A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,68

my heel, I marched toward the door and opened it without waiting for Gage.

Though he quickly caught up, lacing my arm through his as we made our way back through the noise and stench of the shop, and then hurried to escape out of the rain and into our carriage.

Sinking back against the squabs, I lifted my veil and pressed a hand to my forehead, feeling the mild beginnings of a headache from the shop’s fumes. It seemed as if the stink lingered about us, permeating our clothes. How did the employees stand it? I supposed there were worse jobs, but the manner in which the scorched ink seemed to sting one’s nostrils was most unpleasant.

“Well, I suppose we now have confirmation that a sequel exists, and where it is.” I frowned. “But if Lennox has had it since the day before Rookwood’s murder, then what papers did the murderer rip from Rookwood’s hands, leaving only the corners of a few pages behind?”

“Maybe there was more than one copy. Or maybe they only thought it was the sequel.” He scowled down at his walking stick. “Or maybe they weren’t after the sequel but something else entirely.”

Something we had no suspicion of. At least, not yet.

Disheartened, I turned to stare through the mist of rain outside the window and down the length of Cowgate to the arch where it passed under South Bridge Street. The squalid buildings on either side, crowded against the bridge, forming the infamous vaults. “Where to now?”

“Well, I think we can leave the tobacco shop and the bookshops to Anderley. He can visit them to make inquiries about Mr. Heron’s alibi. The author in Leith as well, for I have no desire to traipse that far north. So that leaves the bank, his solicitor, and the theater.”

The hour was still too early for Mr. Murray to be at the Theatre Royal, and as for the former two, I could extrapolate the reason for Gage’s stoic expression. “Men who are far more apt to confide in you if I’m not present.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

I stifled my annoyance by reminding myself that neither visit was liable to yield much information. Mr. Heron had told us his visit to the bank was simply to make a deposit, and it was doubtful Rookwood’s solicitor would share the details of his will without the police present. Though I wouldn’t discount Gage’s charm and powers of persuasion.

“Then you should deliver me home. No, wait,” I amended. “Drop me by Cromarty House instead.”

“Have you spoken to your sister since her last unwelcome tirade?” he asked after leaning forward to issue these instructions to our coachman through the small sliding wooden door built into the front wall of the carriage behind the driver’s bench.

“No,” I replied simply, unwilling to allow myself to dwell on the tangle of emotions her harsh words still caused me, not when I was about to pay her an unexpected visit. “But Alana and Philip are always more knowledgeable of people and connections than I am. Maybe they know something about the characters in this farce that we don’t.”

He stilled my hands from their unconscious fidgeting with the tassel on my reticule. “Well, don’t let her bully you.”

I smiled up at him gratefully. “I won’t.”

“And be sure Cromarty lends you his carriage to drive you home. I don’t want you walking in this weather.”

I recognized that the last was said more for my benefit than Philip’s. My brother-in-law could be courteous to a fault, and if by some chance he neglected to insist I take one of his conveyances, his butler, Figgins, would see to it. “I will,” I assured him, having no intention of striking out in such dreich weather on foot.

Chapter 14

I found Philip and Alana in their drawing room, gathered close to the roaring fire. Philip was seated in a green brocade wingback chair with one highly polished boot propped over the other knee, poring over a newspaper. His dark gaze flicked up toward me as I entered unannounced before returning to his paper. “Good afternoon, Kiera.”

“Good afternoon,” I replied.

Alana reclined on a spring green fainting couch nearby, bouncing her youngest child on her knees. His laughter brought a smile to my face, and I was helpless not to coo at him.

“Oh my, just look at how big you’re getting. We won’t be able to call you wee Jamie much longer.”

His gaze shifted to me as he offered me a broad grin and a dribble of a drool down his