Page 65 of Edinburgh Escape
Ewan’s mouth formed a thin, tight line. “Bloody bastard.” He shook his head. “I take it that nanny was your mother. There’s no excuse for rape. None. We can only hope he’s rotting in hell for what he did.” He glanced toward the ledgers and back to Callum. “That all lines up with the information I just received from your purple-haired techie. The mystery money my father was wire transferring went to a bank in Eagle Rock, Montana.”
“The money your mother made him pay in child support,” Maggie said.
“I wasn’t here when my mother died. When I returned from my deployment, her room had been cleared of all her belongings.” He met Maggie’s gaze.
“Who would’ve cleared her belongings?” Maggie asked. “Your father?”
Ewan snorted. “I doubt it. He’d have had Mrs. Jones do it, and she would’ve turned the journal over to my father. In which case, he would’ve burned it. I can ask Mrs. Jones about it.”
“Ask me what?” a voice called out from the door to the study.
Callum turned to find Mrs. Jones carrying a tea tray.
“Your afternoon tea, sir,” Mrs. Jones set the tray on a table in front of a Victorian settee. “You wanted to ask a question of me?” Once she’d divested herself of her burden, she straightened and faced Ewan.
“Yes, Mrs. Jones.” Ewan held up his mother’s journal. “Did you leave this in Ms. McKendrick’s room today?”
The woman’s brow dipped. “No, sir.”
“Do you recognize it?” Ewan asked.
“No, sir.” Mrs. Jones’s eyebrows rose. “What is it?”
“My mother’s journal.”
Her eyes widened. “In all the years I knew Lady Elizabeth, I didn’t know she kept one.” She tilted her head. “Is there a problem?”
Ewan shook his head. “No, Mrs. Jones. Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome.” She glanced at the people in the room. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll be in the kitchen helping Cook with dinner.” Mrs. Jones left the study, closing the door softly behind her.
Callum waited enough time for Mrs. Jones to be well out of earshot before asking, “Do you believe her?”
Ewan’s gaze had followed the housekeeper out of the room. He still stared at the closed door. “I have no reason not to. She’s been with the family for a very long time.”
“She spoke with me about my mother,” Maggie said. “I would think she’d have shared the journal or knowledge of it with me at that time. She knew my mother was pregnant when she left, but she didn’t seem to know who the father might have been.”
“Or she didn’t want to tell you what happened to your mother,” Callum suggested. “Maybe she put the book under your pillow so that you could read it for yourself.”
Maggie stared at the journal Ewan still held. “I didn’t get that feeling when Ewan asked if she knew what the book was. She appeared genuinely clueless. But you could be right.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” Ewan called out.
Gregory stepped in. “Lord Drummond, your guest, Mr. Atkins, has arrived.”
“Show him in,” Ewan said.
Gregory opened the door wider.
A man entered wearing dark slacks, a white button-down shirt and a tweed blazer. His gaze moved from Ewan to Callum. “Callum McCall?”
Callum raised hand. “I’m Callum.”
The man nodded. “I’m Peter Atkins. Hammerson said you might need a little assistance on this assignment.”
Callum moved forward and gripped the man’s hand. “Thanks for coming.” He turned to Maggie. “This is Maggie McKendrick.”
