A Pressing Engagement (A Lady Darby Mystery) Page 7

  I crossed behind my sister’s chair as I made my way to my seat, clasping her shoulders above the puffed sleeves of her gown and leaning in to kiss her cheek. I didn’t attempt to speak, knowing words would be ineffectual. She pressed her hand over mine in acknowledgment before letting me move on.

  The table and sideboards were swiftly loaded with food, nearly groaning from the weight. Partridge soup and roasted beef, turbot in an allemande sauce with mushrooms and leeks, carrots and cauliflower, walnuts and raisins, and the rhubarb custard tarts my sister had promised. It was all so rich and delicious that I wondered if I would be able to fit into my dress the next morning.

  The only blight on the meal was the appearance of Earl Grey about half an hour after we were seated. His loud whining moan interrupted the jovial conversation circling the table, startling even Lady Bearsden, who was hard of hearing.

  “Good heaven! What is that?”

  I sighed, regrettably familiar with the grating sound the gray mouser made when he wanted attention. “My cat.”

  “One of the nursemaids must have let him out,” Alana declared and then ordered one of the footmen to return the feline to the nursery.

  Unfortunately, Earl Grey had already slipped underneath one of the guest’s chairs, refusing to be coaxed back out. I didn’t know whether to be amused or aghast that it should be Lord Gage. One glance at Gage and his raised eyebrows nearly sent me into peals of laughter.

  It took two of the footmen to extricate the cat, who was now lolling on his back, blissfully rubbing his head from side to side on the rug. Had I thought it conceivable, I would have believed the cat was trying to please me by discomfiting Gage’s father. As it was, I didn’t know why he was behaving in such a bizarre manner, except perhaps that one of the servants had purchased a bit of catnip.

  The evening stretched happily onward, and had it not been for the errand I knew Gage and I still must run, I would have enjoyed myself immensely. But as the clock inched closer to midnight, my nerves and impatience got the better of me. If the guests did not leave soon, Gage and I were going to have to invent some sort of excuse to justify our departure. Fortunately, some of the ladies seemed sensitive to the fact that the bride would wish to retire early on the night before her wedding. So by a quarter to eleven, I was able to slip away to meet Gage’s carriage in the mews behind the town house as planned.

  Chapter 7

  11:00 P.M.

  Sometime during the evening, the air had grown thick with anticipation, and the wind, which had blown mildly all day, had quickened. Great gusts blew down through the buildings and pushed against the carriage, rocking it from side to side. Rain was imminent. You could smell it in the air, likely a squall driven in from the North Sea. I only hoped the worst of it would hold off long enough for me and Gage to confront Bonnie Brock and return to Charlotte Square.

  By the time the coach pulled to a stop outside St. Giles Cathedral, the time had grown far later than either of us had anticipated. The square to the east of the cathedral was empty, and for a moment I worried that Bonnie Brock had given up on us. But then I remembered how important this journal had seemed to him, and I realized that if that were true, he would be hiding in the shadows ringing the square, still waiting.

  I glanced about me, discovering Gage had chosen well. Not only would it be difficult to creep up on someone in such an open space, but the Police House and the steps of the Parliament building were only a short distance away. And if that weren’t deterrent enough, we were standing in the very spot where many criminals were hung, to the entertainment and supposed betterment of the Edinburgh populace. The dark glass and stone of St. Giles loomed over us, casting a disapproving shadow on the proceedings below.

  Gage and I stood silently together with the wind swirling around us, picking up the ends of my summer cloak and whipping it around our legs. Clutching the sides of my wrap closed tight across my chest, I had just opened my mouth to ask him how long we should wait when a shape detached itself from the dark block of the cathedral wall. He moved several steps into the square, while two other shapes paced him, and then stopped. I glanced up at Gage, wondering whether he would go to Bonnie Brock or make him come to us.

  In the end Gage elected to meet him halfway. He guided me across the square, careful to give wide berth to any of the deeper shadows, and paused partway between where we had been standing and where Bonnie Brock’s feet were currently planted. Though it was too dark to see, I could imagine the criminal’s smirk as he reluctantly conceded to Gage’s unspoken demand.

  “It seems ye doona trust me, and it fair breaks my heart,” he murmured, pressing a hand to his chest.

  But we had no time for his mockery. “We have the journal,” I told him.

  His steps halted just a few feet from me, and I felt his penetrating stare. “I ken.”

  I guessed as much, knowing he often had men shadowing me everywhere I went. Whether this was supposed to be for my protection or his edification, I still hadn’t figured out. Gage’s arm tightened where it brushed against my side, and I hoped it was merely an indicator of his annoyance and not a sign he was drawing a weapon.

  “Well, are we gonna stand aboot here daddlin’ all night, or are ye gonna hand it o’er?” Bonnie Brock suddenly demanded, impatience evident in every line of his body.

  “Not so fast,” Gage replied more sharply than was necessary. “We have some questions first.”

  Bonnie Brock drew himself up to a greater height. “Oh, do ye?”

  “Did you lie to me about why you wanted your mother’s journal?” I asked, taking the reins of the conversation in the hope it would stop their posturing.

  Bonnie Brock turned his glare on me, but I refused to be intimidated.

  “Did you truly wish to find it to help your sister?” I titled my head. “Or did you have another purpose for all of the information contained within?”

  “You read it,” he stated flatly.

  “We perused it,” I argued somewhat pointlessly. “But are you really surprised? Did you truly think we would simply pass it over to you without at least glancing through it?”

  He shifted his stance wider and crossed his arms over his chest, making his shirt gape at the collar. “Did ye think I wasna aware my mother was a whore.” His words were harsh, snapping in the darkness, even over the rush of the wind. “A high-flyin’ one, but a whore all the same.” He laughed derisively. “I dinna need her journal to ken her lovers’ names. I lived it. Had I wanted to blackmail those men, I coulda done so ages ago.” He turned his head to the side, and when he spoke again his voice was softer than before. “’Tis a dangerous game angerin’ the wealthy and influential.”

  Something in the way he said those words made me think he spoke from experience, but I didn’t know whether he was talking of himself or his mother. In any case, I didn’t have time to ask. Gage and I had to return to Charlotte Square before midnight, or else risk the fate of our marriage before it had even begun. It was touted to be bad luck for the groom to see his bride on the day of their wedding before the ceremony, and though I knew this was likely nothing more than superstition, after my horrid first marriage I didn’t want to chance it.

  Gage knew this. So when I glanced up at him in question as the first fat drops of rain began to fall from the sky, one striking my forehead, he nodded. There was no way to be certain that Bonnie Brock was telling the truth, but from the pictures in the journal it had been obvious he had been old enough to remember much of the years recorded in the book, though hopefully not many of the more lewd details his mother had chosen to document.

  Gage removed the journal from the inner pocket of his greatcoat, but before he could hold it out to Bonnie Brock, I stayed him with a touch to arm.

  “I suggest you peruse this yourself before giving it to your sister,” I told Bonnie Brock, after waiting for him to meet my gaze. “There are some details it�
�s best she not know.” Maggie might have already lost a child, but she was still only sixteen. As much as her innocence had been shattered, I didn’t want her to lose all of it.

  A look passed through his eyes, making me wonder whether I should have sheltered him as well. But that was absurd. Grave robbing and theft were only a few of the sins I knew I could lay at his feet, and I suspected any number of worse crimes, including murder.

  He nodded, and Gage passed him the book, which he tucked carefully into his coat pocket. Then Gage grabbed hold of my hand, pulling me back toward his carriage as the sky opened up. In just a dozen steps, I was soaked. My sodden hair trailed down my face, and my clothes clung to my body. I shivered as the carriage jerked forward, gathering speed as we circled and then drove up the hill toward the castle and the mound we would cross over to reach New Town.

  Gage leaned forward to lift up the seat in front of us, extracting a pair of blankets. The first he wrapped around my shoulders while I fumbled to open the second and drape it over my lap. The wind outside roared, driving the rain against the coach like sharp, stinging pebbles. The carriage swerved, throwing me into Gage’s lap, and then righted.

  “John must be struggling with the horses,” he remarked, having to raise his voice to be heard above the storm. I could see in his eyes that he wished he could climb out to help.

  “Is there a place we can find shelter for them?” I asked, now less concerned about a silly bit of superstition than our own, the servant’s, and the horses’ safety.

  “Not between here and the mews of our town houses in New Town. At least there he’ll have help from the other stable boys and coachmen.” Gage leaned away from me to lift the curtains to see outside. But the coach abruptly swerved, and suddenly we were rolling downhill at a far faster speed than I would have wished.

  I clung to Gage, frightened the wheels would lose their grip and slide sideways, flipping the carriage. There was one terrifying moment when I could feel the wheels doing exactly that, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. But at that very instant, a fierce gust of wind suddenly buffeted the coach, somehow setting us straight again.

  I swallowed the bile that had risen into the back of my throat and inhaled sharply as the road flattened and we slowed, just in time to make another tight turn. The ferocity of the wind seemed less here and I settled back against the squabs. However my relief was premature. We turned onto Charlotte Street only to have the coach almost brought to a standstill by the force of the wind that hit us from the front. Above the howl of the storm, I could hear the horses screaming in protest.

  I glanced up at Gage, knowing my terror must be evident on my face.

  “Don’t worry,” he leaned down to yell. “John has seen me through worse.”

  I didn’t dare ask for details, though I was starting to realize that Gage’s relationships with all of his servants strayed from the norm, not just his rapport with his valet, Anderley. But perhaps normality was impossible for a man in his line of work. I suspected he required more from his staff than most.

  Whatever the case, John performed true to Gage’s assurances, driving the horses and carriage skillfully onward. Fortunately, we didn’t have far to go.

  When we pulled up in front of my sister’s town house, I was surprised to see the door swing open and their butler, Figgins; and a footman rush out. Gage pressed a swift kiss to my cheek before handing me off into their hands. We struggled up the steps, bowing our heads against the stinging rain, and stumbled into the door.

  The door slammed behind us, shutting out some, though not all of the noise of the tempest, and allowing me to hear the sound of my own thoughts again, as well as our panting breaths. I was sure we made quite the unsightly trio, dripping all over the entry floor in our soaked and bedraggled garments. A shiver ran through me from the cold water, and I glanced back at the door, praying Gage returned to his lodgings safely. Perhaps I should have insisted he and his coachman stay here, regardless of propriety and old wives’ tales.

  “Kiera Anne St. Mawr Darby!”

  I glanced up slowly at the sound of my sister’s strident voice.

  “What do you think . . .” The angry words seemed to dry in her throat as she took in the sight of me, teeth now chattering. Her eyes widened. “Get her upstairs. Now!” she ordered.

  Figgins hustled me forward, only to hand me off to Bree, who had followed in my sister’s footsteps. Alana ordered the butler and footman to find some dry clothes and warm themselves, and then hurried up the stairs behind me and Bree.

  Once in my room, they pulled me over to the hearth, where a heavenly warm fire was crackling, and began peeling my sodden garments off me. I didn’t protest, too cold to care what was done. Then Bree rubbed my skin pink with a towel and dressed me in my warmest wrapper before plopping me down in the chair closest to the fireplace.

  “Should we call for a bath?” my sister asked while Bree pressed a steaming cup of tea into my hands.

  “No,” I objected, speaking up for the first time. “I’m much warmer now, thank you.” The servants didn’t need to be inconvenienced at such a late hour just because of my foolishness.

  Alana perched on the edge of the chair next to mine, staring at my features as if to ascertain for herself that I was speaking the truth. I took another sip of tea and sat patiently through her inspection, knowing a lecture was coming—a well-deserved one at that.

  My sister sighed heavily and sank back in her chair, shaking her head. “Kiera, what were you thinking?” Her voice was far gentler than I expected, and it stung me far more than her yelling would have. “You could fall deathly ill from such a chill. Not to mention the danger of travel in such weather.”

  “I know,” I replied solemnly.

  Her eyes scoured mine. “What was so important that you and Gage had to venture out in it?”

  “It wasn’t storming when we left,” I replied, knowing I could never explain just what we had been involved in with Bonnie Brock. “We thought we would make it back before the rain started. Before the clock struck midnight.”

  She sighed again. “Well, you did return before midnight.” Her lips pursed. “Just barely.”

  I stared down into my tea. That was a relief at least. Perhaps more than it logically should have been.

  Alana tilted her head, furrowing her brow. “Have I upset you in some way? Is that why you don’t want to spend any more time in my company than you have to?”

  I sat up straighter. “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Then why have you been disappearing all day?” Her voice tightened with frustration. “I’ve been bustling about since Dr. Fenwick finally allowed me out of bed, trying to make this rushed affair you insisted on perfect. But it’s as if you don’t care. It seems you can’t wait to escape me.”

  I grabbed hold of her hand. “It’s not you, Alana. It’s . . .” But the words died on my tongue, realizing the excuses didn’t matter. Regardless of my reasons, I had hurt my sister. “I wish you had simply told me you wanted to spend time with me.”

  Her eyebrows lowered. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

  “Trying to bury me in ribbons and furbelows,” I retorted, waving my other hand. “Or whatever they’re called.”

  “There are no furbelows on your gown, Kiera.”

  “Well, curliewurlies then, and flounces, and braids, and pleats.”

  The beginnings of a smile titled the corners of Alana’s lips upward. “Your gown is lovely.”

  “It is,” I admitted wholeheartedly. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try to add as much ornamentation to it as I would stand for.”

  “It’s really quite plain in comparison . . .” Her words halted at the sight of my lifted eyebrows, and a genuine smile spread across her face. “You’re right. I did. Though, you are a stubborn one.” She tilted her head. “I wonder where you got that from.”
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  We shared a look. “Mother,” we said at the same time and then laughed.

  I squeezed my sister’s hand and then sat back, staring across the room at the tiny miniature of our mother propped on my bureau, feeling a sudden pang in my heart. “I wish she could be here.”

  Alana’s hand tightened around mine. “I know, dearest. Me, too.” She offered me a consoling smile. “But I suppose she’ll be here in some form. You are going to wear her amethyst pendant, aren’t you?”

  She had given it to me when I was eight years old, just before she died, telling me it was for my protection. And I had worn it ever since.

  “If I can find it,” I replied, sitting taller again. I’d forgotten it had disappeared from my dressing table earlier. “Bree, did you ever find my necklace?”

  My maid was bent over, searching for something across the room near my wardrobe. “No, m’lady,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder, her voice tight with frustration. “And noo I canna find one o’ yer gloves for the morrow, though I ken exactly where I put it.”

  Alana and I rose to our feet.

  “That is odd,” my sister replied. “First the ribbon and muslin this morning, and now your necklace and glove.” She glanced at me. “I had thought to blame you earlier today, thinking perhaps you were up to some mischief. But then I realized that was too odd, even for you.”

  I smiled at her offhanded comment, knowing she had meant no offense, even if it sounded that way. “Well, someone has to have taken them.” I was fanciful and superstitious at times—I was half Scottish after all—but as a general rule I didn’t believe fairies and bogies flitted about stealing things. I opened my mouth to suggest that maybe a member of the staff had done it, but then realized none of them would have touched my necklace or a single glove from my wedding ensemble.

  Then a thought occurred to me. I glanced about the room in all the usual places, looking for a familiar sight. “Someone . . . or something.” I arched my eyebrows, and Alana clearly caught my meaning. “Is he sleeping in the nursery with the children?”