WHEN LINDSAY AND FRANCISreturned to Locke Court from the bank, Wynne was already well-organised for the next day’s journey. He’d packed up most of their things and made arrangements for a coach to collect them the next morning. They were travelling down to Newcastle by coach then sailing to Rotterdam on Friday. Their rooms at Locke Court were paid for another month, but that wasn’t to be helped. Far more important to get out of Scotland, at least till more information regarding MacCormaic’s whereabouts was known.
The rest of the day dragged by. Francis wouldn’t leave Lindsay alone, which made Lindsay impatient and riled his wolf. The more even-tempered Francis stayed, the more irritable Lindsay became, until at last, unable to stand looking at his friend any longer, he stormed off to his bedchamber, where he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and remembering the previous night with Drew.
“This whole thing has been a—a kind of madness...”
Drew was right about that much at least.
By four in the afternoon, darkness was already falling, but there was one small mercy for Lindsay. Thick rain clouds obscured the sky, veiling the moon from his gaze. And so it was that, when Lindsay and Francis finally left Locke Court that evening for Hector Cruikshank’s, the usually irresistible lure of the full moon was mercifully muffled.
“How long do you think you will be?” Francis asked as they drew close to Cruikshank’s house. Although Cruikshank had made it very clear that he was not welcome, Francis had insisted on coming, to wait outside for Lindsay.
Lindsay shrugged. “Difficult to say. Don’t worry if I’m a while. He likes to play with people.”
“Hmm.” Francis sounded unconvinced but he didn’t argue. Instead, he headed for a shadowy corner of the street opposite Cruikshank’s house and settled in to watch.
Lindsay walked up to the front door and rapped it with his cane. He was dressed in sapphire blue and silver finery this evening and his hair was powdered. Dressed like this, he was less the outrageous Macaroni and more the remote, intimidating aristocrat, his clothing of a more restrained elegance.
The door swung open revealing Meek in all his awkward black-and-gold glory.
“Mr. Somerville,” he said in an uncharacteristically polite tone. “Come in. Mr. Cruikshank will be with ye shortly.”
Lindsay inclined his head and entered, watching Meek carefully.
All of sudden, he felt wary. There was something... something in the air. Something about Meek. He followed the man down the corridor and into a small sitting room.
“Would ye like some tea, sir?” Meek asked.
Lindsay frowned, discombobulated by the man’s unexpected politeness. Tea? Was this really Cruikshank’s surly servant?
“No, thank you,” he said. “Will your master be long? I’ve another appointment this evening.”
“I’ll tell him, sir,” Meek assured Lindsay and left the room.
Several minutes passed, but at length the door opened, and this time it was Cruikshank. He was dressed properly this evening, no banyan or slippers. But no wig either, just a suit of plain black that made him look like a cleric.
“Mr. Somerville,” he said. And then he smiled, revealing uneven yellow teeth that Lindsay hadn’t seen before. Lindsay hadn’t known he could smile.
“Do I take it ye were able to complete yer business with yer bankers today?” Cruikshank asked.
“I was,” Lindsay said. “I have the draft with me. Do you have the rest of the papers?”
“In my strongroom,” Cruikshank confirmed. “Come along.”
He made for the door, moving a bit quicker than usual. There was something different about him tonight. That smile, and the note of cheer in his usually dry, flat voice. It unsettled Lindsay.
Then again, he was just about to become four hundred guineas richer. That would cheer anyone.
When they reached the corridor, they encountered Meek. He wore a grubby greatcoat over his livery and was heading for the front door.
“G’night, sir.” He nodded at Cruikshank and left the house without sparing a glance for Lindsay.
Cruikshank didn’t comment on the encounter, merely led the way down the shadowy corridor. The house was very quiet.
When they reached the strongroom door, Cruikshank lifted his heavy key ring from where it hung at his waist and undid the three locks one by one. They must be getting easier with use, Lindsay thought idly. Cruikshank wasn’t having nearly as much trouble with them this evening.
Finally, the door opened, and a tangle of scents bombarded Lindsay.
The first thing he saw was Drew—his mate—kneeling on the floor.
