However, the last paragraph of Philip’s missive proved the most interesting. He had already uncovered a small bit of information about Dr. Sloane, and from an unexpected source—his servants. Apparently several of the housemaids had heard gossip about him from the servants in the neighboring town houses.
It appears Dr. Sloane has developed something of a fearful reputation for being interested in unusual subjects. Rumor has it that a young maid in a household on Princes Street was examined and taken up by Dr. Sloane because of her marked stammer and extreme shyness. Where this maid was said to have gone, and from which establishment she was to have come from, the maids could not say. I do not know if there is any way of verifying this information, but, regardless, this Dr. Sloane seems to be viewed by the servants as a figure to be feared.
I frowned, turning to stare at the tapestry that hung on the wall to my left as I considered Philip’s words, but the sight of Gage seated at the larger writing table in the opposite corner of the room made my thoughts pause. His arms were crossed over his chest and his face was tight with displeasure as he glared down at the letter on the desk in front of him where he had dropped it. He eyed it like an offensive piece of rubbish that he knew he must take care of but wished he could simply turn his back on and ignore. I couldn’t help but wonder whom it was from, and what it said that so aggravated him.
Determined to ignore him for the time being, I turned back to my own letter and took up a piece of parchment to pen a response. I expressed my relief to hear of their safe arrival and thanked him for the information about Dr. Sloane. Then I asked if Philip could also make a few inquiries about Donovan, particularly at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. The man’s insolence and sly manner had raised my hackles, even more so than Mac’s surly attitude and belligerent replies, and I wanted to be sure he was who he said he was.
I slipped the letter and its reply into the pocket sewn into the side of my pale green dinner dress trimmed with white lace and crossed the room to rejoin the others. Gage still sat at the desk in the corner struggling over a response to his own letter.
Michael had been explaining to his sister and her husband about our trip to Mr. Wallace that afternoon and Mr. Paxton’s theories about Mary Wallace’s disappearance.
“Oh, how awful,” Laura exclaimed, pressing her hand over her heart. “I can’t imagine how Mr. Wallace must be feeling. Does he think the constable’s theory might be correct?”
Michael’s gaze strayed to mine. “I received the impression he wasn’t ready to believe such a thing. Not yet, in any case. Not without proof.”
“Well, of course. I should think if it were my child I would want to be certain every possibility had been exhausted before I even considered such a thing. Who wants to believe their child is dead, especially by such horrible means?” She glanced at her husband. “I would rather think they were missing, no matter how anxious I was for their safety.”
We fell silent, considering her words.
Laura sighed. “So sad.” She tilted her head to the side in thought. “It reminds me of the Duke of Montlake’s daughter. Do you remember when she went missing . . . oh, it must be several years ago now?”
Michael nodded, but I shook my head, having been in London.
“It was big news, splashed all over the newspapers in Edinburgh, her being a duke’s daughter and all. Apparently she was taken from her home near St. Andrews in the middle of the night. Vanished without a trace. The duke searched far and wide for her, even offered a handsome reward for information regarding her whereabouts, but no credible source came forward. The old duke died last year, still without having found her. They say he died of a broken heart.”
“Could she have run off?” I asked. “Perhaps with a suitor her father had not approved of?”
Laura smiled grimly. “It’s not likely. Lady Margaret was the apple of her father’s eye. He doted on her so. I don’t think he would have denied her anything. And, in any case, she suffered from the falling sickness.”
I lifted my eyebrows in surprise.
“She rarely left her father’s estate, except to travel to Edinburgh once a year to replenish her wardrobe, and she confided in a mutual friend of ours once that she hated even to do that because the travel was certain to bring on the fits.”
“What do they think happened to her?” I asked, curious what could have befallen such a girl. If she had been kidnapped, certainly the culprits would have sent a ransom note.
“The authorities suggested she might have fallen into a hole or crawled into a cave while having a fit,” Lord Keswick replied.
And they had not been able to find her? I screwed up my mouth in response to that bit of ridiculousness.
“Or . . .” he glanced cautiously at his wife “. . . that she had been injured after being taken, either by her captors or because of a fit, and so the villains had never contacted the duke asking for her ransom.”