Lindsay blinked, then remembered that Francis was talking about Cruikshank.
He made a face. “Horrible old miser.”
Francis nodded, an expression of distaste on his face. “Yes, and worse besides, I think. There’s something really rather malevolent about him.”
“What was it you called him?” Lindsay said. “A ghoul?”
Francis nodded. “When I met him, he insisted on showing me his study. Ugh, all those jars—have you seen them?”
Lindsay remembered the jars on the highest shelf of the crowded room.
“Yes, but I couldn’t see inside them—they were all musty and out of the way.”
“Perhaps he lost interest in them over the years,” Francis said. “But when he showed them to me they were his pride and joy. His ‘curiosities’ as he called them—bits of human and animal bodies. One jar has a whole stillborn baby in it.” Francis shuddered. “I realised later that it wasn’t the jars themselves he enjoyed, it was how people reacted to them. That was the ghoulish part. Heenjoyedshocking and unsettling me.”
Lindsay remembered the gleam in the old man’s eyes as he’d shown him the witch-prickers. Yes, he knew what Francis meant.
Wynne returned to the table then with several platters of food. Pork and egg pie, sliced ham and chicken, buttered bread. Francis filled his plate and began to eat, groaning with pleasure at the first mouthful of pie.
“This is good,” he said. “It’s not even so very long since I ate, but my damned wolf needs so much feeding! I swear, I’m getting worse as I get older.”
Lindsay laughed sympathetically. “It’s true,” he agreed. “In fact, I think I need some of that pie too.” He filched a thick slice, chuckling at Francis’s outraged protest, and crammed a big bite into his mouth.
Within a very short time all the food was gone, only crumbs left on the platters.
Francis leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach with satisfaction. “Now, tell me everything you’ve been doing since you got here.”
While Wynne poured them all more tea, Lindsay gave him a summary of the last few days’ events, though he left out the most juicy parts about Drew Nicol, saying only that they’d become acquainted. He could see from Francis’s sharp look that he noticed some change in Lindsay’s scent when he spoke of Drew, but he made no comment and Lindsay was duly grateful.
“What do you think of the Naismith papers then?” Francis asked when Lindsay was finished. “Are they genuine? Will they assist Mim?”
“They looked genuine enough to me,” Lindsay said, shrugging. “But I’m no expert. You may have a better sense than I, given you were at least alive when they were written.”
“Perhaps,” Francis murmured. “Though we may only know for sure once Mim sees them.”
“Which brings me to my real difficulty—the price. He is asking an outrageous sum and while Marguerite gave me carte blanche, she expects me to drive the best bargain I can. What if they are fake? Or contain nothing of assistance?”
“It doesn’t sound as though he’s minded to bargain with you,” Francis observed.
“I believe he has reason to fear the consequences if he lets the other buyer down,” Lindsay said. “The one thing we have in our favour is that he’s greedy. It’s only if he can get us to pay a truly extortionate price that he’s prepared to risk the man’s ire.”
“Any idea who this buyer is?” Francis asked.
“Wynne is making enquiries, but so far we’ve discovered nothing.”
Francis glanced at Wynne.
“I tried to befriend Cruikshank’s manservant,” Wynne said. “But Mr. Meek is a misanthrope of the first order.”
Lindsay chuckled. “I did warn you.”
“You did,” Wynne admitted. “I’m going to try and talk to the maid next. If I can get a chance. Poor girl seems to be rushed off her feet from what I’ve seen, but she may respond to a sympathetic ear.”
“And a handsome young admirer?” Francis added with a wink.
Wynne flushed a little.
“He’s good with women,” Lindsay said with a sly smile in Francis’s direction.
