James’s face contorted at his words.
“Is the hammer all that was left behind?”
“No. Davies!” The constable called out. As they turned around, James saw a young police officer, who was likely only twenty years old, scamper up to them, his police helmet almost too big for his head. “Where’s the evidence?”
“Evidence, sir?”
“Yes, what was found within the grave?”
“Oh yes, sir.” The young man pulled a small item from his breast pocket. “I have it right here, sir.”
Taking it, the constable handed it to James. A small, hand carved cone shaped piece of wood with a rusty nail tapped into the base. His brow cinched together as he inspected it. He had seen this before.
“A child’s toy,” the constable said.
“How do you know it wasn’t placed in the coffin by a family member? A child or grandchild.”
“This is the grave of Pauletta Tidsale. She lived in the nunnery for the last ten years.”
“Nunnery? Why is she buried here then?”
“Her parents were wealthy people. They would rather she be buried with the family plot.”
James shrugged.
“Do nuns not work with orphans? Or even if she didn’t, perhaps it was a toy she played with as a child.”
“The Tidsales hardly seem the type to allow their daughter to play with such an inferior toy. Besides, we asked the nunnery if she had any dealings with children, and it seems she was more ofa gardener type. She never spent any time with children and had been quoted to call them ‘feral little beasts’ from time to time.” He sighed. “No, I believe this fell out of the pocket of one of our grave robbers.”
It was likely that a wealthy family would have a spinner top made of something more substantial than wood. Tin perhaps? But as James twirled the small toy in his hands, he remembered where he saw it.
Mrs. Monty’s child was playing with one of these when he visited with Grace the time before last.
“I have to inquire about something,” he said, handing the evidence back to the constable. “Here. Do not lose that.”
“Where are you going? Do you know something?”
“I may, but I’d like to be certain first.”
With that, James walked toward his horse, hopped on, and rode straight to Gallowgate.
Chapter Sixteen
Grace meandered alongone of the crushed stone paths in Kelvingrove Park, hands behind her back as she followed her aunt, Arabella, and Mr. Milton from a short distance behind. It had been two days since the scene in James’s office and while they had spoken professionally since, it had only been short sentences or single word answers, volleyed back and forth between them, in a way that strangers might speak to one another. She hadn’t even the courage to ask about his investigation with the constable, but by his chilled attitude toward her, she could only assume that nothing of importance had been discovered.
It was crushing to be so distant from him, particularly working side by side with him, but then Grace was sure she deserved it. The reality of the situation was that she didn’t have any proof that Mr. Roberts was in any way involved with the graverobbing and she was merely trying to thread two stitches of fabric together without any string.
“Come along, Grace! Don’t dawdle.”
“Yes, Aunt Belle.”
If anyone’s mood had improved as of late, it was her aunt’s. She appeared positively chipper since Grace arrived home the day of her argument with James, calling the entire incident curious before ringing Mrs. Stevens to serve a rather decadent berry jam cake, layered with dollops of heavy cream. She hadsaid it was to lift Grace’s spirits, but she had appeared far too pleased with herself and Grace had gone to her room instead.
Even today, with a gloomy overcast sky above and the rumblings of a thunderstorm on the horizon, Aunt Belle seemed particularly light of foot, considering that she usually walked slower whenever it rained. But today she was on the arm of Mr. Milton, who was doing his diligence to keep his attention on Grace without crowding her, by peering over his shoulder every so often as they strolled through the park.
Mr. Milton would never raise his voice at her, Grace thought as she kicked a stone from her path. He probably wouldn’t even know how to be cross with someone. But the guilt of comparing the two men seemed to swallow Grace up, pulling her deeper into her own misery. The truth was that it didn’t matter if Mr. Milton was the kindest, most patient man in the world. He wasn’t James.
Grace’s footsteps slowed as the realization dawned on her. She would rather be in James’s company, with all the tension and wretchedness she felt in his presence, than be with someone who was amiable and pleasantly tame at all times. What did that say about her? Was she a glutton for punishment, or merely too thick minded to realize what was best for herself? Surely she must be ill in the mind to want to be near James, even in this very moment, to try and work through their issues than stroll with a man who seemed so perfectly suited for her.
