Scandal in Scotland Read Online Free PDF Page B

his grin, and how his large hands had made her feel so—
    “Your blackmailer must know of your past relationship with Hurst.”
    Marcail slanted a look at her grandmother. “How could he? It happened so long ago, and I was barely known then.”
    “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
    “Well, if the blackmailer thought that our past history worked in my favor, then he was sadly mistaken.”
    “It’s a pity you can’t go to Bow Street. But I suppose you’re right; the fewer involved, the better.”
    Marcail placed her hand on Grandmamma’s knee. “We’re already set on this course. There’s no sense regretting it now.”
    “We all owe you so much, dear. Though Briggs never mentions it, I know that the coal bins are always full and we have much better cuts of meat since you arrived in London.”
    “That’s not me, it’s Briggs. He’s an excellent bargainer.”
    “I’ve learned much from him over the years. I wish MacToth had done the same.” Grandmamma looked at the portrait of a handsome man over the fireplace and her expression grew dreamy. “I wish you could have met him, Marcail. He would have liked you. He enjoyed women with spirit.”
    “I’m sure he did. He married you, didn’t he?” Marcail chuckled. “One day, you and I will find a lovely house in the country where no one ever needs to know who or what we are.”
    Grandmamma’s shrewd green gaze locked on Marcail. “You’d give up the stage? Just like that?”
    Marcail hesitated. “Perhaps not completely. It’s who I am, and I enjoy it.”
    “You are better than I ever was. I saw your Lady MacBeth last Wednesday, and you were magnificent. Better even than Mrs. Siddons.”
    Marcail threw up a hand. “Grandmamma, no one will ever be better than Mrs. Siddons. She may have retired from the stage a decade ago, but her presence is still keenly felt by all actresses.”
    “Sarah Siddons was a very good actress; I should know, for I worked with her myself. But last week, you outshone even her. While I wish you hadn’t forsaken your birthright, I could not be prouder of your talent.”
    “Thank you. That means more to me than I can say.” Marcail glanced at the clock over the mantel. “I wish I could stay longer, but I must go. The note I received this morning said that I’m to deliver the artifact to an inn in Southend. I have only three days before I’m due back onstage, so I must leave today.”
    “Southend? I don’t like this at all. Please be careful.”
    “Don’t worry, Grandmamma. I’ll be fine. I always am.” She stood and dropped a kiss on the snowy white forehead. “As soon as I return, we’ll have dinner.”
    “I’ll be waiting, so please send me word that all is well.” Grandmamma waved her hand. “Off with you. Get this task done and over with.”
    Marcail gave her grandmother one last hug, then waited in the front hallway while Briggs called a hackney. When one pulled up to the stoop, she tucked her veil firmly in place and entered the carriage quickly, allowing Briggs to give her destination—a street corner several blocks from her home—to the driver.
    With a wave to Briggs, Marcail settled back against the worn squabs and planned her coming journey. The coach rattled down the street, then rounded a corner and headed toward Hyde Park.
    Not far away, a man dressed in the drab browns and grays of the working class watched, the thronging mill of people and carts swirling past him and his horse as if they were a rock in the middle of a swift stream.
    Expressionless, he watched the hackney rumble past. Just before it turned at the end of the street, he murmured a word to his horse, jumped into the saddle and followed the hackney as it disappeared around the corner.

A letter from Michael Hurst to his brother William, from a ship rounding Gibraltar .

    It pains me to admit it, but I’m a wretched sea traveler. I haven’t left my bunk since we left port in Old Alexandria. If it weren’t for Miss Smythe-Haughton