of Brodie and Rafe, her sour expression softened, likely because she recognized money when she saw it.
“What can I do for you fine gents?” She smoothed a few stray wisps of her hair back from her face and patted the tightly knotted bun at the back of her head to make sure her hair was in place.
“You had a woman staying here,” Brodie said. “A Mrs. Mackenzie?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “If you be wanting her, she’s gone. Left in the middle of the night but left her belongings and didn’t pay.”
“We know she’s gone. Mrs. Mackenzie passed away last evening,” Rafe said as he reached into his coin purse. “We’ll happily settle her bill. We would also like to see her room and take any belongings she had to return to her family.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. That much coin erased any hesitation.
“Aye, this way, sirs. She owed me for two nights. That’d be three pounds.”
“Here’s ten.” Rafe handed the woman her coins. “That should cover two nights plus anything you can tell us about her.”
They followed the woman upstairs and down a short hall, where she unlocked a room.
“She had a child with her. A little girl,” the innkeeper said. “You ken what happened to her?”
“She’s safe in our care,” Brodie said as they stepped into the room.
“I havena touched her things,” the woman assured him as she fingered the money Rafe had given her.
“How long did she stay here?” Brodie asked.
“Oh, Lord, might’ve been two weeks. She was quiet, the child too. I think she was looking for work. Seamstress, if I recall. But she was too pretty, if you ken my meaning. Looked more like a lady. She had soft hands, pretty dresses.”
The innkeeper lingered at the doorway for a moment before telling them she would be downstairs if she was needed. Once they were alone, Brodie and Rafe carefully searched the room. There was a carpetbag full of elegant dresses that were a few years out of fashion. A child’s doll and a pair of miniature portraits of a lovely woman and a handsome man.
Brodie examined the portraits. Isla had her mother’s face but her father’s eyes and coloring.
“I wish I knew what happened to her,” Rafe said. The sorrow in his voice wasn’t something Brodie had expected from the hardened rakehell.
“Aye, she must have been a good woman to have raised so sweet a child as Isla.” They collected everything in the room, including some embroidery hoops with half-completed designs on them. Isla deserved to have whatever memories of her past they could give her.
Brodie shook his head. “Poor little scamp. To think she was all alone when her mother died, only to have those men take her mother’s body away.”
“I’m more concerned about how they planned to come back for Isla.” Rafe met Brodie’s stare. “They would have killed her if Lydia hadn’t found her.”
“Aye. They’ll come to a bad end. I just wish I could be the one to deliver it.” Brodie left the small bedchamber and headed downstairs. They thanked the innkeeper again before leaving. Brodie took care to load the carpetbag on the outside of the coach, giving it to the footman who had accompanied them. Then he and Rafe got back inside.
“What did you discover?” Lydia asked.
“Her mother had been looking for work as a seamstress. She may have been gentry, though. She had fine clothes. We have her belongings.”
At this announcement, Isla spoke up. “Did you find Mama and Papa?”
“Their portraits?” Brodie clarified. Isla nodded. “Yes, wee one, we did. You may have them when we get home.”
Isla went back to studying her doll, a pensive look far too old for one so young on her face.
“By the by,” Rafe said to Lydia. “I sent Lady Rochester and your father a note sending them to the Isle of Skye so we might have a chance to leave Edinburgh without running into them.”
“And where are we bound now?” Lydia didn’t question the decision, and for that Brodie was thankful. After last night, she seemed to have given up on trying to see her father, at least for now.
“To Lennox House to rest and then pack. We’ll leave for Castle Kincade,” Brodie said.
“Is it very far?” Lydia asked.
“About a day’s ride. We should pack and be off in a few hours after the rest of Isla’s things arrive from the seamstress.”
“Are you to accompany us, Mr. Lennox?” Lydia inquired. She played with a lock of Isla’s hair, which had been pulled back