I jumped at his shout. Confrontation always made me want to run away. If I could become invisible, I would. Instead, I melted into the shadows, the book clutched to my chest.
At the same moment, Oscar stepped forward, as if my retreat directly caused his advance. “What accusations has this man made, Kinloch?”
Mr. Kinloch shook his head ever so slightly, as if it were too stiff to move more. “It doesn’t matter.”
The interloper, however, seemed pleased to be able to enlighten him. “He abducted those magician women.”
Chapter 6
Mr. Kinloch scrubbed a hand over his face. It shook. When it came away, he looked older, more haggard, and less like a refined gentleman.
Oscar moved up beside him, a calm act of solidarity. Whether Mr. Kinloch appreciated it, I couldn’t be sure from where I stood, a little back from the scene. I appreciated it, however. Oscar’s self-assured capability was a balm to my frayed nerves.
Oscar addressed the intruder. “You can’t just accuse someone like that. What evidence are you basing it on?”
“I wrote about my theory in this evening’s?—”
“You wrote that!” Mr. Kinloch cried. “You scoundrel. I’ll sue you and the publication for defamation.”
The journalist lifted his chin in defiance. “You weren’t named.”
“The implication will be enough for some to identify me.” Mr. Kinloch wrenched open the front door. “Throw him out, Redmayne.” As the butler muscled the journalist forward, Kinloch added, “If you return, I’ll have you arrested.”
The journalist put a booted foot to the doorframe to resist Redmayne’s efforts. “History repeating itself—the Kinlochs arresting folk they dislike.”
Was he referring to Thomas Kinloch, the Scottish version of the Witchfinder General? Good lord. His accusations and article weren’t based on evidence. They were a witch hunt based on an ancient family connection.
With a sneer, he lowered his foot and succumbed to Redmayne’s efforts to manhandle him down the front steps to the street where the butler released him. Redmayne shoved him for good measure.
Mr. Kinloch tossed the man’s hat after him. “You’re a disgrace to your profession.”
The journalist swiped up his hat and shook it at our host. “Where are they, Kinloch? Where are the women?”
The neighbor’s front door opened and two men emerged. The one wearing a smoking jacket must be the master, while I suspected the other was his butler or footman. I assumed they’d assist Redmayne to remove the journalist from the area altogether, but both seemed more intent on watching Mr. Kinloch with rather nasty expressions.
Mr. Kinloch pretended he hadn’t seen them, but I was quite sure he had. A flicker of relief cast over his face upon the return of his carriage, driven by Blackburn. It was driving so fast that the journalist had to quickly step back onto the pavement or risk being hit.
Mr. Kinloch cleared his throat. “Good evening, gentlemen. My coachman will take you to your hotel. I do apologize for this business.”
“Good evening,” Oscar said.
I was about to repeat the farewell, but Mr. Kinloch disappeared inside before I could.
The butler escorted us down the steps and opened the coach door. “Blackburn will retrieve your luggage from the mews before taking you to the hotel. It’s not far.”
I glanced along the street to see where the journalist had got to, but he’d disappeared.
Oscar addressed the butler. “Who were the two abducted women?”
“I have to return inside, sir.”
“Were they housemaids? Residents? How old were they? Where were they when they were taken?”
The coachman turned on his perch to glare at us. “Get in,” he growled.
I hurriedly climbed into the cabin.
Oscar peered up at Blackburn. “You must be out and about on this street a lot. Have you noticed anything untoward? Anyone who shouldn’t be here?”
