AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“As Lord Leslie may also have done.” Gray runs his fingers over the fake mausoleum, the roof peak barely coming up to his forehead. “That is the thing about being a member of the gentry. I do not know whether it is different in your time, but here, people who are not part of those circles have a very skewed view of them.”
“They presume they’re all fabulously wealthy and terrifically clever, particularly when it comes to money.”
“Indeed. If an ordinary tradesman with a bit of money to invest caught wind of a scheme that had the attention of men like Lord Leslie and Lord Primrose?”
“Insider-trading tip.”
“I am not certain what that means, but in context, yes. They would only need to hear that such men had taken an interest—or invested a bit of money—and they would see a ripe opportunity.”
“Especially if the nobility seemed to be trying to keep it a secret. Blocking the middle classes from enjoying the opportunities that might elevate their own status.”
Gray lifts a finger. “Elevate theirfortunes.Not their status. That is quite another thing.”
“Damned British class system. Still, having money is a generational step up the ladder. It would help get their sons noticed by the gentry.”
“Better yet, their daughters.”
“Like Annis.” I pause. “I can’t imagine her getting mixed up in a scheme like this. If she did, the scam would be a lot less obvious.”
“Scam? I presume that is another word for fraud. Yes, if Annis was behind this, we would not have puzzled it out quite so readily.”
“Ifwe’ve puzzled it out,” I say. “It’s a theory. We need more.”
“Then let us speak to Hugh and see whether we can find this Mr. Fischer.”
THIRTY-FIVE
An hour later, I’m scrubbing Gray’s fireplace. It’s my own fault really. Okay, fine, it’s my ownchoice.I’ve sidelined myself from the next part of the investigation to get caught up on some of my chores, because there wasn’t enough detective work for four people and this next bit didn’t require my particular skills. In fact, as a visitor to this world, I was the least useful.
When we’d returned, we’d learned that Detective Crichton had managed to obtain a sample from Young’s cadaver, and Isla has already tested it. As expected, the results match those of Leslie and Ware. While Crichton is still arguing to exhume Burns, I’m not sure how much that will matter until we have a suspect. At some point, we’ll need to confirm Burns died the same way, to charge a suspect, but until then, we can proceed with the assumption he’s part of the scheme, pending evidence that he’s not.
The next step is forensic in nature. Forensic accounting, that is. Clara Burns provided the location of her former husband’s secret business papers. McCreadie found them and had them transported to the police office for reading. That’s what he’s doing, along with Gray and Isla, both having volunteered. Yes, literacy rates are good in Scotland, particularly in Edinburgh, but that doesn’t mean the average police constable can decipher business documents, especially when the documents might be written in a way that’ll obscure their true nature.
I managed to handle the search at Ware’s office, but it hadn’t been as easy as I expected. I don’t have the grounding in this world to understandeverything I’m reading when it gets into the complexities of the law or of business. Part of it is the time period and part of it is the locale. Even in the modern world, there’d be plenty of Scottish or British terminology that’d fly straight over my head.
So I opted to catch up on some chores, even when the others tried to convince me to nap instead. Not only did I graciously step aside from the investigation, but I gave up the chance to take a well-deserved rest. Impressive work ethic, huh? Well, no. It’s not as if I gave up the chance to track down or even interview a suspect. As for resting, I’d only lie in bed thinking, and I think better while my hands are busy.
I scrub and I think, and I pull together the pieces while resisting the urge to leap to conclusions. Leave all my options open and don’t get too heavily invested in any theory. Yes, I think we’re right about the fake cemetery, but we’re going to need a whole lot more to connect that to the other victims.
It’s past teatime when the others return with exactly the “more” we need. Proof that James Young, gravedigger, had indeed been involved with Andrew Burns’s burial plot scheme from a few years back. As a gravedigger, Young would have the inside track on people who were desperate for a “proper” kirkyard burial. Burns would get in touch and offer them a plot guaranteed six feet below ground in one of two kirkyards where Young worked. Young would clear the way to put the bodies in the promised spot… and then move them again when they needed to sell that spot to someone else.
We also get a lead on Fischer. Isla found his name in several of the files, as a young law clerk who’d started working with Burns a few years ago on what seems to be legitimate business. Well, legitimate as far as they can tell, but none of us is an expert in Victorian fraud. Isla knows someone who is, though she’s not saying more. She’ll talk to her contact for further information. I suspect it’s a former employee, one she took in and launched on a more respectable road. Meanwhile, McCreadie has dug up enough clues to start a proper search for Fischer.
“Any suggestions for me?” I say.
“For both of us,” Gray adds. “We can certainly find avenues of inquiry to pursue, but if you have anything in particular, Hugh, say the word.”
“The word is ‘sleep,’” Isla says. “You both desperately require it.”
Gray glances at me. “I was thinking of something somewhat more active, that Mallory and I could jointly pursue.”
“If you wish to jointly pursue sleep and make it more active, that is no concern of mine,” Isla says calmly as she bites into her scone.
McCreadie chokes on his tea.
Gray only shakes his head. “I see Mallory’s sense of humor is contagious.”
“Get some rest,” Isla says. “In your own beds. I will tell Mrs. Wallace we shall dine quite late this evening.”
