Chapter 15
The genuine confusion of our suspects was a clue that my hunch was correct.
None knew what we were looking for in their coat pockets, so that meant they hadn’t discovered the wool left there by Juliette during her ordeal.
But all the pockets were empty of woolen scraps, even those belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, which their butler had fetched after I spoke to him.
Mrs. Buchanan hadn’t brought a warm winter coat to Edinburgh, but I’d already dismissed her as a suspect.
Not only was she not in the city at the time of the abductions, she was genuinely happy and relieved to see her daughter.
The constables confirmed they found no wool scraps after checking all the coats. That meant someone had removed the wool. And if it wasn’t one of our suspects themselves, it had to be someone else. And I knew who.
I was about to explain when Detective Inspector Smith walked in.
He’d arrived by carriage with two more constables.
He strolled in since the front door wasn’t locked.
He was relieved to see Juliette and Mary and immediately peppered them with questions.
It was Juliette who put up her hand for him to stop.
“Professor Nash was just about to tell us who one of the three kidnappers is,” she said. “Professor?”
I briefly recounted what we knew about the kidnappers, including the ownership of the building in which the two women were found, and ending by telling D.I.
Smith about Juliette’s piece of magic wool.
“We’ve searched all the coat pockets of the suspects and not found it.
But that doesn’t mean it was never there. ”
He pointed in the direction of the suspects, all staring back at us with an air of expectation. “It might not be one of these.”
“Given the two women were living next door to each other, and Miss Buchanan hasn’t been here long, its likely to be someone nearby who has heard about their magic.
The male servants from Mary’s household all have alibis.
Anyway, I don’t believe there’s any need to widen our search, especially since I now know who did it. ”
“Because of the wool? But you didn’t find it in any pockets.”
“The wool is one clue, but there’s another that I’ve just discovered. Or perhaps that should be rediscovered.”
“Please, Professor,” Mrs. Buchanan urged. “Just tell us.” She sat next to her daughter on the sofa, her hand clasping Juliette’s. On her other side, Mrs. Gordon sat quite close, a look of utter dismay on her face.
She knew.
Her reaction meant I was right, and knowing that spurred me on. Indeed, I felt invigorated, gripped with a kind of fever similar to the thrill I’d felt when I first read Mr. Kinloch’s letter to Lord Coyle regarding George Mackenzie’s book. With everyone looking at me, I laid out the evidence.
“The reason we didn’t find the wool was because it was removed and thrown away. Not on purpose. The person who removed it didn’t know its significance and merely thought it a scrap. He consigned it to the wastebasket.”
“‘He?’” Oscar echoed.
I nodded at the Gordons’ butler.
Anderson’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t me!”
“I know you’re not one of the kidnappers,” I assured him. “But you emptied the pocket of a person who is.”
“Butlers don’t empty coat pockets,” Redmayne pointed out with all the snooty aloofness I’d come to expect from him. “That’s the job for a valet. Or the maid, serving the ladies of the house.”
“In wealthy households that’s true. But in financial difficulty, sometimes housekeepers act as lady’s maids, and butlers perform the duties of a footman and valet.” I indicated the ordinary, mismatched furniture, the lack of heirlooms and knickknacks found in most houses of quality.
“We are not poor,” Mrs. Gordon blurted out. “We choose to live simply, as God intended.”
“Your butler informed me before he went to fetch your coats that he has been acting as Mr. Gordon’s valet.
” I turned to Anderson. The poor man looked like a fish caught on the end of a hook.
Despite my sympathy for his predicament, I couldn’t soften my questions now.
“You found a thread of wool in a coat pocket on the day Juliette was abducted, didn’t you?
Would you mind telling us whose coat you found it in? ”
Mrs. Gordon shot to her feet. “No! Don’t answer that.”
Anderson’s mouth opened and shut without uttering a word.
“Never mind,” I said. “You may want to confide in D.I. Smith after I tell you what the second piece of evidence is.” I crossed the room to the fireplace and rested a hand on the white marble mantelpiece.
“Juliette and Mary were kept in a hidden room that was accessed by pressing a carved escutcheon on the mantelpiece. It was larger than my hand and positioned in a row of similar images.” I held out my hand as I strolled past some of the standing suspects.
It was a piece of theater but I was pleased to see them all study the size of my hand.
“At the time, I thought the stonemason had carved the original owner’s clan crest into the stone, and didn’t think it relevant.
But I now know it is relevant. Perhaps the stag head used to represent a particular clan.
Now, however, it represents a secret society.
A dangerous one.” I stopped in front of Mr. Gordon and pointed at the gold pin on his lapel. “It’s the same as that.”
Mr. Gordon scoffed as he rocked back on his heels. “Stags are common representations here in Scotland. This pin represents my club.”
“What sort of club?” I asked.
Mr. Gordon sniffed. “I’m not answering you.”
I felt Oscar move up behind me. His presence gave me strength to continue.
“It’s not a gentleman’s club, is it? There’s at least one female member.
It’s probably more accurate to describe it as a secret sect.
Tell me, is the sect led by a practicing vicar?
Or did he leave the church and start his own, more secretive, sinister faith when his fire-and-brimstone preaching became too much for his parishioners? ”
It was a leap, but one I suspected would get a response. Just as I’d hoped, Mrs. Gordon shot to her feet again.
“It’s not a sect! Tell them, my dear. Tell them he’s wrong. He must be!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “He must be wrong. Juliette is our niece.”
Mr. Gordon met my gaze with a defiant one of his own. “This is absurd. It’s all nonsense. So I have a pin that looks similar to a carving in a mantelpiece in an old building. It means nothing.”
Instead of replying, I turned to Anderson.
“You’ve been acting as valet to Mr. Gordon.
The task involves taking care of his clothing.
When you brushed down his winter coat, you checked the pockets as a matter of course.
On the day Juliette went missing, you probably thought it odd that he’d been out in summer wearing a winter coat, but then you dismissed it from your mind.
While cleaning Mr. Gordon’s coat, you removed a piece of wool from his pocket.
What color was it?” I’d not yet told them the color of the wool.
Few in that room knew it came from the head of Juliette’s favorite doll as a child.
The butler swallowed heavily and glanced at Mr. Gordon. Mr. Gordon glared back at him. It was full of threatening malice.
D.I. Smith pointed out a rather obvious fact to Anderson. “If you don’t tell the truth, you’ll be charged with aiding the kidnappers.”
“It was pale yellow,” Anderson said on a rush of breath.
Mrs. Buchanan gathered her daughter in her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slipped from beneath her lashes and down her cheeks. Juliette, meanwhile, glared daggers at her uncle.
He did not look her way. “This is vindictive, nasty and demonstrably false. You’ll be dismissed over this, Detective.”
“It can be verified,” Oscar said. “He fired a gun at us outside the building where Juliette and Mary were held prisoner. The bullet lodged in the wall will match the type of gun in his possession. He would have returned to the house not long ago.”
Everyone looked to Anderson. The butler nodded grimly.
D.I. Smith sent two of his men off to search the house for the gun. “Do you know the address of the building where the women were held?”
Mary gave it to him. “We reckon the vicar who owns it is the one who did all the talking. Real madman, he was, always going on about us being abominations, saying if we admitted we were witches we could repent and be clean again to receive God’s love in Heaven.
Miss Buchanan reckoned he was going tae kill us if we admitted it.
” The maid folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself.
Juliette rose and drew Mary into an embrace. “It’s all over now, Mary. We’re safe.”
Mrs. Buchanan stood too, but not to be with her daughter. She wanted to get away from her sister-in-law, still seated on the sofa. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I didn’t know,” Mrs. Gordon whispered.
“You must have known. Is the vicar from your kirk?”
Mrs. Gordon gave a slight nod. “He was originally from Edinburgh, but served in Glasgow for over a decade. The bishop moved him on in January after complaints from some parishioners. His new parish here in Edinburgh didn’t work out either, so he resigned.
He called on some of his former parishioners, saying he wanted to continue his brand of faith with a few like-minded devotees.
I declined to join, but…” Her gaze lifted to her husband, standing still as a statue in the middle of the room. “But my husband followed him.”