A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (29 page)

His eyes hardened with resolve. “I’m staying,” he replied decisively.

Dr. Fenwick did not seem surprised by this. “Then I will simply
remind you that all our attention must be on your wife and child. Should you feel faint or ill, please remove yourself from the room.” His words were prosaic, almost as if spoken by rote.

And Philip responded in kind. “I will.”

He looked up at me again and I saw the man I had to come to rely on and admire staring back at me from behind his eyes. A little bit of the fear clutching at my heart began to unravel. If I could have said something, I would have, but words failed me, and the moment passed as Alana audibly inhaled. We turned as one to coax her through her pain, encouraging her to breathe as evenly as she could.

Onward the hours stretched as we supported and comforted her as best we could while Bree stood quietly in the background doing whatever else was necessary. Dr. Fenwick oversaw the proceedings, but there was really little he could do until the time was right or, heaven forbid, something unfortunate happened. He alternately examined Alana, timed her labor pains, and sat in the chair near the hearth, waiting for her body to ready itself to give birth.

When the time finally came, I could tell that my sister was exhausted. Between labor pains she lapsed into a dazed stupor, almost falling asleep. But with urging from Dr. Fenwick and help from me and Philip, she rallied herself to push. Bree assisted the physician, and I could tell from the tight pucker of her lips that something was not quite right, but I didn’t dare leave Alana’s side to find out what it was.

Then just as the first wash of morning light began to filter through the curtains, Dr. Fenwick ordered her to give one more push, and a mewling cry met our ears. Alana fell back against the bedding propping her up and peeled open her eyes, trying to see.

The physician didn’t immediately speak, working with the infant as he was. The babe’s sounds had subsided to a whine and I could see that his skin appeared blue. Dr. Fenwick stuck his finger inside his mouth to extract something, but all the while his eyes kept darting up from what he was doing to look at Alana.

“Lady Darby, your assistance please.” His voice was calm, but urgent.

I moved toward him quickly as he directed Bree to give me the towel she was holding.

“Clean him off as best as you can and place him in the warmin’ pan.” He glanced up at Philip, adding almost absently, “The bairn is a boy.”

I gathered him into my chest. His tiny whimpers tore at my heart. I could see now what had compelled the physician to hand the baby to me. Alana had lost a significant amount of blood, soaking the linens around her.

I turned away, telling myself to focus on the child so that Dr. Fenwick and Bree could attend to Alana. With the utmost care, I wiped the baby’s skin clean and swaddled him in another towel before placing him in the cloth-lined pot we had prepared and kept warm. Then I knelt down beside him to watch his tiny chest rise and fall with each rattling breath.

Though I was frightened of what I might see, I forced myself to look back at the bed. Alana lay still and pale against the covers as Dr. Fenwick frantically searched for the source of the bleeding. A pile of bloody linens covered the floor at the base of the bed. But it was Philip’s face that was most wrenching. His hands rubbed up and down her arms as he spoke to her in a voice gone hoarse from hours of talking, somehow keeping it composed and level. However, his gaze was agonized, begging her to open her eyes, to stay with him.

I turned away, pressing my hand gently to the tiny baby’s chest, and prayed.

H
ours later I collapsed into the chair before my dressing table and laid my head in my hands. My muscles ached from the night of exertion and the strain of the tension that had coursed through me. My head swam with fatigue, but I could not sleep. Not yet.

“Lie doon, m’lady. Or you’ll collapse,” Bree urged me with her hands planted on her hips.

I looked up at her reflection in the mirror. “But Alana . . .”

“Is restin’ safely. I’ll keep an eye on her. As will Lord Cromarty.”

“And the baby . . .”

“Wee Jamie is tucked up in the nursery wi’ two nannies watchin’ o’er him, no’ to mention a trio o’ excited older brother and sisters. So there’s naught for you to do but sleep.”

I sighed. “I will.”

Bree continued to stand there with her gimlet eye fixed on me.

“I will,” I responded more firmly in exasperation.

She narrowed her eyes in skepticism, but left the room.

She was right, but it was still difficult to allow myself to seek the oblivion of sleep. I was worried I would wake to find that everything had gone horribly wrong while I was slumbering.

Dr. Fenwick had been able to stop the bleeding, and with rest, Alana’s body had begun to recover. Her pulse was now strong, her temperature normal, and she had eaten half a bowl of beef broth to sustain her. The baby had also improved, flushing a healthy shade of pink and nursing hungrily from his mother. They had decided to name him James Kieran, after my and Alana’s father, and the woman who was sure to be his favorite aunt, they jested. I was touched by the gesture, and charmed by my newest nephew, who, as I’d predicted, had already become dear to me.

I pressed a hand to my aching head and stared at myself in the mirror. As expected, I looked terrible, with half my hair falling from its pins and dark circles under my eyes. But the gut-wrenching fear that had almost immobilized me earlier was gone, replaced by vigilance and caution.

I’d still not heard from Gage, and I hoped that for once his silence meant something good. Perhaps he was waiting to hear from me first. I reached for a piece of foolscap to jot off a quick letter telling him of Alana’s safe delivery, knocking the cloth bag Bonnie Brock had slipped into my pocket the night before from the table. The contents spilled partially out on the floor. Sometime in the middle of the night I’d left it in my room and then forgotten about it.

I bent over to retrieve the bag and the gems, and then emptied the sack on the dressing table to give it all a cursory examination. Everything I had not promised to Bonnie Brock and his men seemed to be there, including the real version of the diamond and sapphire necklace Lady Kirkcowan had worn to Inverleith House. But there was also a slip of paper. I unfolded it to read.

A pleasure doing business with you. My compliments to Lady K.

You still owe me a favor.

I scowled at Bonnie Brock’s writing. Apparently our business transaction had not counted, and now I was in his debt. Which was not a place I wished to be.

•   •   •

I
managed to fall asleep for a short time before Bree woke me, as instructed, to tell me that Gage had called.

His eyes scolded me as I entered the drawing room hastily dressed and still bleary-eyed. “Have you even slept?”

“A few hours,” I replied, forbearing, quite admirably, I thought, from telling him he was not supposed to indicate to his fiancée at any time that she looked anything but lovely.

He shook his head and held out his hand to me, pulling me toward a settee in the corner. “How is your sister and the babe?”

“Recovering well.” I didn’t try to hide my relief. Even though Bree had assured me both were thriving, I had insisted on peeking in on Alana and the baby before coming down to see Gage, just to see for myself that they were healthy.

He ran a hand comfortingly down my back. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I exhaled, trying to banish the fear I’d felt the past sixteen hours and shake some of the cobwebs from my mind. “Were you able to apprehend Lady Rachel and Monahan?”

He nodded grimly. “Yes. On the road to Glasgow.”

“Glasgow?” I repeated in surprise.

“At some point yesterday it appears they began to fear they had revealed themselves.”

I glowered. “Before or after they delivered a jar of poisoned cream to my sister?”

Gage shared my anger. “Presumably after. So they decided to flee to Glasgow, where they hoped to book passage to Belfast. Monahan admitted he has family there.”

“So they confessed?”

His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Whatever he was about to say clearly displeased him. “Lady Rachel refuses to speak to anyone but you.”

At first I was surprised, but the longer I considered her request, the more sense it made. If Lady Rachel had been misused by both her father and her husband, she must have a real mistrust of men. Or most men. Monahan seemed to be the exception. I could understand her not wishing to discuss such a delicate subject with a man if there was a woman she could deliver her confession to instead.

But I also suspected she hoped to engage my sympathy, to sway me to her side as she had so successfully done throughout this inquiry. Well, she was in for a surprise if she thought I would not be scrupulously fair and logical in my reviewing of her testimony. I was not a fiddle to be played for her benefit.

“Where is she being held?”

“Due to her status, she’s currently under guard at her town house. But Monahan is being held at the police house.”

I rose to my feet. “Then take me to her.”

He was slower to stand. “Are you sure? You’ve had a long and difficult night. This can wait until you’re better rested.”

I rubbed my fingers in a circle over my temple. “The sooner this is over, the better for everyone.”

•   •   •

T
his time when I was shown up to Lady Rachel’s upstairs parlor, it was not by her choice. Out of necessity, she had been confined to the rooms attached to her bedchamber, where she could more easily be guarded until other arrangements could be made. As such, I found her pacing before her hearth in agitation, though she made an admirable attempt to hide it when I entered the room.

She was dressed all in black, though whether she was supposed to be in mourning for Lady Drummond or herself, I didn’t know. Whatever the reason, the stark color paired with her dark hair and eyes and creamy skin made for a striking picture. One I was certain the guards had noticed. At my request, Gage had not accompanied me into the room. I wanted to speak to Lady Rachel alone without any distractions, and without the presence of a man to unsettle her, whether in truth or feigned for our benefit.

We stood staring across the room at each other. I was unprepared for the fury that swept through me at the sight of her. I knew I was angry with her for nearly poisoning my sister and her unborn child, but I thought that was under control. However, the white-hot rage that made me want to fly across the room and do her bodily harm said otherwise.

She seemed to sense this, and did her best to defuse my anger. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t know you’d given the cream to your sister.”

I tilted my head, studying her. “But you intended it for me.” It wasn’t a question, but a bald statement of fact. She’d intended to kill me.

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”

“You saw the package from Hinkley’s that day you visited me,” I said, wanting confirmation. “After you discovered your plan had succeeded. You’d killed Lady Drummond.”

Her knuckles were nearly white where she clasped her fingers together over her abdomen. She turned to the side, and I wondered if she was considering denying it, but then she spoke in a choked voice. “Yes.”

I crossed the room toward her, keeping the settee between us, for her safety, not mine. “Why?” I demanded. “I thought Lady Drummond was your friend. I thought you empathized with her. Why would you murder her the same way you murdered your father and husband?”

“You don’t understand. My father and husband deserved to die. They were cruel, heartless monsters. And they deserved to rot in hell for what they’d done.”

“Because they misused you?”

Her eyes hardened. “Perhaps you had a happy childhood, but I did not. My father regularly beat my mother whenever it pleased him. And when my sister and I crossed his path, he beat us, too. But it was more than that.” She reached out a hand to pluck at the flowers in a vase on the side table. Her expression turned cold and emotionless, as if this was the only way she could speak of it. “My mother tried to leave him once, and he punished her by branding her with his signet ring.”

I gasped in horror, but she didn’t even seem to notice.

“So she would understand she belonged to him, and that no matter where she ran, she could never escape him. He made my sister and I watch, so we would learn that lesson as well. That’s when I realized we would never be free of him unless he was dead.”

“So you poisoned him?” I guessed.

She shook her head. “Not then. I was too weak. If I’d been stronger, my mother would still be alive and my sister . . .” Her hand tightened, crushing a fragile bloom. “Well, Father wouldn’t have turned his attentions to her if I’d done what I needed to do sooner.”

I swallowed, imagining what it must have been like for her to grow up with such a father. What would I have done? Would I have had the strength to poison him to protect myself, my sister, and my mother? I knew Alana would have. She was like a tigress when it came to defending me or our brother, Trevor, or any of her children.

I frowned, realizing Lady Rachel was doing exactly what I’d known she would, and I was doing what I’d sworn not to—empathizing with her. “Then how did you end up married to Mr. Radcliffe?”

She looked up at me for the first time since she’d begun to talk about her father. “Blind infatuation. Skilled acting.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I didn’t realize until a week after our wedding what a horrible mistake I’d made. The kind, solicitous man I thought I’d married was really a harsh, controlling bastard. The signs had been there. I’d just been too imprudent to see them.”

“So you decided you needed to poison him, too?” I tried to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but it must have seeped through, for she scowled.

“I thought you of all people would understand. After what you went through with Sir Anthony. Didn’t you ever wish him dead?”

Her words left a sour taste in my mouth. “Yes,” I admitted. “But I never considered murdering him.” Whether that made me more moral or just feebler, I didn’t know.

She lifted her chin. “Well, perhaps your husband’s mistreatment was not as bad as mine. But when I killed my father, I swore I would never allow another man to ever hit me again, and Mr. Radcliffe did much more than that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to glare at the portrait above her fireplace of a younger version of herself. “Spare the rod, spoil the wife,” she bit out before whirling back toward me, flinging her accusatory words at me. “Monahan knew.
He
understood.”

“Which is why he helped you kill Mr. Radcliffe. And later Lady Drummond.”

Lady Rachel continued to glare at me, but then her eyes dropped as if she’d lost her nerve.

I rounded the settee, trailing my fingers over the cushions. “Even if I could understand your reasons for killing your father and your husband, even if I could appreciate your suffering, what about Lady Drummond? Why did you murder her? Did
she
deserve to die as well?”

“No,” she replied in a small voice.

“Then explain to me
why
you poisoned her,” I ordered in clipped tones. When she didn’t immediately reply, I ruthlessly continued, “Was she too beautiful? Did you envy her all her friends? Or perhaps her new lover?”

“No,” she protested. “None of that. She . . . she was wonderful. Perhaps too wonderful,” she added dejectedly.

“What does that mean?” I snapped in annoyance.

“One day after Lord Drummond had been particularly brutal to her, I suggested that perhaps something could be done. And then I let slip that I was not inexperienced with ridding oneself of cruel men.” The lines around her eyes tightened in betrayal. “I thought she would be sympathetic, that she would be grateful for the offer, but instead I could tell she was shocked and then disturbed by my suggestion. I tried to laugh it off, but I realized I’d exposed my secrets, and I had no guarantee she would keep them.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you decided, then and there, that your closest friend must die.”

“No,” she replied, sounding ironically affronted. “I watched and waited, hoping she would forget about it. I hoped our friendship and common suffering would be enough to convince her to overlook what I’d said. But then I discovered she’d sent letters to people near my childhood home, asking questions about my father’s death, and I began to suspect they weren’t the only inquiries she’d made into the matter. I . . . I was afraid she would find proof of what I’d done, and that she would have charges brought against me. And I knew I had to stop her.”

She spread her hands open wide, imploring me. “Why would she do that? I didn’t understand. I still don’t. She was my friend. I didn’t want to harm her. But why couldn’t she leave it alone?”

“Perhaps you should have asked her that instead of poisoning her,” I suggested mercilessly.

Her hands dropped to her sides, and I could see in her eyes for the first time that she was beginning to understand I was not going to be swayed by her account.

“Why did you choose to poison her with the skin cream and lavender oil?”

“I knew she used them regularly,” she replied in a subdued voice. “I gave her the cream as a gift a few years ago, and she’s used it ever since.”

“I suppose it was easy enough to swap them out with the poisoned
versions one day when you called on her. Then you just had to wait for them to work their magic.”

Her brow furrowed. She clearly didn’t like my cynical tone. “There was nothing easy about it.”