Blackburn barked an order at the horses, and the coach lurched forward.
Oscar had to jump into the carriage as it rolled away. He pulled the door closed and sat alongside me. “Bloody hell. That was suspicious behavior. Forget Kinloch. My money’s on Redmayne or Blackburn. Perhaps they’re both in it together.”
“Oscar! You can’t say that, even in jest. They were merely reacting to the tense situation. They’ll be worried about the trouble that article stirs up.” We turned a corner so fast that I slid into Oscar who found himself crushed up against the side. Fortunately, it was well padded in green velvet so if he hit his head, it wouldn’t hurt.
He assisted me back to my side. “Still got the book, I see.”
I looked down at the volume in my hand. I held it so tightly my fingers ached. “Oh, yes. I’m not putting this beauty at risk.”
When we turned another corner at an equally frenetic pace, Oscar banged his fist on the roof before gripping the leather hand strap. “Steady on, Blackburn! We want to arrive in one piece.”
His words had no effect, and we spent the rest of our journey trying not to collide with one another.
Later, after finally eating some cold leftovers the hotel kitchen staff sent up, I lay in bed and read through the Mackenzie book. Oscar had gone to bed in the room next to mine. I ought to be tired after such a long day, but found I couldn’t sleep. The book was far too interesting.
Finally I found the reference to the real magician Sir George Mackenzie had discovered. He called her a witch, but from the description, it was clear she was a carpenter magician. I climbed out of bed and pulled on my trousers and a shirt. I tucked it in, sort of, and drew up the suspender straps, then picked up the book.
I stepped out of my room and tiptoed to Oscar’s door. I lightly knocked. If he was awake, he’d hear it. If he was asleep, I’d keep my findings until the morning. I hoped he was awake, however.
The door opened, and it was clear from his attire that he hadn’t yet gone to bed. Not that he was dressed. Not completely. He wore no shirt, just an undervest tucked into his trousers. He had a more muscular physique than I expected for a man whose former occupation required him to sit at a desk for a large part of his day. Much more.
He crossed his arms over his chest, making the muscles bulge. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Everything all right, Gavin?”
“Everything’s fine. I wanted to show you something in the book.”
“You found the reference to the other book that mentions tattoo magic?”
“No.” His face fell. “I found the reference to the real magician Mackenzie encountered.” I glanced past him to see an array of newspapers spread across the bed. “You’ve been doing some late-night reading yourself.”
He dragged his hand through his hair, ruffling the locks. He looked tired. I probably did, too. “Come in,” he said, stepping aside.
I brushed past him and inspected the newspapers. I picked up the one I’d seen Redmayne remove from the drawing room, the one with the provocative headline. “Those poor women. I hope they find them.”
“That’s the article written by the journalist we met at Kinloch’s.” Oscar stood behind me and peered over my shoulder. “He doesn’t name Kinloch, but he points out that the abductions occurred very close to the house where the descendant of Scotland’s most notorious witchfinder general lived.”
“There was no such occupation. It was a self-appointed title, or perhaps one given to Thomas Kinloch by the public.” I was being pedantic, but I felt strongly that journalists ought to strive for accuracy.
“Sensationalism sells.” Oscar sat on the bed against the pillows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He picked up one of the other newspapers. “That masthead is very popular, so the night porter told me when he gave me these copies.”
“So poor Mr. Kinloch will soon have an angry mob brandishing pitchforks on his doorstep.”
“When the public work it out, he will.”
We both knew they would, sooner or later.
I sat on the bed, too, and rested a hand on his shin. “This is none of our business, Oscar.”
His gaze fell to my hand. I quickly withdrew it. “I know.”
“And yet you want to investigate.”
“Do I?” he said idly.
“You have that look in your eye.”
He pressed his finger and thumb into his eyelids, as if that could erase the feverishness. “What look?”
“The same one that appeared when you first heard about tattoo magic.” I brandished the book. “You won’t rest until you get what you want, and in this case, what you want is to find those girls.”
