Blackburn turned away and strode to the coach house exit. He waited there for us to file past him.
“We should check out his story about Redmayne,” Oscar said once we were out of earshot of Blackburn. “Even if it happened years ago, it’s a coincidence we shouldn’t ignore.”
I agreed, as did Miss Wheeler, albeit with a reservation. “Blackburn offered up the information quite readily.”
“We’d accused him of being the abductor,” Oscar pointed out. “He had to tell us to throw suspicion off himself and onto another.”
“Precisely. He may have made it up so that we’d look elsewhere for a suspect. I’m not suggesting we don’t look into Redmayne’s previous employment—we should—just that Blackburn didn’t require much prompting, and it’s something we should bear in mind.”
“He also said ‘were.’” At their blank looks, I added, “He said ‘the girls were magicians.’ Does that mean he knows they’re dead?” I suppressed a shiver as the thought chilled me. Those poor women.
Oscar came to a stop at the stables of Kinloch’s next-door neighbor, near where the first abduction took place. He indicated the horse peering over the lower stall door at us. “Would an indoor servant need to bring out the slops? I’d say it’s the groom’s task to feed the horses.”
A spotty youth’s face peered over the stall door. “I’d leave if I were you. The coachman dinnae like ink scribblers.”
“We’re investigators not journalists,” Oscar said, approaching. “We’re working with the police. Can we ask you some questions about Mary, the maid who worked here?”
“Aye. Anything tae help find her.”
“Where were you when Mary was abducted?”
“In my room, above the stables, eating dinner with the coachman. We dinnae hear anything until Agnes came and asked if we’d seen her.”
“Why was Mary bringing out the leftovers for the horse? Is it a task she always undertook?”
“Aye. It was an excuse tae come out here and see the horses. She liked ’em.”
“Did she come out here to meet someone?” Miss Wheeler asked.
“Who?”
“A young man, perhaps. Someone she’d been stepping out with.”
The groom’s gaze looked past us, making us all turn. The maid who Blackburn had called ugly stood there. While her masculine features stopped her from being conventionally pretty, she wasn’t awful to look at by any stretch of the imagination.
I smiled at her. “Good morning. I’m Gavin Nash, and this is Miss Wheeler and Oscar Barratt. What’s your name?”
“Agnes.”
“You work in the same house as Mary, don’t you?” I indicated the back of Mr. Kinloch’s next-door neighbor’s house.
She nodded.
“Do you know if she has a paramour?”
Agnes’s gaze flicked to the groom and back. “She has a lot of ’em. She’s a hoore.”
I stared at her, not quite sure how to proceed after the rather nasty accusation. I’d felt sympathy for Agnes until that moment.
The groom chided Agnes for speaking ill of Mary. “Mary’s a flirt,” he clarified for our benefit. “The lads like her. She’s bonnie.”
“Did she flirt with anyone in particular?” Miss Wheeler asked.
The groom shrugged. Agnes didn’t answer. I got the feeling she knew something, but wasn’t sure whether to tell us.
“Did she receive letters from anyone?” Miss Wheeler prompted.
Neither servant answered.
