A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (e novels to read TXT) 📕

was a natural assumption, but based on Bonnie Brock’s mood the previous evening, I already knew the answer.

“I dinna think so. ’Twasn’t their style.”

Gage’s eyebrows arched in query.

“For one, the watchman was thrashed before they tied him up. Nowadays, Kincaid rarely resorts to such measures. If the watchman isna willin’ to be scared or bought off, he’s delivered a sound blow to the head to knock him oot. For another, they’re more apt to rob the delivery caravan. That way they dinna have to find transport for the contraband or load it themselves. They simply steal the whole wagon.” He grunted. “But the superintendent isna so convinced.”

“A rival gang, perhaps?” Gage asked after taking a sip of the tea I’d poured out for him.

“Maybe. Whoever they were, they dinna behave like amateurs.”

“Then why whistle ‘Nix My Dolly’?” I felt the question had to be asked.

Maclean shrugged. “Maybe he was full o’ himself, or maybe he didna ken what he was doin’.”

Or maybe he had purposely wanted to direct the watchman’s and the police’s attentions toward the play and Bonnie Brock. Perhaps The King of Grassmarket was a convenient scapegoat for their activities.

Either way, it was obvious the boys and this more experienced group of whisky thieves were familiar with the play. So it was easy to see why the newspaper and police were drawing a connection between them, blaming the depravity of the plays, and consequently the book, for exploiting the public’s moral weakness and inciting them to commit crimes. But while I recognized that the sensational tale had some part in inspiring and perhaps stirring their pluck, I couldn’t help but wonder whether much of the motivation lay elsewhere. After all, the cholera had disrupted life in the more squalid sections of Edinburgh these past few months. There were many who must have found themselves in desperate situations. Would they have been so easily influenced and willing to resort to vandalism, theft, and assault if they hadn’t already been suffering from poverty and hunger? I couldn’t answer that, but I also couldn’t ignore it.

“And then there are the jewelry thefts.”

Chapter 8

Gage and I both paused with our teacups raised.

“Jewelry thefts?” my husband repeated. “We haven’t seen any mention of those.”

“Aye, because the superintendent wants to keep ’em quiet. For noo. But ’tis somethin’ I could use your help wi’.” He leaned against the table carefully, ever conscious of how much space he took up with his brawny frame. “We’ve had two burglaries so far. One at Sir Phineas Riddell’s home in Moray Place.” Which was located practically around the corner from our town house. “And the other at Lord Kirkcowan’s home on St. Andrews Lane.”

My gaze collided with Gage’s upon hearing this startling pronouncement, both of us far too cognizant of our involvement with Lord and Lady Kirkcowan and their jewelry in the past.

“You ken somethin’ aboot it?” Maclean pressed, not having missed the look that had passed between us.

“No,” Gage replied indecisively. “But . . .” He set down his cup in the saucer with a gentle clink of the porcelain. “But my father asked me to investigate the theft of some of the Kirkcowan jewels just a year ago. A diamond and sapphire necklace had gone missing.” He glanced sideways at me. “At the time we’d wondered if the alleged theft had been contrived by Kirkcowan in order to raise funds for his considerable gambling debts. But the necklace was found soon after.”

It was found because it had never truly been lost or stolen. Rather, Lady Kirkcowan had hidden it away as security for herself and her children when her husband eventually lost everything to the turn of the cards. Gage and I had wanted to remain silent about our suspicions that she was responsible, figuring the jewels were rightly hers, even if the law would have said that they were actually the property of Lord Kirkcowan. She had endured enough for them. But Lord Gage had been insistent that Lord Kirkcowan be told, and so I’d warned her ladyship before he could do so. That way, the necklace could be miraculously “found” at the back of a drawer.

But that wasn’t the end of it. And while Gage had his own suspicions about what happened next and my involvement with it, he had specifically asked me not to enlighten him about the details.

I lowered my hands to my lap, lest their fidgeting give me away. “However, less than a fortnight later, the Kirkcowans’ home was burglarized, and all of their jewelry, along with a few other portables, were taken from their safe. I was under the impression that none of it had been recovered. But perhaps I’ve been misinformed?”

Maclean studied me with interest, making me fear I hadn’t effectively concealed my discomfort with this topic. “Aye, I’m aware o’ the theft, but Lord Kirkcowan insists a number o’ those pieces were soon after reclaimed.”

This news caused me a pang of misgiving.

“Only to have them stolen yet again?” Gage’s voice dripped with skepticism.

“Aye, I asked the same question myself. But numerous witnesses claim to have seen Lady Kirkcowan wearin’ the gems as late as November.”

“Just before she and their children left for her father’s home in Lanarkshire,” I noted.

The glint in Maclean’s eye told me he was also already aware of this detail and its ramifications. “Aye.”

I frowned, recalling my first encounter with Lady Kirkcowan. “How can we be sure the jewels weren’t paste? Some of the best imitations are difficult to detect. And I know for a fact that a paste version existed of the diamond and sapphire necklace Gage mentioned. I saw Lady Kirkcowan wearing it myself.”

“And yet Lord Kirkcowan insists they were real, and is outraged by the suggestion that a man o’ his status would lie.”

“So, he expects you to take him at his word and, I imagine, has the superintendent backing him, ordering you to abandon that line