A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (11 page)

My shoulders slumped, knowing he was right. “Still, it sounds like Lord Drummond overreacted if he became so irate over such a small thing that the girl was afraid he would do her some harm.”

“Yes, but we have only the maid’s word that he responded so strongly. He may have merely snapped at her and the girl heard it as a roar,” Gage pointed out. “Anderley said she was a timid slip of a girl. That she jumped at every order the proprietor barked, even if it wasn’t aimed at her.”

It was possible. One of the maids on Sir Anthony’s staff was like that, and no matter how hard I tried to put her at ease, she always slunk about the house like a whipped dog. She had started to make
me
feel uncomfortable just being in her presence.

“We’re also forgetting that the man had just lost his wife. No matter our suspicions or the face he shows the world, he might still be grieving. Perhaps the maid’s clumsiness simply occurred at a time when he was contemplating her death. Or maybe that dish was sentimental to his wife, or him, because he associated it with her. And so he reacted harshly.”

“You’re right, of course,” I admitted. “I should know better.” I lifted my skirts to step down off the walkway to cross Princes Street. “Do I not hide behind a mask, often to my own . . .”

“Look out!” someone shouted just as I became aware of the rumbling of a speeding carriage’s wheels careening toward me.

I turned to see a pair of dark horses bearing down on me. I gasped in terror and closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. But then an arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me backward with enough force to expel the breath from my lungs. We landed hard on the pavement.

I lay gasping for air, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Gage rolled over to look down at me, a golden lock of hair draped over his forehead. “Kiera, are you hurt?” His hands began to run carefully over my arms and shoulders. “Kiera.”

I shook my head, still unable to breathe normally, let alone speak.

A small crowd began to gather around us. “Blasted scoundrel,” one older man cursed. “I cannot abide these young men and their racing carriages,” a woman screeched.

Gage ignored them all, carefully helping me to sit up. His brow was furrowed in concern. “Are you certain you aren’t injured?”

“I don’t think so,” I finally managed to say. “At least . . . no more . . . than a few bruises,” I stammered, still winded from the fall.

I clutched my side where I had fallen as Gage pulled me to my feet.

“I say, excellent timing,” the older man praised him. “If you hadn’t been so quick, she would have been trampled by that rapscallion.”

“Did anyone see who it was?” Gage asked.

One woman thought it’d been a young man with dark hair, while another said the fellow had looked much older, possibly with graying hair. Ultimately, no one could agree.

I pressed a hand to Gage’s arm, simply wanting to be away. “It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “He may have been driving too fast, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

I could see from his expression that he was far from satisfied with such an explanation, but my weary smile convinced him to cease his questions and escort me home. My hip ached as we walked, and I could feel a knot forming on my leg, but otherwise I felt fine. Perhaps a little shaken, but that was to be expected.

He was especially vigilant on our walk back to the town house, as if he thought another carriage might attempt to run me down. I did not say anything, merely leaned on his arm and enjoyed the sensation of being cherished and protected. It was not a feeling I was accustomed to. Philip and my brother, Trevor, had done their best to care for me in the nearly two years since Sir Anthony’s death, but it was not the same. And I knew I would never take it for granted.

S
ergeant Maclean was waiting for us at the same table near the back of the tea shop as the last time we had met him there. The brawny police officer rose from his chair to greet us, and as before, I was taken aback by the man’s size. I had only seen a bear once, in a menagerie at a nobleman’s house, but that was the image that immediately came to mind. However, his demeanor was restrained and his movements carefully controlled, as if he was ever conscious of how much space he took up.

“Mr. Gage,” he said, shaking his hand. His burly fist nearly swallowed Gage’s. “Always good teh see ye. Though I mun wonder if ye ever take a break. Ye do ken you’re a gentleman, dinna ye?” he teased.

“Yes, but don’t you know gentlemen hate to be afflicted with ennui,” he jested back. “Some men gamble, and some race phaetons or chase lightskirts.” He flashed a bright grin. “I solve murders.”

Sergeant Maclean tipped his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “And I see ye’ve brought Lady Darby this time.” He offered me a short bow. “Allow me teh offer my congratulations, m’lady.” He flicked a glance at Gage. “It’s aboot time someone caught this rogue in the parson’s mousetrap.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I think.”

The sergeant’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Duffy, emerged from the back of the shop carrying a tray. I sighed in delight as I spied the plate of scones dotted with sultanas next to the teapot and a bowl of clotted cream. I’d not been able to stomach much breakfast earlier that morning, thinking of Lady Drummond being interred in the cold, hard ground. Out of deference to the ton’s belief that ladies could not handle the rigors of a burial, and a desire to avoid causing a scene should Lord Drummond protest my presence, I had not attended the funeral. However, Gage had gone and reported nothing abnormal in the behavior of the other mourners. But now my appetite seemed to have emphatically returned.

Mrs. Duffy dimpled at my reaction. “I remembered how much ye enjoyed them the last time ye were here.”

“Oh, they’re heavenly,” I replied, breathing in the herbal aroma of the tea and the sweetness of the scones.

Mrs. Duffy disappeared back into the kitchen while I poured for each of us. The shop looked much the same as it had two months prior; dark wood paneling covered the walls and floor, while each of the eight tables was draped with a pristine white tablecloth. However, in the place of the tiny bud vases that had graced the center of each table before sat a tiny pot filled with fresh mint.

“How charming,” I remarked.

Sergeant Maclean grunted. “’Twas some banker’s wife’s idea. I guess she always puts mint in her tea. Dinna ken why. She isna a cow.”

I nearly sprayed tea all over the tablecloth. I forced the drink down, nearly choking on it, and then started to cough.

Gage reached over to pat my back. “Are you well?” The twinkle in his eye told me he had also appreciated the sergeant’s wry humor.

I nodded.

Sergeant Maclean set his cup back down on its saucer. “Noo, did ye have any luck wi’ the chemists in New Town?”

The light in Gage’s eyes dimmed. “No. Most of them refused to
talk, and those who did could not tell me anything of use. A few said they would tell me what they could if I returned to ask about a specific poison.”

He nodded. “Those I talked to had the same complaint. Said there were too many substances that could kill a person if taken in the wrong amount. Though I did have half a dozen admit they’d sold rat poison recently, which contains arsenic.” He looked to me hopefully.

“It’s very common,” I confirmed. “And unfortunately, it’s possibly the most popular poison because it’s so easy to obtain with little suspicion.” I frowned, discouraged.

“Could Lady Drummond have been killed by arsenic?” Gage asked me.

The one time I had encountered poison in a cadaver, it had been arsenic. For all Sir Anthony and I had known, the poisoning had gone undetected, but my late husband found evidence of its presence during his dissection. I remembered asking if he should notify the local magistrate, but he had told me it was not our concern, and threatened me to keep quiet. I had suspected then that that particular corpse had been purchased from a body snatcher, but I had held my tongue, too afraid of Sir Anthony to do more than obey.

“It’s possible.” I sighed in frustration. “Hundreds of people have probably purchased arsenic in some form or another in the past six months. If that was what killed Lady Drummond, it will be almost impossible to prove. Arsenic might have been detected during an autopsy, but Lord Drummond refused the suggestion before and there is no way he would allow it now.”

I scowled at the scone on my plate. The lingering taste of my last bite suddenly turned to ashes in my mouth.

Sergeant Maclean shifted awkwardly in his chair, making the wood groan. “Well, maybe it isna arsenic. Maybe it’s something else.”

“Weren’t you going to speak to someone at the Royal College?” Gage prodded gently.

“Yes.” I made an effort to rouse myself from my irritated stupor. “If the poison was not arsenic, perhaps there is still some chance of finding proof.”

The two men glanced at each other and I knew what they were thinking. Even if we could connect the purchase of a particular poison to the Drummond household, it did not necessarily prove guilt. There were many more factors involved, but it would at least be a start.

I took another sip of tea, refusing to let their doubt crush my renewed hope.

Sergeant Maclean fidgeted in his chair again. At first glance, I thought perhaps he was simply uncomfortable in the tiny chair on which he perched, but after taking a closer look at his face, I could tell there was something else on his mind. Something he was wrestling with.

“There is still one other option,” he murmured, frowning into his tea.

Gage and I glanced at each other, curious about the police officer’s reticence.

He considered us each. “But before I say more, I mun’ ask. Are you sure aboot this? Are ye certain Lady Drummond was murdered?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up his hand to stop me.

“I ken why ye suspected it. Mr. Gage has relayed most of the details to me, and I mun’ admit, I find it all rather suspicious, too. Though most people dinna want the city police in their homes.” He scowled. “They still think we’re petty thieves and bumblin’ idiots. So Lord Drummond’s refusal to let us investigate is no’ surprisin’.”

He leaned toward us, resting his arms on the table. “But ye’ve no’ been given access to the body or the house. The physician has said her death was caused by an apoplexy, and unless ye can show he was bribed teh say so . . .” his expression said that was doubtful “. . . then that’s likely to stand. Even if ye do discover that Lord Drummond or someone in his household bought poison, ye are no’ likely teh prove they used it on her ladyship.”

I sank back in my chair, knowing what he said was true.

His expression was grim, but not without sympathy. “Ye face a long, hard battle, and it could all be for naught.”

“That may be,” I replied solemnly. “But I have to try. Lady Drummond deserves that much.”

Sergeant Maclean continued to study me, and then as if he’d judged my intentions to be true, he nodded and turned to Gage in question.

Gage’s lips curled up at the corners. “Whither she goes, I follow.”

Sergeant Maclean gave a gruff laugh. “Aye, well, that’s good enough for me.” His expression grew serious and a line formed between his brows. “There’s rumors o’ an underground chemist workin’ doon near Grassmarket and West Port.”

I stiffened at his mention of the area where the notorious criminals Burke and Hare had prowled for their victims—plying them with drink, and then suffocating them and selling their bodies to the anatomists at Surgeons’ Hall. They had only been discovered and tried for their crimes a little over two years ago, so the events were not so far from the minds of the citizens of Edinburgh. There was still some fear that other resurrectionists had turned from the risky and labor-intensive practice of body snatching to the relative ease of murder in order to obtain fresh corpses to sell. Even as far away as London, there was panic at the prospect. I knew this intimately. It had played into the scandal and horror of the discovery of my involvement in my late husband’s work.

“What exactly does that mean?” Gage asked.

Sergeant Maclean sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “They say he’s willin’ to mix up any potion, any poison for the right price.”

“So he might be the man we’re looking for? He could have mixed the poison for Lord Drummond or whoever the murderer is?”

He didn’t appear so certain. “Aye, maybe. If he really exists. And if ye can find him.”

“Maybe Bonnie Brock knows.”

Gage’s face tightened. “You are not contacting Bonnie Brock.”

“Why not?” I turned to him to argue. “If anyone knows who this chemist is and how to reach him, it’s probably Bonnie Brock. And besides, he owes me a favor.”

His eyes grew hard. “You are
not
contacting Bonnie Brock.”

I frowned. “Be reasonable. He can help us.”

“Maybe I don’t want his help.”

“Because he gave you a black eye?”

“Because the man is not to be trusted.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Even I know that.”

His nostrils flared. “But you’re going to ask him to find this chemist anyway?”

“The man is a criminal, but he does have his own code of honor. And returning the favor I did him would be part of that.”

He turned away with a grunt of frustration. “No, Kiera.”

He never called me by my given name in public, so for him to have forgotten and done so now must have meant he was furious. But I didn’t care. He was being unreasonable.

“I canna tell ye what teh do,” Sergeant Maclean said. His gaze darted back and forth between us. “But if ye truly want teh find this chemist, you’re gonna need help from someone who kens Edinburgh’s dark and seedy corners better than I do.” His brow lowered. “I dinna like Bonnie Brock Kincaid. I’ve seen too much o’ his handiwork, and watched him slip oot o’ the hangman’s noose too many times. But Lady Darby is right.” He nodded to me. “He does have his own code o’ honor. ’Tis why his hold on the city is so tight. People ken he’ll keep his word so long as they do right by him, and that suits most o’ ’em just fine.”

He leaned toward me. “Just a word o’ warnin’ should ye choose to take this path.” Perhaps it was the way the light fell on him, throwing his crooked nose and the scars from his days as a pugilist into relief, but suddenly his face looked almost menacing. “Dinna cross him. Ye willna like the result.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gage retorted. “Because we are not going to contact him.” His eyes bored into mine. “We’ll locate the chemist another way.”

I narrowed my gaze in resentment.

He turned away, ignoring me as he asked Sergeant Maclean about another matter.

I sipped my now tepid tea and stewed. He was being obstinate. I thought his high-handed protectiveness had ended, but apparently I was wrong. This infuriated me because I’d proved myself to be more than reasonable, and perfectly capable in precarious situations. In fact, it had been my brother, Anderley, and I who had saved Gage from peril during our last inquiry. If this was how he intended to behave during our marriage, then I was not pleased, and I let him know so as soon as we returned to his carriage.

“So this is how it will be?”

He turned to me as the carriage rolled forward. “How what will be?” he asked, though he must have had an inkling, for his expression was still rigid.

“Our marriage. Our investigations. You’ll tell me what to do and I shall fall in line,” I sneered.

His eyebrows arched condescendingly. “That is the way it usually goes.”

I glared at him, furious he would say such a thing when he knew how frightened I was of that very paradigm. Husbands held all the power in marriage. Sir Anthony had illustrated that to me very clearly. They could hurt you and force you to do terrible things, and there was nothing you could do about it. I had sworn never to marry again for this very reason.

But then the unexpected had happened. I’d met Sebastian Gage and fallen in love. Even then, I’d resisted him, turning down his first offer of marriage because I feared to place myself completely in another
man’s power. Until I accepted the truth, that Gage was different. Or so I thought.

My stomach dipped and I felt as though I might be ill. I turned aside, pressing my hand to my mouth. Had I been wrong? Was I making a mistake? The prospect made the blood in my veins run cold.

I felt the warm press of Gage’s hand on my shoulder and nearly shrank away from it.

“Kiera. Kiera, look at me.”

I shook my head.

“Kiera,” he murmured more gently, making me face him. His eyes had softened in remorse. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But it’s true,” I bit out.

“For most marriages,” he admitted. “But that is not the way it will be for us. At least, not most of the time.”

“But some of the time.”

“I cannot promise I will never try to forbid you from doing something, but I promise that my reason for doing so will always be good.”

I lifted my chin defiantly. “And when I think you’re wrong?”

His brows snapped together. “I’m not Sir Anthony. How many times do I need to remind you of that?”

Guilt pressed down on my chest. He was right. I did give in to my fears far too often. But I wasn’t about to admit it.

Instead I snapped back. “How many times do I have to ask you to tell me about Greece?”

His mouth flattened and he turned away.

“Mr. Knighton said he thought it had to do with a woman. Someone you cared for.”

He sighed in annoyance.

“Is it true?”

“Contrary to what he thinks, Mr. Knighton doesn’t know everything,” he muttered under his breath.

“But was he right about this?” I pressed, unwilling to be deterred yet again.

His reply was terse. “I’m not going to discuss this now.”

“You never want to discuss it. You tell me to be patient, and I have been. But eventually even a saint’s patience runs thin.”