by Elisa Braden
In the meantime, Lockhart was still missing. Still dangerous.
Broderick took a deep breath and let Kate’s delighted laughter soothe his dark tension. This was her day to enjoy a wee bit of normalcy, and he meant to give it to her.
He approached her slowly, admiring her slim curves beneath blue velvet. They were as graceful as those of the grand pianoforte she caressed with reverent fingers.
“Reinforced with iron, you say? How extraordinary.”
“Aye, indeed,” answered the proprietor. “A recent innovation from Broadwood. See, when ye stabilize the frame in this way, ’tis less prone to goin’ out of tune. Sturdier in transport, too.”
Her hand caressed the dark, polished wood the way she’d caressed Broderick’s chest earlier that morning.
He shuddered in a breath.
“The rosewood veneer is lovely. May I play?”
“Of course, my lady.” The proprietor positioned the bench and gestured with a bow. “Any song in particular?”
“No. I prefer to be extemporaneous.” Gracefully, she sat and removed her gloves. For a moment, she fussed with her wedding ring. A secret smile curved her lips. Then, she positioned her fingers and began to play.
Rich, full chords sang out from the depths of the instrument. Her touch was light, sensual. Her pauses were perfectly timed to lift tension, her use of the pedals perfectly measured to layer resonance beneath stirring beauty.
Broderick watched her face—her closed eyes, the tiny motions of her brows and lips as she wrought emotion from an inert object. He saw his wife play, and he imagined their future.
He would place the pianoforte in the drawing room, facing the stag he would hunt for her.
He would listen to her sing nonsense songs in her in-between warble.
He would light her up with pleasure and swim naked with her in the moonlight and lay his hands upon her belly, swollen with his bairn.
He would take her to Edinburgh for the theatre and to Nottinghamshire to visit her family and to any other place she wanted to see for the sheer adventure of it.
He would work like a sodding draft horse to make the distillery a success so that his wee, bonnie wife could boast about him to her sisters.
In all the months since the Bridewell, Broderick hadn’t allowed himself to think past killing Lockhart. He hadn’t imagined a future because he hadn’t believed he had one.
But now, here, he saw it as clearly as Kate’s blue velvet gown. He must not fail her. He must eliminate the threat and come home to the woman he loved.
He moved to her side, ignoring the proprietor’s horrified gasp as the man caught sight of him. Caressing her shoulder, he murmured, “Ye play beautifully, mo chridhe.”
Her tongue darted over smiling lips and her lashes fluttered upward. She finished her tune with loving strokes then clasped his fingers. “Do you think so?”
“Aye.” He glanced at the proprietor. “How much?”
“Broderick,” Kate hissed, tugging his hand. “You mustn’t.”
The proprietor named a staggering sum.
Indeed, Broderick would be working like a sodding draft horse. He might also be delaying the new stables he’d planned. But it would be worth it. “Can ye ship it to Inverness?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Broderick,” Kate gritted. “May I speak with you privately?” She stood and dragged him to the opposite corner of the showroom, where a row of violins gleamed in the light from the window. “You cannot purchase that pianoforte.”
“Why not?”
“It is far too extravagant.”
“Well, now, if ye kenned the plans I have for it, mayhap ye’d feel differently.”
“What plans?” She waved her hands. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You cannot spend a year’s wages on—”
“Who claimed that’s a year’s wages?”
She blinked. “I—I assumed—”
“Nah. Half a month’s worth, mayhap.”
Her lips worked into an O. “The distillery is … that successful?”
“Aye. And the farms. The rents.” He grinned at her bewildered reaction. “Should I be offended that ye thought me poor, lass?”
“No, I didn’t … that is, I … good heavens, Broderick.” She blushed and played with her ring. “I meant no offense. Still, I cannot accept a gift of such magnitude. There are square pianofortes just there.”
“Nah. Too wee. I cannae tup ye properly on one of those.”
Her blush intensified. She inched closer, chiding, “Do not say such things. What if someone should overhear?”
“Then, they’d ken how much I want ye. If they’ve eyes in their head, they’ll see why.”
She weaved into him. “Good heavens.”
“Ye said that already.”
“You are … this is … you’re seducing me. Right here in a music shop in broad daylight.”
“Ye sound surprised.”
She nibbled her lower lip and shot him a melting look from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the coach.”
“Can ye wait that long?”
Her breath caught. “Provided you make our conversation ardently persuasive.”
He grinned. “Ye’re in luck, lass. Ardent persuasion is just what I had in mind.”
Sabella exited the perfumery with her maid by her side. Today, Princes Street was bustling. Whenever the rain lifted, the shops teemed.
“Is he still there?” she murmured to her maid.
“Aye.”
Sabella swallowed and lifted her chin. The “footman” Kenneth had assigned to watch her made her skin crawl. The way Cromartie leered, as though eager to set his hands upon her and cause her pain, was a threat of its own. Kenneth may have ordered the gin-swilling cretin not to harm her unless she ran, but if she did? What then?
She’d been too afraid to attempt it more than twice. Her luck had never been that good.
Her maid shifted the packages beneath her arms. “Shall I take these to the carriage?”
Sabella nodded. “Join me in the bookshop when ye’re finished.”
The maid curtsied and rushed to comply, heading for the carriage three shops away. The bookshop lay in the opposite direction. Sabella had no desire to purchase books, but the farther she could get from Cromartie, the better.
As she started forward, the door to the neighboring shop opened, and a shockingly tall man strode out. The man walked with a long, hitching gait. He wore a leather patch over one eye. He had dark hair, a lean-yet-massive frame, and scars through his brows, mouth, cheeks, and jaw.
Dear God. Her heart stuttered. It was Broderick MacPherson. He glanced to his left and started in that direction.
She must speak with him. She must warn him. Where was his wife?
Fear coiled around her insides, cold and slithery. Someone jostled her elbow as they passed. She dared a glance behind her toward her carriage. Her maid was distracting Cromartie with the loading of packages.
Heart pounding, she knew she must try. There might not be another chance.
Her feet carried her forward. Muscles stiff with fear, she was too slow at first. Then, seeing how swiftly his long strides increased the distance between them, she quickened her pace. Soon, she was nearly running.
A woman backed into her, slowing her pace and knocking her reticule from her hand. The woman apologized, but Sabella kept going. No. MacPherson was disappearing around the corner. She mustn’t lose him. She must tell him what Kenneth had planned.
She opened her mouth to call out to him.
Something hard crushed her belly. Something painful drove the air from her lungs. A fist, she thought. The agony was explosive. Flashes floated in her vision.
A cretin who smelled of gin dragged her backward, ticking a chiding sound in her ear. “Now, now, Miss Lockhart,” he whispered. “Feelin’ poorly, eh? Time to take ye home. His lordship wouldnae care to have his sister speaki
n’ to strangers.”
Kate smoothed her hands over her gray wool bodice and cringed. “Are all your gowns this stiff, or have you decided I should be dreadfully uncomfortable for my foray into domestic service?”
Janet laughed and pinned a white cap over Kate’s hair. “The wool isnae so fine as what ye’re accustomed to, but ye’ll fit right in, mistress. Just dinnae say aught other than ‘aye, sir’ or ‘no, madam,’ and ye’ll be fine.”
Kate rehearsed her lines for a few more minutes while Janet tied her apron in place. Next came the white kerchief tucked into her neckline and a black hooded cloak for warmth. She blew out a breath and retrieved her reticule. “Remember, not a word to my husband. If I’m wrong, I do not wish him to ever know what I’ve been doing. Promise me.”
Janet smiled and retied the cloak, forming a perfect bow. “What ye’re doin’ for him is … ’tis a splendid gift, Mrs. MacPherson.”
Warmth suffused her. Impulsively, she hugged her maid. “Thank you for helping, Janet. I love him. I would do anything for his happiness.”
Embracing her with a pat, Janet chuckled. “Aye, and he’s mad for ye; that much is plain.” She pulled back and retrieved a length of coppery tartan wool from the chair nearest her dressing table. “Now, dinnae forget yer scarf.” Janet fussed with the folds before giving her reticule a dubious glance. “‘Tis a wee bit fine for a maid.”
“Oh.” Kate held it aloft. “Do you think so?” It was embroidered with an elaborate thistle design in gold and black thread on black silk velvet. She’d purchased it on her shopping excursion with Broderick several days earlier.
“Here.” Janet retrieved Kate’s brooch to pin the reticule to the lining of her cloak. “Now it willnae show.” She found a pair of plain deerskin gloves and handed them to Kate.
Kate realized she’d been twisting her wedding ring around her finger again. Lately, she’d been preoccupied with the knot design, which matched her brooch. For some reason, the metal sometimes felt overwarm, as it did now.
“It belonged to his mam, ye ken,” Janet said.
Startled, Kate paused before donning her left glove. “Th-the ring?”
“Aye.” She smiled and tapped the central knot, which swirled in an infinite pattern. “Her father—Mr. MacPherson’s grandfather—was a metalsmith. He made it for her. Had a wee touch of the sight, some say. All I ken is my mam said she wore it ’til the day she died.”
Emotion choked her. She’d thought Broderick had purchased the least expensive ring he could find. Instead, he’d given her one he considered precious.
A knock sounded. “We dinnae have all day, Katie-lass,” grumbled Alexander. All the brothers had started calling her by Annie’s endearment. It made her feel part of the family. “Campbell will only keep Broderick occupied ’til four.”
It was not yet eight in the morning, but still, he was right. They had a great deal to do and not much daylight to get it done. “Wish me luck,” she murmured to Janet, who sent her off with a reassuring grin.
Kate and Alexander met Rannoch in the entrance hall and, together, they climbed into the coach. As she settled into place, Alexander rattled off his instructions. “Let’s be clear on one thing, lass. Ye’re nae to do anythin’ risky. Ye go in, pose as Rannoch’s maid, ask yer questions, and leave. That’s it. Dinnae linger. Dinnae stray too far from Rannoch. In and out, that quick. Ye ken?”
Nervousness fizzed in her stomach. Nodding, she sat back and watched the streets pass as they made their way toward the orphan hospital.
For the past week, Rannoch and Alexander had done as she’d asked, retracing their steps to verify whether Magdalene Cuthbert was dead, as they’d thought, or alive, as she suspected.
Two days ago, the brothers had found Kate in the morning room shortly after Broderick departed for a meeting in Leith. Rannoch’s eyes had flashed with excitement. “We have somethin’, Katie-lass. Could be nothin’. But it might be somethin’.”
Exasperated, she’d prompted, “Well, tell me.”
“The woman found near the kirk was a prostitute.”
Alexander had nodded, looking dreadfully weary. “We questioned the minister again, and somethin’ didnae seem right. He admitted he recognized a birthmark she had in a …” He’d rubbed the back of his neck. “Delicate location.”
Setting aside precisely how a minister acquired such intimate knowledge of a prostitute’s body, this meant there was no reason to believe Magdalene was dead. Which meant they must find her.
Kate had called in Janet to help, quizzing the maid about how a woman recently imprisoned for theft might find domestic employment without references, funds, friends, or the use of her real name.
“Och, that’s a riddle,” Janet had mused. “Is this for yer story?”
After Kate explained about Magdalene, Janet had suggested eliminating finer households from their search. “She’ll find better luck with the middlin’ ones. The sculleries always need lasses.” Finally, she’d asked whether Magdalene had “kin,” which had reminded Kate that Magdalene had been raised in an orphanage here in Edinburgh. If anyone at the orphanage remembered Magdalene, they might know where she would go to find shelter, support, and employment.
Janet had cautioned them against revealing too much in their search for Magdalene. “Even scullery positions arenae easy to land. If anybody discovers she’s a thief, that’ll be the end of her. Best ye avoid drawin’ too much attention, fine lady that ye are.”
“Perhaps I could pose as a maid asking after a friend,” Kate had suggested. Predictably, Rannoch and Alexander had argued it wasn’t safe for Kate to accompany them, but she’d pointed out they were both too big and intimidating to do anything other than frighten their best sources of information. Upon hearing several excellent Shakespeare quotes about underestimating women, they’d conceded, and the current plan had been set.
Now, as they came to a halt in front of the rambling stone building that housed the orphan hospital, Kate recalled why she’d never trod the boards at Drury Lane. Her face was already hot.
Rannoch disembarked first, tugging at his fine blue coat and extending a hand like a proper gentleman. With a trembling smile, she accepted his assistance and stepped down onto the muddy lane.
“Ye dinnae have to say anythin’,” he murmured. “As far as they ken, ye’re my maid, helpin’ me search for more maids.”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
A line of small boys marched past carrying buckets. Their little faces were drawn and serious. Kate’s heart squeezed when she saw one dark-haired boy, in particular, frowning fiercely as he struggled to raise his bucket to his chin. Would Broderick’s sons look similar? She longed to find out.
Rannoch led her inside, where a young woman with spectacles took his name and left to fetch the matron of the orphanage. Inside, the place felt cavernous with a resounding echo, high ceilings, and polished wood floors. It smelled of vinegar, beeswax, and oats.
The matron—a short, round-cheeked woman with red hands and pinched lips—arrived moments later. Her name was Mrs. Hogg, and she seemed remarkably averse to “subjecting my lassies to interrogation.”
Rannoch glanced around with a wry expression. “Isnae yer purpose to place these lasses with an employer?”
“Aye,” Mrs. Hogg retorted with a sniff. “But I dinnae favor placin’ them in the home of an unmarried man such as yerself.”
“That’s why I brought my current maid.” He tugged Kate forward. “Miss Rosalind. She’ll be helpin’ me interview the lasses.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed upon Kate. “How long have ye worked for Mr. MacPherson?”
Kate swallowed. “Three years?”
“Are ye askin’ or sayin’?”
“Saying?” Blast. Her cheeks were afire and her voice an octave higher than normal.
Rannoch flashed one of his wicked grins at the matron. Good God, the man could flirt with anyone. “Aye, she does grand work, too.
My cravats have never been starchier.” He angled his head in a cajoling way. “Alas, there is but one Miss Rosaline.”
“Rosalind,” Kate murmured beneath her breath. She’d selected the name of the heroine from As You Like It, who disguised herself as a young man. The boldness of the choice had seemed brilliant at the time.
“I plan to elevate her to housekeeper.”
“Oh, that’s clever,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“But I cannae do so until her duties are delegated to a proper staff.”
“Excellent improvisation,” she breathed.
The matron glared at both of them, evidently immune to Rannoch’s charm. “I’ve four lasses of age to take positions. Two are fourteen, two thirteen.” She glared hard at Kate. “Ye may speak to them. Come.” The last word was a bark issued with authority.
Kate and Rannoch started to follow the woman, but Mrs. Hogg spun and pointed at him. “Ye’ll stay there.”
He frowned. “As their potential employer, I must insist—”
“Ye may stay there, or ye may leave.”
Kate flashed wide, pleading eyes at Rannoch. She could see his reluctance to let her go alone, but this might be her only chance to garner confidences from the orphanage’s employees. He nodded, and she mouthed a “thank you” before dashing to catch up with Mrs. Hogg.
“So, Mrs. Hogg. How long have you worked here?”
“Two years. Are ye lookin’ to hire me, with all these questions?”
Kate blinked. She’d only asked one.
“I ken what’s what.” The matron sniffed. “He’s a braw man. Many lasses would do the same.”
Frowning, Kate scrambled to keep up both figuratively and literally. Mrs. Hogg walked at a grueling pace. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
“He wants to make ye his mistress but doesnae want to pay for separate quarters. Take my advice, Miss Ross.”
“It—it’s Rosalind.”
“Men that bonnie dinnae marry their housekeepers. Ye’d do well to find a new position before he leaves ye with a bastard in yer belly. We’ve too many of those here already.”