Epilogue
It was a dreich day in November when Alex received a letter from Andrew.
My Runner has finally tracked Reverend Gillespie to a town just south of Birmingham. We are planning on paying the reverend a visit—myself, Rafe, Ewan, and Kieran. Would you like to join us?
Alex nodded his head.
Yes, indeed.
He would be honored to join them.
Two weeks later, the Brotherhood of the Black Tartan arrived in the wee village of Brawton just after luncheon. Andrew’s Runner from Bow Street met them in front of The Three Bears inn, giving directions to a small cottage at the end of town.
The Brotherhood took off on foot, dodging puddles and mud along the cobblestone street.
As they turned off the High Street, Alex recognized Reverend Gillespie himself walking ahead of them up the lane. The reverend had changed little since their meeting at the coaching inn all those months ago.
The reverend’s steps faltered as the Brotherhood quickly overtook him, Andrew on one side and Kieran on the other. But it wasn’t until Ewan stepped in front of Gillespie that the reverend stopped entirely.
After all, Ewan was a mountain of a man—six-and-a-half feet of muscle and brawn. A former prizefighter who looked the part. Gillespie paused, audibly swallowing as he took in Ewan’s height and stern expression.
The reverend spun in a circle, looking at them each in turn. Instead of being cowed, he met each of their gazes with a steady one of his own.
Alex had to give the man credit. He had gumption in spades.
Gillespie’s eyes landed on Alex.
“Dr. Whitaker.” The reverend nodded.
“That’s Lord Lockheade to ye,” Ewan rumbled.
Gillespie’s eyebrows raised.
“My circumstances have changed since our last meeting,” Alex said.
Kieran cracked his knuckles. “We’re here because we ken ye to be the man who can answer our questions.”
“I assumed you would find me eventually.” Gillespie folded his arms, unshrinking before Kieran’s not-so-subtle threat of violence. “You may ask your questions. But know this—my answers do not come cheap.”
Alex snorted. At least the reverend was no longer pretending that avarice was not a motivating factor for him.
“We want to know everything you can tell us aboutThe Minerva,” Andrew said.
“Aye,” Kieran nodded. “And every last wee bit about Miss Eilidh Fyffe.”
The reverend nodded. “I receive money before I say a word.”
“Or,” Ewan leaned forward, “we give ye our word as gentlemen that ye shall be paid. Ye tell us what ye know. And then we decide what it’s worth tae ourselves.”
“One thousand pounds,” Gillespie said, ignoring Ewan’s words. “I will not accept a penny less.”
Andrew snorted.
Alex raised his eyebrows. “That’s an astronomical sum.”
“Aye,” Rafe agreed. “A lifetime of wages for a common day laborer.”
“Precisely.” Gillespie nodded. “Miss Fyffe was most vilely used. You cannot think that I will easily impart information to those I see as her abusers. You owe compensation for the wrongs you committed. Your debt to her remains unpaid.”
