A Grave Matter Page 18

  Gage’s eyes were tight with concern, but he did not voice whatever worries he felt for me. “Can you be ready to leave at first light?”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  “If we make good time, we’ll be in Edinburgh by tomorrow’s nightfall.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Sergeant Maclean must have been waiting for your note,” I remarked as Gage’s carriage pulled away from my brother-in-law, Philip, the Earl of Cromarty’s town house on Charlotte Square, its pale stone gleaming in the midmorning sunlight.

  Gage looked up from his contemplation of an article in the Scotsman. “He’s nothing if not efficient.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  He tapped the folded newspaper against his leg as he thought back. “Perhaps three months. He assisted me with an inquiry.”

  This must have taken place during the time after he left Gairloch Castle and before he visited the Dalmays. I realized I knew very little about those few months, except that he had been called to Edinburgh on business for his father, and had been trying to avoid me.

  I stared out the window at the carriages parked along George Street, ready to collect their passengers and their purchases. A trio of footmen stood outside one shop, chatting while they waited for their employers. My sister, Alana, had expressed a desire to do some shopping while I was in town, but with Gage’s summons this morning it appeared that would have to wait. Not that I was all that eager to purchase new frocks, but to please my sister, I knew I would join her. Especially after witnessing her tears of happiness last night when I appeared in her front hall.

  It had been nearly midnight before we reached Edinburgh. After a long day crowded inside a carriage with Gage, Bree, and Anderley, jostled about by the rough roads and even rougher winds, I’d wanted nothing more than to fall into a warm, soft bed. I knew Alana and Philip well enough to expect that the bedchamber I had used before moving to Blakelaw House would still be ready for me.

  Philip had been working before a cheery fire in his study and, after a warm embrace, immediately ushered me inside. A tea tray was sent for, and a maid dispatched up to my room to light the fire and show Bree about. We’d barely broached the topic of the reason for my visit when we heard Alana calling down the stairs from above. We’d gone to meet her, worried that in her haste to descend she might trip.

  I was surprised by the force of her grip as she pulled me to her, burying her face in my hair. She professed her joy to see me, though the tears streaming down her cheeks seemed to belie her words. I stared wide-eyed over her shoulder at Philip, but he merely smiled and shrugged. Apparently, this extreme show of emotion was normal. I guessed it had something to do with the child she was carrying, who was now evident in the gentle swell of her stomach pressed against my side.

  I was pleased to see how healthy she looked. Gone was the wan complexion and hollow eyes from her queasy stomach and fatigue, and in their place she showed a healthy glow and slightly plumped cheeks, as well as the encouraging bump at her abdomen. I could feel myself breathe a sigh of relief. Much as she and Philip had insisted in their letters that she was doing well, I realized I had not fully believed them. But here was confirmation.

  Alana wanted to join us in Philip’s study, but late as the hour was, and as uneager as I was to answer the questions I knew my inquisitive sister would ask, I instead wrapped my arm around her waist and urged her back upstairs. She argued for a moment, but when I pled weariness, she reluctantly gave in, insisting we would speak the next day.

  Gage’s arrival that morning as we were eating breakfast had postponed that conversation a few hours longer, though I could tell from my sister’s expression as we left that I would not be allowed to put it off indefinitely.

  When the carriage veered down Princes Street instead of following the road up toward the Old Town, I turned toward Gage in surprise. “Aren’t we meeting him at the police house off Old Stamp Office Close?”

  His eyebrows arched high. He was clearly stunned I knew such a thing, though he shouldn’t have been. “No. Sergeant Maclean thought it best to meet us somewhere a little less conspicuous.”

  I frowned down at the deep forest green skirts of my gown.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You truly thought I was going to take you inside the police house?”

  I felt my cheeks begin to heat at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea. “I know it’s no place for a lady. Especially one of my reputation. But yes. I was.”

  “It’s nothing to see,” he informed me, the softened tone of his voice clearly communicating that he sensed my disappointment.

  I nodded, both of us knowing that was far from the truth.

  “And in any case, I don’t think your presence was the only reason Sergeant Maclean directed us elsewhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gage turned to look out at the shops passing by. “Maclean’s superior may or may not have agreed to let him pursue this investigation.”

  “But why would he object?” I asked. “Clearly there are crimes being committed.”

  “Yes, but they’re not necessarily within Edinburgh’s jurisdiction, and I’m sure the Superintendent of Police would rather his men pursue active investigations in Edinburgh.”

  I scowled. “So because these body snatchings are occurring in different locations outside of the city, he’s not interested in seeing them solved?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s interested,” Gage replied, glancing out once again as the carriage rolled to a stop. “But without one of the high-ranking men who had their ancestor’s body stolen making a complaint—and they won’t, seeing as they have their ancestor back and they have no wish to involve the police—it’s not his highest priority.” He pushed open the carriage door and climbed down before reaching in for my hand to help me out.

  “That’s ridiculous. If they’re refusing to investigate such crimes, then who is going to catch these criminals?”

  He tucked my arm through his and grinned. “That’s where we come in.”

  A warm feeling spread throughout my chest in spite of the nip in the wind. I looked away, lest I stand there all day smiling stupidly at him. The shop before us served tea, and although it was still quite early for most to stop in and enjoy the beverage, the “Open” sign hung prominently in the window. Gage escorted me inside, and we were immediately surrounded by the herbal aroma of tea and the sweet scent of pastries baking. The smells were so heavenly that I believe I actually sighed in delight.

  Eight tables were scattered about the little shop, draped in pristine white lace. A cup and saucer sat in front of each chair, and at the center of the table stood a tiny bud vase, holding one brightly colored flower. Amid the gleaming wood and blinding white, the little blooms provided just the right amount of charming whimsy the shop needed.

  At the table farthest from the entrance, near the door that must have led into the kitchen, sat a tall, brawny man. So brawny, in fact, that I couldn’t believe he was comfortable perching on the tiny chair below him. His bearing was restrained and awkward, as if he was worried about gesturing too broadly and damaging something, but he laughed easily enough with the woman standing near him.

  He rose from his seat as we approached and reached out to shake Gage’s hand. “Mr. Gage, it seems ye’ve been keepin’ yerself busy,” he remarked with a welcoming smile, which also looked awkward on his face, as if his cheeks would only lift so far. Perhaps this was related to the injury to his nose, which from its crooked appearance had clearly been broken sometime in the past, probably on multiple occasions.

  “That I have,” Gage replied, and from the ease of his demeanor and the gleam in his eye, I could tell just how much he liked the sergeant. “And yourself?”

  “Aye. There’s always someone up to no good.” His eyes shifted to me, and I could see the spark of curiosity, though he did make some effort to hide it.

  Gage introduced us. I was sure Sergeant Maclean must know who I was, or at l
east have heard of my reputation, but he said nothing.

  Instead he turned toward the woman still hovering near us. “My sister-in-law, Mrs. Duffy.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Welcome. I’ll bring ye some tea shortly. Please make yerselves comfortable.”

  This better explained Sergeant Maclean’s decision to meet here rather than the police house. At such an early hour, the likelihood of other patrons entering was slim, especially with us seated near the back of the shop, far from prying eyes. And with his sister-in-law presiding over the establishment, we could be assured of privacy. It was the ideal situation for an officer of the Edinburgh City Police who needed to meet with higher-born citizens loath to enter a police house.

  Gage hung our outer garments next to the sergeant’s gray greatcoat on a rack in the corner while the sergeant pulled a chair out for me. I noticed his knuckles were scabbed and scarred, indicating he’d been in a fight fairly recently. Had the altercation been in the course of his duties or something else? Perhaps the sergeant enjoyed boxing. He certainly had the physique for it.

  Sergeant Maclean caught me looking at his hands and shifted them self-consciously. “Broke up a fight doon on Cowgate last night. Had to throw a few punches myself.”

  “Not that you minded,” Gage remarked with a smirk.

  “Aye, well, there are few consolations wi’ this job. But, I admit, bustin’ the jaw o’ longtime brutes is one o’ ’em.” His eyes hardened. “’Specially if they been preyin’ on lassies and bairns.”

  Gage settled into his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the table. Between his big feet and the sergeant’s, there was little room for my own. “Any word on other body snatchings similar to the three we already know about?”

  He shook his head. “But I sent queries oot to Glasgow and Dunkeld. If they’re workin’ as far south as the Borders, there’s no tellin’ how far west and north they’ve operated.”

  “Do you know anything more about this Tyler family?”

  “No’ much.”

  The sergeant paused as Mrs. Duffy emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tea and a plate filled with heavenly-smelling scones dotted with sultanas and a towering pile of clotted cream. My mouth began to water. She smiled as she set the dishes down, and then disappeared back into the kitchen. Sergeant Maclean resumed his explanation while I poured.

  “The victim, Ian Tyler of Woodslea, died in 1818, and was apparently a well-respected man. Left his fortune and his property to his eldest son, Owen Tyler. Fairly straightforward. No suspicions o’ foul play at his death. And even if there was, twelve years is a long time to wait to dig him back up.”

  Gage took a sip of his tea and nodded. “Where is he buried?”

  “Glencorse Parish Kirk. Oot past Seafield Moor.”

  He nodded, apparently knowing the location. “Have you spoken with the family?”

  Sergeant Maclean shook his head as he chewed and swallowed a bite of his scone. “I couldna manage it. ’Tis too far oot for me to travel wi’oot good reason.”

  I studied the burly policeman. So he was pursuing this investigation without official approval.

  “Asides, I thought that’s where you fit in. Or am I gonna do all the work myself?” he jested.

  Gage gave an ironic lift to his eyebrows. “Let’s not forget who brought the matter to your attention in the first place.”

  The sergeant chuckled in his deep voice.

  Gage nodded at me. “Lady Darby and I will pay them a visit then, along with the Casselbecks in Musselburgh, the family of our second victim. In the meantime, we’ve some sketches we’d like you to show around. Maybe someone will recognize them.”

  I reached into my reticule and extracted the two sketches I’d made from the St. Boswells innkeeper’s descriptions.

  “There’s no need,” Sergeant Maclean remarked with a frown after looking at them. “I know both of ’em.” His gaze rose to meet mine. “You’ve a rare talent. Looks just like ’em.”

  “Who are they?”

  He set the two drawings on the table and pointed to the first man, who sported a scar across his forehead. “This one goes by the name o’ Curst Eckie. And this one is Sore John. They’re both part o’ Bonnie Brock Kincaid’s crew. Or used to be anyways. I havena seen ’em aboot in the last few months, and I’m usually rousin’ ’em oot o’ one pub or another.”

  “Who’s Bonnie Brock?” I asked when it appeared Gage would not.

  Sergeant Maclean glanced at Gage, as if asking how much to share.

  “Bonnie Brock runs one o’ Edinburgh’s largest gangs o’ criminals. You name it, if it’s illegal, Bonnie Brock’s probably got his fingers in it.”

  “If you know that, then why hasn’t he been caught?”

  His gaze turned weary. “Because the man is too canny. Even when we ken he’s behind a crime, we canna pin it on him. His men are too loyal, ’cuz they ken he’ll find a way to break ’em oot o’ jail, or rig the jury during their trial. The one time we did have him locked up, the city rose up in protest and another man came forward and took the blame.”

  “Why?”

  “He owns too many o’ ’em. And the rest view him as some sort o’ hero, their verra own Robin Hood.”

  Though I knew the sergeant’s words were supposed to horrify me, I couldn’t help but feel reluctantly curious about this Bonnie Brock. Who was he and why had he chosen a life of crime?

  “Interestingly enough,” Sergeant Maclean added. “It’s rumored that Bonnie Brock started oot as a body snatcher.”

  I shared a look with Gage.

  “And he still runs crews aboot the city when the price is right.” His chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “If Edinburgh criminals are a part of this bodies-for-ransom scheme, I’d wager he’s involved somehow.”

  Gage tapped his fingers against his teacup, frowning down at its dregs. “Any way you can find out? Will some of his men talk?”

  The shop door chimed and a pair of ladies entered, slowly removing their gloves.

  Sergeant Maclean leaned forward, speaking more softly. “I’ll put some feelers oot, see what I can find.”

  Our conversation quickly broke up. While the ladies were distracted by Mrs. Duffy, Gage and I slipped out, allowing the sergeant to take his leave later, perhaps through the back door, depending on how inconspicuous he wished to be. In his gray greatcoat with a baton strapped to his belt, it was easy enough to recognize him as a policeman.

  I was silent for most of the ride back to Charlotte Square. Was it really that simple? Were the culprits merely an enterprising gang of Edinburgh body snatchers who had stumbled on a more lucrative way to make money, and Dodd had gotten in the way?

  But then who were the gentlemen who visited the abbey the morning of Hogmanay? And what of the two men Sim’s Christie had seen leaving the ball? Were they unrelated? Was the lady’s clothing also unconnected? And how exactly were these criminals choosing their victims? It wasn’t as if they’d picked them out of a newspaper obituary. Two of them had been dead for over a decade.

  I wasn’t satisfied with this solution, and until we found the connection between the three men, I doubted I ever would be.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  My sister was waiting for us when we returned to the town house. Reclining on a settee positioned near the bow window at the front of the house, she had an optimal view of the square and all its passersby. I felt somewhat sorry for her, knowing the doctor had ordered her to limit her outings. Alana was a social person, and being cooped up in the house most of her days had to be trying for her. But I was also conscious of the fact that, bored as she was, now she would be more interested in my activities than ever before. Little as I liked to share about myself with anyone, this would be very taxing for me.

  I smiled anyway as we entered the drawing room, still pleased to see her looking so well after the hellish early months of her confinement. I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek and tell her she looked lovely, for she did, seated in
the sunshine in her yellow frock with a soft white blanket draped over her legs.

  She brushed the compliment off, but I could tell by the light in her eyes that she was happy. Gage seconded my opinion, making a blush rise in Alana’s cheeks. She gestured for him to take a seat near her and then turned to me.

  “Now, your nieces and nephew had been asking after you all morning, so you must go up to see them. But first, I’m claiming you for luncheon. And you as well, Mr. Gage.”

  I knew when it was best not to argue with my older sister, so I simply nodded. But, of course, Gage could never be so mundane. “I wouldn’t dream of denying such a beautiful lady,” he murmured.

  My sister demurred, but once again her cheeks blossomed with color.

  “Flattering my wife, are we, Mr. Gage?” Philip remarked as he entered the room. He arched a single eyebrow in mock warning. “I think you’re treading on dangerous ground.”

  “Oh, Philip,” Alana scolded as he made a great show of leaning down to kiss her on her cheek.

  I smiled at the familiar sight of their natural affection, realizing I’d missed seeing it these past months. In the years since my marriage to Sir Anthony, I’d learned just how uncommon a loving marriage was, but whenever I was tempted to become jaded, the sight of my sister and her husband together always pulled me back. It was rare, but not impossible. And that thought couldn’t help but give me hope.

  Philip joined me on the settee, pushing aside a mound of pillows someone had piled in the corner of it. “Now, if I sensed the mood right, Alana was just about to interrogate her sister.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh while Alana reproached him again. Oh, how well my brother-in-law knew his wife.

  “I was going to do no such thing.” She smoothed her hands over the blanket covering her lap. “I . . . simply had some questions for her.”

  Philip raised his eyebrows. “And just what exactly is the definition of ‘interrogate’?”

  “I believe it has something to do with asking a person multiple questions,” Gage replied, joining in the banter.