“Soap.”
The kidnappers had been clever to hide their identity. It could mean they didn’t intend to kill the two women, but planned to release them, and didn’t want to be identified later.
“You mentioned they put you through a mock trial for witchcraft,” I said.
Juliette nodded. “I’m a wool magician.”
“I’m a cotton magician,” Mary added. “The man who did all the talking told us if we confessed to being witches, they’d let us go.”
“They wouldn’t have,” Juliette growled. “I told Mary to keep quiet. If we’d confessed, they would have meted out punishment. I’ve studied history. I know what they did to so-called witches. Our kidnappers were mad.” She tapped her temple. “They would have done the same to us.”
She was right about the troubled history of witchcraft. My studies on the subject had been difficult reading at times.
“They were our judges, jury and executioners,” Juliette went on. “Whenever my gag came off, I warned Mary not to tell them anything. She was marvelously courageous.”
The maid’s face crumpled as fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks. “Ye were the brave one, Miss Buchanan. I couldnae survived in there without ye.”
“Yes. Well. We can only do what we can do.” Juliette self-consciously fidgeted with her tangled locks, using her arms to hide her face, but not before I saw tears well in her eyes. “I knew we’d be rescued, sooner or later. I’m just glad my uncle didn’t wait for the police to do their job and hired private investigators.”
None of us corrected her. In a way, it was a kindness for her to think her uncle and aunt had hired us.
“How did you find us?” she asked. We were close to Moray Place now, and both women had quickened their pace, sensing loving embraces weren’t far away.
“We interrogated a number of people who knew you,” Miss Wheeler said, “and one who claimed not to know either of you, but we believed was a suspect. Someone followed us, then shot at us.”
Mary gasped.
“Twice,” I added.
She gasped again.
“We managed to follow the gunman after the second shooting,” Miss Wheeler went on. “He led us straight to you.”
“That was foolish of him,” Juliette said, sounding surprised.
“Miss Wheeler is a chalk magician,” Oscar clarified. “She threw chalk dust at the gunman, then used her magical senses to follow the chalk trail to the place where you were being held. He didn’t know he was being followed.”
“Nobody came into the room where we were,” Juliette said.
“He must have thought himself safe, only to find us on the doorstep when he reemerged. At that point it was too late to do anything except run. There was no point trying to stop us entering the building. Firing a gun in broad daylight near a busy street could very well lead to his capture, which probably explained why he didn’t risk firing a second time outside the teashop. Since neither you nor Mary could identify him, and nor could we, he cut his losses and escaped.”
“Coward,” Juliette spat.
“You say you can’t identify them,” Miss Wheeler said, “but would you know their voices?”
“Perhaps we would, but only for the man that did all the talking.” Juliette looked to Mary, who nodded. “The other man and the woman never uttered a word. Not once.”
“The voice of the man who spoke to you,” Miss Wheeler went on, “it wasn’t familiar?”
Both women shook their heads.
“Do either of you attend church?”
“I do, in Aberdeen,” Juliette said.
Mary bit her lip and lowered her head. “I like my Sunday mornings off too much tae waste it sitting on hard pews. Is that why they took us? Because we dinnae go tae the kirk?”
Juliette slipped her hand inside Mary’s. “That is not the reason.”
