A Grave Matter

by Anna Lee Huber

  “I’m afraid not. Though they did recover the body that was stolen.”

  “Really? How peculiar.”

  He turned away to stare out at the crowd, and I tried to place what I’d seen in his expression that had not quite fit. But before I could do so, I heard Lady Strathblane call my name. She and her husband had been pulled along with the tide of bodies moving toward the doors and I would need to hurry to catch up with them. I excused myself from Mr. Stuart’s side and wound my way through the crowd to where the Strathblanes stood waiting to collect their outer garments.

  Once we were bundled up against the cold, Lord Strathblane guided us both outside. We found their carriage immediately, and the viscount saw his wife safely inside before we went in search of Philip’s coach. We located it finally, at the very edge of the crush of carriages parked in front of the theater on Princes Street, almost in the alley running between two buildings. I suspected the coachman had been waiting some time and tried to pull out of the way of the traffic.

  Philip’s footman hopped down from the back of the carriage to open the door. I thanked Lord Strathblane for his escort, who accepted my gratitude with a smile and nod and turned to go as I took hold of the footman’s hand to allow him to help me up inside the coach. It was dark inside, and I wondered if the light from the lantern had bothered Alana on their ride back to Charlotte Square, so Philip had blown it out.

  I’d perched on the edge of the seat and barely had time to register that something was wrong when the door was slammed shut and the carriage took off like a shot, tipping me back against the squabs. I heard shouts from outside, complaining about the speed of the carriage. Righting myself, I reached up to rap on the roof to signal the coachman when a rough voice spoke out of the darkness.

  “Oh, I wouldna do that if I were you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I slowly lowered my arm, trying to peer into the blackness I faced across the carriage. The curtains had been drawn, allowing no chance of a stray beam of light to pierce the coach’s interior. I could just make out the shape of a human seated in the corner of the bench across from me. From the sound of his voice, he was male, and not so much menacing as confident his implied threat would be followed, and willing to back it up if it wasn’t.

  I heard my pulse pounding in my ears and I realized I was holding my breath. Determined not to let fear overcome my good sense, I forced myself to exhale as the carriage rocked unsteadily around another corner.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, pleased to hear that my voice didn’t quake. “And what are you doing in my carriage?”

  “My apologies,” he replied almost ironically. He leaned forward and I shrank farther back against my cushions, sliding my hand toward my reticule on the seat beside me.

  When a match flared to life, I took advantage of our shared momentary blindness to slip my hand into my bag and extract my pistol, hiding it in the folds of my skirt. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the man across from me was lighting the lantern, which he had most likely blown out, not Philip. He was not overly tall, but broad in the shoulders and trim about the waist. He wore no greatcoat, despite the freezing cold temperatures outside, only a rather plain frockcoat over a white linen shirt. His hair was much longer than fashionable, and tumbled to his shoulders, sweeping against his collarbones. I had initially thought it to be dark, but as my eyes became more accustomed to the light, I realized it was tawny, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were streaks of red visible through it in the sunlight.

  Closing the lantern door with a click, he sank back against the squabs and turned to look at me. His eyes traveled over my features, before trailing down my form. I did my best to hide my anxiety, trying to go to that place of numbed emotion inside myself I’d so often visited while married to Sir Anthony. But I found I couldn’t return there and retain my willingness to fight. So I tightened my grip around my pistol instead and stoked the anger I felt begin to burn in my gut.

  Just when I thought he wasn’t going to speak, only sit there staring at me with his smug smile, he finally replied.

  “Word is you’ve been lookin’ for me,” he drawled. “I mun say, I’m flattered. So I thought I’d save ye the trouble and introduce myself.” His eyes twinkled roguishly. “Bonnie Brock Kincaid at your service.”

  I was not as shocked as perhaps I should have been, for given the circumstances, the possibility had already dawned on me. The man certainly was bonnie, though I still felt Gage, with his golden good looks, far outmatched him.

  “I haven’t been looking for you,” I replied defiantly, hoping to wipe the arrogant expression off his face.

  “Oh, I ken that weel enough. It’s Sebastian Gage and Mean Maclean who been askin’ for me, causin’ no small bit o’ ruction. Ye should hear the number o’ runners who come beatin’ on my door t’night to warn me.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest and now tilted his head to the side to scrutinize me. “But yer Gage’s partner, noo ain’t ya?”

  “Yes,” I bit out, realizing it would do no good to deny it. Especially when all I wanted to know was whether he’d harmed Gage or the Sergeant.

  “Ye seemed an odd choice, but noo that I seen ye, I can imagine the . . . partnership has its compensations.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his insinuation. “I see. Well, now that you’ve solved that quandary, you can go.” I lifted my pistol and cocked the hammer for good measure to be sure he knew I was serious.

  However, far from being shocked or frightened, Bonnie Brock’s lips only curled upward in a smile. “Oh, I wouldna do that if I were you.”

  I was beginning to hate that sentence, especially delivered from his arrogant lips.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because if my men ridin’ up top wi’ your coachman and footman hear a gunshot go off inside, there’s no tellin’ what they might do.”

  I wavered, not wishing for Philip’s coachman or footman to be injured, but also not wanting to lose my upper hand. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my grip. “But that won’t matter much to you, will it, when you’re dead.”

  A chill ran down my back as Bonnie Brock’s eyes began to harden. They were not the eyes of a man who took threats lightly. I could see now that he had a ridge of scar tissue running along his nose, for its white stood out sharply against the angry red flush of his face.

  But I swallowed my trepidation and firmed my resolve. If I’d learned nothing from my last two confrontations with dangerous men, it was to take advantage of the opportunities that were presented to me. If I backed down now, it was unlikely I would get another chance to defend myself, and I had no way of knowing just what he intended for me. I prayed I wouldn’t have to shoot him, especially with Philip’s servants in danger, but I would if I had to.

  Bonnie Brock’s tense shoulders slowly began to loosen, and the mottled shade of his skin lightened. A new light entered his eyes, one that was less stomach quavering than the glare he’d fixed on me a moment before.

  “True,” he reluctantly admitted. “So why dinna you and I make a deal, hmm? I promise to let you and your brother-in-law’s servants return to his town house unscathed—you’ll walk right through the door just like I watched Cromarty and your sister do earlier this evenin’.”

  Something tight wrapped around my rib cage and squeezed at the thought of this man anywhere near my sister and her family, let alone watching them.

  “If you’ll put doon the pistol,” he finished, arching his eyebrows.

  The carriage shuddered and rocked as we sped over a portion of rough road and then around another corner, forcing me to press my other hand against the wall of the coach to steady myself. Even so, my gun hand wavered.

  Bonnie Brock glared up at the ceiling with a fierce scowl. “Slow down,” he snarled.

  I stiffened at the sound, but was grateful when the coachman obeyed.

  Brock’s gaze returned to me, still tight with anger as he waited for my answer.

  There was no way
of knowing if I could trust him. I could just as easily set aside my gun and then he would attack me. He could clearly read my hesitation.

  “I’ve ne’er given a man a reason to doubt my word, and skewered many a man for questioning it,” he warned me. “But yer no’ from my world, so I’ll make allowances. Given ye dinna realize I could have that gun oot o’ yer hand and ye doon on your back afore ye could even think o’ pullin’ the trigger.”

  I truly didn’t like the look he fastened on me now, and my hand began to shake. I forced myself to take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

  Was he telling the truth? Could he really do that? Even if he couldn’t, was I really certain my shot would kill him? What if it hit his shoulder instead, or his side? The man could still tackle me and choke the life out of me while his men killed Philip’s servants.

  I realized I couldn’t chance it. But that didn’t mean I had to admit defeat.

  I locked eyes with him, hard as that was to do, and nodded before uncocking my pistol and resting it across my lap.

  He lifted his hand palm up, asking for it.

  But I simply lowered my hands to my sides. “If your word is true, then you’re as safe with it lying here as you are with it in your possession.”

  I knew I was testing him, tempting the snake to strike, but there was no way I was going to hand over my only weapon without a fight.

  However, he surprised me again when he merely offered me a half smile. “Fair enough.”

  I breathed a silent sigh of relief and spared a moment to wonder just where he was taking me. We’d been driving for several minutes now, long enough to travel a fair distance at our speed. Distracted as I’d been from the first and with the curtains pulled tight, I couldn’t even begin to guess our location.

  Shaking the worrying thought aside, I lifted my chin. “Why have you kidnapped me? I know you’re not here for an introduction.” I tilted my head. “Not unless you just wanted to frighten Mr. Gage and Sergeant Maclean by making them realize you could get to me at any time and they couldn’t stop you.”

  Bonnie Brock’s mock outrage did not fool me. “What a terrible thought. ’Specially when I’m here to give ye information.”

  I eyed him doubtfully. “Information about what?”

  “Your body snatchers.”

  I tried to mask my interest, but from the sardonic quirk in his lips, it appeared I had not done well enough.

  “That is what you’re investigatin’, isn’t it? A couple a snatches for ransom?”

  “And how do you know so much about it?”

  He leaned sideways into the bench cushions, bracing himself with one arm while he draped the other over the knee he’d lifted up when he propped his dirty boot on the seat. His eyes sharpened on me, narrowing slightly at the corners. “I ken aboot everythin’, lass. Nothin’ happens in my city wi’oot my ken.”

  I suspected his relaxed pose was to demonstrate how little he feared me, and his penetrating gaze to show how much I should fear him. They weren’t necessary. I’d been battling against the instinct to run since the moment he revealed himself, even though the fact that we were inside a speeding carriage made that option impossible.

  I wished I could appear as unruffled, as uncaring, as he did, but my limbs would not obey. So I sat stiffly across from him, grateful for the weight of the pistol over my knees, hollow as the promise of its protection might be.

  “Where are you taking me?” I finally dared to ask.

  He considered my question for a moment, and I couldn’t tell whether he was deciding to answer or he was thinking up a lie. “We’re just goin’ for a drive aboot the city.” My expression must have been skeptical, for he then added, “Listen. Ye can hear the cobblestones beneath the wheels.”

  He was right. It did sound and feel like the jarring texture of cobblestones. If he was taking me somewhere out of the city, we should have run into dirt roads already. So perhaps he was telling the truth.

  And perhaps he wasn’t. It wasn’t as if, at the moment, it made a difference.

  “So what information do you have about the body snatchers? I know they’re your men.”

  “Noo that ye have wrong.”

  “Come now,” I replied, unwilling to be duped. “Sergeant Maclean recognized them as being part of your crew.”

  “And how did he do that?” Bonnie Brock tipped his head back. “Ah, yes. How could I forget? You’ve quite a talent for drawin’ people. Alive or dead.”

  I gritted my teeth against the urge to snap back at him. He was baiting me. That was abundantly clear from the nasty curl of his lip.

  “Weel, Mean Maclean is wrong this time. They dinna work for me.” His eyes hardened again. “No’ anymore. They slipped town aboot two months ago.”

  “Skipped out on you?” I guessed.

  “Aye. And ain’t nobody who gets away wi’ that.”

  His anger was clearly directed at these men, but I had a hard time convincing my nerves of that.

  Was he telling the truth? Sergeant Maclean had said he hadn’t seen the men in a few months, and this would seem to corroborate that.

  “Do you know where they went?”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Noo if I knew that, we wouldna be havin’ this friendly conversation.”

  “But you think they’re the men we’re looking for?”

  He scrutinized me again from head to toe. “What do you think?”

  I watched him carefully, trying to decide why he was testing me. “I think they’re not clever enough to plan these ransoms.” Not if they had lived in Edinburgh all their lives, under the thumb of this man. Bonnie Brock was far from stupid. If these men had shown anything more than average intelligence, I imagined they would have been assigned more challenging tasks in his organization than simple grave robbing.

  His lips curled upward in a worryingly pleased smile. “You’re right. But then a plan like this needs men to do the mindless dirty work. And they’re certainly capable o’ that.”

  “Then who’s the one giving them directions?” I tried to read his maddening expression. “Do you know?”

  He rested his head back against the squabs, his posture lazy and unconcerned, but there was a watchfulness in his gaze that I didn’t make the mistake of ignoring.

  “Noo, ye wouldna be wantin’ me to solve your crime for ye,” he drawled.

  I scowled, tired of this man playing games with me. “I would be quite content with that. If it meant bringing Dodd’s killer to justice. And if your information was accurate.” I knew I was prodding the beast—as the flash of something sinister in his eyes confirmed—but I couldn’t help it. He either needed to tell me what he knew or let me go.

  “The caretaker?”

  I blinked in surprise, trying to follow the bent of his thoughts. “Yes. Dodd was the caretaker at Dryburgh Abbey. And we assume the body snatchers murdered him when he stumbled on their activities.”

  “And that’s what you’re worried aboot?”

  “Well, yes. Of course, I want to stop the body snatchings, too. But isn’t the murder of a man more important than the theft of the dead’s bones?”

  He lowered his knee, sitting straighter in his seat. “No’ all would say so.”

  I frowned. Was he referring to their differences in rank? I supposed it was true that some would care little for the life of an old caretaker, especially when opposed to the desecration of an earl’s grave, but for me there was no comparison. I sympathized with the families whose loved ones’ remains had been stolen, particularly those who were more religious—like the Tylers—and worried about their ancestor’s resurrection, but there was no contest for which crime more justly deserved punishment. Murder trumped grave robbing any day.

  Bonnie Brock casually lifted aside the curtain over the window with two fingers. “Perhaps you’re lookin’ at it all wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged, his gaze still on the shadowy world passing by outside as we rounded a corner. “Perh
aps ye should be lookin’ into the victims’ pasts. Maybe they werena the saints everyone wishes ye to believe. Maybe they werena such friends to Scotland as ye think.”

  I considered his words. Somehow I didn’t think he was referring to the possible theft of Collingwood’s torc.

  He turned to gaze at me, allowing the curtain to drop. “No’ all crimes are bad. No’ if the motive is just.” He leaned toward me, and I instinctively pressed back deeper into the cushions. “Sometimes the victims are the real villains.”

  I suspected at this point he was talking about more than just the body snatchings, but when I opened my mouth to question him about it, he cut me off, leaning even closer. I covered the pistol with my hand, lest he try to take it.

  “You’ve the bonniest eyes.”

  Facing his charming smile and the sudden change in the direction of our conversation, I was momentarily at a loss for words.

  “They’re like jewels, but no’ sapphires.”

  “Lapis lazuli.”

  “Is that what they are? They flash when yer angry. I like that.” He tried to reach out and touch my face, but I turned aside. “I bet Gage likes it as well.”

  I had a strong suspicion they were flashing now.

  “Mr. Kincaid . . .”

  “Ah, lassie, call me Brock.”

  I considered ignoring his request, but then decided it would only delay matters. “Brock, you’ve given me your information and proved your point. Will you please return me to my brother-in-law’s home now?”

  His lips quirked upward, but he sat back, allowing me more breathing room. “But we’re no’ quite finished, lass.”

  I scowled. I knew there would be a hidden cost to our agreement. With men like him, there always was. He wouldn’t share such information with me without expecting something in return. That would be completely out of character.

  “What do you want?” I asked, hoping he would get directly to the point.

  His gaze shifted to stare at the carriage wall just over my head and became oddly flat. I began to suspect he was suppressing some strong emotion. It made me more able to patiently wait out his silence.