A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (25 page)

Or perhaps not.

I glanced at Gage, who was still quietly stewing over what he saw as his failure to protect me. “Where was your father this evening? I thought he would have insisted on following us to the theater.”

“I don’t know,” he replied shortly. “I don’t keep track of his movements.”

Something I was sure he counted on. Was this a fatal error on our part?

“When did he say he arrived in Edinburgh?” I tried to make the question sound casual, but Gage must have heard something in my voice.

“Friday the eighteenth. The day of the Inverleith Ball. Why?”

I shrugged it off. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking what? Kiera.”

I hesitated, not sure how to tell him what I needed to, or if I even should.

A light suddenly flared to life and I flinched away from it. “Gage,” I scolded in annoyance. “You could have warned me.” I blinked open my eyes, watching as he lit the lantern and then closed it before setting the tinderbox aside.

“I know that tone of your voice.” His eyes brooked no argument. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that your father has no wish to see us wed, and every reason to wish to be rid of me.”

His brow furrowed. “You think my father sent us to Grassmarket tonight?”

“Me. The note was for me,” I reminded him.

“Yes. But he had to know I would insist on accompanying you.”

“Maybe.” I paused. “But that’s not all.” I told him what Lady Rachel had told me about his father’s courtship of Lady Drummond, and how Lady Stratford had later confirmed it.

Gage remained silent, his gaze fixed on the carriage floor. He seemed stunned.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m sure it’s not what you wanted to hear. Especially since I know your mother must have been dead only a year or two.”

“Less than that.”

My chest constricted, hearing the pain in his voice. “But he needs to be questioned. It seems far too convenient that he neglected to tell us.”

“And presents a potential conflict of interest,” he added, lifting his eyes to look at me.

I smiled humorlessly. So he’d noticed how his father had accused me of just such a thing while ignoring it himself. “Yes. So you understand why I wondered when he had actually arrived in town. We need some straight answers. No more . . .”

“I’ll talk to him.” His jaw flexed.

“Yes, but wouldn’t it be better if we
both
talked . . .”

“No, Kiera,” he cut me off. “I know my father. If we both try to confront him, he won’t tell us anything.”

“Because he dislikes me.”

Gage sighed and shrugged. “Partly.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, I don’t care what he likes or dislikes. He’s been lying to us, and we deserve answers.”

He leaned toward me. “You’re absolutely right. But if we want any, then we have to do this my way.”

I scowled at him skeptically.

“Please, Kiera,” he pleaded. “Will you just trust me on this? This is going to be a difficult conversation. It will be hard enough to get him to talk to me. I . . . I need to be the one to confront him. Alone.” He looked deep into my eyes. “Will you let me do that?”

I wanted to say no, to insist I come with him, but I couldn’t. Not knowing he was probably right, and that he didn’t really need my
permission. He could do as he pleased and I would just have to accept it. The fact that he was at least asking for my agreement salved my pride at being required to step aside again.

I nodded. “But you’ll come to me with what you uncover? As soon as you can?”

“I will. This is our inquiry. I’m not going to deny you access to any relevant information, despite my father’s wishes.”

I stared into his handsome face, so clearly troubled and yet so open to me. I lifted my hand to touch his cheek. Stubble rasped against the delicate silk of my glove. He pressed his face deeper into my hand, before turning to the side to place a kiss in the center of my palm. His breath feathered across the exposed skin of my wrist, making my pulse beat faster.

Suddenly the carriage skidded to a halt, throwing me forward into Gage’s lap. He braced me, keeping me from tumbling onto the floor, and then glanced up at the sound of his coachman shouting at someone. Once I was seated again, he lifted aside the curtain to see what commotion had forced us to stop. The lights from the Theatre Royal blazed before us, along with all of the carriages waiting to pick up the patrons as they streamed through the doors. Our coach had nearly collided with one of them.

Had the play truly just ended? It seemed we had been gone for half the night, not just a little over an hour.

We fought our way up to the theater and into the lobby, ignoring the suspicious looks over our rumpled appearance, only to discover that the porter could not be found. His manager stammered apology after apology as they searched for him throughout the building, but it seemed he’d vanished. Another freckle-faced porter admitted that he thought he’d seen his coworker leave early, but he couldn’t be certain. No one admitted to knowing where the young man lived, so we were forced to leave empty-handed.

“You don’t think Bonnie Brock could have gotten to him already?” I asked doubtfully.

Gage’s face was creased in a fearsome frown. “No. I think it more likely that he was either part of the scheme, or he was tipped a very large sum of money to deliver that message and left early to spend it.”

I tilted my head in thought. “He did seem awfully eager to give it to me, and I’ve never known the porters to be so zealous. But the rest of the staff knew him, so he couldn’t have been positioned there simply to deliver the message.”

“No. He was a regular employee. I’ll have Anderley drop in to try to catch the fellow tomorrow when he comes to work. But if he doesn’t come back to the theater, it may not be easy to locate him.”

“Perhaps Bonnie Brock will have better luck. I don’t expect he’ll give up easily.”

Gage was silent as he helped me up into his carriage—this time using the step. But once he’d settled onto the squabs beside me, he spoke in a carefully indifferent voice. “Will he let you know what he uncovers?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it depends on what he finds out. And what he proposes to do to the perpetrator,” I added cynically.

“Well, for once I hope the scoundrel does interfere,” he groused.

I wisely kept my own counsel.

F
atigued both in body and spirit, I dragged my feet up the stairs to my room. It was well past midnight and I expected the rest of the house to be fast asleep, but a light still shone beneath Alana’s door. I considered ignoring it, but then I thought of all the lonely hours my sister had been wiling away this past week, with nothing but her own worrisome thoughts to occupy her. I rolled the tension from my shoulders before crossing the hall to tap on her door.

She was lounging in bed as ordered with her head tilted toward the window even though the drapes were shut. At my entrance, she turned her head on the pillow, but she did not smile. I crept closer to see that tears glistened on her cheeks in the soft light cast from the bedside lamp.

“Oh, dearest,” I murmured, dropping my cloak on the chair and ignoring protocol to crawl into bed beside her. I was careful not to jostle her stomach as I gathered her head into my chest as a mother might a child. She whimpered and then began to weep as I ran my hand through her lovely chestnut brown hair. I did not try to speak, just held her. Words weren’t needed anyway. I knew how nervous and frightened she was, because I felt those things, too, but to a lesser degree.

When finally her tears were spent and the sniffles began, I reached into
my dress to hand her my handkerchief. I waited as she dabbed at her cheeks and eyes. Earl Grey watched us from the bottom of the bed. I was pleased to see at least someone was keeping my sister company regularly.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I just . . .”

“No apologies,” I told her, gently cutting her off. “You’re under a tremendous amount of strain. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t cry at least a little.”

She swallowed another sob and nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, and then proceeded to speak anyway. “It’s just . . . I’m so scared.” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “Do you know what Philipa asked me?” She turned to me with wide eyes. “She wanted to know if I would be here for her birthday next month. I told her yes. But what if I’m not? What if I lied?”

“Alana.” I tried to comfort her, but she rushed on without listening.

“And this baby.” She caressed her rounded abdomen. “What if I’m not here to take care of him? What if I abandon him before I even get a chance to hold him?”

“Alana, stop this. You are not abandoning him.”

“He may never know me.” She broke down into wracking sobs, soaking the fabric of my gown. I’d never seen her so upset.

“Alana. Alana,” I said more loudly, gripping her shoulder. “You must stop this. It’s not good for you or the baby. Please. If you want him delivered safely, you must gain control of yourself.” It was the only thing I could think of to calm her, harsh as it sounded to my ears, but fortunately it worked.

She inhaled shakily and closed her eyes. I massaged her shoulder as she struggled to compose herself. It seemed to help when she rubbed her stomach, as if soothing the life inside her as well as herself. When her breathing evened out, I took the handkerchief she clutched in her hand and turned it inside out before dabbing at the tears wetting her cheeks.

“You cannot give in to despair,” I told her firmly. “It does you no
good.” She blinked open her eyes to look up at me. “You are
going
to deliver this baby safely, and you are
going
to live long enough to see their children, their grandchildren. So stop this nonsense. I won’t hear any more of it.”

She sniffed and reached up to take the handkerchief from me. But before I relinquished it, I demanded an answer. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she replied in a hoarse voice.

“Good.”

She shifted her head back onto her pillow and blew her nose. I sat with my back propped against the headboard, my ankles crossed, and waited for her to finish. As if sensing this was now the time to ask for attention, Earl Grey sauntered up the bed to sit beside me, waiting for me to scratch his chin. I obliged.

A few moments later, I heard Alana draw breath to speak, but I cut her off. “
Don’t
apologize.” I glanced down at her and could tell from her expression that’s exactly what she had been about to do.

“Well, then at least let me say ‘thank you.’” She sniffed. “I’ve been sitting here all evening feeling sorry for myself. I needed someone to correct me.”

“I never said you couldn’t feel sorry for yourself,” I explained. “Just don’t wallow in it.”

“Point taken. As Grandmother used to say, ‘We’re not pigs. We don’t wallow in our filth. We soldier on.’”

A smile curled my lips. “She did have a way with words.”

“Yes.” Alana stared up at the ceiling, and I thought she was remembering our eccentric Irish grandmother. But then a small crease appeared between her brows. “Kiera, at the risk of wallowing a bit more, may I ask you a question?”

“I suppose.”

Her bright lapis lazuli eyes gleamed like jewels, as mine always did when I had been crying or terribly angry. “Do you think Philip has a paramour?”

The question caught me so unawares that at first I couldn’t formulate a response, but my sister waited patiently, bravely for me to give her one. “No,” I finally said. “No, I don’t.”

She searched my eyes for any sign of prevarication and then nodded.

I wasn’t sure if she believed me, but I couldn’t give her any petty explanations for Philip’s behavior. That would feel like a betrayal, a dismissal of the gravity of the situation. The only person who could give her those answers was her husband, and it was long past time for it.

My fury at my brother-in-law flared to life. Here his wife lay, doing all she could to preserve her life and that of their unborn child, battling her fear and uncertainty, and he was largely absent. He should be by her side, comforting her, helping her through this, not worrying about matters of Parliament or business or his estates.

This needed to end. Now.

Unfortunately, Philip was nowhere in the house. Which left me with no outlet for my anger and frustration. So instead, I sat down to do what I could to advance the investigation while I waited for him to return. I took out my sketchbook and drew the faces of all the men who had been involved in some way with Lady Drummond’s life and death—family, friends, lovers, servants—anyone I could think of. Perhaps they would prove useless, but at the very least they would help me to review and prioritize the information we knew so far. And if we could visit the Chemist again and he happened to recognize one of them, the drawing just might prove to be exactly what we needed to finally catch the killer.

•   •   •

I
awoke the next morning in a sour mood. I’d fallen asleep over my sketches, and developed a painful crick in my neck, as well as smudged the last drawing. Philip had returned sometime while I was slumbering, but tempted as I was to wake him and vent my foul temper
on him, I knew our conversation would go better if he was well rested and I was calmer. Much as I’d wanted to confront him the night before, I now recognized that I needed him to see reason and admit the folly of his current actions. Approaching him in a towering rage was probably not going to help my cause.

I stretched out on Alana’s comfortable fainting couch in the drawing room and ordered a pot of strong, black coffee instead of my normal cup of chocolate. Then I settled in to wait for Gage or Philip to appear, whoever came first. In the meantime, I finished my sketches and tried not to glance at the clock every five minutes.

I knew Gage well enough to know that, if at all possible, he would have spoken to his father the night before. And if not then, he would have hunted him down this morning. Neither of us slept well when there were things to be confronted, especially if there were strong emotions involved.

So when the morning stretched on toward midday and he still had not arrived, my impatience and irritation began to get the better of me. He had promised to share what he uncovered as soon as he could, and unless his father had left to return to London—something I highly doubted since I was still engaged to his son—I had a difficult time believing their confrontation had not yet occurred.

I abandoned my sketches to pace before the hearth. Philip had also not yet emerged from the guest chamber, but short of pounding on the door, there was nothing I could do about it. I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the worry and resentment and helplessness that had been surging inside me for days rise up and threaten to pull me under. It was as if I was treading water as wave after wave crashed into me, each one bigger than the last. Whenever I allowed myself to think about any one of the things battering my life and that of my loved ones, it was as if they all came rushing in on me. Alana’s and the baby’s precarious health, the uncertain state of her marriage to Philip, Gage’s continued refusal to confide in me, his father’s disapproval, the
enormous wedding my sister was planning, Lady Drummond’s murder. It was all too much.

I forced myself to breathe deeply, trying to clear them all from my mind, but they would not go away. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get out, to go somewhere, anywhere. Lifting my mink brown skirts, I charged for the door to collect my cloak. I refused the carriage, instead setting out on foot. I needed to move, to breathe the fresh air, not stew in another enclosed space.

I was several blocks away before I remembered why it might not be a good idea to set off on my own. I glanced around me, suddenly conscious of every person, every movement in my vicinity. Pulling my cloak tighter, I hurried in the direction of my nearest acquaintance’s home. I suspected that might have been the destination I was truly headed anyway.

But instead of Lady Stratford, it was Lady Bearsden who received me in her parlor.

“Come in, dear. I’m afraid you’ve just missed Charlotte. She stepped out on a rather secretive mission.” The older woman’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she leaned forward to confess. “I suspect she’s not strictly following the rules of mourning, but we shan’t say anything.” Her lips pressed together in a sly smile.

I was surprised to hear such a thing. Lady Stratford had always been eminently proper, even mourning a husband who had tried to kill her. But I didn’t let her great-aunt know that. She seemed to be taking entirely too much pleasure in her niece’s rebellion as it was. “Oh. Well. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I replied, even though it was clear I was not.

“Of course not, dear.” She reached out to pat my hand. “I’m happy for the company.” She wagged her finger at me. “You still haven’t brought your charming fiancé and his father by for a visit.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. You’re right. We’ve just been so busy with our latest inquiry.”

She nodded sagely. “Lady Drummond.” She sighed. “I can’t believe she was murdered. And in her own home. What is the world coming to?”

I nodded in commiseration.

She tilted her head. “Well, how goes it? Do you have any suspects? Anyone I know?”

I could barely keep up with all of her questions. “We’re at a bit of a standstill, I’m afraid. And a bit flummoxed as to which way to turn next.” I wasn’t sure why I was being so honest with her. Perhaps it was the weight of all my worries, or my troubled sleep the night before. All I knew was that I was tired and unhappy, and I couldn’t be bothered to hide it all anymore.

Lady Bearsden seemed to sense this, because her demeanor changed. She suddenly became less animated, and far more maternal. “Tell me. Maybe I can help,” she offered sincerely.

So I did. I ignored the fact that she was a gossip, or at least that she associated with a number of them, and laid out the entire inquiry for her from beginning to end. By the time I’d finished, an hour had passed and we’d taken tea, but Lady Bearsden confessed she was as baffled as I was. I did, however, recall a few things that I’d overlooked or forgotten I’d known, and my head didn’t feel as muddled as it had before.

“I’ve never met this Mrs. Dubois,” Lady Bearsden said, rehashing any thoughts I supposed she felt might be helpful to me. “And I suspect I never shall.”

I hid a smile at her disappointment.

“But I know Lord Henry.” She smiled. “Such a lovely man. I can’t believe he would ever do such a thing. And I’m acquainted with Lady Rachel and her sister, though I knew their mother better.” She tsked and shook her head. “Such a sad tale.”

I’d begun to nod without really listening when she suddenly leaned toward me.

“Lord Corbin was not a very nice man, you know. There were even
rumors for a time that he killed his wife. Nothing could be proven, of course. But that didn’t stop everyone from speculating.”

“Wait. Who?” I asked, trying to figure out what I’d missed. I felt a surge of anticipation run along my veins, sensing this was important.

“Lord Corbin,” she repeated and, then seeing my blank stare, elaborated. “Lady Rachel’s father.”

I indicated my understanding.

She settled back into her seat, shaking her head again. “He was a hard man. It was probably a blessing for those two girls when he died of an apoplexy.”

I sat straighter. “He died of an apoplexy?”

Lady Bearsden nodded, oblivious to the change in my mood.

“She told me her husband also died of an apoplexy.”

“Poor dear,” she murmured. “And now her friend.”

This did not seem to strike her as odd, and perhaps it wasn’t. Heaven knew, an apoplexy seemed to be a physician’s explanation for anything they couldn’t easily diagnose. But I couldn’t help but note the coincidence. Though what Lady Drummond had in common with Lady Rachel’s cruel father and her abusive husband, I didn’t know.

Regardless, I began to reassess everything Lady Rachel had done and said since the moment she visited me after Lady Drummond’s death. She had seemed so distraught, and perhaps she had been, but for a different reason.

I thanked Lady Bearsden for listening to me and reminded her how much trust I’d placed in her by telling her all I had.

“Don’t worry,” she told me with a shrewd look. “I may be friends with a bunch of busybodies, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to keep my own counsel.” She flashed me a coy smile. “It’s just more fun to be well informed of everyone’s foibles. Especially at my age.”