“Yes.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve ne’er heard o’ the like.” She tipped her head to the side. “’Course, there was that incident wi’ ole Mr. McCraig. Ye’ve heard o’ it?”
We nodded, having just come from hearing the details at the Abbot Inn.
“Aye. Well, apparently, because o’ that, I have the unique distinction of havin’ prepared the same body twice for burial.” She scoffed. “As if that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”
The kettle began to whistle and Mrs. Moffat rose to pour its contents into the teapot. “Have they found him then?” she called over her shoulder.
“Uh, no. And if they do, it’s unlikely your services will be needed.”
“I figured no’. The man’d be nothin’ but bones.” She set the teapot down on the table. “So what is it ye wish to ask me?”
“Do you remember what was buried with him?” I asked, suddenly hopeful this efficient woman would be able to give us an answer to this question once and for all.
She nodded decisively. “I do. Keep a record o’ all my clients’ effects, doon to the buttons on their shirts.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally.
“I’ll be happy teh fetch the list for ye soon as we’ve had our tea.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure,” she replied and then asked how I liked my tea.
Once we were all settled back with our cups, she turned to regard me again. “Was there an item in particular you’re curious aboot?”
I smiled. Mrs. Moffat missed nothing. I imagined she’d make quite a formidable investigator herself, if she ever tired of preparing bodies for burial.
“There is.” I set my cup down in its saucer with a clink. “I know this may sound odd. But was the earl buried with any unusual jewelry? A gold torc, perhaps?”
Mrs. Moffat began to laugh. “Lore, that is somethin’ his lordship would do.” Clearly she understood the jewelry’s implication. She shook her head and giggled once more, as if imagining the deceased earl wearing a torc. She cleared her throat. “But nay, m’lady. The only jewelry I placed in the coffin wi’ him was a stickpin and a gold watch. I’ll check my records to be certain, but I’m fair sure. And I’d certainly remember a torc.”
I nodded and took another sip of tea, staring at Gage across the table. If the earl wasn’t buried with the torc, then just what were the body snatchers looking for? Did they truly only come for his bones? It made no sense to me.
“Although,” Mrs. Moffat mused, interrupting my thoughts. Her mouth pursed. “That disna necessarily mean he wasna buried in it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, once I was finished, the coffin was taken to Dryburgh House and reopened for the viewing before the funeral. Someone could o’ put it on him then.”
So, truly, we had no way of knowing. Perhaps Mrs. Moffat and the earl’s nephew had not placed the torc in the coffin with him, but the old earl could have entrusted the task to a servant or friend. There was no way of knowing for sure unless we tracked down every person who had viewed the body before the burial, and even then there was no guarantee they would tell the truth.
Gage and I thanked Mrs. Moffat, taking the list of the late earl’s effects she’d copied for us to compare with those that had been found, but just from a glance, I could tell there was nothing missing. Nothing but the earl’s bones.
“Well, this is proving to be a fruitless excursion,” I griped.
“Not necessarily,” Gage replied with infuriating calm.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if the late earl was buried with a torc, it was done with some sort of subterfuge. Which makes it more likely that Collingwood’s claim is true. Or else, why hide it?”
“Yes. But that only matters if it was, in fact, buried with him. How are we going to find that out?”
“Patience. There’s still much to discover.”
I considered throwing my boot at his head.
? ? ?