“It’s all right,” I said. “We just want to find out what happened to Dodd.” When he still didn’t answer, I prompted him. “Did the men who were digging in the grave shoot Dodd? Did he catch them in the act?”
“I dinna ken, m’lady,” he finally replied, lowering his head in shame. “Dodd said he saw lights o’er at the abbey and wanted to find oot what they were. But I told ’im he was seein’ things. Or else a group o’ merrymakers were out scarin’ themselves on Hogmanay. But he went to look anyway. An’ I let ’im go alone.” He scuffed his boot against the floor. “I was angry at ’im for makin’ me stay behind when everyone else was goin’ to the bonfire.”
“You heard the gunshot?” I guessed.
He nodded. “I . . . I was puttin’ our tools up—we’d been fixin’ a bit o’ fence doon by the river—when I heard it. ’Tweren’t very loud. Mare like a cracker. I went to see what it was, but by the time I found ole Dodd by the west door o’ the abbey, they was gone, whoever done it. And . . . and ole Dodd were hardly breathin’.” The boy swallowed loudly and swiped a grimy finger across his nose. “He pointed t’ward the graveyard—that’s how I ken to look there—and . . . and then he jus’ died.”
I offered him my handkerchief, but he shook his head, and lifted the hem of his already filthy shirt and wiped his nose.
I glanced at the others, who all listened with silent frowns. Lord Buchan, in particular, looked distressed, and I wondered how close he had been to his old caretaker.
“Willie,” the earl said, his voice rougher than it had been before, “run round to the bonfire and fetch Paxton. Tell him to ready the carriage.”
Willie nodded, holding his head a little higher, and bowed swiftly before dashing out the door.
Uncle Andrew moved to the door, catching it before it closed behind Willie, and beckoned his butler into the room. “Send one of the footmen to get Dr. Carputhers from the ceilidh at the bonfire,” I heard him murmur, and my heart sank. Evidently Uncle Andrew’s sensible nature had returned, and I could not argue. It should be a surgeon who examined Dodd’s body, not an anatomist’s widow with three years enforced instruction. The possibility should never have even entered my mind. The fact it had, and I hadn’t been as horrified by the possibility as I should have been, was somewhat surprising.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll join you,” Uncle Andrew told Lord Buchan as the butler left to do his bidding. “If there’s been foul play, as the lad suggested, then I’ll need to examine the evidence anyway.” As one of the county’s magistrates, Uncle Andrew ruled on many of the crimes in the region, though they were usually minor disputes between neighbors or petty thefts—nothing so serious as murder.
I turned to stare unseeing at one of the landscapes. I reached up to finger the amethyst pendant given to me by my mother that I almost always wore around my neck and wondered at my strange eagerness to assist. The past two investigations in which I had helped, I’d been compelled to take part only because my sister’s family and an old friend had been involved. They had needed and asked for my aid. Otherwise I never would have presumed, or even wished, to have anything to do with the inquiries. But I had discovered something in myself that apparently I wasn’t eager to dismiss, or have others dismiss for me.
I bit my lip, knowing in this instance there was nothing I could say. With family, I should have felt able to offer my help, but I knew Uncle Andrew. He would only flash me his disapproving frown and ignore my suggestion.
And after all, who was to say he wasn’t right? I wasn’t an inquiry agent, not like Mr. Gage or his father, Captain Lord Gage. Just because I had aided in two murder investigations didn’t mean I was qualified to conduct one alone. In any case, I was supposed to be distancing myself from things like murder and corpses. They would only remind people of my scandalous past and make my return to society more difficult.
It would be best for all if I was not involved.
Which was why I was so surprised when Uncle Andrew did address me. “Kiera,” he said, and then hesitated when I turned to look at him. I folded my hands demurely before me and waited, silently hoping he wouldn’t think better of whatever he was about to ask me.
And amazingly he didn’t.
He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “What do you think of all of this?”
“About Dodd and the disturbed grave?” I asked in clarification, lest I had missed something the gentlemen had discussed while my attention was focused elsewhere.
“Er, yes,” he replied, and rocked forward on his heels. “I only ask because . . . well . . . you . . .”
“Have some experience with this sort of thing,” I finished for him, sparing him the embarrassment of having to say it.