I exhaled in relief and offered up a silent prayer of gratitude. It was only my cousin Jock.
The men hurried to the front door, and I moved to follow them, but Maggie resisted. I looked back at the girl and smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just my cousin,” I told her. She still looked unwilling to move, so I squeezed her hand where it held mine. “Everything is all right now. I promise.”
She stared into my eyes, searching for reassurance. “Ye . . . ye promise?”
“I promise,” I repeated.
She nodded, and reluctantly let me lead her toward the entry hall.
Jock had launched into some elaborate tale with large, sweeping hand motions, but when he saw me standing at the back of the group, he got directly to the point. “Kiera, we caught ’em.”
I heard Maggie’s breathing hitch and then even out.
“Where?” I asked.
“Just ootside Kilham. We’d just ridden oot o’ to join you here, when they came tearing oot o’ the moor like something was after ’em.” He grinned widely. “Wi’ six o’ us, it was rather easy to round ’em up.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. Finally Dodd’s murderers had been caught. There would be no more body snatchings, at least for ransom. I glanced toward Mr. Stuart where he stood beside me. Now we only had to figure out what to do with him.
It was decided that Trevor would return with Jock, to report on the events that had transpired and to assist in whatever way was needed, while Gage, Anderley, and I finished up here. I didn’t object, wanting above all else to stay by Gage’s side. Though I didn’t miss the significant look that passed between Gage and Trevor as I led Maggie back into the house.
“You’re going to come with us,” I told the girl. “And then we’ll make sure you’re returned safely to your brother in Edinburgh.” She stared up at me with bright eyes. “Unless you don’t wish to return to him,” I added, unsure how to read the girl’s expression.
She nodded, and I could see clearly now she was biting back tears. “I do,” she assured me. “Though he’ll pro’ly beat me black and blue. I ne’er should’ve left.”
I pressed my other hand over the one she still held. “I doubt he’ll beat you,” I said. “I think he’ll simply be glad to have you back.”
She sniffed, comprehension dawning in her eyes. “Did he send you after me?”
I nodded, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled down her grimy cheeks. I offered her my handkerchief, the one Mr. Stuart had returned to me, and she immediately buried her face in it.
Gage darted a glance at the weeping girl sitting in the corner when he reentered the room, but I shook my head, telling him all would eventually be well. At the moment, there was nothing we could do.
“Well, Mr. Stuart,” he declared, turning to face the Frenchman. “What do you think should be done? Do we hand you over to the authorities?”
Mr. Stuart stood dejectedly, his hands at his sides. “I suppose you must.”
Gage tilted his head in thought and I joined him in his study of Mr. Stuart.
How did we know everything he’d just told us wasn’t one big elaborate lie? After all, he was a consummate actor. I could easily imagine him fibbing his way out of a difficult situation. Like that bit about meeting Davy Crockett.
But in regards to something this serious, and with such intricate detail? It was hard to imagine he’d made all of that up.
I was inclined to believe him, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether that was because I sympathized with him and the story he’d just told. If it were true, he certainly deserved our empathy. But if it weren’t . . .
I glanced at Gage to see what he was thinking.
Mr. Stuart had tried to warn us—obliquely as that had been—but he had made the effort, so that had to be a point in his favor. And he’d helped us save Gage from the body snatchers when just as easily he could have given us away.
If for no other reason than that, I decided I should trust his story was true.
Gage sighed and turned to me, and I could tell by the look in his eyes he was thinking the same thing. Though he wasn’t going to let Mr. Stuart down so easily.
“What do you think, Kiera?” he asked me. “Perhaps if he returned the money? Or . . . most of it. I suppose you did pay your body snatchers something and purchased that ticket.”
“And some clothes,” Mr. Stuart admitted.
“Which can’t have cost much. You must have a fair amount left.”
He nodded eagerly, a glimmer of hope entering his eyes. “It was never about the money.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What of the finger bones? We know you kept a souvenir from each of the bodies to metaphorically point the finger at them.”
Mr. Stuart’s jaw hardened, but he did not deny it.
“I suppose if he were willing to return those, too, we might be able to let him board his ship to France.”