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

called while Gage and I were out. What if he returned this evening while Gage wasn’t present? But we couldn’t very well sit around waiting for him to call again when we had a murder to solve. As much as I wanted the truth to be revealed, I would also be lying if I didn’t admit I was relieved to postpone it for at least one more day. Because once Gage realized I’d been keeping this from him, I wasn’t certain how he would react, but I knew it would not be in my favor.

“Then I’ll spend some time trying to tease out what we do know,” I declared. “Maybe one of the books in our library can provide some hints as to why the author chose Mugdock as his nom de plume, or some other possibilities for the Bo or Ba Rookwood wrote before he died.” Though I suspected that list might be long. It wasn’t an uncommon beginning to a name. If that was even what it was.

“I can help,” Bree offered.

“Then we have our tasks,” Gage summed up as he pushed to his feet. He leaned down to press a kiss to my brow. “Don’t wait up. I’m not sure how late I’ll be.”

I caught hold of his hand before he walked away. “Be careful.”

He smiled in reassurance. “Always.”

•   •   •

Well, that book was singularly unhelpful,” I declared some hours later, pushing the tome aside, where it joined a pile of half a dozen other texts. Arching my back, I tried to stretch the muscles cramping along my lower spine. I glowered at the oak shelves filled with books covering three of the walls, many of their contents having been left behind by the previous owner of the house. “One would think the name Mugdock was plucked entirely from the air, but I just know that it wasn’t.”

“Aye, m’lady. It’s odd. But no’ odd enough for that,” was Bree’s mangled logic. But since I agreed with her, I didn’t question it.

I rubbed my tired eyes and sighed. “Perhaps I need a break.”

“Perhaps ye need to retire,” she suggested, peering up at me from the book in her lap.

I glanced at the clock on the mantel, finding it was an hour later than I’d expected. “Not yet.” I was determined to solve at least one mystery tonight.

Pushing to my feet, I strolled toward the windows, peering out through the drapes to discover that rain still lashed the glass. The garden was dark, the outbuildings at the opposite end little more than smudges in the blackness. While inside the fire burned cheerily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over my portrait of my niece Philipa, curled up in a chair asleep. She held a book open in her lap and pillowed her head on Earl Grey, who gazed out of the painting like a prince humoring his subjects. The aroma of a fresh pot of tea wafted over from the sideboard, and I was tempted to drink another cup, but I suspected it would only make me tense and keep me propped upright much of the night with indigestion.

There was a rap at the door, and I turned as Jeffers entered. “This just arrived for you, my lady.”

I accepted the letter perched on the silver salver he held out to me. Its writing was smudged, suggesting the messenger had not succeeded in keeping it dry. I flipped it over, not recognizing the seal, though for it to have been delivered at this hour and in this weather, it must have been urgent indeed. “Thank you, Jeffers.”

He bowed his way out, and I crossed toward Gage’s desk, taking the letter opener from the drawer to slit it open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bree watching me with curiosity, but she didn’t speak.

My gaze immediately skimmed to the bottom. “It’s from Lady Kirkcowan.”

I sat in one of the ivory damask bergère chairs positioned before the desk at an angle so that Bree could still see me, and then read aloud.

I’m so pleased to hear from you, though I do wish it were under better circumstances. If only my wretch of a husband would cease his foolish recklessness. He has already reduced his son’s inheritance to such a state that he shall likely have to resort to trade, and our daughters have no hope of receiving a dowry. But I digress.

No, I did not return a single item to him of the stash you helped me secure. Although some months following your departure from Edinburgh, he did accuse me outright of being involved with their theft. Where he received such an impression, I do not know, but he did his worst to force me to confess.

I pressed a hand to my throat, fearful of what precisely that meant, before continuing.

Soon after, I left Edinburgh with my children and the items mentioned. My father has proven to be more forgiving and supportive than I ever expected, and I’m more grateful than I can say for that. However, his grace does not extend to Kirkcowan, so I feel secure in the wretch not being able to harass us here.

This seemed an urgent matter, so I am sending my reply to you posthaste. I apologize that you must be confronted with Kirkcowan’s dissolute behavior yet again. If he is claiming said items were recovered and then stolen yet again, he is unequivocally lying. And I wish you all the best in proving it.

Write to me should you require any further information, and please send word when your child is born. It is lonely here in Lanarkshire, and I welcome any correspondence I can get.

“Well, I suppose that answers that,” I said as I lowered the missive. Though I still couldn’t comprehend how such a scheme helped him. If Kirkcowan had insured the jewelry, wouldn’t he have claimed the loss when they were first stolen? But then if they were recovered, he would have had to return the money. Unless