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In 1869 Edinburgh, houses like Gray’s have gas lighting. Great, right? So says anyone who has never experienced Victorian-era gaslights. Oh, it’s a damn sight better than candles and oil lamps, which are also still in use, but the wavering, harsh illumination of gas means everything is lit wrong, and it’s always too much or too little.
The other problem with Victorian lighting is that it’s not as cheap, plentiful, and safe as electric. That’s a security issue as well as a comfort one. If there are lamps at the rear entrance, they’re certainly notleft burning all night. The only light comes from the moon, and it’s just enough to illuminate a figure standing at the back door.
I presume that figure is McCreadie. He lost his target and arrived here ahead of us. Still, I slow and catch the back of Gray’s jacket. Gray keeps striding forward, which tells me itmustbe McCreadie… until skirts swish with a rustle of fabric.
A woman steps from the doorway.
“The key, Duncan. Where have you moved the key?”
Even in the dark, I know it’s not Isla. Yes, this woman is also tall, and Islawouldsay those words, but with affectionate exasperation.Where—my dear absentminded genius of a brother—have you put the key this time?These words are instead clipped with genuine annoyance.
The woman steps into the moonlight. She’s older than Isla. Raven haired with a generous figure, a handsome face, and snapping blue eyes. For a split second, I wonder whether it’s a lover of Gray’s, maybe even the mysterious Lady Inglis.
I’d found a letter from Lady Inglis in my room. Catriona had stolen it for blackmail, the letter being what one might call “correspondence of an intimate nature.” Basically, a former lover of Gray’s was trying to tempt him back to her bed. She seems to have failed so far, which could explain that snap in her voice.
I can’t imagine any woman who knew Gray would show up at his house, though. More than that, when I look closer, there is something in her face that reminds me of both Isla and Gray.
The woman snaps her fingers. “Duncan? Are you even listening to me?” She stops and turns her gaze my way. “Is that yourhousemaid? Are you actually dallying in the stables with a servant? I am not certain whether to be horrified or smug that you have finally toppled off your high horse.”
“I am quite certain you can manage to be horrified and smug at the same time, Annis,” he says. He turns to me. “Mallory, this is my eldest sister, Annis.”
“Half sister,” Annis says. “And I have met your little housemaid several times. Now, where is the key, Duncan? If you have moved it, so that I may not access my own family home—”
“I would not do that. If it is not where Isla keeps it, then she has taken it. You need only to ring the front bell, Annis.”
“I did, and that gorgon of a housekeeper pretended she did not see me.”
Score a point for Mrs. Wallace.
Annis turns to me. “Run along, girl. I have business with your employer.”
I glance at Gray.
“What are you looking at him for?” she snaps. “I gave you an order.”
“Yes, buthe’smy boss.”
Her face darkens. “I am just as much your boss as he is, considering that your wages are earned by cleaning my family home and paid by my family’s fortune.”
I turn my back to her. “Sir? We really do need to see to that injury you sustained.”
“Injury?” Annis peers at him. “So that is fresh blood, and not merely bodily fluids that you forgot to wash away before venturing into public?”
I open my mouth to defend him, but she has a point, so I only say, “Sir?”
“I ought to take care of the injury,” he says. “It may require stitching.”
“And it definitely requires disinfecting,” I say. “Lord knows what was on that bottle.”
“You were stabbed with a bottle?” Annis says. “Do I even want to know—? No. I donotwant to know why you’re skulking about with the housemaid. I donotwant to know why you were stabbed. I donotwant to know how these two things might be related. As for your injury, Duncan, as you do not seem to be in immediate danger of death, it will need to wait. I am not on your doorstep at midnight for a social visit. I require your assistance.”
“He really does need to stitch—” I begin.
“Do you let her talk like that? Interrupt her betters?”
Gray says mildly, “I believe you are the one who interrupted her, Annis. As for being her betters, we were actually debating that earlier. We have decided that, as Mallory comes from a middle-class family, while we may be her employers, we are not her social superiors.” He pauses. “That is a terrible way to put it, as if we would be hersuperiorsby dint of being born into—”
“Stop,” Annis says. “You are starting to sound like Mother and Isla.”
