“Henry Browne did tell us much this morning,” he’d said, “but he did not tell us all. He told us that his brother Simon went to Bristol, which was true enough. But Simon only went to Bristol because he did have no choice. Eight years ago he was brought up before the council of the lords for forging a false bond, and was banished out of Edinburgh and the three Lothians, never to return on pain of death or transportation to the colonies. I’m not relying only on my friend the stabler’s knowledge,” he’d assured me. “I did verify this earlier this morning, before we went down to Leith. Which is how I also know the reason Henry has not seen his father for so long is because there’s a warrant out for the arrest of Archibald Browne, for assisting a small group of people trying to claim money falsely out of the Equivalent. Apparently, he forged a will.”
My jaw had tightened then, but I’d said nothing, for I’d sensed where this was leading.
“Forgery,” said Gilroy, “was the family business. And the one who did it best of all the family—so the stabler told me—was the girl.”
Chapter 18
Friday, 26 September, 1707
I burnt much coal and candle through the night in place of sleep, but when Gilroy arrived to start work in the morning, I was well prepared.
Bringing him through into the writing chamber, I set an extra chair for him at the scrutore, where I’d laid out all the papers ready.
There was still a thread of tension stretched between us, but I knew if we were going to be working closely for the next few days, we’d have to clear the air. I started simply, “Helen told me Mrs. Graeme brought us her original certificate of marriage because you said we’d lost the copy.” Wordlessly, I took the copy from its place and set it, for a moment, on the top of all the other papers.
Gilroy said, “I thought that was the simplest way to ask for it, without arousing her suspicion.”
“And I gather, from our conversation yesterday, that the reason you didn’t want to arouse her suspicion—and the reason you wanted this original certificate back to inspect—is because you believe it’s a forgery.”
I didn’t even need him to answer that. His eyes told me all I needed to know.
I cleared my throat. “The law sets out all the objections you can raise against a document if you believe it might be forged. I’ve studied those objections, and I’ve found no evidence to render this certificate incompetent. Nothing has been added to the margins or between the lines to change the meaning of the text. There are no places where the letters have been scraped or altered or erased and overwritten, nor any blanks that could have been filled in at some later time. And you can plainly see the body of the document is written in a different hand than all the signatures beneath.”
I glanced up, to make sure he’d followed all that, but Gilroy was not looking at the certificate. His gaze was fixed on me, the telltale eyebrow raised.
Hiding my satisfaction, I carried on, “Furthermore, if you look at Walter Browne’s signature, here, it’s an exact match to the way he forms his letters in his copy book. I’ve marked some samples for you.” I slid the open copy book across the writing surface, so that he could make a close comparison if he so chose. “And the same with Mrs. Graeme’s.”
Sitting back, I watched while he leaned forward and inspected the certificate and signatures himself.
I said, “I think you’re wrong. I think it’s genuine.”
He lifted one shoulder. “At best, all you’ve proven is that it was signed by two people who came from a house of known criminals.” Still, he studied the copy books carefully. “I will allow that, if she did forge Walter Browne’s signature, she is indeed very talented. It is, as you say, exact.”
Had I known him better, I’d have sworn aloud, but as it was I kept the swearing silent and said only, “Are you always this pigheaded?”
“When I’m right, aye. I’ve an instinct about Mrs. Graeme. Do you never have instincts about people?”
“Sometimes.” I dragged my gaze from his before my current instinct led me to an action I’d regret.
Gilroy cocked his head. “Did you hear something?”
“It’s probably MacDougall. He does like to listen at the door. He is convinced that I am trying to advance myself at the expense of my friend Turnbull.”
There was a short pause, then, “This is a most impressive cabinet,” Gilroy said. He meant the scrutore. Standing, he reached for the edge of the long strip of molding that ran across the top of the cabinet above the pigeonholes, exposing the same “secret” drawer that I’d pulled out for Helen when she had first shown me this chamber.