A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,99

sense his annoyance nonetheless.

“Just as soon as I knew he was something to concern you with,” I replied as I turned to stroll back toward the house.

“And how precisely were you going to discover that?” he asked, catching up with me.

I struggled to stifle my own irritation that he insisted on pressing me on this and decided distraction was the best tactic. “Observation, my dear. I saw him outside Lennox’s shop yesterday as well.”

A small pucker formed between his eyes.

“Has Anderley been able to track down that ballad-seller yet?” I inquired as we reached the terrace.

“Not that he’s informed me.”

“Don’t you think that’s odd?” I posited as Gage opened the door. “We had two sunny days. You would think that old man would have positioned himself at one corner or another, if not in front of the market.” He didn’t seem like he could afford to go many days without working. That thought settled like a heavy weight on my chest. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“Maybe he did see something. Maybe he’s afraid to be asked about it. If so, perhaps Anderley can coax it out of him.”

I nodded, thinking that would be one of the better outcomes.

* * *

• • •

Gage ordered our coachman to drive in a griddle pattern through the streets north of High Street and Canongate, deducing that Bonnie Brock and his men would have already searched to the south. I hadn’t a great deal of confidence we would be the ones to find her. In truth, I hoped she had already returned to wherever she and Bonnie Brock were currently staying. Regardless, we rolled slowly through the streets, each peering out opposite windows as we searched for a slight young woman with brown hair and big green eyes.

I was watching the washerwomen on Calton Hill as we traveled down the North Back of the Canongate when astoundingly I spied her. She had come striding out of a narrow close between two buildings, her shoulders hunched and her head down. “Stop!” I hollered as we drove past her, and the coachman brought the horses to a halt.

Wary of startling her, I opened the carriage door and leaned forward as far as my expectant state would allow, to find her staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. “Miss Kincaid, don’t be alarmed. It’s merely us.”

But my words didn’t seem to relieve her. Contrary to my expectations, she seemed even more distressed. Her gaze darted behind her anxiously, her feet seeming glued to the cobblestones.

Gage helped me descend into the dusty road, and I hastened toward her, worried she would dash off before I could speak with her. “Are you well?” I asked in concern, scouring her features. “As I’m sure you can guess, your brother came to us when he couldn’t find you this morning.”

“I-I dinna mean to be gone so long,” she stammered, clutching her cloak tightly around her.

“Of course,” I agreed readily. “He was worried something bad had befallen you. But you are unharmed?”

“Oh, I dinna mean to cause so much trouble.” She inched away a step, as if prepared to flee.

I hadn’t failed to notice she hadn’t answered my question, but I was more anxious to keep her from running. “We don’t have to take you back to your brother, if you don’t wish. We can take you anywhere else that’s safe.” It was the same promise I’d made to her after we’d saved her from her folly in Northumberland, risking Bonnie Brock’s wrath.

I searched her eyes. Was he the reason she was so wary? Was she was afraid to confront her brother? After all, she had a history of running from him rather than talking to him. Though, admittedly, Bonnie Brock wasn’t the best listener, especially to his sister. Maggie had spent too many years feeling beholden to her brother because of what happened in their childhood, and Brock had never recovered from the guilt he felt at having failed to protect her.

But this offer also did nothing to calm her. “Nay, I’m returning noo. There’s no need for ye to go to such bother.” She glanced behind her again, though I couldn’t tell what she was looking at or for. Did she think she was being followed?

I had just opened my mouth to ask her when a man darted across the road, between passing carts, to join us. I realized it was Locke—the taller of Bonnie Brock’s two right-hand men.

“Maggie, are ye off yer head?” he demanded to know, though