The butler appeared at that moment, interrupting the tense scene to announce luncheon. We all filed downstairs into the dining room, located at the front of the town house’s ground floor. A fire crackled in the hearth as we sat down to a meal of warm soup, cold chicken, and crusty bread. I sipped from my glass of white wine, feeling oddly misplaced.
The last time I’d sat down to a meal in this room had been the evening before I left for Blakelaw House after Will’s death. I turned now to stare blindly up at the painting on the wall above the hearth, trying to rebury the grief that was bubbling up inside me. I didn’t want to think about my lost friend, or any of the pain his passing had caused me. I just wanted to enjoy this meal. Or as much of it as I could stomach.
Philip had politely asked after Gage’s father, which Gage answered obscurely, as always, and then surprised us all by addressing the main issue at hand.
“So this Lewis Collingwood you wrote to me about,” Philip began, ripping off a chunk of bread and dunking it in his soup. “I believe I’ve found him.”
“Really?” I replied, glancing at my sister to figure out whether she had any idea what we were talking about. “Where?”
“Here in Edinburgh. At least for the time being. I can give you his direction. I assume you and Mr. Gage would like to speak with him.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Alana swirled her spoon around in her bowl. “Is this Mr. Collingwood a suspect?”
I couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice whether she was irritated or not.
“Yes. Or, at least, a person of some interest.”
She nodded and lifted the spoon daintily to her mouth.
“Cromarty, how well are you acquainted with the Tylers of Woodslea?” Gage asked.
Philip paused in reaching for another bit of bread. “Well enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
Gage quickly informed them of the connection we’d found between the three body snatchings for ransom, leaving out many of the pertinent details. We were eating luncheon, after all. “So I wondered if there was anything of interest we should know about the Tylers. Or whether you could think of any connection between the three men whose bodies were ransomed.”
Philip sat back in his chair, giving the matter some thought. “Well, I can tell you that Ian Tyler was a somewhat noted historian, and an avid supporter of Scottish music and poetry. He was a member of the Society of Antiquaries, likely a founding member.”
I leaned forward at that pronouncement, sharing a look with Gage. There was that group again. Why did it keep coming up?
Philip paused in his resuscitation of facts. “What?”
“The Society of Antiquaries. Lord Buchan and Sir Colum were also founding members,” Gage informed him.
“It’s not surprising. It was rather the rage at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, most Scotsmen of some rank wished to be a part of it. Much like being a member of the latest gentlemen club opening in London. Preserving Scotland’s heritage was suddenly au courant, regardless of your sympathies.”
Thirty-some-odd years following the Battle of Culloden, I could understand the titled gentlemen’s sudden wish to protect what was left of their homeland’s treasures.
“My father was even a member, albeit not a very active one.”
“So you think the fact that all three of these gentlemen were members of the society is not very significant?” Gage asked for clarification.
Philip shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
My shoulders sank in disappointment, but Gage didn’t appear quite so daunted.
“Even so, it could still be our answer to their connection, if someone was working from a list of old members.”
Like Lewis Collingwood.
Philip took a sip of his wine. “They could certainly expect most of the families on that list to have the income available to pay such a large ransom.”
“The immediate family anyway,” Alana remarked offhandedly.
Gage and I turned to her in curiosity, though Philip seemed to already know what or whom she was talking about.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Only that Mr. Fergusson, who’s a cousin or nephew or some kind of relation of the family, voiced quite a loud complaint about his limited income when he came of age last year. Claimed the family had cheated him of his fair share.”
“Yes. But you should know that this Mr. Fergusson also has a rather large gambling problem,” Philip added. “It’s difficult to know just how much he thought was a fair share, considering he’s rumored to have pockets to let.”
Alana gestured to her husband. “Precisely. Not your most reliable source.”
Maybe not, but it presented some interesting possibilities.
Had Mr. Fergusson orchestrated the body snatching of his relative in hopes of pocketing the ransom money? And if he was really in such deep debt as Philip insinuated, how long would that money last? Would he stoop to committing more body snatchings for ransom just to fund his gambling habit? I couldn’t say, but it was certain that if he had some part in the crimes, he wasn’t working alone. Maybe he’d hired Bonnie Brock’s crew of resurrectionists to disinter the bodies.