“What happened that evening? Did she sneak out?”
Now that we’d gotten her talking, she seemed happy to relieve herself of the secret, to tell her side of the story.
She narrowed her eyes. “I watched her all night, like a hawk. But at some point a lass’s gotta . . .” she waved her hand, trying to find polite words “. . . take care o’ things.”
I nodded. And a servant couldn’t very well use her employer’s chamber pot. She would have to go down to the servants’ quarters or outside to the privy.
“When I got back to her room, she was gone. Well, you can believe what a dither I was in.” She shook her finger at us. “I ken the girl was up to no good. And I’d a good guess where she was goin’. I kent she’d seen Mr. Young at the abbey that morn, even though she’s no’ supposed to talk to him. I took off doon the river path, ready to drag that girl home by her hair if need be.”
I wouldn’t have blamed her. “Did you catch up with her?”
She lifted her chin. “Aye. Just afore that accursed bridge. She fought me, but I told her ’tweren’t no way I was gonna let her run off like that. That she’d regret it forever.” She sniffed. “No’ that she’d regret losin’ her father. But she’d regret losin’ his money.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gage’s lips twitch.
Peggy shook her head, seeming to relive the anger she’d felt that night, and then she leaned forward. “In any case, that’s when we heard the gunshot. Miss Alice didna want to believe me, but I’ve heard guns fired afore. ’Tis no’ easily forgotten. And there were some sort o’ lights o’er at the abbey. I told the lass that her suitor might no’ be bright, but even he wouldna be daff enough to make such a commotion when he was plannin’ to skulk off wi’ her.”
“Did you see anyone?” Gage asked.
She shook her head. “Nay. I hurried us away from there afore trouble found us.”
Under the circumstances, that was probably the smartest thing she could’ve done. She’d probably saved her charge from a very unhappy fate. Had Miss Musgrave stumbled upon the body snatchers thinking it was Mr. Young, who knows what they might have done to her.
But unfortunately, it didn’t help us.
Gage reached forward to pick up another package resting on the seat beside Peggy. Folding back the cloth, he showed her the fine pink muslin gown we’d found in the Chapter House at the abbey. “Does this belong to Miss Musgrave?”
Peggy’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Aye. Let me guess. You found it at the abbey?”
“Yes.”
Her jaw tightened and she shook her head slowly. “Why, that minx. She blamed me for losin’ it. ’Twas goin’ to be taken oot o’ my wages.”
Gage held the package out to her, but she pushed it back.
“Nay. You can keep it. It’s one o’ her favorites. Serves her right for doin’ such a fool thing. But you can bet she’s gonna hear all aboot this conversation, and how I convinced you no’ to go to Mr. Musgrave. She can just explain to her da’ how she lost that gown.”
I smiled and glanced at Gage. “Well, should you ever need us to go to Mr. Musgrave . . .”
She grinned back, and it brightened her features. “I’ll contact ye.”
? ? ?
It must have been fairly obvious how frustrated Gage and I felt about our progress in the investigation, but my uncle did not comment on it when we stopped by Clintmains Hall to give him an update and find out if he’d uncovered anything useful. The discovery that Young, Shellingham, and their friends had nothing to do with the body snatchings was a blow. Especially as we’d now spent several days pursuing it, allowing the trail to the real culprit to grow cold. Our remaining suspects for the plan’s instigator and ringleader were either in Edinburgh or destinations unknown, and the thugs they’d hired to do their dirty work had slunk off to wherever they hid between robberies.
“Lord Buchan wished me to convey his gratitude for your assistance in getting his uncle’s remains back,” Uncle Andrew informed us as he settled in the chair behind the desk in his study. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air. “And hopes you’ll both attend his uncle’s reinterment ceremony.”
“He hasn’t already been reburied?” I asked in some surprise.
“No. Lord Buchan is actually having one of the vaults at the abbey prepared, so his uncle can be buried beneath the stone floor there. Which will take some time, but should dissuade any further mischief.”
I shared a wide-eyed glance with Gage, recalling the Nun of Dryburgh’s presence in just such a vault the night we visited her, and her mysterious words. “I told you to be buried here. Where you’re safe. But you did not listen.”