Page 11 of A Scoundrel in the Making

“You act as if a man is incapable of reading, my lady,” he said.

The reproof was spoken in lazy tones, but Abigail glimpsed a hint of steel in his eyes. “Not at all,” she said.

Amusement replaced the steel. “Just those men who frequent ballrooms and gambling hells?”

“I admit, in my experience, I have found it unusual for such men to know much about history,” she said.

“Lord Reade is an unusual sort of man,” Lady Elana said.

“So, I am coming to appreciate.” Abigail studied him. “Is there anything else you know about the Honors of Scotland?”

“Just that which is found in history books,” he said. “The Honors were last used at the 1651 coronation of King Charles II at Scone. They were then hidden in Dunottar castle. When Cromwell besieged the castle, the local minister's wife smuggled them out and she and her husband buried them under the floor of Kinneff church. If no’ for the dedication and courage of Reverend James Granger, the Honors would have been lost. For the remainder of Cromwell’s reign, the reverend kept them buried under the flagstones of the village church. Though he and his wife dug them up once a month to polish them.”

The intense national pride that emanated from him stirred her heart.

“Scottish separatists claim the Honors are locked/held in the Tower of London and shown to a chosen few,” he went on. “Some say they were smuggled to France and melted down. I must admit, I believed the precious metal had been melted down and the stones sold, long ago.”

Elana smiled. “Happily, you were wrong.”

He gave a slight bow. “I am pleased to be wrong in this case, my lady. I have long lamented their loss. Where have they been kept all these years?”

“In a chest in Edinburgh Castle,” Lady Elana said.

“You mean to say the Scottish Regalia has been moldering in a chest in some storage room in Edinburgh Castle for a hundred years?” Abigail asked.

“Hardly moldering,” Elana said. “Their whereabouts have been known to a select few. You can imagine that the English government might make certain demands if they knew of their existence.”

“I can well imagine,” Abigail murmured.

“Your job is to steal the Honors from the thief and safely return them to their hiding place.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lady,” Lord Reade said, “but their hiding place clearly cannot have been all that safe.”

“Quite the contrary,” The Raven replied. “The door leading to the storage room where they are kept is bricked up.”

Reade frowned. “Is the brick still intact?”

“It is.”

“Then there must be a secret passageway into the room.”

“There is,” she said.

“If only a select few knew the location of the Honors, then that narrows our list of suspects,” Abigail said.

Lord Reade shook his head. “Some of the servants in Edinburgh castle must have been there for many years, some even most of their lives. They would know every nook and cranny of the castle.”

“Correct,” Elana said. “There are over sixty servants employed there.”

“I believe we can easily eliminate some of them,” Reade said. “For most servants, such a find as the Crown Jewels of Scotland would be too great a discovery to keep secret. The sword is four and a half feet long. Not easily hidden. If a servant is the thief, he would likely try to sell them immediately. Their appearance in any pawnbroker would be nearly impossible to keep quiet. It’s also likely a servant would have help from another servant or family members. With so much money involved—”

“Squabbles would break out,” Abigail finished for him.

“Exactly,” he said. “Most folks of their class aren’t equipped to handle a large sum of money.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Abigail asked.

“Easily, a million pounds,” Elana said.