A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (best young adult book series txt) 📗

Gage turned to me, the look in his eyes conceding that I had been right. The inheritance did have something to do with this.

“But he provided no proof for this. No’ even Kincaid’s father’s name. And the scheme he implied made little to no sense.”

Of course it didn’t, for he’d almost certainly made it up out of whole cloth.

“Did you know that Lennox is Kincaid’s half brother?” I inquired bluntly.

His eyes widened and his mouth gaped before he stumbled through a response. “I . . . That . . . Are you in earnest?”

“Yes.”

He scraped his hand back through his silver hair, pivoting in a circle. “But that doesna make any sense. Why would he write such things . . . oh!” he gasped, finally realizing that Lennox had been accusing Kincaid of stealing his own inheritance. He frowned. “But then, why did he make him such a hero in The King of Grassmarket?”

“He didn’t intend to. Remember how he highlighted the body snatching and then accused him of fraud. He was trying to discredit Bonnie Brock. But the plays changed the narrative . . .”

“Which infuriated him,” Gage continued with a look of mild inquiry as I broke off, momentarily silenced by the sharp pain of a contraction located in my lower back. “They left out the most damning parts.”

“And the accusations only get worse in the sequel,” Heron informed us as I breathed deeply until the pain passed. “Not only does he assert that Kincaid stole his inheritance, but he also claims that Kincaid collaborated wi’ anatomists and the government to steal unclaimed cholera victims to be used by the anatomy schools for dissection. That is, until the Anatomy Reform Act passes in Parliament. Then that step willna be necessary.”

Good heavens! Lennox was playing on the worst fears of Edinburgh’s populace. I’d seen some of the broadsheets, heard some of the rumbles, that the doctors were letting the poor die of the cholera so that there would be a ready source of bodies. That the passage of the Anatomy Reform Act—which seemed almost a foregone conclusion—would exacerbate the problem. The idea of such a coordinated conspiracy had not yet captured the entire country’s attention, but it was only a matter of time if Lennox published a book espousing it.

“Can you imagine what will happen if the sequel is read aloud in the pubs and other gathering places throughout Grassmarket and Cowgate?” Gage posited, for books and broadsheets were often shared in such a manner among those who couldn’t read and could little afford books even if they could. “Can you imagine if they believed the accusations?”

“They would storm the cholera hospital and drag out the patients, spreading the disease even farther,” I answered in horror. “They would ransack the anatomy schools and hang Bonnie Brock themselves for his part. His reputation as the people’s champion would be destroyed.”

He nodded. “Riots, sedition, and worse.”

“Mr. Rookwood understood all this,” Heron explained. “He wanted no part o’ it. Said he’d never have published The King o’ Grassmarket if he’d kent what it would lead to.”

“Did he know that Lennox was related to Kincaid?”

This question seemed to rouse Heron from his morose hand-wringing, for he looked up at me in shock. “Nay, how could . . . ?” His mouth flattened as if he’d thought of something. “Maybe. He . . . he was pretty emphatic about his actions bein’ a betrayal, but I thought he just meant to the city, or law and order.”

Gage had pulled aside his greatcoat, planting his hands on his hips as he contemplated this new information. “Did you truly not hear any part of their argument the day before Rookwood was murdered?”

Heron shook his head. “But they were both furious. When Lennox stormed out, I thought he was gonna smash something.”

“Do you think Rookwood would have threatened to expose him if he tried to publish it elsewhere or simply printed it himself?”

“I dinna ken.”

“Of course,” I gasped. “Lennox must have realized he didn’t need the shield of Rookwood’s name anymore. He could print the book himself, with everyone remaining ignorant of the fact that he was Mugdock.”

“And so he resolved to get rid of the threat, throw some more suspicion at Kincaid, and create a diversion, if you will, from his publication of the sequel,” Gage surmised.

“Which he’s already doin’.”

We both turned to Heron in some alarm. “How do you know that?” Gage demanded.

His shoulders hunched and he swallowed nervously. “Because he came to see me.”

My heart leapt in my chest.

“When?” Gage barked.

“Yesterday. After ye left. He . . . he wanted to ken what I’d told ye.”

We must have been followed. By McQueen’s men, I wagered. After all, one of them had followed us home from Lennox’s shop. It only made sense that they had also trailed us to Heron’s.

“And did you tell him?”

Heron shook his head emphatically until Gage loomed closer. Then he squeaked out the truth. “Only that ye were suspicious he was Mugdock because o’ his possessin’ the sequel. None o’ the rest aboot Maggie and such.”

Gage moved toward the window, peering out through the curtains at the lane backed by the steep slope of the hillside. “You do know he’s probably having you watched.”

No wonder he’d been so anxious when we first arrived.

He swallowed again. “Aye.”

“And you’re just now telling us this?”

He was smart enough not to respond to this query.

“Is there another way out of your building?” Gage asked.

He nodded.

“Then I suggest you pack a bag after we leave and use it. Stay elsewhere until this matter is resolved.” He peered out the window again before rejoining us. “With any luck, that will be in but a matter of hours. Especially if Lennox is already printing the sequel.”

Heron’s face had visibly paled, and he seemed unable to speak. I only hoped he heeded Gage’s advice.

“We have enough to take to Maclean,” my husband told me. “Enough to get the printing of that sequel stopped at the outset.”

I agreed, taking his proffered arm as we moved toward the door. Once in the corridor outside, we