A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (19 page)

“You couldn’t have,” I assured her. “It’s winter. The air is dry. You had no reason to believe her skin itched because she was rubbing poison into it.”

She nodded, but I was sure my assertions meant nothing. She blamed herself, and would go on doing so for some time no matter what I said.

I glanced toward the door, wishing Lord Gage were not hovering there at this moment. “I have a somewhat delicate question to ask you,” I began.

Aileen’s gaze lifted to meet mine, but there was no hint in her eyes that she knew what I implied.

“Was Lady Drummond expecting?”

Her brow furrowed. “A child?”

I nodded.

“I don’t think so. And I should have noticed if she was. I was the first to suspect it with Master Freddy, and I knew within a week with Miss Victoria.”

I believed her. It was a lady’s maid’s job to notice even the most subtle changes in her mistress, and to make whatever alterations were necessary to keep her looking her best. They often knew when their mistress was ill, or increasing, or low in spirits long before their husbands.

“One more question. And I’m sorry to be impertinent. I assure you I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Did Lady Drummond have a lover?”

Her eyes widened. “Not that I knew of. Though . . .” She squirmed uncomfortably. “I did hear her discussing it with Lady Rachel Radcliffe. I . . . I think she was considering it.”

I thanked Aileen for her help and then we left her to rest. Gage was standing in the hall with his father when I joined them. He held up a vial of clear liquid.

“The lavender oil?”

He nodded. “Our Chemist friend failed to mention it.”

“Maybe it’s not the other source of the poison.”

He looked doubtful. “Maybe. But we still need to test it.”

I agreed. “I’m sure Dr. Graham will be happy to help. Though, once again, it’s absorbed, not ingested,” I pointed out.

“Yes. But between the oil and the cream, that’s a heavy dose being absorbed all at once.”

“True.”

“And she may have ingested a few drops of the tainted water while she bathed. It would be easy to do.”

I nodded, though I questioned whether it was enough. Gage could tell.

“I’ll ask Dr. Graham what his opinion is, and if he thinks we’re still missing something, we’ll keep looking.”

“Except the food has long since been thrown out,” Lord Gage interjected unhelpfully.

I sighed. “Either way, we may never know for certain. But it’s a start.”

•   •   •

I
joined the men as they questioned the stable lads in the tack room of the carriage house, but it swiftly became evident I was only hindering matters. I wasn’t sure whether the boys were aware of my reputation, but it was clear they were not used to speaking to ladies. They stumbled over their words, trying to answer without using inappropriate slang—most of which was harmless if somewhat coarse and confusing. I suspected someone had been coaching them on suitable language to be used in front of gentlewomen, but in their excitement they had difficulty employing it. Though commendable, these efforts only wasted our time.

So I left Gage and his father to finish questioning the outside staff while I returned to the house. I’d thought of something else to ask Jeffers and gone in search of him. When I couldn’t locate him in the front hall, I decided to pull the bell rope in one of the nearest rooms and wait for him to appear. I ducked into the study and was crossing toward the cord when I saw the room was occupied.

Imogen stood in the middle of the rug, much as Lord Gage had, staring up at the portrait of her stepmother. Her head was tilted to the side, making her long, wheat blond hair fall over her shoulder. She stiffened as she heard me enter and turned to glance over her shoulder at me. Tears glistened on her lashes. At the sight of me, her shoulders relaxed, and I could only surmise she had been worried I was her father.

I slowly approached her, feeling somehow that if I made any sudden movements I would unnerve her and send her scurrying from the room. She reminded me of a fawn, with her sad, dark eyes surrounded by long lashes, her pert nose, and her petite bone structure. She was dressed all in black, which only diminished her frame even more.

I didn’t speak, merely moved forward to join her in her contemplation of the portrait. Though, truth be told, I think we were both contemplating each other more. I watched Imogen from the corner of my eye, catching the looks she continued to send my way. Remembering the way she had stared down at me from the stairs and the window that day when I collected the portrait, I suspected she was working up the courage to speak, so I waited patiently.

And was rewarded when she asked in a timid voice, “She was murdered, wasn’t she?”

I turned to look at her.

“I . . . I heard the servants talking. They said you proved it was murder.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Her composure, already so fragile, crumpled further. “Do you know who did it?”

“Not yet. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

She swallowed and her gaze fell to my neck. “I may know something important.”

The skin along my arms prickled. “Yes?”

She gazed up at me through her impossibly long lashes. “I take . . .” Her face scrunched up in pain. “I took tea with my stepmother every Monday and Thursday, and as I was leaving her chamber on Monday, I noticed she had another visitor.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I’m almost certain it was my father’s mistress.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I heard two of the maids discussing it in the hall. They didn’t know I was there. The one maid was scolding the other for
sneaking the master’s doxy up to see her ladyship. She said she deserved to lose her place.”

“And how did the girl respond?” I asked, wondering why I hadn’t heard any of this from the servants themselves.

“She offered to split the money she’d earned for sneaking the woman up.” Imogen began to run her hands over and over a strand of her hair. “Do . . . do you think she was the one who put poison in her cream?” Her voice trembled at the end.

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” I assured her. “Thank you for telling me.”

She sniffed and nodded, looking up again at the portrait of her stepmother in longing.

“You loved her,” I said, having wondered at the relationship between them. I knew Lady Drummond well enough to predict she had loved Imogen as her own, but the stepdaughter was largely unfamiliar to me.

“She was kind to me,” she responded simply.

“And not everyone is?” I guessed.

She wrapped her arms around her torso and shook her head.

I hesitated, not knowing how to ask what I needed to, but ultimately I could not remain silent. “Your father. Does he . . . hurt you?”

Her face flushed. “Like he did my stepmother? No.” Her eyes dipped again. “I think he prefers to believe I don’t exist.”

As painful as that must have been, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was better than the alternative.

“There you are!”

Imogen jumped at the boom of Gage’s voice. He took in the scene at once, tempering his expression. But the fawn had already been startled.

“Please, excuse me,” she murmured, fleeing the room with her head bowed as she edged through the door past Lord Gage.

“What was that about?” Gage asked once she was gone.

“I’ll explain in the carriage.”

O
n the carriage drive to Dr. Abercrombie’s home, which we quickly discovered was on Henderson Row, Gage and his father informed me of what little information the coachman and stable lads had been able to provide, and I told them what Imogen had confided in me.

When I had finished, Lord Gage turned to his son with a grim expression. “Then I suppose we shall have to pay a visit to Mrs. Dubois.”

Anticipating an argument, I didn’t say anything then, but I was not about to be left out of their conversation with Mrs. Dubois, no matter how scandalous it would be.

Surprisingly, no one fought my attending the interview of Dr. Abercrombie. Whether it was because of my background or the fact that I was a female, I was not about to question Lord Gage’s acquiescence. Nor did I make the mistake of believing he had finally accepted my assets as an investigator. I was just glad to be included without having to battle for it.

Dr. Abercrombie was closeted with a patient in his study when we arrived, so we were shown into his drawing room to wait. We passed a quarter of an hour in uncomfortable silence. I’m certain we all should
have liked to discuss the inquiry, but we were ever conscious that we were in a stranger’s home and we had no way of knowing whether the physician’s staff was eavesdropping.

I tried to occupy my time by identifying the species of each of the porcelain bird figurines decorating the surfaces of the room. They were quite lovely, if a trifle excessive. The collection was delicate and feminine, and almost certainly his wife’s, except that I knew Dr. Abercrombie to be an old widower. I couldn’t decide whether they were actually his, if he’d left them out for sentimental reasons, or if he simply couldn’t be bothered to redecorate.

Dr. Abercrombie himself was a rather large man, with just the beginnings of a rounded stomach. His grizzled facial hair was thick and prodigious and his spectacles crooked, leaning toward one side of his face. I hid a smile. He reminded me a bit of my rather absentminded uncle who lived in southern England, buried in his books much of the time or blundering about the countryside.

Once the introductions were made, Gage explained the reason for our visit. “You received a letter from Lady Drummond, we believe, requesting an appointment with you. Do you recall?”

“Why, yes,” he declared, seeming to expand in his chair as he talked. “Verra brief, it was. Wanted to meet wi’ me aboot an urgent matter, but made no mention of what that was.”

“Not even a hint?” Lord Gage interjected.

He shook his head. “Nay. But ye can see for yourself, if ye wish.”

Gage said we would. “But first, can you tell us, do you have any prior acquaintance with Lady Drummond?”

“Nay. I may have heard her name, but I dinna ever recall meeting her. It’s hard to forget the nobility.”

I shifted in my seat, frustrated with the lack of answers we were uncovering. Gage saw it and tried one more line of inquiry, even though it was dubious.

“Can you speculate on why she might have contacted you?”

Dr. Abercrombie leaned against the wooden arm of his chair, which creaked. “Well, lad, I can speculate all ye wish, but that’s no’ goin’ to give ye any answers.”

He was right. It was a futile exercise. She could have been hiding an illness, or gathering information for a friend. She could have wanted a second opinion on something Dr. Davis had diagnosed for her. Not all of the potential reasons for her coming here were in any way scandalous or nefarious, and there was no way to know whether it had anything to do with her murder. Just because she had been guarded, and her husband had grown angry upon his discovery of her appointment, did not mean it was connected to her poisoning.

We thanked the physician for his time and, after collecting the letter, departed.

Gage sighed and passed me the missive. “He’s right. It’s short and to the point.”

“And worthless to pursue further,” Lord Gage added, dismissing it from his mind. “Shall we return Lady Darby to Charlotte Square and venture to Mrs. Dubois’s?”

I refolded Lady Drummond’s letter. “I believe I’ll accompany you.”

Gage scowled. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” I answered calmly. “I think a woman’s point of view could be beneficial for this interview.”

“Yet highly inappropriate.”

“I’m well aware. But you can’t tell me that given Mrs. Dubois’s profession, she isn’t a gifted actress, particularly adept at manipulating men. She wouldn’t be so successful if she was not.”

Gage’s brow lowered. “Are you implying that she will bamboozle us?”

“Of course not. I’m merely suggesting that a woman will see things differently than a man. And since our murder victim was a woman, it might be useful to observe how she interacts with another female.” I stared at him with wide eyes, daring him to argue.

Lord Gage startled us both when he gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, let her come. She already associates with criminals. Meeting a courtesan can hardly tarnish her reputation further.”

I didn’t know whether to be grateful for his interference on my behalf or apprehensive of his intentions in giving in. Given the way he had treated me since his arrival in Edinburgh, I chose the latter. But I remained silent, hoping Gage would be too stunned to argue further.

In the end, his father didn’t allow him time to object. He rapped against the carriage wall at the back of his head and shouted an address up to the coachman.

“How do you know where Mrs. Dubois lives?” Gage eyed his father suspiciously.

His father didn’t reply, instead turning to stare out the window at the passing town houses, resting his hands one over the other on the head of his cane.

“You’re acquainted with her.” Gage spoke in a flat voice. When his father still did not answer, he snapped, “You might as well tell us. We’re about to find out.”

Lord Gage’s jaw tensed. “Yes. I am
acquainted
with Mrs. Dubois. Or more accurately some of her . . . friendly neighbors.”

I blushed at the implication.

“You’ve been in Edinburgh for barely a week,” Gage leaned forward to hiss.

Lord Gage finally turned to look at him. “Oh, don’t be such a green lad, Sebastian.”

I could tell Gage was biting back hot words, for the vein in his temple throbbed.

Before he could formulate a calmer response, the carriage rolled to a stop before an unobtrusive little town house. The street was quiet. Quaint, even. Not the sort of place I had expected members of the demimonde to live. But, of course, I knew very little of these women’s
lives. As Gage had said, it was inappropriate for gentlewomen to speak of them or be spoken to about them, so everything I’d gathered had been through idle gossip.

I knew that many gentlemen kept mistresses, and that their wives were supposed to accept it as inevitable and learn to overlook it. Some wives were even afforded the same liberty to conduct an affair with another gentleman, after they had given birth to the requisite two male children, of course—an heir and a spare. And society basically approved this behavior, so long as everyone involved was discreet. It was when one of the parties involved overstepped themselves or behaved too conspicuously that scandal resulted.

Philip and Alana’s loving, committed marriage unfortunately seemed to be in the minority among the members of the upper class. And now even that seemed uncertain. I glanced at Gage as he pulled my arm through his and guided me up the stairs to Mrs. Dubois’s door. Was a loyal, lasting marriage even possible? Or was every relationship doomed to fail at some point or another? It was a distressing thought. And one I did not have the leisure to contemplate at the moment.

A rather normal-looking butler opened the door and nodded as if two gentlemen and a lady came to call on Mrs. Dubois every day. He showed us into the drawing room, and offered us tea or something stronger, before leaving to inform his employer of our presence.

I hesitated at the threshold, somewhat taken aback by the room’s décor. I could only assume Mrs. Dubois was a fan of ancient Egypt, for the room was a shrine to the now dead empire. The walls and the tables were covered in sculptures and busts of gods and other bizarre creatures in gold and ebony. I leaned closer to examine a statue of what looked to be a lion’s body with a man’s head in a long headdress. Except it was all fake. Cheap imitations of what I assumed were real Egyptian treasures.

However, the dark furniture with gold inlay was certainly authentic. As were the delicate linens and silks draped over fainting couches and
cascading from the ceiling to create private little nooks in the corners of the room.

I allowed Gage to lead me toward where Lord Gage had already taken a seat in a spindly-legged chair. I perched on one of the sofas adjacent to him, unable to stop myself from craning my neck to see everything in the room. It was overwhelming and yet fascinating all at once.

We did not have to wait long for Mrs. Dubois to appear. Given the room’s outlandish décor, I expected her to be a gaudily dressed, flamboyant woman. Instead, I encountered a softly beautiful woman, not many years older than Alana, clothed in an amethyst silk morning gown. The material draped and clung to display her figure to the best advantage, but it was neither vulgar nor distasteful. I’d seen many women of the ton wear things far more revealing. A simple amethyst teardrop adorened her neck and I reached up to wrap my fingers around my own amethyst pendant. Mine was smaller in size, but being my late mother’s, of great sentimental value.

“What a lovely surprise,” she proclaimed with a melting smile. Her eyes surveyed each of us quickly, but she did not reveal by even the flicker of an eyelash that she was in any way shocked or alarmed by our presence. One would have assumed that she entertained inquiry agents and gentlewomen every day.

Gage and Lord Gage rose to greet her, as was polite, even if she was not, strictly, a lady, while I reserved my prerogative as a woman of higher rank to remain seated.

Gage bowed very shortly and correctly. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“But of course,” she replied and then turned to his father. “Lord Gage, I am glad to see you again looking so well.”

He smiled his charming smile, the one Gage had inherited from him and often employed among the ladies of the ton. “Likewise. I didn’t think it was possible for you to look even more beautiful, but you have proven me wrong once again.”

Mrs. Dubois batted his arm playfully, before turning to me.

Gage performed the introductions without a hint of irony. “Lady Darby, allow me to introduce Mrs. Dubois. Mrs. Dubois, my fiancée, Lady Darby.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she demurred.

I offered her a tight, but not unfriendly smile. “It’s good to meet you.”

I had to give her credit. She had assessed the situation and played her role to perfection. She had recognized that too much flirtation toward Gage would only discomfort him, rile me, and vex his father. Instead she’d chosen to pour the flattery on Lord Gage, and treat me and Gage with precise properness. She was deferential, but not groveling, and I could see that this had relaxed Gage and even me, to a certain extent, even though I was aware of her shrewd calculation.

Her eyes brightened with humor as we continued to regard one another, and I realized she was aware that I had seen her cunning. My smile became more genuine as we shared a moment of amusement.

Lord Gage offered his hand to help her to her seat just two steps away. She lifted her skirts and gracefully arranged herself on the white and gold fainting couch to best advantage. I realized this was her throne, of sorts, from which she charmed and beguiled guests. If not for the honey blond shade of her hair, styled in a simple Grecian knot, I would have likened her to Cleopatra receiving her subjects, or perhaps the Romans. Was that why she’d chosen this room’s outrageous décor?

The corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” she asked, seeming to read my thoughts. She gestured to our surroundings. “My first protector insisted that it be decorated so. And later I discovered that men seem to expect to be entertained in such extravagant surroundings, so I left it.” She glanced up at the large bust of some Egyptian god perched on a shelf behind her. “Someday, when I retire, I look forward to ripping this all out and replacing it with something less . . . preposterous.” Her eyes laughed.

“So . . . you own this house?” I asked in disbelief. I knew few women who owned property. It all went to their husbands, or fathers, or brothers, or sons. All of us, even duchesses, were beholden to the men in our lives for a roof over our heads.

“Yes. It was gifted to me. As were my clothes and jewelry, and any number of other things.” Payment for services rendered. She did not say this aloud, but her eyes did. Services that wives rendered for free, though that wasn’t the way they were supposed to be viewed.

Gage squirmed beside me, likely uncomfortable with the inappropriate direction our conversation had turned.

“But I don’t think you came to speak with me about my property,” Mrs. Dubois proclaimed lightheartedly. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Lord Gage cleared his throat. “I imagine you are aware of Lady Drummond’s recent death?”

Mrs. Dubois effortless cheer faltered appropriately, but also genuinely, I thought. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And . . .” he cleared his throat again “. . . we have been made aware that Lord Drummond is your current protector.”

“Was,” she declared.

Lord Gage blinked in surprise.

“We ended our arrangement almost two weeks ago.”

I glanced at Gage, who frowned. “But you furtively called on Lady Drummond last Monday.”

At first I thought she would deny it, but then she sighed and shook her head. “I knew that little maid would talk.”

“Actually, someone else saw you.”

She considered the matter, and then nodded. “The stepdaughter.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I hoped she wouldn’t recognize me.”

“So you admit you visited your former protector’s wife in her home?”

“Yes. Though why that should matter to you, I don’t know.
Unless . . .” She gasped, seeming to recognize the import of our presence. “You think I killed her?”