A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (2 page)

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t do nothing,” I pleaded. “I know what he would have done had I left the room.”

Lady Drummond’s gaze dropped to the Aubusson rug. I hated saying the words, hurting her by destroying the fiction, but it was the truth.

“Perhaps this will give him some time to calm down.” I inhaled shakily before adding, “Sometimes it works.”

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, and I could tell she understood I was speaking from experience. Something passed between us then, though neither of us said a word. It was an acceptance similar to what I imagined soldiers felt for each other, having been through the hellish nightmares of war together. Lady Drummond and I had been through a different sort of battle, but a battle it was all the same.

I lifted my brush and turned back toward the canvas, unwilling to push Lady Drummond for more than I was prepared to give.

It was only later that I realized what a mistake that had been. I should have urged her to confide all—what was making her nervous, what cruel acts her husband was capable of, what the contents of the letter that had so angered him had been. Instead, I allowed her to keep her secrets, and by doing so, they almost remained hidden forever.

If only I’d made her talk, the events that followed would have unfolded quite differently.

E
dinburgh’s brief glimpse of the sun had passed by the time I emerged from Drummond House, and the sky was once more weighted down by dark gray clouds. I hurried down the steps and into Philip’s carriage just as the first drops of rain began to splatter against the roof.

Though only half past noon, the Cromarty town house was ablaze with light as we pulled around Charlotte Square and up to the door. I dashed inside as Figgins held the door open for me. I could hear the murmur of happy voices through the open drawing room doors above.

The butler smiled as he took my cloak and gloves. “Mr. Gage is here.”

My heart gave a leap, as it always did upon hearing that Sebastian Gage was in the vicinity. I wondered if it always would.

I nodded in thanks and passed my satchel of art supplies, including my set of specially weighted brushes, to the maid standing nearby. She would take it to my bedchamber, and I would transfer it to my locked art studio on the top floor later.

“Please tell Bree I’ll be up in a moment,” I told her, though I knew the request was pointless. My lady’s maid would understand what the
arrival of my satchel meant, and she would already have my afternoon dress laid out for me.

Brushing a hand down over my plain slate gray serge dress, I climbed the stairs to the drawing room, knowing I would never be allowed to sneak past to change before greeting them.

Gage sat to the right of my sister where she reclined on a spring green fainting couch near the Georgian windows, her hands resting instinctively and protectively over her full belly. She was smiling at something he said, and I was grateful for the welcome flush it brought to Alana’s cheeks. Gage, for his part, also seemed to be enjoying himself. His pale blue eyes crinkled with humor as he leaned back in his chair and rested one booted ankle over his other knee. Though his golden curls had recently been trimmed shorter than usual, they were still artfully arranged in their normal style.

Philip was the first to notice me as he entered through the connecting door from the parlor with a stack of correspondence in his hands. More parliamentary business, I assumed. “Ah, there you are, Kiera.” He nodded to Gage with a twinkle in his eyes. “Now you can distract your fiancé from filling my wife’s ears full of nonsense.”

My fiancé. Those words still astonished me every time I heard them.

After my disastrous marriage to the late great anatomist Sir Anthony Darby, and the scandal that followed the revelation of my forced involvement with his dissections, I had thought never to marry again. I had also thought never again to have anything to do with corpses, and yet a year and half later I’d found myself assisting with the investigation of a gentlewoman’s murder. It was during that investigation that I had met Sebastian Gage, gentleman inquiry agent, and now after seven months of tumultuous courtship, and three treacherous inquiries, we were engaged to marry.

“What has he been telling her this time?” I remarked, good-naturedly playing along as Gage rose from his chair.

“Just that the sun made an appearance this morning, even though we all know it’s much too early in the year for such a thing in Edinburgh.”

“Ah, but it did. I saw it through Lady Drummond’s window.”

A smile playing across his lips, Gage took hold of my hands and leaned in to kiss my cheek. I inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne as well as the faint odor of sawdust, telling me he’d likely been building something that morning in the workshop in the basement of the building where he rented his bachelor quarters.

“Well, dash it,” Philip muttered. “That means I owe Strathblane five quid.”

Momentarily distracted, I turned to watch Philip drop into the chair Gage had just vacated. “You wagered on the weather?”

Philip shrugged his broad shoulders. “What else is there to wager on?”

I smiled. My brother-in-law was too chivalrous to gamble on the ridiculous and sometimes scandalous things that most gentlemen bet on—the length of
affairs de coeur
, the measurement of an opera singer’s bosom, or whether one man would have a legitimate child before another man. From the fond look in my sister’s eyes, I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

I leaned over to kiss her cheek, noticing her maid had added a cherry red ribbon trim to her jonquil floral morning dress, one of the only gowns that still fit her comfortably at this stage of her confinement. It was a welcome addition as the other colors had begun to fade.

“You have paint on your cheek, dear,” Alana murmured.

I nodded, promising to return shortly.

After scrubbing my neck, face, and hands clean, and allowing Bree to help me into a Pomona green gown much more suitable to entertaining, I rejoined the others. It had taken longer than expected to fix my hair, which, per usual, was already falling out of its pins. So by the time I settled onto the settee next to Gage, Alana had introduced her new favorite subject—preparations for our wedding.

It was not that I minded my sister’s enthusiasm, and in fact, being hopeless myself at social events and planning, I welcomed her assistance. But bit by bit it had all begun to snowball out of control, growing from a small ceremony and wedding breakfast with family and close friends to something more akin now to the event of the season. Oh, Alana wasn’t imprudent enough to call it that, knowing how the words would terrify me, but I wasn’t fooled. I could see what an enormous, elaborate affair it was becoming.

Several times I had wanted to speak up, to halt the monstrosity my wedding was growing into, to chop the guest list to a tenth its size. But Alana seemed so happy, and it had given her something to occupy her time. I knew how trying she found it to be largely restricted to the house. She was a social creature, eager to interact with others.

As was Gage—the other reason I hadn’t opposed their plans. He seemed quite happy inviting half the members of the ton, who all admired and adored him. I was the outsider, the eccentric, the person most likely to trip over her hem as she walked down the aisle.

Philip could sense my tension, and had even tried several times to speak up on my behalf, but Alana had ignored him, insisting this was what I’d wanted. Gage had at least pulled me aside to ask if that was true, and I’d been unable to tell him no. Not when it seemed such a little thing in the grand scheme of it all. Our wedding was just one day. Our marriage would be the rest of our lives, and that was the part I was most looking forward to. Especially when Gage took me in his arms.

Still, Philip shot me a sympathetic look as Alana launched into her recommendation for the floral arrangements. I tried to be attentive, but my thoughts continued to return to Lady Drummond. I couldn’t help but wonder if her husband’s temper had cooled, or if the delay I forced had only made matters worse for the baroness. After all, there were just as many people who stewed in their anger—building themselves up into a fury—as there were those who reacted without thinking. What if, that very moment, she was suffering her husband’s wrath?

Apparently my worries did not go unnoticed, for Gage reached over to still my hand where I had begun to fuss with a piece of my gown’s lace trim. I looked up to find him watching me in quiet concern and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. But he was not fooled.

“Lady Cromarty,” he interrupted my sister. “Would you mind if I spoke with Kiera alone for a moment before luncheon?”

My sister glanced between us. “Of course.” She smiled. “And please, I’ve told you before. Call me Alana. After all, you’re to be my brother.”

“You can use my study,” Philip offered, never lifting his eyes from his stack of dispatches.

Gage escorted me down the stairs, but did not speak what was on his mind until he’d closed the study door behind us very properly, leaving it slightly ajar. I strolled toward the hearth, where the fire was banked, giving off only a minimum of heat. Lifting my eyes, I stared up at the portrait I’d painted of Alana and the children and tried to gather my thoughts, to decide how much I wanted to reveal. How much Lady Drummond would be comfortable with me divulging.

Gage joined me in my contemplation of the painting. “Kiera,” he began. “You know you don’t have to defer to your sister’s opinion.”

I turned to look at him in surprise.

“If you’d rather have forget-me-nots instead of roses, or daffodils instead of tulips, you should say so.”

I offered him a gentle smile. “Gage, I don’t really care about all of that. You know that.”

“Then what’s troubling you?” His gaze searched mine. “I can tell when something is wrong.”

I lowered my head, staring at the speckled stone slab before the hearth. “Something . . . upsetting happened at Lady Drummond’s this morning.”

He pivoted to face me more fully. “What do you mean?”

I lifted my eyes, still trying to decide exactly what to say. “Lord
Drummond interrupted us. He was furious with his wife. He shook a letter in her face.”

“Well, I suppose there was something about it that displeased him.”

“Yes, but it was more than that.” I swallowed, wishing Gage would come to the same conclusion I had without my having to disclose so much. “I don’t think he treats his wife very well,” I told him slowly.

His pupils widened in comprehension.

“Do you know Lord Drummond?”

His mouth flattened into a frown. “Not really. Not nearly enough to be familiar with his temperament.”

I nodded, biting my lip as I looked away.

“He’s a former navy man. Received his title for services to the Crown during the war with Napoleon. Perhaps, like my father, he still acts like he’s commanding his crew from the quarterdeck of his ship,” he suggested. The corners of his eyes crinkled, letting me know he was as much concerned for me as he was for the Drummonds.

“It’s more than that,” I insisted. I smiled tightly. “Remember, I would know.”

Though I had never shared all, he knew enough about Sir Anthony’s ill treatment of me to understand what I meant.

Gage nodded and pulled me close, tucking my head under his chin. I inhaled deeply and wrapped my arms around him, soaking up the warmth and comfort of his embrace. I hadn’t even known how much I needed it.

“Is there something I can do?” His chest rumbled against my ear.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Can . . . can I think about it?”

“Of course.”

I closed my eyes as he pressed a kiss into my hair, wishing there were an easy solution to Lady Drummond’s predicament.

I
glanced up and down Hanover Street, my arms wrapped around me as I shivered in the cold wind. What was taking so long? I reached up to pound the knocker on the door of Number 99 once more, bouncing on my heels, trying to warm myself. Normally, the Drummonds’ ever-efficient butler, Jeffers, was prepared to let me in before I’d even climbed the steps, but this morning I’d been waiting at least a full minute, possibly longer, for someone to answer the door.

I looked back at Philip’s carriage still parked on the street. The coachman and footman stared up at me, awaiting further instructions. I offered them a weak smile and then turned to wrap on the door for a fourth time.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as the royal blue door remained closed. Something must be very wrong for the staff to ignore my knocking for so long. Or perhaps Lady Drummond had ordered them not to answer. If so, how badly had Lord Drummond hurt her?

No. That couldn’t have been it. If she hadn’t wanted to see me, for whatever reason, she simply would have sent a note to cancel today’s portrait session. It must have been something else.

Unless Lady Drummond was too incapacitated even to write.

I lifted my hand to pound yet again, determined to stand there all day if necessary to gain entry, when I heard hurried footsteps approaching. I inhaled in relief and turned to nod at the coachman in dismissal as the door finally opened.

However, it was not Jeffers who greeted me, but a wild-eyed footman gulping breaths.

“Heavens,” I exclaimed. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Lady Drummond is no’ receiving,” he gasped as if prompted.

“What do you mean?” I demanded, pushing past him into the entrance hall. His strange demeanor frightened me.

“M-m’lady. Ye canna come in,” he called after me.

“Of course I can.”

I marched deeper into the house, ignoring his agitated gestures as he followed me. The sound of voices farther along the corridor drew me toward the back parlor. As I approached the doorway, I could see several servants clustered around something. A maid wringing her apron and a shock-faced footman hung back while another maid and Jeffers kneeled over someone. My heart rate accelerated as I recognized the hem of the woman’s dress.

“What happened?” I demanded as I rushed forward. I dropped my satchel and shrugged off my cloak, kneeling beside Lady Drummond’s prone form.

Jeffers slid to the side so that I could better see the baroness. She stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, her facial muscles almost slack, but the rest of her body constricted in pain. Her hands formed into claws wrapped around her abdomen. I reached out to run a hand gently over her hair, letting her know I was there. Her eyes sought mine out, pain and panic shimmering in their depths. The sour stench of fear filled my nostrils. I used my other hand to search for a pulse in her wrist. It raced.

A third maid I hadn’t noticed from the doorway sat on Lady Drummond’s other side. I had seen her during several previous visits, fussing
around her employer, adjusting her hair and clothing. She looked terrified. Her hands hovered over the baroness’s body as if wanting to comfort her, but afraid to touch her.

“What happened?” I asked again, this time directly to the maid.

Her head jerked up to look at me, as if she hadn’t noticed my presence before. “I . . . I dinna ken. She . . . she was comin’ doon the stairs when I heard her stumble. Then she began to retch, all o’er the rug.” She glanced up at Jeffers as if he would confirm her story. “We tried to take her upstairs, but we were closer to the parlor and she insisted on bein’ brought here. But once inside, she clutched at her chest and collapsed.”

“Did you send for the physician?”

“Straightaway.”

I leaned over the baroness, looking into her eyes. “Lady Drummond, can you speak? Can you tell us what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” I searched for any sign she could understand me, but she merely stared up at me in pleading.

Reaching out, I ran an exploratory hand over her abdomen, looking for any indication that one spot troubled her more than another. However, contrary to expectation, her rigid muscles suddenly began to relax. My gaze flew back to her face and I reached again for her wrist. Her pulse, which just a moment ago had been so rapid, had slowed, beating weakly against my fingertips.

“Lady Drummond, stay with us. Help is on the way.”

But even as I spoke, her pulse continued to drop.

“Lady Drummond,” I gasped.

A raspy, anguished breath rattled from her throat as her body exhaled. I watched her chest rise once, twice more, and then it stopped. Her eyes, which had remained locked on mine, grew vacant. Lady Drummond was no longer with us.

I exhaled shakily, an unconscious imitation of the baroness, and sank back on my calves. Shocked silence filled the room, ringing in my
ears, broken only by the sound of one of the maids weeping. Her lady’s maid clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry. I didn’t turn to look at the others, but I assumed they were as appalled and disbelieving as I was that Lady Drummond was dead.

Yesterday she had been so full of life. Distressed and uncertain, but also warm and vital. Now she lay before me growing cold, whatever troubles she’d struggled with still unburdened.

The heavy hand of guilt pressed down on my heart. What if I’d asked? What if I’d tried to make her talk to me? Perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps she would be settling into her chair as I set out my art supplies, laughing as she shared a humorous anecdote about her young children.

I shook the distressing thoughts aside, and forced myself to focus on what was before me. I could no longer ask her what had worried her, but I could find out what had happened to her.

I reached out to run a hand over her eyelids to close them, and then glanced around at the servants gathered in the room. What had they seen?

“You said Lady Drummond vomited,” I said as calmly as I could, turning to her lady’s maid. Tears trailed down the girl’s cheeks. “Did you notice anything strange in it? Any blood?”

She sniffed and shook her head.

“What did she have to eat?”

The maid had opened her mouth to answer when a gruff male voice in the hall cut her off. “Where is her ladyship?” the man demanded, his footsteps loud on the wooden floor.

The servants standing in the doorway all turned as one to allow a tall, bespectacled man with an expanding waistline past.

He took in the scene with one glance and then waved his hands. “Move.”

Jeffers and the two maids hastened to comply, though I moved more slowly. He set aside his bag and knelt on one knee beside Lady
Drummond, reaching out to feel her pulse much as I had. I watched as he studied her pale complexion and the position of her body.

“Did she clutch her chest in pain?” he asked no one in particular, not even bothering to lift his gaze.

The servants all looked to Jeffers, who cleared his throat. “Ah, yes.”

The physician nodded and pushed to his feet. “Apoplexy.”

I frowned at his hasty diagnosis. “She also vomited.”

He reached into his pocket to extract a handkerchief and removed his spectacles to clean the lenses. “That’s not uncommon.”

“But she wasn’t even thirty,” I pointed out, my voice growing more agitated. “And her facial features were numb, as if she couldn’t move them.”

The physician glanced up at me for the first time, his mouth turning downward like his mustache. “And just who are you?” he retorted, replacing his spectacles.

I squared my shoulders. “Lady Darby. I’m a friend of Lady Drummond’s.”

His eyes narrowed, as I’d known they would. “Oh, I know who you are.”

I tried not to react to such a barbed response, though I was quivering with anger and frustration. “Some of her symptoms are strange,” I argued. “Are you certain it wasn’t poison?”

“Now, see here. You may have assisted your late husband with his dissections and experiments.” He nearly spat the words. “But you do not have a medical degree. Furthermore, you’re just a woman. One with a rather tarnished reputation.” He scoffed. “As if you have any right to question my findings.”

I clenched my hands, wanting more than anything to plant the man a facer, but it was far more important that we find the truth for Lady Drummond.

“But don’t you want to be certain? We should send for Sergeant Maclean with the Edinburgh City Police . . .”

“We are
not
sending for the police,” Lord Drummond declared in his booming voice as he strode into the room. His eyes seemed to skim over the sight of his wife’s body, barely giving her notice. “What happened?” he asked the physician.

The medical man shot me another glare before addressing his lordship. “Most likely an apoplexy. Though I suppose it could have been gastric fever.”

Lord Drummond nodded. “Then what need would we have for those scurrilous busybodies crawlin’ aroond my house, pocketin’ my silver?”

“I didn’t suggest it,” the physician declared, nodding to me.

Lord Drummond scowled, and I decided it would be best to speak before he sent me away.

“My lord, I believe your wife may have been poisoned. Surely you want to be certain.”

He studied me with his dark eyes, as if weighing my worth. “Davis, is it possible?”

“Highly unlikely, my lord,” the physician sneered.

“My lord, I am not unacquainted with such matters,” I argued, infuriated that they would not listen to me. “In fact, I suspect I have more experience than Dr. Davis when it comes to poisons.”

“Oh, I’m sure ye do.” Lord Drummond’s voice had turned nasty. “But I willna have ye attachin’ scandal to this household where there is none.
You
may be used to it. Ye may even enjoy it. But I assure ye the rest of us do not.”

I stood there stunned. I had meant that I was familiar with poisons through my artistic pursuits. Cautious artists knew that many of our pigments contained poisons—arsenic and aconite and antimony, among others. But, of course, the baron had jumped to a different conclusion.

I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts, but Lord Drummond had already turned away from me.

“Jeffers, see Lady Darby out.”

Then, much as the day before, he showed me his back, dismissing me entirely. However, this time, I could not find the words to protest. In any case, what could I possibly say? It was clear that Lord Drummond and Dr. Davis would not listen to me, whether because of their own prejudice or, more disturbingly, because there was something they wished to hide.

I had not forgotten Lord Drummond’s treatment of his wife or his outburst the morning before. Nor had I failed to notice his eagerness to accept his physician’s diagnosis and his determination not to involve the city police. He’d scarcely given his dead wife’s body a second look, nor did he appear in any way to be grieving. I was deeply suspicious, but sharing my thoughts with him would do no good.

I glanced down at Lady Drummond’s slack features. I was reluctant to leave her behind, but I realized I had no choice. I only hoped something could be done before all potential evidence of wrongdoing was discarded or destroyed.

The other servants were careful to keep their eyes averted as I followed Jeffers through the doorway and down the corridor to the front door. He offered me my cloak, which he’d gathered from the parlor. I draped it around my shoulders, staring up at him in determination. His eyes gave very little away, but I could sense his sadness in the heaviness of his eyelids, the slight slouch of his shoulders. I only hoped Lady Drummond’s affection for the man would not prove unfounded should a test of his loyalty arise.

“I’ll be back,” I told him, unwilling to leave without saying something of my intentions.

Jeffers did not reply, but I thought I saw a flicker of consideration in his eyes as he handed me my satchel. Then, with my head held high, I turned to march through the door.