A Wicked Conceit Anna Huber (learn to read activity book TXT) 📖

“Blackfriars at Cowgate.”

“Kiera,” my sister snapped. “Is that the pungent odor I smell hanging about you? Did you go there?”

“Gage accompanied me.”

She pushed to her feet. “Of all the careless, foolish, reckless . . .” She broke off, stomping across the room toward the bow window overlooking Charlotte Square.

I knew she was thinking of the cholera, and my heart surged into my throat in recognition of the worry I’d caused her. But my breast also burned with the indignation that she discounted my own intelligence in taking sensible precautions yet again. And it was that indignation that won out. “Yes, the printer showed me how to work his machines . . .”

Alana gasped, whirling to face me.

“And then I shared a tankard of ale with his employees before Gage and I went for a stroll down Cowgate into Grassmarket,” I quipped defiantly.

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s no joking matter, Kiera.”

“Then you meant to imply that I’m a muttonhead, in earnest?”

“Ladies, please,” Philip intervened before his wife could voice whatever scathing retort I could see blazing in her eyes. “This is not helping. Alana, you know Gage is as protective of Kiera as you are. Perhaps more so. I’m sure they took precautions.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare at the spirits on the sideboard.

“And Kiera, there’s no need for such sarcasm. Your sister is merely concerned about you.”

I bit my tongue, clenching my hands at my sides to restrain my anger. Of course I knew she cared for me. But she had a funny way of showing it.

But Alana was not to be deterred in her pestering. “Have you hired a nursemaid yet?”

“No, but you know our situation is complicated.” We traveled a great deal, rarely remaining in one city for more than a few months, and I didn’t see that ending any time soon.

“Kiera, the baby could arrive any day. This should be your priority, not chasing after another murderer.”

I flushed at the implication of her statement—that I was already failing as a mother. “We will find one in due time,” I retorted. “And in the meantime, it’s not as if Gage and I and our staff can’t handle caring for one infant. I’m not entirely inexperienced in the matter.” Having lived with Alana following two of her births.

“Yes, but . . .”

Fortunately, a light rap on the door halted Alana from saying more as Figgins appeared to announce that luncheon was served and that he’d already taken the liberty of adding a setting for me, as he’d presumed I would be joining them.

“Thank heavens,” Philip exhaled in relief. “Shall we, ladies?”

My sister and I both recovered our dignity and preceded him through the door and down the stairs to the dining room. The meal began stiltedly at first but soon progressed with relative ease so that by the end the three of us were conversing as we had during the two years I had lived with them between my marriages. Philip and Alana both had commitments following the meal, but he escorted me upstairs so that I could visit my nieces and nephews in the nursery before I departed. Along the way, he promised to speak to a few people about the men I’d mentioned earlier, and I thanked him.

I found the children to be as boisterous as ever. How wee Jamie managed to slumber in his crib in the corner while they played, I didn’t know, but I supposed he’d grown accustomed to the tumult. In any case, Molly, the nursery maid, seemed to place few restrictions on the volume of their antics, as long as they didn’t shriek—something my nieces Philipa, at age seven, and Greer, at almost three, excelled at. Though she did protest nine-year-old Malcolm playing me the new song he had learned on his violin until Jamie woke.

When he finally had the opportunity to play it for me, I could only listen in bemusement at the discovery that it was the charming flash song from the Grand’s version of The King of Grassmarket. The jaunty tune was certainly a hit with his sisters, who twirled about the room. Even Jamie bounced up and down on my lap, clapping in pleasure. There was nothing for it but to give in to the enjoyment of the moment and applaud Malcolm’s playing.

A short time later, Philip’s carriage delivered me home. As I was climbing the steps, contemplating whether I should send Peter to the Lejeunes’ patisserie to purchase some mattentaarts, my attention was suddenly captured by a hulking man lurking at the corner. I might not have noticed him at all, except that he was staring at me, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. It took me a moment to realize he was Stump, one of Bonnie Brock’s henchman. He tipped his head toward the right, and I heaved a resigned sigh, able to guess what that meant.

Once inside, I declined to give Jeffers my things, including my umbrella. Our butler was accustomed to our odd behavior, but this proved even too peculiar for him.

“I believe we have a visitor to our garden,” I told him before advancing toward the stairs leading to the ground floor.

Exiting through the French doors inside our morning room, I followed the paved stones of the walk which led through our garden. Rain pattered against the umbrella, drowning out any of the sounds that might have carried from the neighboring homes and the street beyond. It still being winter, there was little in the way of new growth, and what greenery there was sagged with the weight of precipitation. The only bright spot was a white trellis, which would be covered with roses come June.

At the rear of the garden stood our carriage house and stables, which led out to the mews. Accordingly, we didn’t have a garden gate, but merely a door leading into the outbuildings. This door was opened wide as I approached, revealing Bonnie Brock Kincaid.

I paused a few feet away, knowing Gage would already be furious