Chapter 11
I used to find it odd that footmen were employed largely for their looks, not their ability, until I learned that their tasks were minimal compared to a maid’s, and easy at that.
They were somewhat unnecessary to the functioning of a household except, perhaps, at dinner or parties when they were required to serve.
I’d also learned that a handsome, tall footman was more desirable than a short, plain one, and so could demand a higher wage.
Their appearance was a reflection on the employer’s wealth.
If the main function of a footman was to make the household look good, then the one named Jack at number eight Moray Place was an excellent choice.
He was taller than Oscar and exceptionally handsome, with thick dark hair, clean-shaven square jaw and broad shoulders.
The blue eyes took in the three of us standing on the doorstep but lingered a little longer on Miss Wheeler than Oscar or me.
Perhaps that was because she was the one to ask him if he was Jack.
Or perhaps it was because she was strikingly pretty herself.
“I am Jack,” he said in a voice so deep it seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
“We’re assisting the police with their inquiries into the disappearances of Juliette and Mary.”
Those blue eyes sharpened. “It’s nothing tae do with me!
I’ve never met either of them. In the case of the maid, I’ve never even seen her.
Although I once met the Gordons’ niece, that was years ago when I first came tae work here and she was visiting her aunt and uncle.
She must have been nae more than fifteen or sixteen.
She called here one afternoon with her aunt, but that was the extent of our interactions.
I dinnae even know she was back in Edinburgh. Why would I?”
“We found letters addressed to Mary from a man named Jack,” Miss Wheeler went on. “Did you write them?”
“Nae! I told ye, their disappearances are nothing tae do with me. When that maid was taken, I was working here. There was a dinner party, and my presence was required the entire time. As for the abduction of the Gordons’ niece, all I can say is that I was asleep, but I am not at liberty tae tell you whose bed I was in.
That explanation will have tae suffice, for the sake of the lady’s reputation.
Might I add, you could have verified this with the police before coming here as I’ve already given that account tae them.
Now, unless there are any more questions, I bid ye good day.
” He closed the door in our faces without waiting for a reply.
Oscar trotted back down the stairs. “He’ll make butler one day with that attitude.”
“I believe him,” I said. “A young man as handsome as that doesn’t need to write to housemaids or use clandestine measures to lure women. He could simply crook his finger and they’d run in his direction.”
“You sound enamored, Gavin,” Oscar said with a hint of wickedness in his voice.
“Oscar,” I hissed.
“It’s all right if you are.”
“It’s not all right!” The conversation was heading in a direction I didn’t want to go in. “Anyway, I was objectively pointing out that he is handsome. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
“I’m not so sure,” Miss Wheeler chimed in. Her voice also held a hint of wickedness in it, but I couldn’t think why. “His features were certainly arranged well, but I personally didn’t find him all that attractive. He was too handsome.”
“Is there such a thing?” Oscar asked.
“Oh, yes. A little roughness around the edges is far more appealing. Don’t you agree, Professor?”
“I wouldn’t know.” If they were trying to tease a declaration out of me, I wasn’t going to take the bait. Besides, I wasn’t sure what I’d declare. My romantic interests were a conundrum, even to me.
I changed the subject before Oscar or Miss Wheeler decided to continue their interrogation. “If Jack the footman didn’t write the letters and didn’t abduct either woman, that leaves one other Jack from this area. Or, rather, John—Redmayne. I propose we attempt to question him again.”
They agreed, but unfortunately Mr. Kinloch had decided to give his butler the afternoon off.
“He was upset by your accusations, so he’s gone for a walk,” Mr. Kinloch informed us on the doorstep.
He went to close the door, only to stop.
“I know you and the police need to exhaust every avenue of inquiry, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.
I know Redmayne well. He’s a good man. He’d never harm anyone, let alone a woman. ”
“Then you won’t have a problem giving us the address of his former employer so we can confirm your opinion,” Oscar said. “If their account of Redmayne echoes yours, then we’ll leave him alone.”
Mr. Kinloch hesitated. “Is that a promise?”
“I give my word as a gentleman.”
“I’d rather yours, Professor.”
I stared at him. “Oh. I can assure you, Oscar’s word is as good as mine.”
“He’s a journalist.” Mr. Kinloch indicated a fellow lounging against the garden fence opposite, his hat pulled low.
While there was no way to be sure he was a journalist who’d escaped being moved on by the police, on the balance of it, he probably was.
“I’m not inclined to like journalists very much at the moment,” Mr. Kinloch added.
He cast Oscar an apologetic look but didn’t back down from his sentiment.
“Very well,” I said, “I give my word, too.”
“As do I,” Miss Wheeler chimed in. “Since the word of a woman is equally as good as that of a man.”
Mr. Kinloch opened the door wider. “Do come in while I look through my paperwork.”
We waited in the entrance hall, alone. There was very little to look at, considering the paintings had been removed. The longer we waited, the more my thoughts wandered. The direction of them took me on a different course altogether. One that Oscar and Miss Wheeler seemed to have forgotten.
When Mr. Kinloch returned, he handed a piece of paper to Oscar. “It’s nearby. I believe the gentleman has died, but his widow still lives there.”
Miss Wheeler left with Oscar behind her, but I lingered.
I indicated the bare walls with the imprints left behind by the removed paintings.
“It’s a shame you had to sell off your family portraits.
” According to Redmayne, Mr. Kinloch hadn’t sold the paintings, but I wanted to hear his response.
I wanted to see if it matched the butler’s.
Mr. Kinloch followed my gaze. “How did you know they were family portraits?”
“It’s often the location for such things, in my experience.”
“You may be right about that, but you’re wrong about selling them. They’re being appraised and cleaned in London.”
Appraised and cleaned? Redmayne had mentioned the former but not the latter. Was that significant?
Whether it was or not, Mr. Kinloch hadn’t taken the bait I’d dangled in front of him.
He’d not said the paintings were sold because he was in financial difficulty.
I suppose I hadn’t expected him to, but I felt I had to try.
Someone had stolen the book from my room last night and Mr. Kinloch may well have been the thief.
I hadn’t ruled him out. However, financial gain was an increasingly unlikely motive.
For one thing, he could have sold the book to Mr. Defoe for a much greater sum, and secondly, it seemed he hadn’t sold the paintings for financial gain.
Of course, he may simply have told Redmayne to use that story with anyone who asked about them, then repeated it himself. I wouldn’t eliminate him just yet.
But I knew a way to do so, once and for all.
I returned my hat to my head, touched the brim in farewell, and left.
The residence of Redmayne’s former employer was just as grand as Mr. Kinloch’s house, although the street itself wasn’t quite as exclusive as Moray Place.
The butler invited us inside after checking to see if Mrs. Carter was home for callers, but Miss Wheeler didn’t step inside ahead of Oscar and me, as was usual.
She scanned the street. Both sides were lined with townhouses, unlike Moray Place where there were buildings only on one side, the other occupied by the garden where Juliette was walking at the time of her abduction.
“Is something the matter?” Oscar asked her.
“I…I’m not sure.” She shrugged and entered the house. Oscar’s gaze swept the street before he followed her.
Swathed in black from head to toe, with jet jewelry and a black cap covering her white hair, the elderly Mrs. Carter was a picture of respectable widowhood.
Despite it being almost one o’clock in the afternoon, the heavy curtains were closed.
The only light came from gas lamps positioned on two of the tables, neither placed near her.
I wondered what she did all day, since it wasn’t enough light for her to read by or do needlepoint.
It became clear, however, that she was so frail she probably did nothing. She breathed heavily, and the hovering maid explained that her mistress found talking at length difficult.
“We’ll keep it brief,” Oscar assured them both. He explained that we were assisting the police in the search for the missing women and that one of the suspects was her former footman, Redmayne, who’d left her employment to take a position as butler at Mr. Kinloch’s home.
Mrs. Carter became quite agitated at the mention of his name and began to cough. The maid hurried to her side and pressed a teacup into her mistress’s hands.
Mrs. Carter sipped and seemed to be better for it. “Redmayne is a good man. He wouldn’t harm anyone.”
“Wasn’t he implicated in the abduction of your maid?”
She tapped her hand against her chest as she struggled to draw a breath. “Only because he was courting her and couldn’t prove he was asleep in his own bed when she went missing.” She paused to draw in two shuddery breaths. “The poor girl was found a few days later, dead.”
“Do you have a theory on who killed her?”
Again, Mrs. Carter shook her head. “I think I know why, though.” She used two hands to lift the teacup to her lips. She took another sip before lowering it. “The girl used to tell people she could do magic.”
“This was years ago, wasn’t it?” Oscar asked.
“When most magicians hid themselves away, yes. But the silly girl didn’t hide like the others. She boasted that she could do such fine needlework because she was a cotton magician.”
Cotton! Just like Mary.
Mrs. Carter drew in a deep, steady breath before continuing. “Few folk knew about magicians then, so we all thought she was touched in the head. I suppose there were some who believed her…” She coughed lightly. “One of them must have taken her.”
I couldn’t see how a maid who had no plans to start a business, living in a time when magic wasn’t widely known, could be a threat to anyone. “But why?” I asked. “Financial gain?”
“I suspect someone wanted to eliminate witches. A modern day Witchfinder General, so to speak.”
I suppressed my sigh, not wanting her to hear my disappointment. I’d hoped for a new theory that would explain the disappearances, not something she’d gleaned from the latest sensationalist article in the local newspaper.
“I didn’t think about it until magicians came out of hiding,” she went on. “Then I began to wonder if the girl’s boasting had been her downfall. Now those other girls are missing…the two witches from Moray Place.”
“Magicians,” Miss Wheeler corrected her.
“Yes, of course. Forgive me. It’s difficult to change at my age.” Mrs. Carter began to cough again.
It was our signal to leave, but Oscar hadn’t quite finished. He waited for the coughing fit to end, then asked Mrs. Carter why Redmayne took a position at Mr. Kinloch’s house.
“Because the position of butler became available there,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“How did he hear about the position?” Oscar asked.
“Through my friend. She was visiting and saw how melancholy Redmayne was. She suggested he make a clean start away from the painful memories of his sweet lassie. I agreed, even though it meant losing a fine footman. She knew Mr. Kinloch wanted a butler and offered to speak to him on Redmayne’s behalf. ”
“And the name of your friend?”
“Mrs. Gordon. She’s a neighbor of Mr. Kinloch’s. I knew her from our kirk. I don’t go anymore. This blasted cough…” She struggled to finish her sentence before another coughing fit gripped her.
We thanked her and the butler saw us out.
“What do you think?” I asked as we walked away.
Miss Wheeler didn’t seem to be listening as she glanced back over her shoulder along the street.
“I think Mrs. Buchanan may have inadvertently given us a piece of the puzzle earlier,” Oscar said.
“She told us her sister-in-law was a zealot. If Mrs. Carter mentioned her maid’s claims of being a magician to her friend, Mrs. Gordon may have taken it upon herself to eliminate someone she considered sinful—a witch. The same with the two new abductions.”
The thought was chilling, but I didn’t think it a valid theory. “Do you honestly believe Mrs. Gordon is that cruel? That mad? She’d have to be unhinged to commit such a dreadful crime against innocent young women, one of whom is her own niece.”
Oscar’s lips formed a grim line. “I have less faith in humanity than you, Gavin. What do you think, Miss Wheeler?”
She turned to glance over her shoulder again. “I think we’re being followed.”
Oscar and I both looked behind us.
Then an enormous boom rang out over the city.