Sleepless in Scotland Page 7

  The time was coming nearer when he would need to tell her that no letters, no pleas, and no miracles would ever bring Sarah back home again.

  Chapter 6

  Midafternoon on the last day of June and the city pulsed with life. And Phoebe loved it.

  She loved the crowded bustle of Edinburgh’s streets. As her carriage descended from the narrow confines of West Bow into the more open space of the Grassmarket, her driver inched his way through the crowds of workers and carters and vendors and ever-present gangs of ragged, barefoot street urchins. High in the tenements lining the muddy streets, women hung out laundry on makeshift drying poles. The doors of shops and tradesmen stood open to the summer warmth, and all along the way, people hurried by, intent on their busy lives.

  Leaving the house in New Town, they’d made their way around the marshy North Loch and picked up Duncan at the lower end of Warrender’s Close, already deep in the shadows cast by the fortress high above.

  Safety. Caution. Discretion. Phoebe was diligently attending to everything she’d promised her sister-in-law during their long talk at Baronsford. Grace now knew what she did, the newspaper she wrote for, and the assumed name she wrote under. Phoebe wasn’t surprised to find out that Grace was familiar with her work. The woman was an avid reader with an astonishing memory, and they talked in detail about the four columns she’d written so far.

  Phoebe had no desire to add to the worries of those she loved, however, so the trip to the Vaults was not part of the discussion. Neither was the attack and her fight with a faceless killer. Still, Grace made her sit through a somewhat lengthy lecture about the need for safety, caution, and discretion.

  So much like Grace, she thought now, looking out the carriage window. Not a word to discourage her from pursuing her passion. Just the careful collection and organization of information about Phoebe’s vocation to be used in constructing the argument she would use later when she put her husband Hugh’s mind at ease.

  Her vocation. She smiled, already feeling vindicated.

  Grace would tell Hugh, and his reaction would no doubt influence how their parents received the news.

  Phoebe knew they’d still be somewhat anxious. As far as society was concerned, someone of her class traveling such a path, particularly a woman, would be perceived as scandalous. But the Penningtons as a family had a history of scandal. They also occupied a position in society that the ton and those in power could not afford to ignore. She was only living up to the family’s legacy. As Millie said, they would never be boring.

  Still, “relieved” was the best way to describe how she felt. As was Millie, knowing she wasn’t betraying their family by keeping Phoebe’s secret.

  As her driver approached Candlemaker Row, a small flock of sheep being driven to market crossed in front of them, and the two young shepherds eyed the carriage with curiosity.

  “We’re here, m’lady,” Duncan said, glaring out at the city he knew so well.

  “I can see,” she replied, anticipation bubbling inside. She had the article penned in her mind already. The tone, the argument, the conclusion. The call to action that she hoped readers would seize once they read it. The documented information Leech was to provide about the old and the infirm being thrown out into the cold would serve as the beating heart of the column.

  The carriage stopped by an arched opening in the high stone wall. Beyond an iron gate, a dozen steps led up into Greyfriars Kirkyard. The gate was open, but no one appeared to be going in or out of the burial ground. It was well known that the Bloody Mackenzie’s ghost haunted the cemetery at all hours. Few people wanted to encounter the angry spirit of the old Covenanter, even in broad daylight.

  It was the perfect place to meet with Leech and get the papers Phoebe needed for her column.

  “The blasted scoundrel had better be here,” Duncan huffed as he opened the carriage door. One thing she particularly liked about the Highlander was he never minced words with her. “Because I’m getting a wee bit tired of this scab’s bloody antics.”

  Duncan had told Phoebe that when he found the nearly insensible Leech in the opium den in the Vaults, the man didn’t have the papers on him. He’d gone through his things thoroughly. And though he’d admittedly been ready to shake the “sorry rum gagger” awake and force him to produce the documents, Duncan thought it better to report the situation to Phoebe. By that time she had already disappeared.

  “You stay right here in the carriage, m’lady.”

  “In the carriage. I know.”

  “And no getting out to get a breath of air.”

  “I understand, Duncan.”

  “Nor to stretch your legs.”

  “Out, Highlander.” She pointed at the door.

  “Mind now,” he warned. “The likes of you has no business sallying about in a neighborhood such as this.”

  Phoebe was about to argue his “likes of you” comment and make him understand she was tougher than he was giving her credit for, but she decided against it. She wanted Leech’s information. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

  His snort made it clear he didn’t believe her. Nonetheless, he climbed out into the narrow street.

  Watching through the open window, Phoebe saw him make a warning gesture to her driver before going through the archway and up the steps into the kirkyard.

  She smiled to herself. Her conversation with Grace was already paying off. Aside from discussing Phoebe’s writing, they’d also spoken about survival and pursuing one’s interests as a woman in today’s society. Her sister-in-law was an expert at succeeding in that. During the years before arriving in Scotland, she’d accompanied her father—an Irish colonel in Napoleon’s army—from one battlefield to the next. She’d had the freedom to go where she wished. But she’d remained by his side and become an essential aide to him, safeguarding highly valued state secrets.

  Grace’s suggestion was that Phoebe practice the art of compromise in dealing with her father. Instead of constant conflict, she could give in a little, on occasion. Then, when she needed to communicate with him about something important, he’d be more open to understanding and respecting her wishes.

  Compromise. It was a term almost entirely foreign to Phoebe’s language and temperament. But she was willing to give it a try. And not only in dealing with her father, but with Duncan and Captain Bell, as well.

  Suddenly, a trickle of sweat ran down her spine. She was being watched. Phoebe looked out the window away from the kirkyard. A man in a dark cloak stood in the open door of a shop, staring. His hat was pulled low, but fierce eyes bore into hers. Before she could act on her discomfort, an oxcart piled high with barrels briefly blocked her view of the shop, and when the wagon had rumbled past, the man was gone. She looked up and down the road, but there was no sign of him. For a moment she didn’t know if she’d imagined it.

  As Phoebe’s pulse slowed, she decided all the words of warning she’d been getting recently were affecting her. From Duncan. From Grace.

  From Captain Bell. His warning was the one she took most seriously, and she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

  Mooning over a man was not an activity she was very familiar with, and daydreaming was hardly her style, but this week she’d found herself spending far too many hours mulling over every word she and the captain had exchanged in the garden. The kiss they shared had been deeply unsettling. Since that night, anticipation regarding when she was going to see him again had continually preyed upon her state of mind. Would he call on her? Perhaps her feelings weren’t reciprocated by him. The uncertainty was maddening. There were moments these past few days when she’d felt as if she were fifteen again.

  The change he wrought in her was too sudden, too sweetly disturbing, and she struggled to make some sense of it.

  He was definitely disrupting not just her thoughts but her life. “I can’t allow you to do that.”

  “Allow me to do what?”

  Jolted by the suddenness and the nearness of Ian’s voice
, Phoebe sat back hard against the seat. It took her a moment to recover.

  “How could you do this?” she said finally.

  “What did I do?” Ian asked innocently, standing by the open window of the carriage. He took off his hat and raked his fingers through his black hair.

  The dark blue color of his cutaway coat and the blue brocade of his waistcoat created a sharp contrast from the buff breeches. He put one mud-spattered boot on the carriage step, but it was his face that made her heart beat faster. He looked even more handsome than when they stood together in the garden.

  “Showing up so unexpectedly. Appearing out of thin air.” She glared at him as fiercely as she could. “What happened to civil greetings?”

  He brushed a spot of mud from the hat he held and then bowed. “Good afternoon, Lady Phoebe.”

  “Now you’re mocking me.” She pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You gave me a shock, Captain.”

  “I hope not an unpleasant one.”

  “I never . . . well, I hardly expected to see you here.”

  “May I?” he asked, motioning to join her in the carriage.

  Before answering, Phoebe pretended to arrange her skirts as she glanced at the kirkyard gate. Duncan could be back at any moment. She didn’t think the exchange with Leech would take much time. That was, if the clerk honored their appointment this time.

  Captain Bell was waiting for an answer. She couldn’t refuse him.

  “Yes, of course.”

  The gentleman climbed in, sparking all the feelings she’d been trying to curb since the last time they met.

  He sat across from her, and his long legs adjusted to fit into the limited space. He laid a package wrapped in paper and string on the seat beside his hat.

  As he settled back, he observed her face, studying every detail as if he were seeing her for the first time. His gaze lingered on her lips. Her cheeks had caught fire the moment she saw him, and beneath his stare, the heat intensified. Phoebe wondered if he too had been thinking of their last meeting.

  She forced herself to look at the packet.

  “Did you return from Bellhorne today, Captain?” she asked.

  “I did. I left this morning.”

  “Your mother? I hope she’s well.”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  A furrow immediately creased his forehead, and that told her more about Mrs. Bell’s condition than his words were conveying. Phoebe’s heart went out to her friend’s mother, and she wished she had the time to hear more, but this wasn’t the moment. She didn’t know what to do about Duncan.

  She nodded at the wrapped parcel. “Do you have business in this neighborhood?”

  “My business is with you.” He gestured toward the street outside. “But I didn’t expect to be conducting it here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that I was surprised to catch up to you in a neighborhood like this, and only a short distance from South Bridge and the Vaults.”

  Like him or not, flustered by his presence or not, she objected to his implication that she was not living up to her promise.

  “I’m sitting in a carriage, Captain,” she retorted, “with a driver and a groom riding above.”

  “I saw them.”

  “It’s broad daylight.” She nodded toward the open window. “And those are hardworking Scots, going about their business.”

  “Indeed. One of those hardworking Scots is back there tending to my horse right now.”

  “They pose no threat,” she continued, trying not to be swayed by his attempt at humor. “And you have no reason to be critical of me.”

  “Was I being critical of you, Lady Phoebe?”

  “I believe you were.” She glared at him. “The accusation was clear enough in your tone.”

  “Are you feeling a wee bit guilty?”

  If he were being hostile, dictatorial, or even patronizing, she’d know exactly how to deal with it. But he wasn’t. He was simply teasing her, and the hint of a smile told her he was enjoying it.

  “I’m not feeling guilty at all about being here. I have no reason to. But you and I have a history, as you well know.”

  His gaze moved to her lips again. “Yes, we do.”

  “I’m talking about the Vaults,” she said, trying to stay on topic. “It’s true that I stretched the truth at the time. You found me out. But I promised to exercise caution in the future. And I am.”

  “And that’s why you sent Duncan Turner into the kirkyard a few moments ago instead of going in there yourself.”

  She stared at him a moment. “So you have been following me, Captain Bell.”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “Now that sounds like an evasion, I’d say.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Either you have been following me or you haven’t.”

  “I didn’t intend to chase you down here, but I wanted to deliver a gift.”

  “A gift?” A gift. Damnation. The man knew how to spoil an argument.

  She glanced at the parcel on the seat beside him. The shape of it made her think it was a book. He picked it up.

  “A gift.” He laid it carelessly on his muscular thigh. “When I went to deliver it at your family’s town house, you were just stepping into your carriage to leave.”

  “You could easily have approached me when we stopped at Warrender’s Close.”

  “That’s true. But by then my curiosity was aroused.”

  “That’s somewhat forward of you, wouldn’t you say, Captain?” she said, teasing him now.

  “Also true. But I wanted to be sure my gift was not being given in vain.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the parcel. “You owe me no explanation, of course, but would you be kind enough to tell me why you’re here?”

  She didn’t have to answer him, but there was no harm in him knowing. He’d not betrayed her confidence, and she wanted to show him she deserved his trust.

  “I told you before. I like to do research for my work,” she explained affably. “I’m sitting here while Mr. Turner gathers information for me in the kirkyard.”

  Phoebe hoped he wouldn’t ask anything more specific about what she was waiting for. He didn’t disappoint her.

  “Then I’d say this is an appropriate time to give you this.” He held the package out to her.

  She smiled, undoing the wrapping. Inside, there was a printed but unbound manuscript. Few things made Phoebe happier than receiving the gift of a book, but this was particularly special. She read the title aloud. “A History of South Bridge and Its Environs.”

  “This is an advance copy of a soon-to-be published monograph, written by a friend of mine,” he explained. “In it, he covers the past four decades from the original conception of the bridge to the construction to the problems that have evolved since, including a detailed discussion of the Vaults.”

  She leafed excitedly through the first few pages.

  “There is nothing you could wish to know about the Vaults that is not documented there. Drawings, a map, surprisingly candid descriptions of the businesses that have occupied the space, both above and below. He even includes a section about the ghosts that now allegedly haunt it.” He paused as his voice grew somber. “Although, as we both know, the monsters down there are quite real.”

  Phoebe was astonished and heartened that he should find such a precious source of information for her. Even though she’d been untruthful with him about why she’d gone into the Vaults, he’d believed her and had gone as far as bringing her this gem. She struggled for the right words to thank him.

  “Now you never need to go down there again.”

  “I never shall. I gave you my word.” She pressed both palms on the pages, as if swearing on something holy. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this always.”

  Highly impractical and inconvenient feelings pulsed through her. He surprised her. Charmed her. As if she weren’t attracted to him enough.

  “You said this will soon be published. I’ll make certain we purch
ase a copy for Baronsford’s library. Also, I’ll order copies for the town houses here and in London. And for Melbury Hall.”

  “I didn’t give you this early copy so you would single-handedly buy out the entire printing.” He laughed. “Archibald Constable is a dominant force in Edinburgh publishing. I like the man, but he doesn’t need that kind of support. I hear he’s making a great deal of money from several novels by a neighbor of yours in Melrose, Walter Scott. Nonetheless, I’m certain the scoundrel would be delighted to have you buy dozens of copies.”

  Phoebe wished she could tell him everything. The Edinburgh Review—the newspaper she wrote for—was funded by Archibald Constable. But if Ian approved of the publisher for his friend’s work, she wondered whether he’d be as approving of her secret.

  A man, writing a historical account of a bridge.

  A woman, penning articles that exposed fraud in corrupt establishments.

  Duncan came through the kirkyard gate, putting an end to her internal debate. The Highlander was carrying a parcel under his arm, but he paused in the street, realizing someone else was in the carriage.

  “Captain, would you care to accompany me and my sister Millie on a walk up to Arthur’s Seat sometime this week?”

  He looked at her warily. “Propositioning me again?”

  “That’s what happens when you bring me gifts. I can’t help myself.”

  He smiled. “So your invitation has nothing to do with Mr. Turner waiting to rejoin you. You’re saying your sudden desire to be rid of me is completely unrelated to the constable’s return?”

  Captain Bell was far too astute.

  “As a matter of fact, I do wish to be rid of you at this moment.” She smoothed the dress across her lap. “But I’d be delighted to see you again. Are you interested?”

  “Would the day after tomorrow suit you and Lady Millie?” he responded. “Or do you have other business scheduled for that day?”

  She didn’t care what might be on her schedule. Her only regret was that it was two days off. “Very good. Wednesday it is, then.”