up speed, something almost like panic rising.

Almost like panic? No, that’s actual panic.

Simon continues, “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Mallory, and I don’t want Dr. Gray to be the one to hurt you. Because he would not mean to. It’s easy to jump in with both feet and tell yourselves you’ll figure it out later but…”

“I know,” I say. “Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. I appreciate the concern.” I look up at him. “I truly do. But it is misplaced.”

“I hope so,” he murmurs. Then his head jerks up and he straightens, calling, “Dr. Gray.”

Gray is approaching slowly, watching for any signal that we aren’t finished with our conversation. Then he says, “I think you need to come inside, Mallory. I have asked the Rendalls about the note, and they have said something you need to hear.”