“Oh, no, not at all. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You’re not in the way. Indeed, there is nothing to get in the way of. I was merely pointing out that Agnes couldn’t take her gaze off your friend. You may not have noticed, but I think he did. Next time, he ought to take advantage of a suspect’s infatuation with him. It could help him get what he wants.”
I pushed my glasses up my nose, only to realize I was doing it and quickly lowered my hand. “Oscar is too much of a gentleman to do that.”
Oscar trotted up the front steps of the house two doors down from Mr. Kinloch, where Juliette had been staying at the time of her abduction from the garden square. He explained to the butler who answered his knock that we were assisting the police with the investigation. Moments later, we were shown into the drawing room where the same man and woman who’d watched us from the window earlier now invited us to sit on their sofa.
They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, Juliette’s aunt and uncle. Aged in their forties, there was nothing particularly striking about them. There was also nothing striking about the room in which we found ourselves. The house was situated in one of the best streets in Edinburgh, but a visitor wouldn’t have known it from the plain and functional furnishings. There were no photographs and only two paintings hanging on the walls—one of a blue-robed Jesus praying to a golden sun, and another of a country manor house situated on the shores of a picturesque lake. Perhaps the most striking thing about the room was that none of the furniture seemed to match. The woods were different types, and the sofa was a pale green whereas the armchairs were upholstered in yellow and blue.
“We believe Juliette’s mother is also staying here,” Miss Wheeler said, her voice gentle with sympathy. “May we speak to her, too?”
Mrs. Gordon glanced at her husband before saying, “She’s terribly upset. We don’t want to disturb her.”
There was a rustle of silk skirts at the door as a tall, fashionably dressed woman entered. “If this is regarding my daughter, I want to be disturbed.” She was attractive, in spite of the eyes swollen from crying. Her blonde hair was turning white at the temples and some fine creases appeared across her forehead, but neither detracted from her beauty.
As she sat next to Mrs. Gordon, the difference was striking. Aged about the same, Mrs. Gordon looked tired even though her eyes were not affected by tears. The creases around her downturned mouth and between her eyebrows suggested she frowned a lot. Unlike the newcomer, Mrs. Gordon wore a white cap covering much of her hair, and her brown outfit didn’t have a single stitch of embroidery embellishing it. Her only extravagance was a silver brooch in the shape of a cross attached to the gown’s high neckline at her throat.
Her husband was quite dapper by comparison. Indeed, if I had to pick the married couple in the room, I’d have paired him with his sister-in-law. He seemed to take pride in his thick, dark hair, wearing it swept up into a wave at the front with the help of pomade. Unlike most men his age, he still had impressive locks. His clothes, too, were modish with a thin pinstripe through the dark blue wool, and a gold stag’s head pinned to his tartan cravat. It must be his clan’s crest. I’d seen cheap versions of similar pins in the souvenir seller’s cart at the station.
“This is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Buchanan,” Mrs. Gordon said in a soft Scottish accent. “Her late husband was my brother. She and Juliette have lived alone in Aberdeen since his death several years ago.” It was a rather mechanical account, but I couldn’t tell if she felt no emotion toward her brother and his family or she was steeling herself against too much emotion.
Oscar introduced us again and restated the reason for our visit. All three expressed their eagerness to help us in any way, but Mrs. Buchanan became upset. She pressed a handkerchief to her nose as tears welled in her eyes.
“Thank you for assisting the police,” she said, her voice cracking. “The detective in charge of the investigation didn’t seem particularly competent.”
“I say,” Mr. Gordon protested in an English accent. “He’s doing his best.”
Mrs. Buchanan’s lips pinched but she didn’t respond.
“Can you tell us why Juliette was staying with you?” Miss Wheeler asked the Gordons.
“She wrote to us expressing a strong desire to visit. Mrs. Gordon and I were happy to have her. She’s my wife’s only family, after all.”
“Had she written to you much before?”
“From time to time,” Mrs. Gordon said.
Although she hadn’t looked at Mrs. Buchanan, Juliette’s mother nevertheless seemed to take the lack of correspondence as an accusation directed at her. “She would have written more if you’d written to her.”
“What changed?” I asked before the two women could blame one another for not writing.
Mrs. Gordon touched the silver cross brooch. “We received a letter from her last month begging us to allow her to visit.”
“She didn’t beg,” Mrs. Buchanan said testily.
Her sister-in-law stiffened. “It was strongly worded, asking us if we would have her for a while. Of course we agreed, despite our reservations.”
“What reservations?” Mrs. Buchanan asked. Apparently this was news to her, too.
Mrs. Gordon clasped her hands together on her lap. “We didn’t know what to do with her once she arrived. We live quietly, and Juliette was always such a lively girl when she was young.”
“She isn’t a child anymore,” her mother pointed out.
“Precisely. How would dull, childless people like us entertain her? We don’t know any other young people except the local curate, nor do we go to social events. I could take her to church, but would she want to go? We worried that Juliette would be bored.”
I understood their view. As someone who also led a quiet life, I wouldn’t know what to do with a lively young woman thrust into the midst of my life either. I’d be quite nervous to suddenly play host to one.
“Why was she so insistent?” Oscar asked.
