Chapter 6

Chapter Six

L ady Inglis brings us the letter over dessert. I note that it is coconut cake, one of Gray’s favorites.

The letter has been pasted together from words in a newspaper. I’m impressed by that. I’ve only seen such things in movies, with ransom demands and the like, and it seems like a Hollywood invention, but I realize now it would date to a time before you could easily print off—or even type up—a letter.

We’ve had two cases now where handwriting played a role. If notes must be written by hand, even disguising penmanship is a tricky business. This person has been clever, cutting words from a newspaper.

Lady Inglis

Enclosed you will find a letter of yours that has come into my possession, along with others. I will return them for ￡500. I require the fee by Hogmanay, or I shall have them printed and sold. I do not think you or the recipient wish that.

On the morn of December 31, I will send along instructions for payment.

I read it again, and I must have grumbled under my breath because Gray says, “Something is wrong?”

I point at the last line. “This. The trickiest part about demanding a ransom is that you need to get the money somehow. You can specify a location to drop it off or a person to leave it with. Either provides a possible way to catch the blackmailer.”

“Drop off the money and then wait to see who fetches it. If it is to be left with a person, question them.”

“Because even if they’ve only been hired as an intermediary, they need to get the money to the blackmailer somehow.”

Lady Inglis asks, “Is that the way to catch them, then? Wait for instructions?”

I shake my head. “Too risky, except as a last resort. They didn’t leave much time between receiving instructions and following them. You’d need to pay and hope we catch the blackmailer.” I cut off a mouthful-sized piece of my cake. “Instead of treating this as blackmail, we need to treat it as theft.”

“Find out who stole the letters,” Gray says.

“Yes. If we decide to take the case, I will need the name of your friend and his consent to be both interviewed and have the location of the theft examined.”

“I will speak to him. I do not expect a problem. He is most distraught about this. Any reluctance to share his name is simply discretion, at least as much for my benefit as for his.”

“I understand,” I say. “If we take this case, you can be assured of our discretion. I’m not going to help a woman avoid exposure only to expose her myself. Before we agree to the case, Dr. Gray and I need to discuss the matter. We’ll have an answer for you by this evening.”

“Thank you. Now, we should discuss payment.”

“Unnecessary,” Gray says. “Consider it a favor between friends.”

She fixes him with a steady look. “First, I believe I already clarified my feelings on owing men a debt for defending my honor. Second, as Miss Mitchell seems to be the one handling my case thus far, ought you to be turning down payment on her behalf?”

Gray had the grace to color at that. “Of course not. You may pay Miss Mitchell.”

She turns to me. “I will do that. Your fee, miss?”

I resist the urge to demur. Taking wages from Gray still feels a bit like taking money from my host. I landed in his world—in the body of his housemaid—and he’s stuck with me. Except I’m not a layabout guest, leeching off my hosts. I do my job, and I do it well. If Lady Inglis is offering to pay—and wants to pay—I should take her up on it. I also shouldn’t insult either of us by undervaluing my services.

“Ten percent of the blackmail demand,” I say. “If I identify the person responsible, I’ll take ten percent. However, what you do with that information is up to you. I would suggest it goes to the police after that. Or, if it turns out to be someone you know, you can decide how to handle it.”

“That is reasonable,” Lady Inglis says. “Ten percent, then, for identifying the person behind this before I need to pay the ransom. You will decide whether to take this case and let me know by this evening.”

“I will.”

We leave as soon as lunch is finished. I barely touched my cake. At home, that would have had Gray eyeing it, and I’d slide it over for him to finish. Even if I were in that sort of mood—which I am not—he doesn’t even glance at my plate, and I notice his own cake is only half gone.

Lady Inglis accompanies us down the hall. Simon has the coach at the stable, and we’ll walk to it rather than have a member of the staff run and fetch him. When we step out, Lady Inglis murmurs, “A word, please, Duncan?”

“I’ll be at the stables,” I say, not glancing to see his reaction.

“Wait,” he says. “I will walk with you. The path can be uneven.”

Uneven cobblestones are a fact of life in Victorian times, which makes it an odd excuse, but I don’t argue. I pull my cloak tighter against the cold and step aside to wait as they talk.

“I really must be going,” Gray says to Lady Inglis. “I do not want Miss Mitchell to take a tumble.”

I shake my head. Really? That’s the best he can come up with?

“This will only take a moment,” Lady Inglis says.

Not wanting to eavesdrop, I walk around the corner of the house, only for Gray to call, “Mallory? Please do not wander.”

Do not wander? Am I a sheep now?

I return to where Gray can see me, but unfortunately, I can still hear them, though I look the other way and pretend I can’t.

“I wished to apologize,” Lady Inglis says. “I was unspeakably churlish last night when I spoke of your relationship with Miss Mitchell.”

“She is my assistant?—”

“Yes. I see that now, which is why I am apologizing for insinuating anything else.”

“I would not hire a young woman with the intention of being dishonorable.”

She sighs. “I know, and I was wrong to suggest otherwise. I do know you better than that. Even if she were not your assistant, the mistake would have been an insult.”

“An insult to...?” he says carefully.

She laughs softly. “To you, obviously, Duncan. While she is clearly intelligent, she is very young and... very much not to your taste. She is a peony. You prefer pansies.”

Something in me bristles at that. Yes, Catriona has a very showy sort of beauty. There is nothing subtle or refined about it. But how she looks is a matter of genetics, and her personal style didn’t take advantage of that any more than mine does. I’m dressed very primly, with more of my bosom hidden than is fashionable.

Gray’s voice cools. “I would like to end this conversation now, Patricia.”

“I am not insulting Miss Mitchell, Duncan. She is a spectacularly lovely girl, with a keen intelligence. Were she a decade older, I would be jealous.”

“Which you have no reason to be, as you and I are no longer together.”

Another deep sigh. “That is not what I meant. I know you are no longer interested in me, and I respect that. I only mean that I would find myself envying any woman who caught your eye. It reminds me that I caught it once upon a time, and I was careless, which I regret very much.”

“I do not see the point of this conversation,” Gray says. “I would suggest we end it.”

“I never say the right thing to you, do I?” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes me feel sorry for Lady Inglis. What happened to end her relationship with Gray wasn’t her fault—he hadn’t made it clear he expected monogamy. It was a misunderstanding that led to hurt pride, which cost her someone she obviously cared for.

“It is fine,” Gray murmurs, and his tone is conciliatory, but he adds a firm, “I really must be going. I will send you a message this evening with our decision.”