A Highland Duchess (38 page)

“We employ thirty-seven people at Lochlaven,” Ian said. “Did you know that?”

“I believe you might have mentioned it over the years,” Albert said.

“That’s not counting the farms, of course, and caring for the sheep.”

“I will accept a number of fifty, if it makes you feel better,” Albert offered, his smile deepening.

Ian forced an answering smile to his face. “Fifty, then. I know them all well. I’ve grown up with most of them. The newest employees are daughters and sons or nephews and nieces of those who have served Lochlaven for years.”

“Is there a reason for this litany, Ian?”

Ian ignored the question and continued. “Ever since Bryce died, I’ve considered each man, each woman, and asked myself who could have brought murder to Lochlaven. I thought of Glenna. Then Mrs. Jenkins. A score of maids and footmen.”

“Did you consider Emma, Ian?” The older man smiled again, but it was not a genial smile. Instead, it held a touch of bitterness.

“Not once,” Ian said easily. “You see, Emma has a core of integrity. She was more than prepared to be a good wife to my cousin. She’s also capable of enduring a great deal, a fact most people don’t know about her. She’s been tested by circumstance, and has behaved with decorum despite it.”

“It seems to me that you have a reason, Ian. With Bryce dead, the avenue is clear to Emma.”

Ian nodded. “You’re right. Of all of us, I probably had the most reason to want Bryce dead. But I have the advantage, because I know I didn’t kill him.”

The older man didn’t flinch as Ian stared at him.

“Imagine my shock when, after thinking of one person after another, I came to you.”

No emotion shone from Albert’s eyes; his face was as expressionless as a death mask. Another sign, then, that he was right.

“How much did he pay you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Albert said, turning back to his microscope.

“You left for Inverness angry with me. I half expected you not to return. I wouldn’t have been surprised to receive a letter from you telling me that you’d decided to sever our acquaintance. Instead, you returned, amiable and seemingly unaffected by what I did.”

Albert glanced over at him.

“I told myself it was because you understood my dilemma. I told myself it was because we shared not only a working relationship but a friendship.”

Albert smiled. “You neglected one item on your list, Ian. The work is important to me.”

“A convenient point,” Ian said. “Because it allowed you an excuse to come back to Lochlaven.”

“I was obliged to do so regardless,” Albert responded. “Some of the equipment here is mine.”

Ian looked steadily at the other man. “Did you not trust me to crate it up on your behalf? Another anomaly in your behavior, Albert. Your return to Lochlaven is filled with inconsistencies, and we’ve both learned to pay attention to those, have we not?”

“What, exactly, are you accusing me of, Ian?”

“Murder.”

The word was lobbed into the silence and sat there.

“I realized,” Ian continued, “that you had returned to Lochlaven for one thing, to fulfill part of a bargain. One for which you were probably paid a great deal of money. Did the Earl of Falmouth contact you directly, Albert? Or did he have someone else meet with you? Was the money sufficient to silence your conscience?”

Albert turned to face him. “What do you know of a conscience, Ian? I gave up my practice to work with you. I was willing to do with less, and so was Brenda. When you offered for Rebecca, it was an answer to a prayer. We weren’t going to be poor any longer. My girl was going to be a countess. And then, you changed. All our dreams were gone, as quick as you please, because you fell in love with a woman you couldn’t have. What about your conscience, Ian? What about my life, my Brenda’s life, my daughter’s?”

Ian stood, walked to the windows and stared out at the lake. “I’m sorry for that, Albert. If you would have told me, I could have helped. I would have given you a salary, if nothing else.”

“I didn’t need your damn charity.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Albert. “What kind of man refuses the act of a friend but accepts blood money from a murderer?”

“His liver was compromised,” Albert said. “Bryce would have died soon in any case. No doubt in a great deal of agony.”

“So you delivered the coup de grace, did you? How much did you get paid for your act of godliness?”

Instead of answering him, Albert asked a question of his own. “What are you going to do, Ian?”

Ian stared out at the lake. The sunlight was diffuse this morning, as if seen through a filter.

“You have a choice, Albert,” he said. “I can take you to the authorities. Or you can surrender yourself.”

“You can’t prove your hypothesis, Ian.”

“I’m convinced I can, Albert, and I’m willing to expend whatever sum is necessary to prove it. How much were you paid? I’ll equal that, at least.”

“Five thousand pounds,” Albert said. “Enough to ensure a future, a bright one, for all of us.”

Sometimes, Ian didn’t want a mind that refused to stop until an answer was found. Sometimes, the answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Why did you smother him, Albert? Why not a solution of something injected into a vein? Being a physician, there must be all sorts of ways to kill.”

“Do you really want to know, Ian?” Albert asked, his voice soft and almost sympathetic.

“Consider it my unshakable curiosity,” he said.

“It’s not as if I was prepared for murder,” Albert said. “I had to take the opportunity that presented itself. Glenna was out of the room, and Bryce was leaving the next day. I had no other choice. “

Albert stood, looked toward the door.

“You had a choice, Albert. You could have chosen not to kill him.”

Albert didn’t respond.

“Did he struggle?” Ian asked, feeling numb inside. “Or was he too weak?”

Albert didn’t answer him.

“Have you done this before, Albert? I kept wondering that. In your practice, were there other patients you’ve helped along to death?”

Albert glanced toward the door again.

“You won’t make it,” Ian said, looking at him over his shoulder. “I’ve locked the door. Broderick and Samuel are on the other side, waiting.”

“What about the choice you mentioned?”

“Let’s just say that Broderick and Samuel are there to ensure you make the right choice. They’ll accompany you to the authorities.”

“And remain with me at all times, I gather,” Albert said.

Ian didn’t answer.

Albert smiled. “Regardless of what happens to me, I’ve cared for my family.”

“And killed a man.”

“Who was going to die.”

“So you say. Who contacted you?”

“The Earl of Falmouth,” Albert said. “I would have been paid twice the amount if she’d died as well, Ian. What kind of woman inspires her own uncle to want her dead?”

One who deserves better.
An answer he didn’t give Albert. Instead, he asked, “How did he know Bryce survived the poison?”

“How should I know?” Albert said, annoyed.

Murder was abhorrent to Ian. Murder was, simply put, the worst act a man could commit. But Albert had compounded that sin, because he’d killed a man who could not fight back.

What responsibility did he himself bear for that act? By not understanding how much Albert had sacrificed, was he somehow guilty as well? A question for which there was no ready—or easy—answer.

Evil had a new face, and it was kind, genial, and topped with curly black hair.

“How did he find you?” Ian asked.

Albert looked annoyed. “I’m well known enough. I’m not the Earl of Buchane but people know me.”

“People will certainly know you now,” Ian said, walking to Albert’s side. “Did you never think what this would do to Brenda and Rebecca? You may have secured their future financially, Albert, but you will always be known as a murderer, and they a murderer’s family.”

“Then do not do this, my friend,” Albert said, reaching up and clapping his hand on Ian’s upper arm. “You have to believe me. Bryce was dying.”

Ian stepped back, unable to bear the touch of the man he’d considered a surrogate father, the man who’d been his mentor, a man whose mind he’d respected.

Anger shadowed Albert’s face. “I’ve done you a favor, Your Lordship,” he said, one of the few times he’d ever addressed Ian in such a fashion.

“How’s that?”

“I’ve cleared the way to the woman you love.”

Ian could only wordlessly stare at the older man. A moment later he turned and walked away, leaving Albert for the last time.

Chapter 34

A
week passed, seven interminable days since Bryce died, and during that time Emma kept to her room. Isobel brought her meal trays, but Glenna also visited, sharing information about Lochlaven when she did. As the days passed, Glenna was as close to a friend as Emma had known in years. Mrs. Jenkins called upon her once a day, each time inquiring if there was anything she required. Everyone at Lochlaven was extraordinarily kind.

From Glenna, she’d learned that Dr. Carrick had been taken to the authorities in Edinburgh, accompanied by Ian and a number of people from Lochlaven. That Albert had killed Bryce, when he’d labored so long to save him, was one of those facts she could not quite grasp.

Another was that while most people went their entire lives without being touched by violence, she had two murdered husbands to her credit.

Today, she’d retreated to the garden, because the breeze from the lake seemed capable of blowing away her thoughts. It had certainly been turbulent enough to loosen the snood from her hair.

She stared toward the island. The morning light was diffused; the island appeared more distant than it was. She’d been at Lochlaven for a month, and life had changed drastically here in that time.

She’d not loved Bryce but she regretted his death. No one should be murdered. No one should be killed for the sake of greed. No one should have to die before his time.

Ian had returned last night, which meant that she needed to meet with him this morning. A meeting she dreaded, and one that would be difficult. She knew what he would say, could predict his arguments. She would have to be strong, perhaps stronger than she’d ever been.

A seamstress had been employed in the last few days and had somehow—and miraculously—managed to complete a dress and appropriate bonnet for her. The short, sparrowlike little woman spoke almost continually in a low, heavily accented voice, as if she were talking to herself. Not once, however, had she directly addressed Emma, merely moving Emma’s arms when necessary, or climbing atop a box to obtain measurements of her waist and bodice. The result was a perfectly acceptable mourning dress.

Standing, she smoothed the skirt of her new dress, then took the graveled path back to the house.

The laboratory door was open. Emma stood there for a moment, gathering her courage. The laboratory, with its view of the lake and light glistening off glass, was too bright. She wanted shadows and darkness for this meeting.

She entered the laboratory and its warren of rooms. Ian was in the second room at the window, a view that looked out over the garden where she’d just been sitting. Had he been watching her? Sadness filled her and threatened to make speech impossible.

“Your uncle is missing,” he said without turning.

Startled, she said, “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been in contact with a firm of investigators in London. I received a telegram from them when I was in Inverness.”

“Could he still be in Scotland?”

“I frankly don’t care where he is, as long as it’s nowhere near you.”

She didn’t want him to be kind to her or protective.

He turned to face her. “I’ve news of your maid as well. Juliana has found employment.”

“Who would have employed her without a reference?” she asked.

“The Duchess of Meltonshire, I believe. Do you know her?”

She looked away.

“Emma?”

“She was a particular favorite of Anthony’s.”

“Perhaps Juliana is emulating Bryce.”

“Extortion?” She smiled. “The duchess is a very proper personage. She prides herself on her parties, her charities.”

“And her reputation?”

She nodded.

He turned. “There’s something else,” he said. He moved to one of the tables, picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “Juliana telegraphed your uncle once she arrived in Inverness.”

I know what you did. Mr. McNair still lives. I’ll not have anything to do with your plans.

“It sounds as if she was afraid,” Emma said.

“I came to the same conclusion.”

“Perhaps I misjudged her,” Emma admitted, staring down at the paper. “I wonder if she knew what she did?”