Chapter 38

Monday, 6 October, 1707

Gilroy could be difficult to fathom. I was privately inclined to side with Moray and agree that Lord Grange was not part of any plot the Duke of Hamilton had put in motion, and thus Gilroy had been given no direction when it came to our inquiry beyond searching for the truth.

Gilroy would otherwise have been impatient to see Lily’s marriage proved, regardless of how thin our evidence might be. Instead, from the beginning and through our investigation, he’d maintained his staunch belief the marriage was a fraud, which would imply he was impartial.

Then again, he had asked both Moray and Lily about Moray’s brother John, and if they knew where John was now—which, while it might be innocent, might also have to do with the duke’s efforts to learn more about the Jacobite invasion.

As Seafield had said outright, other members of the family may be fine to capture, but the fact was, everybody truly wanted John.

That Gilroy had shown interest in him meant there was an outside chance that Gilroy might himself be in the duke’s employ, and I could not entirely let down my guard, nor trust him.

When I looked at his impassive face, I could not help but think of Robert Moray telling me he looked on Gilroy as a man who followed orders and was loyal. And again, I did agree. I simply wasn’t sure to whom Gilroy was loyal, nor whose orders he was following.

By contrast, it was obvious to me the fat and jovial man past Gilroy’s shoulder, who for the past quarter of an hour had been persistently attempting to move closer to our table here within Steell’s tavern, was an agent of the Duke of Hamilton.

He was the same man I had seen on Friday night when I’d been here with Captain Gordon, and he’d very likely been the same man who’d stayed half-hidden behind the bedcurtains upstairs when Archie had brought Lily here to hand off the certificate of marriage. It could not be a coincidence that, from the moment we’d walked in, he’d taken a great interest in us and our conversation, changing tables three times now so he was nearly close enough to overhear what we were saying.

Gilroy, unaware of what was going on behind him, raised his cup of wine and told me, “I see you did not take my advice.”

“And what advice would that be?”

“Did I not distinctly warn you it would be unwise to get involved?”

“With whom?”

His sidelong glance knew better, but as though agreeing to switch topics he sat back and looked me over. “You’ve a button missing from your waistcoat.”

“I expect I’ll find another.”

“You’ll find one exactly like it,” he informed me in an idle tone, “upon the floorboards next to Mrs. Graeme’s bed.”

I tried not to react, but I suspect I held my own cup to my mouth a fraction longer than I needed to before I set it down.