“It has happened,” he says. “More likely, though, there would be an arrangement.”
Like what the woman earlier thought I’d been seeking with Arthur Simpson. A sugar daddy.
“However,” Gray says, “you are forgetting that the actress could not have stolen the letters. She spent the nightbeforethey disappeared.”
“Which only means she could have found them while she was there and then snuck back to steal them.”
He sighs. “I did not think of that.”
“This is why you’re the junior detective. But don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it someday.”
ChapterEleven
Next on our interview list is the valet. He’d said he wanted to spend the holidays home with his family, but when we knock on his sister’s door, she tells us he’s working at a pub.
“Poor lad cannot even take the holidays off,” she says. “That man let him go without a penny’s wages. At this time of year? Can you believe it?”
That certainly isn’t the story Lord Simpson gave, and it seems odd that he’d send us after the valet with a lie easily exposed.
She gives us directions to the pub, and then says, “Tell Lewis he need not bring home any money for the rent. I know he feels he must contribute, but I do not begrudge him a few coins in his pocket.”
I ask for a description of her brother, and she seems confused—why do we need that when he’s working there, easily found? Still, she describes him, and we set off along the snowy streets.
Along the way, we pass a small market, and I slow to eye the wares. It seems to be a little holiday market, full of holiday purchases—a stall of sweets, another of toys, a third of toiletries wrapped in pretty bows.
“Have you finished your Hogmanay shopping yet?” Gray asks.
“Isla and I went out last week, but I couldn’t buy for her, obviously.” I didn’t buy for him, either, as I continue mulling over and rejecting ideas. Gray is fond of giving me gifts—perfect little presents that only I would appreciate, like a poison ring or a tiny derringer. I need to get exactly the right one for him.
“Do you wish to pause here?” he says. “Find something for her?”
My gaze slides over the stalls. I have a few ideas, but like buying for Gray, I won’t find the right gift for Isla here. I still take the excuse to wander and browse. I purchase scented hair oil for Simon, and Gray buys a bag of boiled sweets for Alice, mostly so two of the best-dressed customers don’t walk away without spending any money.
“Where do you shop for presents in your time?” Gray asks as we continue on.
“Online.”
He gives me a look.
I shrug. “I’m not much of a shopper. I know what I want, and I order it online and get it shipped to my door.”
“That sounds...”
“Soulless?”
“I was going to say wonderfully convenient.” He slides a glance my way. “I do not suppose I can hope for such things in my lifetime?”
“It only started inmylifetime.” I peer in the sooty window of a curiosities shop. “I do like to go out at least once for actual holiday shopping. When I was visiting my nan a few years back, she took me to the Christmas market here.”
“A Christmas market in Edinburgh? Sacrilege.”
I smile. “They still do a big blowout for Hogmanay. Music, live theater, and lots of fireworks.” I glance at him. “You have fireworks, right?”
One brow shoots up.
“Don’t give me that look,” I say. “I know they were invented in China centuries ago, but I don’t know when they arrived in the UK. I’m not a historian.”
“Have you heard of Guy Fawkes?”
