“Women, not girls. The first to be taken was a nineteen-year-old maid who worked in the house next to Kinloch. She took some scraps out for the horses late yesterday and never returned. The bucket was found in the mews beside one of her shoes, an effigy made of straw propped up against it. The second was the twenty-two-year-old niece of the owner of the house next to that one, two doors from Kinloch. She was visiting from Aberdeen and went out for an early walk this morning in the garden opposite. A cry was heard by a passing coachman, but when he went to check, there was no sign of anyone, just a ‘small doll made of straw dressed like a lady.’ Those are the exact words of the witness.” Oscar picked up one of the other papers and handed it to me. “The witness’s name was Blackburn.”
“Kinloch’s coachman?” I took the newspaper and read. “I wonder what else he saw or heard. Hopefully the Edinburgh police are thorough and learned all they could from him.”
“As a witness or suspect?”
I gasped. It was shocking to think we may have ridden in a carriage driven by an abductor, but the more I thought about it, the more I agreed that Blackburn must be considered a suspect. He could come and go from Moray Place and the mews behind the townhouses without raising suspicion.
I lowered the newspaper and regarded Oscar, surrounded by more newspapers on the bedspread. His hair fell over his forehead as he read, and he lightly tugged on his lower lip. He was completely absorbed. I didn’t think it was healthy for him to take such an interest in the abductions, particularly since we were leaving Edinburgh the day after next. Now that we had the book, we could have left in the morning, but we had tickets for the train for the following day, so had decided to spend our spare time sightseeing instead.
It was beginning to look like the only sights we would see would be Moray Place and the mews running behind it.
Oscar glanced up, his intense gaze connecting with mine. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to. “You’re watching me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“It’s all right, Gavin.”
“I wasn’t watching you.”
His lips curved up at the corners. “Then why are you blushing?”
“It’s hot in here.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s because you’ve taken your shirt off.” I tugged on my collar. It felt too tight all of a sudden. I considered removing my shirt, too, but decided against it. It was an action that could be misconstrued.
Oscar set the newspaper down beside him. “Gavin?—"
“We could contact Willie’s husband, D.I. Brockwell, and ask him to offer his assistance. He’s an excellent detective.”
“Gavin—”
“Brockwell and Scotland Yard can advise the Edinburgh police by telegram. I’m sure it will help. That way, we don’t need to get involved.”
Oscar sank back into the pillows with a sigh. “Brockwell’s advice will be invaluable, I agree. I’ll send a telegram in the morning.”
“And we’ll leave the following day, as planned?”
He gave me a flat smile, the sort someone gave when they wanted to placate. “We have the train tickets for an early departure.”
I knew him well enough to know that I wouldn’t get a direct answer, no matter how many times I asked. Oscar wasn’t prepared to commit to leaving while there was a mystery to solve.
I admired him for his strong sense of justice. I truly did. It was a rare quality, and it set him apart from most people. Indeed, it raised him above them. But I worried where that desire for justice would lead him, and what lengths he would go to see it served.
It turned out that I had cause to worry.
The following morning, I awoke to a sense of foreboding, but it wasn’t until I finished shaving at the washstand and went to put on my shirt that I realized why.
The book was missing.
After leaving Oscar’s room, I’d returned to mine and stayed up a little longer to read more. I was so tired, however, that I’d read for a mere fifteen minutes before going to bed. I’d not locked the book away in my valise but left it on the table beside the valet stand where my clothes hung. The table was now empty.
Oscar must have come in and taken it. But how had he got into my room without a key?
I checked the door, only to find that it was indeed locked. I tried the window. It opened easily. I leaned on the windowsill and looked over Princes Street, already bustling with carriages, carts, and pedestrians below. Well below. My room was on the fourth floor. No one could have scaled the external wall and got in. Whoever took the book had entered via the door. It must have been Oscar, having got a key from one of the staff because he didn’t want to wake me.
I quickly threw on my shirt and tied my tie. I slipped on my shoes and went to open the door when there was a knock from the other side.
