uncertain whether this was some sort of test he was about to fail if he didn’t immediately press for answers.
I smiled. “Truly. We’re almost to Mr. Heron’s, and I don’t want to become preoccupied.”
“You mean, any more than you already are?” he teased.
“Believe me, I’ll be focused once we’re standing before him.”
And I was. Even though Heron seemed more unsettled by our appearance—if such a thing was possible—than he had been before.
“I-I’ve told ye everythin’ I ken,” he stammered, waving his hands as if he might be able to shoo us from the room simply by flapping them.
“You may think you have,” Gage replied in an even tone. “But we just have a few more questions we need answered. Lennox’s sequel. You said Rookwood rejected it because it was filled with lies and half-truths. But what lies specifically?”
“Y-you want to ken what lies it told?” he asked in confusion.
“Yes. For instance, did it mention anything more about Kincaid’s father, or his father’s family?”
Heron’s head reared back slightly and he blinked. “Well, aye. He alleged that Kincaid stole from and blackmailed his own father, bankruptin’ him and stealin’ his legitimate son’s inheritance.”
Gage turned to me, the look in his eyes conceding that I had been right. The inheritance did have something to do with this.
“But he provided no proof for this. No’ even Kincaid’s father’s name. And the scheme he implied made little to no sense.”
Of course it didn’t, for he’d almost certainly made it up out of whole cloth.
“Did you know that Lennox is Kincaid’s half brother?” I inquired bluntly.
His eyes widened and his mouth gaped before he stumbled through a response. “I . . . That . . . Are you in earnest?”
“Yes.”
He scraped his hand back through his silver hair, pivoting in a circle. “But that doesna make any sense. Why would he write such things . . . oh!” he gasped, finally realizing that Lennox had been accusing Kincaid of stealing his own inheritance. He frowned. “But then, why did he make him such a hero in The King of Grassmarket?”
“He didn’t intend to. Remember how he highlighted the body snatching and then accused him of fraud. He was trying to discredit Bonnie Brock. But the plays changed the narrative . . .”
“Which infuriated him,” Gage continued with a look of mild inquiry as I broke off, momentarily silenced by the sharp pain of a contraction located in my lower back. “They left out the most damning parts.”
“And the accusations only get worse in the sequel,” Heron informed us as I breathed deeply until the pain passed. “Not only does he assert that Kincaid stole his inheritance, but he also claims that Kincaid collaborated wi’ anatomists and the government to steal unclaimed cholera victims to be used by the anatomy schools for dissection. That is, until the Anatomy Reform Act passes in Parliament. Then that step willna be necessary.”
Good heavens! Lennox was playing on the worst fears of Edinburgh’s populace. I’d seen some of the broadsheets, heard some of the rumbles, that the doctors were letting the poor die of the cholera so that there would be a ready source of bodies. That the passage of the Anatomy Reform Act—which seemed almost a foregone conclusion—would exacerbate the problem. The idea of such a coordinated conspiracy had not yet captured the entire country’s attention, but it was only a matter of time if Lennox published a book espousing it.
“Can you imagine what will happen if the sequel is read aloud in the pubs and other gathering places throughout Grassmarket and Cowgate?” Gage posited, for books and broadsheets were often shared in such a manner among those who couldn’t read and could little afford books even if they could. “Can you imagine if they believed the accusations?”
“They would storm the cholera hospital and drag out the patients, spreading the disease even farther,” I answered in horror. “They would ransack the anatomy schools and hang Bonnie Brock themselves for his part. His reputation as the people’s champion would be destroyed.”
He nodded. “Riots, sedition, and worse.”
“Mr. Rookwood understood all this,” Heron explained. “He wanted no part o’ it. Said he’d never have published The King o’ Grassmarket if he’d kent what it would lead to.”
“Did he know that Lennox was related to Kincaid?”
This question seemed to rouse Heron from his morose hand-wringing, for he looked up at me in shock. “Nay, how could . . . ?” His mouth flattened as if he’d thought of something. “Maybe. He . . .