A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,100

I could tell by the way his posture softened that he was relieved to find her hale and whole. “Yer brother is fair tearin’ apart the city lookin’ for ye.”

“I didna mean to cause trouble,” she repeated, and I began to wonder if she was apologizing for more than her slipping away from her brother’s watchful eye this morning.

Locke nodded to us, then firmly pulled her arm through his to lead her away.

I watched them go, still wrestling with the reason behind Maggie’s agitation. Locke’s presence hadn’t seemed to trouble her as much as mine, and that was strange to me. “That was curious,” I finally stated aloud before turning to look at Gage standing by our carriage. “Wasn’t that curious?”

He nodded. “And you know what’s even more curious? I just realized Mr. Heron’s lodgings are nearby.”

I whirled around to gaze in the direction he was looking. “Where?”

He nodded toward the close Maggie had emerged from. “There.”

Gage and I shared a look heavily laden with mutual speculation.

He arched his eyebrows. “Shall we pay him a visit?”

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion.”

He stepped forward to take my arm, leading me into the narrow close, which proved to be merely a gap between two buildings. The hill behind these two buildings began to rise too precipitously for more abodes to be built, and a hundred yards or more above rested the terrace on which Regent Road had been constructed into the side of Calton Hill. Its traffic clattered past, and on particularly dry days must have cast up a plume of dust and debris over these dwellings.

The buildings on either side of the close were made of dark stone with slate roofs—the same as much of the city—with narrow dormer windows along the roofline. Gage guided us to the left around a wooden barrel positioned to catch rainwater from the roof. A rutted lane extended along the base of the hill between the structures and the slope—a spot which I imagined flooded during heavy rains from the runoff from the hill. Dried mud coated much of the lower steps of the staircase leading to the story above, seeming to prove this. Even the rails were covered with mire, as if tenants attempted to wipe away the worst of the grime before ascending.

Mr. Heron’s rooms were at the top of the house at the back of the building, facing the hill, so he’d probably not witnessed our meeting in the road with Maggie. A fact which seemed to bear out when his eyes flared wide at the sight of us standing outside his door.

“Mr. Gage, Lady Darby,” he spluttered. “What brings you here?”

“Good day, Mr. Heron,” Gage replied genially. “May we speak with you?”

“O-o’ course.” He stepped back. “Come in.”

In terms of abodes, it certainly wasn’t the most lavish I’d seen, but it was also far from the meanest. What furniture there was appeared to be good quality, and the space was clean and tidy, but for the boxes stacked along the far wall, presumably cleared from Mr. Rookwood’s office.

“I assume the men I sent were helpful in extracting Rookwood’s things?” Gage asked, noting them as I had.

“Oh, aye! Thank ye. I dinna ken if you’ve been by to see the office, but the window was smashed just as ye predicted.” He turned away, his profile troubled. “I hadna the heart to look inside and see what other damage they’d wrought.”

“It isn’t the first time we’ve seen it happen. Nor will it likely be the last.”

Mr. Heron turned back toward us, and as if just now realizing we were still standing, he offered us seats. “Can I get ye somethin’ to drink?” he asked me.

“No, thank you,” I replied, choosing the armchair near the window so that I would have leverage to help me rise again. “But I do believe we may have met an acquaintance of yours along the road.”

He straightened, nearly choking on his next word. “Oh?”

“Miss Maggie Kincaid?”

He shifted in his seat. “Nay, I dinna believe I ken anyone o’ that name. Wait, isna that Bonnie Brock Kincaid’s sister.” He shook his head. “Nay, I . . .” He coughed. “I definitely dinna ken her.”

Except it was perfectly obvious he did. And why lie about it unless there was a reason he didn’t wish the association to become known? Or perhaps Maggie was the one who didn’t want their relationship revealed?

Either way, his connection to Maggie, Rookwood, and the publication of The King of Grassmarket was suspicious. However, I didn’t