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“She is very well educated, as her diction proves. Her accent suggests time spent in both the West Indies and France, as well as England. Also the boy is a relative. They share the same chin and similar eyes. He has likely been raised in close proximity to her, as he emulates many of her gestures.”
“Nice.”
“And you?” he says. “What did she tell you without meaning to?”
I glance over.
He continues, “I am rather adept at observing and interpreting my surroundings. You do the same with people. She unwittingly revealed that she knows Annis. What else?”
“You’re right about the boy. I didn’t pick up the chin, but I noticed the eyes and gestures. When she talked about him, her tone was exasperated affection. As for Queen Mab, she’s worried. That’s why she brought us in. She’s concerned enough to take a risk in hopes your reputation is deserved and you can be trusted. She definitely knows Annis. I think she knows one of the other women and fears she also knows the third, possibly under an alias. That puts Queen Mab in a bad spot. She’s a woman of color who makes a very good living at a dubious trade. Could she be the link? Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she supplied the poison.”
“If she lied about knowing what thallium is, because she fears one of her associates or servants supplied it in her stead.”
“Possibly. Her confusion seemed real, though. The more likely link would be if one or more of these women asked her for poison and she refused, and someone else—possibly a rival—got word of it and offered their services. In short, I don’t think Queen Mab provided the poison, but I do think she has very good reason to worry about being blamed.”
TWENTY-THREE
I know we should go directly to the town house. It’s late, and we barely got two hours of sleep last night. But I don’t want to go back yet. I really don’t. The New Town streets are deserted, and it’s a gorgeous night, clear and warm. Gray is relaxed and open, and I don’t want to break this spell. I want to tread every empty street and talk, just talk.
When the silence is broken by the sound of a distant quarrel, I pause, but it’s just two drunken men arguing about a horse race.
Gray touches my shoulder. “Let us take another route and avoid that unpleasantness.”
We look around. My gaze catches on the Scott Monument, rising above buildings to our left.
Gray follows my gaze. “Does that still stand in your time?”
I smile. “It does, and I’ve gone up a couple of times. What I really wanted was to sneak up at night, but it’s too locked down for that.”
“Would you like to sneak up now?”
When I hesitate, his gaze empties as that portcullis starts to fall.
“I’d love to,” I blurt. “I just know how late it is and how little sleep you got last night, so I don’t want to impose.”
“It is hardly an imposition if I asked you, Mallory,” he says, his voice cool, as if suspecting this is an excuse.
I want to curse at him for being so damn prickly. Instead, I find myself saying, “I really would love to, if it’s okay with you. I was justthinking what a gorgeous night it is, and how much I’d like to stay out longer.”
He relaxes. “All right then. Let us climb the monument.”
We are at the top platform of the monument, with panoramic views of the city. I lean out and look over Edinburgh, my eyes slitted against the breeze, a little sharper up here. After a moment, Gray moves up beside me. He comes as close as he can without actually touching me as he looks out, and we stand there for a few minutes in silence, taking in the view.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Different from your time?”
“Some of it. I would still see the castle and Calton Hill. The Old Town is still separated from the New by the Mound, but there’s not the economic demarcation—there are good and not-so-good areas on both sides. Most of the nearby buildings look the same. They’re heritage buildings, so they can’t be torn down, although that one there on Princes”—I point—“is just a shell in my day. An American technology billionaire got around the rules by gutting it and raising a modern building inside. Then there’s a hotel being built over there in the shape of a yellow coil. People are already calling it the golden turd.”
He laughs softly at that.
“Most modern buildings are off in the distance. During the day, the biggest difference you’d see here is that the streets are full of cars. At night, the biggest difference would be the illumination. Even at this time, you’d look out on a sea of lights.”
“That must be very pretty.”
“It is… if you’re looking down. But lights mean light pollution, and you lose the night sky. You still have that here.” I gaze up, smiling at the constellations. “As pretty as lights can be, I prefer the stars. Your view is definitely the better one.”
He says nothing, but in that silence, I feel the weight of questions. When I glance over, he’s looking out, his gaze on the treetops below.
