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

I am acquainted with his butler, and I contrived to encounter him this morning while out on an errand. He joined me here for tea this evening.”

Gage smiled at Jeffers’s distinct use of the word “contrived.” “Were you able to solicit any information from him?”

“I was. Apparently, Sir Phineas and Lady Riddell are rather parsimonious and demanding masters, and he was very affronted, indeed, by what he termed “the incident,” for they heavily implied that the theft was his fault. Even though they’d insisted he have the night off that evening.”

Gage’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Interesting.”

“Indeed.”

“Then I gather he isn’t convinced that everything about the matter is quite straightforward and aboveboard from his employers’ standpoint?”

“‘Highly suspicious,’ that’s how he phrased it to me. I believe the other servants are of the same opinion, for none of them have been granted an extra day off in their entire employ by Sir Phineas, and the housekeeper has been with him for close to two decades.”

“Thank you, Jeffers. Well done,” Gage told him. Though this elicited little response from our stoic butler. He merely bowed at the waist and excused himself, closing the door behind him.

Gage leaned against his desk again, grasping the edge on either side of him with his hands, seemingly to restrain his enthusiasm. “Maybe Kirkcowan didn’t attempt to insure his jewels. Maybe he only made it seem like he did.”

Henry shifted forward. “You mean, to make it appear like he’d received remuneration?”

“From committing fraud?” I interjected, finishing the thought.

“Yes.” Gage leaned forward. “What if his real aim was to convince his acquaintances who might be in dun territory like himself, and close to rolled up, that propagating a similar scheme could save them from ruin, and that he could even show them how to perpetuate such a ploy?”

“For a nominal cut of the profits, of course,” I added wryly.

“Of course.”

“He’s swindling them,” Henry stated indignantly. “All of them.”

“Yes. But the question is how many people are involved, and can we prove it?” He crossed one leg in front of the other before him, staring at the rug with a frown. “And what, if anything, does this have to do with The King of Grassmarket?”

I tapped Lady Kirkcowan’s folded missive against my palm. “Well, clearly he was inspired by the theft a year ago. Perhaps he even suspects Bonnie Brock is involved.” I shook my head. “But I don’t think Kirkcowan is Mugdock. He’s a punter and an indolent bounder. I can’t imagine him exerting the effort required to write a pamphlet, let alone an entire book.” I frowned, suddenly recalling something Kirkcowan had said the evening prior. “He mentioned he had stumbled upon a new lucrative enterprise.” I looked up at Henry. “Last night, when you rescued me from his dubious attentions outside the dining room at Miss Drummond’s debut.” I turned to Gage. “He warned me that he wasn’t going to let us spoil it for him.”

But my husband’s attention was directed at Henry, assessing him with new eyes after hearing he’d come to my aid. “And you think that means the book?” he finally replied.

“Or the jewel thefts?”

“How can we know which?” Henry interjected.

I didn’t fail to note his use of the word “we,” and neither did Gage.

A spark lit his eyes. “I have an idea, but we’re going to need your help with it. Are you willing?” Gage asked him.

Henry’s shoulders went back and his chin lifted slightly. I could sense his desire to please, and it made my heart constrict in my chest. “What do you need?”

Gage’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “First and foremost, those cardsharp abilities I overheard your brothers jesting about.” This must have been a conversation I missed at Sunlaws Castle several months ago. “Though I won’t ask you to actually cheat.”

Henry nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

•   •   •

After worship service the following morning, Bree and I resumed our search for the elusive origin of Mugdock, with no more success than the evening before. Conversely, our list of names beginning with Bo and Ba had grown considerably. Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I pushed the books aside and retired to my bedchamber to take a nap. If I was to be of any use at the soiree we were attending that night, where we intended to entrap Kirkcowan, then I needed some rest.

Some time later I was woken by the sound of raised voices. I blinked open bleary eyes to peer around the bedchamber, uncertain of how long I’d slept. The long shadows cast across the ceiling suggested it was growing late, and I would need to dress soon for our engagement. Lifting up on one elbow, I shifted positions so that I could see the door leading to the dressing room. The light beneath and the renewed noises of squabbling suggested it was occupied, and I could quickly surmise by who.

I heaved a sigh, sinking back against my pillows and wondering what Bree and Anderley were fighting about now. Based on the shrill tone of my maid’s voice, a pitch I’d never heard her use, it was not a dispute that would resolve itself easily. And yet they had been so amicable and affectionate that morning, their heads bent close together as they strolled to church behind me and Gage in the crisp morning air. The storm the night before had finally blown itself out around three o’clock, ushering in a cold but sunny start to the new day.

The sharp words ended abruptly as the door to the dressing room opened and Bree strode through, her mouth tight with anger. She stumbled to a stop at the sight of me watching her from the bed. I had but a brief glimpse of Anderley through the doorway behind her, his hands clenched at his sides in frustration before the door shut.

Her brow creased in regret. “My apologies, m’lady. I was just comin’ to wake ye when I was . . . distracted.”

I slowly pushed myself upright, turning to sit on the