“Yes. There have been three other thefts that we’re aware of, and they all happened in the same manner,” Gage replied, sitting very straight in his chair. I suddenly realized how very discomfited he felt. He was clearly not used to presenting himself in grimy clothes while sporting a rather ghastly multicolored contusion across one side of his face. I suspected Gage’s carefully cultivated appearance was as much a form of armor as chain mail and a breastplate. Or perhaps he was worried he would not be taken seriously. Lord Fleming was frowning quite fiercely.
He asked his lordship to provide us with the details of the disturbance of his grandfather’s grave, and Lord Fleming obliged.
Apparently, the minister of Beckford’s tiny parish church often walked the perimeter of the churchyard walls in the morning as he said his prayers. Four mornings past, he had noticed the disturbance of the ground over the late Lord Fleming’s grave. He’d contacted the current lord, and when the grave was examined, it was discovered that the body inside was missing, though all of his clothing and personal effects had been left behind.
“You’re certain nothing was taken?” Gage asked.
Lord Fleming nodded. “Yes.”
“What of the watchman? We were led to believe that you’ve had some trouble with body snatchers operating in the area.”
He sighed wearily and glanced at his wife. “Aye, our parish has seen its share of trouble from the resurrectionists. The watchman admitted to falling asleep in the watchtower. He claimed the most recent body buried there was two weeks old, so he figured there would be no trouble that night. That he hadn’t counted on the men going after an old grave.”
Gage’s expression was doubtful. “Is his story feasible? How far from the watchtower does your grandfather’s grave rest?”
“It’s in the opposite corner. Far enough away that it’s possible.”
Possible or not, I knew Gage and I would be speaking to this watchman.
Two pretty young housemaids appeared then, carrying a tray of tea and another filled with cakes and sandwiches. Then just as swiftly, they departed. Lady Fleming slid forward to serve while Gage resumed his questioning.
“How often has the parish churchyard been disturbed by these resurrectionists, I assume from Edinburgh?”
Lord Fleming’s head tilted to the side, dislodging a dark lock of hair pushed back from his forehead. “Or Glasgow. It’s been a year, maybe two, since we last saw any trouble from them, and that last time they were run off by the man on watch. But it’s hard to say how often we actually received visits from them before that. The people in this area like to tell tales about their encounters with these men, and after a while it’s not always easy to differentiate fact from fiction.”
Lady Fleming nodded in agreement as she handed first Gage and then me our tea. “People will make up the most ridiculous stories.”
“Some even claim that my grandfather’s brother worked with the resurrectionists, and when he was found out, he supposedly hid here in a dark closet for three months until he could escape on a ship to the Continent. While it’s true that my great-uncle studied medicine in Edinburgh, he wasn’t assisting body snatchers, and he sailed for America, not the Continent, to serve during the American War of Independence.”
I sipped my tea, grateful for its warmth and rich aroma, and refrained from informing them that if his great-uncle had been a medical student in Edinburgh, it was very likely he’d had something to do with the resurrectionists, even if it was only utilizing the fresh corpses they peddled to the anatomists and the schools.
“But really,” Lady Fleming said, flicking her head to move her blond curls out of her eyes as she sat upright again. “I’m sure Lady Darby knows far more about these men and their activities than we do.” Her voice was almost indifferent, but her gaze was razor sharp as she stared at me over the rim of her teacup.
That might be true, but I certainly wasn’t going to allow that remark to pass without some kind of comment. “Actually, I’ve never met a resurrectionist,” I replied with a good-natured smile, and then, for the sake of complete honesty, added, “That I’m aware of.”
Lady Fleming’s eyes began to narrow, but Gage spoke up before she could say anything else.
“Do you know if your grandfather was acquainted with the late Lord Buchan, Sir Colum Casselbeck, or Ian Tyler of Woodslea?”
“Are those the other victims?” Lord Fleming asked, balancing his tea saucer on his knee.
“Yes.”
His gaze shifted to the wall over Gage’s head as he frowned in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was acquainted with them all. Certainly Lord Buchan, with their estates being so close to one another.”
“Was he by chance a member of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland?”
Lord Fleming turned to look at his wife. “Yes, I believe he was. But what have they to do with anything?”
Gage swallowed the tiny piece of cake he’d popped into his mouth before replying. “Perhaps nothing. But they’re the only connection we’ve been able to find so far between all of the men. However, I’ve been led to believe that membership was not so uncommon among men of their age.” He took a sip of tea. “Have you been contacted by a Mr. Lewis Collingwood?”
“I don’t believe so,” he replied hesitantly, glancing at his wife again, who shook her head. “Is he a suspect?”