A Grave Matter

by Anna Lee Huber

  Alana glared at them both, but the effect was ruined by the smile curling her lips. “Yes. Very humorous. Are we finished now?”

  “Of course, my dear.” Philip gestured to me with a flourish. “Proceed with your interrogation, er, questions.”

  I choked back a giggle, grateful to him for, if nothing else, lightening the mood. Seeing him this relaxed and playful only confirmed how well Alana must be doing, a welcome sign as she entered the last few months of her confinement. She’d had a difficult birth with her third child, and we were all nervous about the delivery of her fourth.

  “How is Trevor?” my sister asked, clearly choosing to be diplomatic first.

  “Very well,” I was able to reply easily. Though I did look to Philip, wondering if he knew something about my brother’s secretive business. I knew Trevor admired his brother-in-law and respected his opinion, so it only made sense that he might seek Philip’s advice. I decided it would be worth asking him about later. No need to worry my sister with it.

  “And the Hogmanay Ball. You said you enjoyed it.”

  I nodded, having written her so in my most recent letter.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Up until the moment that boy arrived covered in blood?”

  I grinned sheepishly. I’d left that part out.

  “Word travels fast, especially something as shocking as that. And imagine my surprise when our neighbor Mrs. Cready tells me all about it while my sister has made no mention of it in her letter.”

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” I tried to explain.

  “Well, I assure you, hearing it from Mrs. Cready was certainly upsetting.”

  I sighed, glancing at Philip for help, but it seemed he’d decided to stay out of the fray with this one. I could have pointed out that Trevor and I had written her husband about it, and he could have told her, but I decided it was unfair to drag him into my quagmire.

  Even so, I was irritated. “What was I supposed to say, Alana? Oh, by the way, another dead body dropped in front of me.”

  Her lips tightened. “You could have at least forewarned me. So I didn’t look a complete fool.”

  Realizing this argument was going nowhere, I swallowed my frustration. “Yes. You’re right. I apologize. I should have forewarned you.”

  She looked as if she wished to say more, but my apology and capitulation barred her from doing so, unless she wished to look petty. I’d been embarrassed by Gage’s presence during this spat, but now I was grateful. It prevented my sister from airing all her grievances.

  She nodded and then added, “Remember that next time.”

  I hoped I wouldn’t ever need to report another boy arriving covered in blood to tell us of a murder, but I took her point, and I elected not to further anger her with such a sarcastic remark.

  The butler appeared at that moment, interrupting the tense scene to announce luncheon. We all filed downstairs into the dining room, located at the front of the town house’s ground floor. A fire crackled in the hearth as we sat down to a meal of warm soup, cold chicken, and crusty bread. I sipped from my glass of white wine, feeling oddly misplaced.

  The last time I’d sat down to a meal in this room had been the evening before I left for Blakelaw House after Will’s death. I turned now to stare blindly up at the painting on the wall above the hearth, trying to rebury the grief that was bubbling up inside me. I didn’t want to think about my lost friend, or any of the pain his passing had caused me. I just wanted to enjoy this meal. Or as much of it as I could stomach.

  Philip had politely asked after Gage’s father, which Gage answered obscurely, as always, and then surprised us all by addressing the main issue at hand.

  “So this Lewis Collingwood you wrote to me about,” Philip began, ripping off a chunk of bread and dunking it in his soup. “I believe I’ve found him.”

  “Really?” I replied, glancing at my sister to figure out whether she had any idea what we were talking about. “Where?”

  “Here in Edinburgh. At least for the time being. I can give you his direction. I assume you and Mr. Gage would like to speak with him.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Alana swirled her spoon around in her bowl. “Is this Mr. Collingwood a suspect?”

  I couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice whether she was irritated or not.

  “Yes. Or, at least, a person of some interest.”

  She nodded and lifted the spoon daintily to her mouth.

  “Cromarty, how well are you acquainted with the Tylers of Woodslea?” Gage asked.

  Philip paused in reaching for another bit of bread. “Well enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

  Gage quickly informed them of the connection we’d found between the three body snatchings for ransom, leaving out many of the pertinent details. We were eating luncheon, after all. “So I wondered if there was anything of interest we should know about the Tylers. Or whether you could think of any connection between the three men whose bodies were ransomed.”

  Philip sat back in his chair, giving the matter some thought. “Well, I can tell you that Ian Tyler was a somewhat noted historian, and an avid supporter of Scottish music and poetry. He was a member of the Society of Antiquaries, likely a founding member.”

  I leaned forward at that pronouncement, sharing a look with Gage. There was that group again. Why did it keep coming up?

  Philip paused in his resuscitation of facts. “What?”

  “The Society of Antiquaries. Lord Buchan and Sir Colum were also founding members,” Gage informed him.

  “It’s not surprising. It was rather the rage at the time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, most Scotsmen of some rank wished to be a part of it. Much like being a member of the latest gentlemen club opening in London. Preserving Scotland’s heritage was suddenly au courant, regardless of your sympathies.”

  Thirty-some-odd years following the Battle of Culloden, I could understand the titled gentlemen’s sudden wish to protect what was left of their homeland’s treasures.

  “My father was even a member, albeit not a very active one.”

  “So you think the fact that all three of these gentlemen were members of the society is not very significant?” Gage asked for clarification.

  Philip shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  My shoulders sank in disappointment, but Gage didn’t appear quite so daunted.

  “Even so, it could still be our answer to their connection, if someone was working from a list of old members.”

  Like Lewis Collingwood.

  Philip took a sip of his wine. “They could certainly expect most of the families on that list to have the income available to pay such a large ransom.”

  “The immediate family anyway,” Alana remarked offhandedly.

  Gage and I turned to her in curiosity, though Philip seemed to already know what or whom she was talking about.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Only that Mr. Fergusson, who’s a cousin or nephew or some kind of relation of the family, voiced quite a loud complaint about his limited income when he came of age last year. Claimed the family had cheated him of his fair share.”

  “Yes. But you should know that this Mr. Fergusson also has a rather large gambling problem,” Philip added. “It’s difficult to know just how much he thought was a fair share, considering he’s rumored to have pockets to let.”

  Alana gestured to her husband. “Precisely. Not your most reliable source.”

  Maybe not, but it presented some interesting possibilities.

  Had Mr. Fergusson orchestrated the body snatching of his relative in hopes of pocketing the ransom money? And if he was really in such deep debt as Philip insinuated, how long would that money last? Would he stoop to committing more body snatchings for ransom just to fund his gambling habit? I couldn’t say, but it was certain that if he had some part in the crimes, he wasn’t working alone. Maybe he’d hired Bonnie Brock’s crew of resurrectionists to disinter
the bodies.

  Regardless, it would be a good idea to speak with this Mr. Fergusson.

  “What of the other families?” Gage questioned my sister and her husband. “Did either the Casselbecks or Lord Buchan have any disgruntled relatives?”

  Alana stared up at the chandelier suspended over the table in thought and then shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

  “There was that matter with the Erskines,” Philip remarked. “But that was more of the wife’s doing.”

  Gage frowned, clearly trying to place the names. “The Erskines?”

  “The late Lord Buchan’s youngest brother and his family. When Buchan died without issue and left the title to his nephew Henry, his second brother’s child, the wife of his youngest brother complained because her son received nothing. She thought the estate should be split between the two nephews. But she wasn’t born into the aristocracy, and didn’t understand how the rules of inheritance work,” Philip added, waving the matter aside.

  I supposed I might be displeased, too, if my older nephew inherited an earldom, several estates, and a large fortune, while my son was given nothing. It seemed the late earl could have left the boy something. But I wasn’t privy to all the details of that family’s affairs. Perhaps the earl had gifted the younger nephew before he died.

  In any case, Gage didn’t appear concerned with the matter, and Alana had already moved on to talk about the upcoming balls, dinner parties, and other events occurring over the course of the next week. I was not particularly interested in attending any of them, but I also had to admit they would be good places to collect information. I was aware of the irony in my seeking out gossip for potential evidence when I hated the insipid conversations and petty blather that made up such society gatherings. Especially as I’d been chattered about in just such a manner since the day I entered society, and even more so since the revelations after Sir Anthony’s death. But I bit my tongue and surrendered to Gage and my sister’s better judgment as they selected which events they would write to the hostesses of and beg an invitation for Gage and me. There was no doubt of Gage being obliged—he was one of the most sought after gentleman guests in the country—and most would be willing to accommodate the request of my sister, a countess, on my behalf.

  We had just finished luncheon and exited the dining room when there was a knock at the door. The butler went to answer it as we all began to climb the stairs to the drawing room, but a familiar voice made Gage and me stop and turn. It was Anderley, bundled up in a dark greatcoat and hat.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Anderley murmured as his posture stiffened, clearly startled by the sight of all of us. “But this message just came for you. It said that it was urgent.” He held out a letter, beaten and soiled by its journey.

  “Excuse me.” Gage released my arm and descended the stairs to take the letter. He flipped it over to examine the seal. His jaw hardened.

  “Gage, you’re welcome to use my study,” Philip began, but fell silent when Gage forcefully broke open the seal and unfolded the missive.

  We stood awkwardly by as he perused its opening contents, his expression growing stonier with each line. Before he’d even reached the middle of the page, he lowered the papers and began to refold them angrily.

  “I apologize,” he bit out crisply. “But I must see to this.”

  “Of course,” Philip replied, his voice echoing the same confusion I felt.

  “Does it have to do with the investigation?” I ventured hesitantly.

  He took a deep breath and returned to the base of the stairs to look up at me. “No. Just . . . a personal matter.”

  I nodded slowly, unsure exactly what that meant.

  His lips flattened in a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve told you how little my father likes his orders being disobeyed.”

  And Gage had postponed his return to London in order to take on this inquiry.

  I indicated my understanding, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that was really all there was to it. I knew Captain Lord Gage had been instructing his son to return to London for almost four months now, so surely he wasn’t still waiting for his son to take over an investigation for him. Was he really so autocratic, or was there another reason for his urgency that his son return?

  Gage climbed the few steps separating us and pressed a kiss to my hand as he promised to call for me early the next morning for our trip to Woodslea. I said I would be ready. I watched as he and Anderley departed, their two tall frames, one golden-haired and one dark, descending the front steps of the townhome side by side.

  When the butler closed the door on the sight, I turned to follow Alana and Philip up the stairs, only to be surprised to find them still standing near the top, watching me. The pleased smiles that stretched their faces left me with no doubt that they understood the significance of Gage’s leave-taking. Heat began to rise into my cheeks, and I hurried up the stairs past them.

  “I believe you said the children wanted to see me,” I muttered, moving on before either of them could say anything.

  But all the same, I could hear Alana’s happy laughter as it followed me up the next flight of stairs. And I couldn’t help but smile, despite my embarrassment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Woodslea stood on an eastern slope of the Pentland Hills, nestled within a small wood that had grown up around a burn. Traveling across empty Seafield Moor as we were, we could see the Pentland Hills rising before us for miles, and then the pale stone facade of Woodslea as it stood out against the darkness of the trees. The sun was hidden behind low gray clouds, which scuttled across the sky as if racing toward some goal—perhaps a warmer clime.

  I tugged the hood of my cloak up around my ears, trying to block the bite of the wind as we made our way from the carriage into the mansion. The solid oak door stood open just wide enough for us to slip through, and then the butler slammed it shut.

  I jumped as the sound echoed through the vaulted space.

  “Apologies,” the majordomo said with a warm smile. “The wind often makes closing the door quite difficult.” He gestured to a footman hanging back near the wall to take our coats and gloves. “You are here to see Mr. Tyler.”

  It wasn’t really a question, but Gage answered it as such anyway. “Yes. He should be expecting us.”

  The butler nodded. “Right this way.”

  We followed him up a staircase, around a corner, down another short flight of steps, and then down a long corridor to a room near the back of the house. From our approach, Woodslea had appeared to be a rather irregular pile of stone, with several additions made on different dates, and our convoluted path to this, what must amount to the drawing room, only confirmed it.

  Owen Tyler and a rather plain woman, who I suspected might be his wife, rose from their seats as we entered. Introductions were swiftly made, and we settled down on opposite sides of the long table positioned between two settees. The drapes over a large window had been drawn back to show the garden, which must have been lovely during the summer. Now there were only barren branches and shrubs, and towering evergreens to look at.

  “I hope my letter arrived in good time, and adequately explained the reason for our visit,” Gage started off by saying.

  “Yes,” Mr. Tyler replied. He glanced at his wife, whose hands were tucked demurely in her lap. “And, I must say, we were rather unsettled to hear there’ve been other such thefts.”

  “We’re still making inquiries to discover if there have been even more, but from what we’ve ascertained, yours may have been the first. You understand why we would want to find out all we can about the incident.”

  “O’ course. Whatever we can do to help.”

  Gage joined me in studying the couple—their rather austere clothing, void of all ornamentation, and the severe style of Mrs. Tyler’s hair fastened almost ruthlessly into a tight bun. “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you report the crime when it happened?”

  “Well, to be honest, we thought it w
as an isolated incident. Some local lads fallen on hard times, or a passing family of gypsies and the like. We never dreamed they’d do it again, to someone else.” Mr. Tyler paused, drawing a deep breath. “And we didna want to call attention to it. My father was a good man, a righteous man, for his body to be desecrated in such a way . . . Well, perhaps it was my pride talkin’, but I felt that the fewer who ken, the better it would be.”

  It was clear just how horrified the Tylers were by the entire affair. I suspected they feared, as many did, that the fact that Ian Tyler’s body had been disturbed meant that he would not be able to rise from the dead on Judgment Day. Having married an anatomist who routinely conducted dissections of human corpses—and forced me to assist him—I’d heard the argument many times before. I had no answer for them, but I could attest to the fact that whatever energy, whatever force gave us life—a soul, a consciousness—it no longer inhabited our bodies after death. There was nothing behind a cadaver’s eyes but nerves and tissues and fluids, and all of it was quickly decaying.

  Whatever had made Ian Tyler the man he’d been was no longer present in his bones. It had gone to somewhere better, or worse, depending on the type of man he really was. Or, at least, that was what I believed. It was the only thing I could believe, faced with all I’d seen.

  Gage shifted forward in his seat. “Can you tell us exactly what happened, from the moment your father’s disturbed grave was discovered to the day his bones were returned to you? I’d just like to hear it all again in your words. No detail is too minor.”

  The disturbed grave was found on a Tuesday morning. Initially they’d worried it might have sat open for several days because they’d had guests over the weekend, and so had not visited the graveyard on Sunday as was their custom. But the rector had assured them that he had walked the kirkyard on Monday morning and nothing had been out of place.

  Unlike at Dryburgh Abbey, the thieves had taken the time to re-cover the grave, but from the state of the ground, it was obvious it had been tampered with. Mr. Tyler had ordered the coffin dug up, to ensure that everything was in order. When they opened the wooden coffin, the body of Ian Tyler was gone, while all the rest of his clothing and effects were left behind in a disordered pile.