Gage’s eyes were also bright with the knowledge of our new discovery. “I don’t know. But I would certainly find that interesting.”
“We know the Tylers’ cousin Mr. Fergusson was having money trouble. And Alana mentioned a second nephew to the eleventh Earl of Buchan who may have felt he was cheated out of his fair share of the inheritance.”
“A Mr. Erskine.”
I nodded. “What if the two of them teamed up with Lord Shellingham? Perhaps they thought this would be a quick, harmless way of making some money. No one gets hurt, except their dead relatives.”
“That is, until Dodd got shot.”
I frowned. “Yes. But I would guess they didn’t expect that. They hired a group of Edinburgh criminals to do their dirty work, never anticipating it could go so wrong.”
I recalled Shellingham’s miserable expression the morning after at breakfast. Had he overimbibed because it was Hogmanay, or because he was trying to forget something awful? Mr. Young, on the other hand, had been skittish. Had he known what his cousin was involved in? Was he part of it, too?
“I can’t recall either Mr. Erskine or Mr. Fergusson being at the Hogmanay Ball,” I remarked. “But perhaps they were staying elsewhere nearby.”
“Yes. I imagine Mr. Erskine was the least eager to be seen. He probably stayed at an inn, possibly under an assumed name.” Gage’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “But we’re making an awful lot of assumptions. We need to look into their finances. Then ask around to discover where they were on the dates of all three thefts. Perhaps they didn’t all need to be near the area, but I imagine at least one of them was.”
I turned to stare out the window at the dark waters of the Firth of Forth, visible to the right of the carriage as we turned back toward Edinburgh. “We could have questioned Lord Shellingham while we were there.”
Gage shook his head, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated something. “It’s too soon. We don’t have enough information, and if he guesses we’re suspicious of him, it might make things more difficult. It’s best he remains oblivious for the time being.”
“They already know we’re investigating.”
“Yes. But they don’t know who.”
I nodded, acceding his point.
“We also need to question this Lewis Collingwood. I don’t like how often his name has arisen during this investigation.”
I agreed. “Shall we pay him a visit this afternoon?”
Gage looked up from his scrutiny of the burgundy seat cushion. “Actually, I’ve arranged a visit with several current members of the Society of Antiquaries. I thought they might be able to shed some light on this issue of Collingwood’s torc, and tell me more about our three victims.”
He was right. They might have some very useful information for us. Not to mention being able to explain why Collingwood was so determined that one of its members had stolen the torc.
However, I had another destination in mind.
“Then, if you agree, I’d like to share what we’ve uncovered with Philip. He might have some ideas we haven’t thought of. And I’d also like to ask him about Bonnie Brock’s suggestion that we’re looking in the wrong place. That something unsavory in the victims’ pasts connects them.”
“Brock’s words are more than likely lies. Meant to distract us,” Gage groused.
I suspected that was his black eye talking more than his common sense. “Yes, well, I think we should at least consider it.”
His scowl turned blacker, but he didn’t argue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When I returned to the town house, Philip was alone in his study. He was seated behind his desk, head bent over a book of ledgers, his large hand gripping a quill. I rapped lightly on the door frame.
“Kiera,” he murmured with a cautious smile, likely remembering the way I had stalked angrily out of this very room last night.
“Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.”
I gently shut the door behind me, before moving forward to perch on the edge of one of the red chairs facing his desk. Much like the red chairs in his study at Gairloch Castle. I’d never made the correlation before.
He waited expectantly, his hands folded before him.
“It’s about the investigation.”
It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw his shoulders relax. What dreadful topic he thought I was going to pursue, I didn’t know, but it distracted me for a moment.
“How can I help?”
I explained about my conversation with Bonnie Brock. About his claims that something in Ian Tyler of Woodslea, Sir Colum Casselbeck, and Lord Buchan’s shared past was the reason for the thefts and ransoms of their remains. That they had been the real villains, and not as friendly to Scotland as one would think.
Philip sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he gave the matter some thought.
“Do you have any idea what he might have been hinting at?”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”