Chapter 12
My shock was met with amusement from passersby. Even Miss Wheeler chuckled, although her gaze held sympathy.
She looped her arm through mine. “It’s just the cannon, Professor.”
“Cannon?”
“A sixty-four pounder. It’s fired every day at one PM from the castle’s battery.” She indicated the direction of Edinburgh castle. “You didn’t know?”
“We only arrived late yesterday.” So had she, but she’d done her research, apparently. I felt like a fool for not doing mine. “Oscar, did you know?”
Oscar stared into the distance as he absently stroked his earlobe. He seemed not to have heard me. It was as if the cannon fire had dazed him.
“Oscar?” I said. “It was just the castle’s gun. Nothing to worry about.”
He frowned. “Yes, of course. Just the castle’s gun.” He shrugged and continued walking.
Miss Wheeler and I fell into step alongside him.
Before arriving at Mrs. Carter’s house, I’d suggested calling at Waverley Station to confirm if Mr. Kinloch and Redmayne were telling the truth about the destination of his paintings—or if they were sent to London at all.
If they were, they’d go via rail. Surely a porter or other employee would remember valuable paintings passing through.
Such packages wouldn’t be loaded onto the trains every day.
It wasn’t far and the weather was pleasant. Once my heart stopped racing from the shock of the cannon fire, and once Oscar emerged from his dazed state, it was an enjoyable walk. I liked that Miss Wheeler continued to hold onto my arm, although it was to Oscar that she often glanced.
I leaned closer and whispered in her ear that he was currently not involved with anyone. “Are you, Miss Wheeler? Involved with anyone, that is?”
“That’s a complicated question, Professor.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
Oscar heard me that time. “Are you two talking about me?”
Miss Wheeler scoffed. “Not everything is about you, Mr. Barratt.”
“Sometimes it is.” He flashed her a grin. “And please call me Oscar.”
“No.”
“I think we’ve earned the right to call one another by our first names.”
“It’s not a privilege that can be earned, Mr. Barratt. It can be bestowed, but only when the time is right.”
His face fell and he sighed. “I’m afraid we don’t have time. Once this is over, you’ll go your way and we’ll go ours, never to meet again. Unless—”
“No,” she said, most emphatically.
“You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”
“I don’t need to. I already know it’s not something that will interest me.”
“You can’t possibly know that without hearing it.”
She tapped a gloved finger to her lower lip in mock thought.
“Let me see… Were you going to suggest I leave Mr. Defoe’s employ and come and work for your patrons, Lord and Lady Rycroft, and assist you and Professor Nash in stocking their library, even though the task can be accomplished without me? ”
“I may have been,” Oscar mumbled.
“And were you going to make that suggestion because you believe I need rescuing from Mr. Defoe?”
“He’s a boorish, arrogant, power-hungry, selfish man.”
“You forgot to mention rich. He pays me very well. Tell me, Mr. Barratt, would your employers pay me enough to afford the fine clothes you see me wearing?”
Oscar’s gaze traveled the length of her. When it returned to her face, his eyes held a spark of desire. He’d liked what he’d seen. “I suppose you do have a rather impressive trunk.”
My face heated. “Oscar!”
He blinked innocently at me. “I was referring to the size of her luggage.”
I pushed my glasses up my nose. “Yes, of course, but it could be misconstrued.”
Miss Wheeler laughed lightly as she tightened her hold on my arm. “It’s all right, Professor. I’m used to poor attempts at flirtation from men like Mr. Barratt.”
Oscar laughed, not put off in the least. “I guarantee you haven’t met anyone like me before, Miss Wheeler.
Please allow me to apologize for my comment about your trunk.
” He placed a hand over his chest and bowed from the neck without breaking stride.
“Although I am not sorry for attempting to flirt with you. We have limited time together, so I’m grasping every opportunity. ”
Miss Wheeler lifted her chin. “Why? You hardly know me. I may not be worth the effort.”
“I know enough.”
Miss Wheeler swallowed heavily, her bold confidence suddenly vanishing. He’d disarmed her with nothing more than a few words and a velvet-soft voice.
“Consider my offer, Miss Wheeler,” Oscar went on.
“You haven’t made an offer, Mr. Barratt. Even if you could make one on behalf of Lord and Lady Rycroft, I won’t take it. I’m comfortable with my decision to remain with Mr. Defoe. The work is varied, he respects me, and he’s not as villainous as you think he is.”
“Are you certain?”
Miss Wheeler bristled. “Do drop the subject, or I’ll be forced to discontinue our association and investigate without you.”
Oscar held up his hands in surrender. “Your wish is my command.”
She groaned. “Is he always this insufferable, Professor?”
I smiled. “Only when he’s trying too hard to impress.”
“You’ve seen him like this before?” She pouted. “And I thought I was unique.”
Oscar shot me a frosty glare.
I bit my lip at my bumbling mistake. “Oh, I…er, yes of course you are, Miss Wheeler. You are a most singular woman. Please forget what I said.”
She hugged my arm. “I think we should all refocus on the task at hand. The station is just over there.”
The first porter we spoke to did recall the paintings, but suggested our questions would be better answered by the freight company tasked with packing and transporting them.
A representative of the company was currently on the furthest platform, overseeing the unloading of packages from a freight carriage.
The fellow was happy to talk to us, but only after Miss Wheeler slipped him some money.
“Aye, I remember Kinloch’s paintings.” He removed his clipboard from under his arm and flipped over the top page. He ran his finger down the columns, stopping at an entry near the bottom. “Here it is. Six in total, all framed. Sent tae Christie’s in London.”
The auction house!
We all kept our features schooled as we thanked the fellow. It wasn’t until we’d left the station altogether that Miss Wheeler broke the silence.
“Kinloch lied.”
“As did Redmayne,” I said. “He would have known the paintings were destined for auction. It would seem Mr. Kinloch is in financial difficulty, after all.”
“Then why not sell the book to Defoe for more money?” Oscar asked.
“Because he was sincere when he said he wanted it housed in a public library, not hidden away in a private collection. Forgive me if I’ve cast your employer in a poor light, Miss Wheeler.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Professor.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Is anyone else parched? Shall we discuss this over a cup of tea and sandwiches?”
We asked a shoeshine lad if there was a teashop nearby that made good sandwiches, and he gave us convoluted directions that led us down one alley after another. We managed to find it, however, and sat at a table away from the window at Miss Wheeler’s insistence.
“What shall we do about Kinloch and Redmayne’s lie?” she asked while we waited for our refreshments to arrive.
“It was clearly done to hide Kinloch’s financial problems,” Oscar said. “Problems that have risen because his rivals have improved their fabrics.”
“Thanks to magicians who possess the same magical craft as Mary and Juliette. So, either Kinloch or Redmayne killed them out of anger over Kinloch’s floundering business, or kidnapped them because they want to use them to improve the quality of the fabrics Kinloch’s factory produces.”
Both theories were heinous and stole my appetite, but I didn’t believe the latter one. “If he wants to compete with magician-owned factories, he could just employ a magician. There’s no need to kidnap them and force them to work for him.”
“It is rather an extreme motive,” she agreed. “But so is the alternative. That he has killed them out of misguided jealousy or perceived rivalry. Mr. Barratt, you claim to be such a good judge of character, do you think Kinloch is disturbed enough to go to such lengths to save his own business?”
Oscar watched the waitress as she carried a tray of tea things toward us.
“Not Kinloch. But I could see Redmayne being that disturbed.” He waited for the waitress to set the tray down and distribute cups.
Once she was gone, he continued in a low voice.
“Remember that his deceased lover claimed to be a magician. If her claim led to them falling out, he could have been upset enough to kidnap and kill her. Then, years later, Mary moves into his neighborhood. She also claims to be a magician, triggering some dark, twisted part of him that is compelled to remove her. Juliette, too.”
I stared at him, horrified. What dark, twisted part of Oscar had conjured up that theory?
Miss Wheeler seemed less disturbed than me by this side of him. “It’s certainly a possibility,” she said as she poured the tea into our cups. “It’s more viable than Kinloch doing it.”
“No!” I looked from one to the other, incredulous. “It isn’t a possible theory. Surely not. Redmayne isn’t the friendliest fellow, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”
“We have to keep an open mind,” Oscar said.
“Do we?” I shook my head. “I just don’t see it. Not kidnap. Or murder, for that matter.”
“What does a kidnapper and murderer look like?”
I picked up my teacup. “I’ll let you know when I see one.”
Miss Wheeler cast a sympathetic gaze at me.
“Professor, it’s a commendable trait to think well of everyone.
I wish I was like you. Alas, I have seen evil lurk in the hearts of people others call good.
Some hide that dark side of themselves very well, and it’s not until they lower their guard that it’s exposed.
You are fortunate that it’s rarely exposed to you. ”