“From what I understand, it’s very common,” I replied softly. “After all, theft of property, whether from the living or the dead, is a more serious crime than merely snatching a body. Or at least, according to common law, it is.” I took another step closer to the edge of the grave, trying to get a better look at its contents. Trevor stepped up next to me, wrapping his hand around my upper arm to steady me and pull me back. “A grave robber who steals something as simple as a corpse’s waistcoat can be sentenced to death or transportation. A body snatcher only faces a fine or a short imprisonment if he’s caught.”
“But why?” Lord Buchan demanded, his hooked nose quivering in indignation. “Why would they steal his body, his bones, and not take his effects? What could they possibly be worth?”
He was right. It didn’t seem to make any sense. The eleventh Earl of Buchan’s discarded fine-woven suit, silk waistcoat, and gold pocket watch alone would have fetched more than fifty pounds. I wasn’t currently aware of any market for stolen bones. Maybe the teeth could have been made into dentures. Or the smaller bones of the hands and feet into trinkets. But what did they propose to do with an entire skeleton?
And why this skeleton? Why this graveyard? There were plenty of other cemeteries less conspicuous and easier to reach. And for that matter, plenty of other graves that were easier to dig up, even in this graveyard. I could see from the scuff marks and the gap in the earth above the coffin that the Earl of Buchan’s enormous headstone must rest partially over the grave, which made it difficult for the robbers to get to the top of the coffin. They’d been forced to dig a foot of earth out from the bottom of the coffin and shift the entire thing backward in order to open it. That had not been a simple feat of manual labor, and had risked the stability of the gravestone.
It seemed someone had wanted to get into this grave in particular. But why? If they hadn’t come for his effects . . .
“Do you know for certain they didn’t take anything but your uncle’s bones?” I questioned Lord Buchan. He blinked at me in confusion. “Do you remember everything that was buried with him?”
He stared down into the grave, his brow wrinkled in thought. “I . . . I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I would need to think about it.”
“It’s not written down anywhere?” I pressed.
“It might be.”
“We need to find out. Perhaps these men did take something else. Something you’ve forgotten about.” I frowned. “Though, I still can’t see why they would take the bones. Unless it was to confuse us.”
I looked to Willie to see that he had been observing our conversation in silence, his gaze still trained on the empty grave. Though, from their tortured expression, his eyes seemed to be seeing something else.
“It seems very likely that whoever dug up Lord Buchan’s grave also shot Dodd.”
Willie’s gaze rose to meet mine.
“That’s not to say it’s impossible that someone else did it. But it seems impractical to suggest otherwise, given the fact that Dodd was coming here to investigate a suspicious light, and he pointed Willie toward it when he arrived to help. And these men clearly left in a hurry . . .” I gestured to the disturbed earth “. . . leaving the grave exposed and their shovels behind.” Most body snatchers at least attempted to cover up their crimes.
Trevor turned to Uncle Andrew and Lord Buchan. “Do either of you know who these grave robbers might have been?”
Lord Buchan shook his head.
“I can check my magistratical records and speak with my colleagues,” Uncle Andrew replied, his eyes troubled. “But I must say, I haven’t the slightest idea who might have done this.”
I nodded, sympathizing with his obvious distress. My uncle and I might not be close, but I knew how seriously he took his responsibilities. The fact that a murder and body snatching had occurred in his jurisdiction, and on the same night, would never sit well with him.
“I suppose it will be difficult to keep this quiet,” Lord Buchan said.
After Willie’s frantic arrival at the Hogmanay Ball with the first-footer, it would be nigh impossible. But Uncle Andrew only replied solemnly, “I’m afraid so.”
“Although we can endeavor to keep the details quiet,” I suggested, looking at each of the men in turn, including Willie. “It would help with the ensuing investigation.”
I could see my estimation rise even higher in my uncle’s eyes. “Kiera’s correct, of course. There’s no need for any of us to speak of specifics with anyone who isn’t authorized to have the information.”
“True.” Buchan nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Darby, you are acquainted with Captain Lord Gage, are you not?”
I was stunned for a moment by his query. Though, in hindsight, I should have expected it. I fumbled for words. “I . . . have not had the honor. But I am acquainted with his son.”
“Acquainted” was perhaps too innocuous a word for what lay between us, but I was not about to explain that to these gentlemen.
“I’ve heard that Lord Gage sometimes assists the king and his high-placed friends when they find themselves in . . .” he arched his eyebrows significantly “. . . troubling circumstances.”
“Yes,” I replied, letting him know I understood what he meant. “Troubling” could be used to describe anything as simple as a gambling debt or as serious as the murder of one’s mistress. “As does his son.”