Page 78 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
“It’s possible, but unlikely.” Jennie made a notation on a sheet of paper. “If these deaths were indeed murders, the killer took pains to affect the appearance of an accident. In Mr. Garner’s case, his supposed suicide bears clear parallels to the attempt on Stanwyck’s life last night.”
Her words sent a shiver creeping along Sophie’s spine. Peculiar, how she’d remained calm and focused during the incident, but now, the thought of Gavin’s fate if she and Bertram had not happened along set her to trembling. She laced her fingers together and settled her hands in her lap, out of sight.
“Eversleigh and Fenshaw attended sittings with Lady Valentina, but Peter Garner was not present at those events.”
“Garner attended gatherings during the months of May and June, after the other men’s deaths.” Sophie glanced down at the notes she’d sketched out. “There is one common element that connects all of these men—Adam McNaughton.”
Jennie’s mouth pressed into a seam. “What would be his motive?”
“I haven’t puzzled that out. Not yet.”
Colton tapped a finger against Trask’s notes. “This appears to be the final sitting attended by Eversleigh, Fenshaw, and McNaughton. If I’m interpreting these symbols correctly, the medium conducted an exercise in mesmerism.”
Sophie stared down at the cryptic symbol, an eye contained within a circle. Could Colton have deduced its meaning? “Trask never demonstrated an interest in that dubious skill. Perhaps Lady Valentina fancied herself a mesmerist.”
“An interesting possibility,” Jennie commented. “Trask indicates a fourth person in attendance at that gathering, a woman by the name of Beatrice Hathcock. If McNaughton is indeed the link between the dead men, we must assume she may be in danger. She deserves to be warned.”
Colton nodded. “I’ll assign an operative to identify her location.”
A series of light raps upon the door pulled Sophie from the conversation. Miss Beddingham. Campbell’s ever-efficient secretary served as a trusted researcher for the Colton Agency. The tall, slender woman stepped into the room with near soundless steps.
“Begging your pardon for the interruption, but I believe this matter cannot wait.”
Campbell motioned her forward. “Please, come in. What’s happened?”
“A reporter covering the docks arrived a few minutes ago. He’s preparing a story for the evening edition as we speak.”
Beneath her crisp linen sleeves, dread prickled Sophie’s skin with gooseflesh. Colton’s jaw tensed as Jennie clasped her hands, whitening her knuckles.
Campbell’s dark brows raised. “What of it?”
“They fished another unfortunate soul out of the Thames this morning.” Miss Beddingham’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Neil Trask drowned last night.”
…
“Sophie Devereaux—where is she?”
Bypassing the pretty, bespectacled secretary who’d coolly instructed him to arrange an appointment, Gavin marched into the office of theHerald’s managing editor.
“This can’t wait,” he said, equally cool, and opened the frosted glass door to Campbell’s private office.
“Sir, you cannot go in there,” she called, following him into the space. “Mr. Campbell, this man should not be here. I will call security.”
Seated in a leather chair behind a massive oak desk, MacAllister Campbell looked up from a map he’d been examining. Removing the eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his prominent nose, he acknowledged his secretary with a nod. “I understand, Miss Beddingham. There will be no need for security.”
“Very well,” she said with what seemed a calculated sigh. “I shall be on the alert if you change that decision.”
“Thank you.”
The editor’s thick dark brows came together in a blunt line. He regarded Gavin silently, waiting until the door closed behind his secretary’s enormous bustle. Gavin had met the towering Scot on more than one occasion, obligatory society functions and such, and he’d been impressed with the man’s no-nonsense attitude. With any luck, he would not attempt to evade Gavin’s questions.
“What the devil is this about?” Campbell asked.
Gavin stared down at Campbell. “Where is Sophie Devereaux? I know she’s a reporter for theHerald.”
“And if she is? What business is it of yours?” Campbell rose to his full height, some three inches or so taller than Gavin’s six feet.
Anger coursed through Gavin’s veins. “What in bloody hell were you thinking, assigning a woman like Sophie to tangle with the likes of Neil Trask?”
