A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (3 page)

I
stood on the pavement outside the Drummonds’ town house, uncertain what to do. It felt completely wrong to walk away, but what choice did I have? Lord Drummond had essentially ejected me from his home. I couldn’t very well sneak back in through the servants’ entrance, though I did contemplate it.

I considered heading straight to the police house off Old Stamp Office Close up in Old Town to look for Sergeant Maclean, but there was no guarantee he would be there, and I didn’t know any other officers I could trust. Besides, Gage had warned me about going there alone. No one reputable visited the police house, least of all a genteel woman, and I would only be inviting trouble for myself and Maclean.

I shivered as a gust of wind blew down Hanover Street, pressing my skirts against my legs. I needed to speak to Gage. He would know what to do. Wrapping my forest green cloak tighter around me, I hefted my satchel and hurried south toward George Street. The weight of my art supplies wrenched my shoulder, but there was nothing to be done. Philip kept only one carriage while in Edinburgh, so the coachmen delivered me to my portrait sessions and then picked me up later at the
appointed time. It would have been silly for them to wait for me, and inconvenient for Philip or Alana should they need to use the coach.

I glanced down bustling George Street and decided to cross over to Rose Street instead. At half past ten in the morning, with much of society still rising from their beds or seated at breakfast, New Town was not as busy as it would be later in the day, but there were still enough earlier risers and prosperous merchants about to concern me. Considering my ultimate destination, the last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself, and I was sure to do that lugging my satchel several blocks. If I were observing the proprieties, I should have returned home to Charlotte Square and sent a note around to Gage asking him to call. But I knew I would never be able to hide from Alana how upset I was. She was already under enough strain. I didn’t want to risk sending her into early labor.

Still, I couldn’t march up to the door of the building on Princes Street where Gage rented his bachelor quarters and demand to see him. Such a thing simply wasn’t done. At least, not by respectable women.

I paused at the intersection of Frederick Street to set my bag down. Rolling my arm in its socket to ease the pain, I glanced around for one of the young lads who hung about, waiting to earn a few pence by running errands or holding the reins of a gentleman’s horse. I should have known one of them would find me.

“I’ll carry that for ye, m’lady. For a threepence.”

The boy stared up at me with restrained eagerness, letting me know he was keen to earn the money, but experienced enough to understand that if he appeared too willing, he might earn less. His clothes were scuffed and dirty, but in good repair, and his face had been scrubbed clean, even if he had missed his neck. Unlike many of the lads, he clearly had someone to go home to. Though whether that was a good thing or not depended on the person he lived with.

I decided he would do.

“No, but I do need you to deliver a message,” I replied, kneeling to extract my sketchbook and a lead pencil. I hastily scribbled a note and
folded the paper before handing it to the boy along with a half-crown. He nodded once to indicate he understood my directions to Gage’s lodging house. “Take this note to Mr. Gage there and he’ll give you an additional crown for your trouble.”

The lad’s eyes lit with an avid gleam and he tipped his hat and took off at a run.

I lifted my satchel and continued down Rose Street. At the last block, I turned left into the mews that led behind the buildings on Princes Street. I could hear the stable lads jesting with one another in one of the carriage houses near the corner, but the rest of the lane was quiet. The servants tucked themselves up inside where it was warm, away from the leaden skies and blustery wind.

I paused to consider two black doors toward the middle of the block of buildings, trying to remember which one was correct. I’d only been here once, in the dark of night two months ago, and I hadn’t gotten a good look. The buildings looked the same, though the roofs were slightly different. One was darker than the other. I thought the building on the right was correct, but ultimately decided to stand between the two doors in case I was wrong.

The boy had clearly moved quickly, because I didn’t have long to wait. The door on the right opened, but still I hung back until I saw Gage’s golden head peer around it.

“Why, Lady Darby, had I only known how eager you were to see my rooms, I would have invited you up long ago and saved myself a crown.” His eyes twinkled devilishly. But the teasing light died when he saw my face more fully. “Kiera, what is it? Has something happened?”

“It’s Lady Drummond.” I had a difficult time choking out the words. “She’s dead.”

His eyes widened and he reached out to usher me inside. “Come with me.”

After taking my satchel from me, he glanced up the stairs with a frown before guiding me downward instead. At the base of the stairs he
opened a door I knew to be his woodshop. The air inside was cold and sharp with the scents of sawdust, lacquer, and wood stain. The sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows high on the wall was faint, but bright enough to see the tables and the shelves of equipment.

He shut the door softly behind us before speaking in a low voice. “I would have taken you up to my rooms, but I’m afraid Crawford has visitors in the den.” He set my bag on the floor and reached out to clasp my shoulders. “Now, tell me what happened. What do you mean she’s dead?”

I swallowed, biting back a wave of unexpected tears I hadn’t even known I was suppressing until I’d seen Gage. “I arrived at Lady Drummond’s town house this morning at the usual time for her portrait session,” I began, speaking slowly. “It took the servants longer than normal to answer the door, and when I was finally allowed in, it was to find Lady Drummond collapsed on the floor.” I gripped his arms. “She was in horrible pain. I tried to help, but . . . there was nothing I could do.”

He pulled me close, cradling my head against his chest. I burrowed into him for a moment, absorbing his warmth, but then I pushed away, recalling my urgency.

“Gage, I’m almost certain she was poisoned, but the physician who came to examine her declared it an apoplexy. He barely looked at her. And he didn’t even bother to ask the servants what had happened.” My voice rose in outrage. “Lord Drummond was more than happy to accept his diagnosis, and when I tried to voice my doubts, he implied I was ghoulish and scandal-mongering, and had me escorted out of his house.”

His brow furrowed. “Well, given your past, I suppose you can’t be surprised by his reaction.”

I reared back in shock.

“Not that I agree with him,” he protested heatedly. “You know I’m tired of people’s ignorance. But it happens all the same. Why do you believe she was poisoned?”

His response appeased me somewhat, but I couldn’t help searching his face for even the tiniest bit of disbelief as I relayed the details to him. “Her
maid said she vomited forcefully, and she was clutching at her abdomen where she lay on the floor. Her face was also oddly slack, while the rest of her was rigid with pain. Gage, her eyes were pleading with me to help her.” I squeezed my own eyes shut, trying to erase the sight. “It was awful.”

Gage considered the matter. “It is odd for the physician to diagnose such a thing so quickly in a woman so young.”

“She was a healthy woman. There was no reason she should have had an apoplexy.” I was beginning to feel agitated that he didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. “Don’t you see? They could be destroying and discarding evidence as we speak. We need to do something.”

“Now, calm yourself a moment,” he said, gripping my arms again. “We can’t simply charge into the Drummonds’ house and accuse the man of concealing his wife’s murder.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s just concealing it.”

He looked at me more closely. “You think he murdered his wife. Because you suspect he mistreated her?”

I could tell he doubted me already. “Not just that. You should have seen him today. When he arrived, he hardly spared her a glance. There was his wife’s dead body splayed out on the floor before him, and he didn’t display even a flicker of grief or shock.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but I spoke over him, knowing what he was going to say.

“It’s not that I thought he should have broken down in tears or anything like that. I know all about you gentlemen and your pride in your stiff upper lips. But he could have spared her more than a mere glance.”

“Kiera, I understand what you’re saying, but even if their marriage wasn’t happy, even if he doesn’t grieve her loss, that doesn’t mean he killed her.”

I backed away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I can’t believe it. You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that. You’re making some very serious accusations. We
need to consider the matter carefully before we stir up a hornet’s nest when there might be no reason for it. You said yourself that you were
almost
certain. Is that enough?”

I turned aside to stare up at the murky window. Was it? How sure was I that Lady Drummond had been killed by poison? Certain enough to stake my reputation and that of Gage?

“I liked her,” I told him, my voice emerging softer than before. “I sincerely liked her.” I knew he would appreciate the weight of those words, for I did not say them often. “And I suppose I could relate to her in ways I can’t with other ladies.” I glanced at Gage to find him watching me in quiet understanding. “I wanted to help her, but I didn’t want to push her into telling me things I knew she wasn’t ready for.” Guilt squeezed my chest. “I thought she might be starting to trust me, you know. Yesterday morning. She asked if I was still assisting you with your inquiries.”

“Really? Just yesterday?”

I recognized the hint of interest in his voice. I’d noticed that the more he suppressed his inflection, the more intrigued he was.

“Yes.”

He moved a step closer. “Was this before or after he waved the letter in her face?”

I tilted my head, trying to figure out what he was thinking. “Before.”

He reached up to push a hand through his cropped curls. He inhaled, seeming to come to a decision. “Let me make some discreet inquiries and find out if the physician has officially declared Lady Drummond’s death to be from an apoplexy. He may have reconsidered the matter.”

I knew he would not have, but I didn’t argue. “Thank you!” I gasped, rising up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

His eyes gleamed as he caught me to him. “Yes, well, I think you can reward me better than that.”

So I did.

“M
y lady,” Figgins said in astonishment as he admitted me to the town house. “Did his lordship’s coachman forget to collect you from the Drummonds’ household?”

“No, Figgins,” I replied, passing him my satchel. “There were some unforeseen circumstances this morning.” He didn’t ask me to elaborate. A good butler never would ask more than he ought, and Figgins certainly excelled in his position. “Please let him know I won’t be needing him to collect me.”

“Of course.”

I wearily removed my gloves and cloak. “Is Alana in the drawing room?”

“She’s resting in her chamber, my lady.”

I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. There would be no need to inform her of Lady Drummond’s death just yet. But then I realized how rude my reaction to her absence must appear. My eyes darted to Figgins’s face.

The butler merely hid a smile as he draped my cloak over his arm. “I imagine a lady’s confinement must be trying for everyone.”

“Er, yes,” I said, grateful for his good humor.

“Shall I have tea sent up?”

“Not just yet.”

He nodded, surveying my drawn features, but once again kept his curiosity to himself.

I trudged up the stairs to the drawing room and crossed to the large window that looked out on Charlotte Square. Only a handful of children played in the grassy garden at the center of the square on this blustery day, their governesses huddled together to the side, their shoulders hunched against the wind. My gaze strayed up to the gray sky as I sank down on the green settee Alana so often favored, restricted to the house as she was. The ivory blanket she draped across her lap was tossed carelessly on the cushions beside me. I unconsciously reached out to run my hand over the soft wool.

Gage had promised he would come to see me this evening with the information he had uncovered, but that was hours away and I had no idea how I would occupy myself until then. I had portraits to work on in my studio upstairs, so I supposed I should try to paint. Maybe if I could become lost in my art, then this hollow ache in my chest, this driving need to fix what was wrong however I could, would go away. At least, for a time.

I was summoning the motivation to stand and leave the room when Figgins entered with a package in his hands.

“My apologies, my lady. I neglected to inform you that this was delivered for you while you were out. Would you like me to have it taken to your room?”

I glanced at the brown paper in confusion. “I’ll take it.”

“Very good, my lady.”

There were no markings other than my name and direction. I untied the string binding it and peeled back the paper. The box contained three jars. I lifted one to see the label read “Hinkley’s Body Cream.”

These were from Lady Drummond. She’d said she would send a note around to Hinkley’s asking them to deliver the creams and other
unctions for Alana, and she had. Was this the last missive she’d ever sent? Knowing what I did about her, it was fitting that it would be one written out of kindness.

I leaned forward, covering my eyes with my hands.

I wished I could go back to the day before and try harder to make Lady Drummond talk to me. Maybe if I’d just asked, she would have shared what was troubling her. I hadn’t wanted to cause her more distress, but wasn’t a little discomfort better than death?

I knew it was silly to blame myself for any part of what had befallen Lady Drummond, but I couldn’t help thinking over and over again about our last interaction. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stood up to Lord Drummond—maybe that had somehow escalated or precipitated matters—but I couldn’t make myself regret doing so. Had I left the room when he asked and let him do whatever he intended to her, I would have repented it more. Besides, no matter what I’d said or done, I hadn’t forced the killer to poison her.

If it was poison.

I rubbed my temples. What if I was wrong? What if she truly had died of an apoplexy?

Dr. Davis was correct. For all my late husband’s enforced anatomical tutelage, I wasn’t a physician. There could be numerous signs and symptoms of an apoplexy of which I was unaware. Maybe I saw his hasty diagnosis as suspicious because that’s what I wanted to see.

The fact was, I didn’t want Lady Drummond to be dead. She had been kind to me when so many others had not. To see her so full of life one day and then watch the light forever drain from her eyes the next was too difficult to accept. Strange as it might seem, it was easier to accept that someone had ended her life than that she had died of natural causes. I wanted someone to blame, and Lord Drummond was the likeliest candidate.

I didn’t like him. He was brusque and unpleasant, and he clearly had not treated his wife well. But was I letting my memories of Sir
Anthony and his ill treatment of me affect my judgment? I couldn’t help but think of my late husband when I saw Lord Drummond. There were too many similarities. But were there enough that I was allowing them to influence my logic and intuition?

“My lady.”

I looked up to find the butler standing in the doorway. I didn’t bother to hide my obvious distress this time. “Yes, Figgins?”

He took a single step into the room. “There is a Lady Rachel Radcliffe here to see you. Shall I tell her you’re not accepting visitors?”

I perked up at this pronouncement. Lady Rachel was a close friend of Lady Drummond. I’d met her twice—once when she arrived at the Drummonds’ town house just as I was packing up my supplies to leave, and a second time when she actually sat in during one of Lady Drummond’s portrait sessions. I was accustomed to my portrait subjects having visitors. It did not bother me so long as they did not try to include me in their conversation or otherwise distract me, and as long as the person I was painting could remain calm and still.

I knew very little about Lady Rachel, but the regard and affection Lady Drummond displayed toward her said much in her favor. There was a comfort between the two women that could not be feigned, and a type of silent communication that only lasting friendships exhibited.

I wondered what Lady Rachel was doing here now. Had she heard about her friend?

“No, thank you, Figgins. Please show her up.”

He bowed. “Very good, my lady.”

I had my answer shortly, for when Lady Rachel appeared, it was evident she had been crying. Her eyes were ringed in red and her face drawn, but as always she was immaculately turned out in her usual monochromatic palette. Today she was dressed in shades of red, from the scarlet trim on her bonnet to the tips of her maroon satin slippers. It contrasted quite strikingly with her dark hair and eyes.

I stood to receive her as she reached out a hand to me. “I’ve just
come from the Drummonds’ town house.” She hiccupped, pressing her handkerchief to her nose.

I moved aside the package from Hinkley’s as we sat side by side on the settee.

“Oh, it’s just dreadful. I don’t think . . .” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned away. Her throat worked several times as she struggled to master her emotions.

I had to look away, lest her anguish draw tears from my still dry eyes. I suspected at some point I might weep for the loss of Lady Drummond, for after all, she deserved my grief. But let it be later when I was alone, not here with this woman I barely knew, even if she had probably been one of the closest people to Lady Drummond.

Lady Rachel sniffed and patted at her nose. “I’m sorry. It’s just all so sudden. I arrived at Drummond House expecting to have tea with my friend, and instead . . .” She choked. Drawing a calming breath, she settled her voice. “Instead, I find she’s deceased.” Her eyes, still dewy with unshed tears, met mine again. “But I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”

I nodded.

“Jeffers told me you were there. That you . . . tried to help her.”

“I did,” I replied, wondering what else the Drummonds’ butler had told her.

“The physician said she suffered an apoplexy?”

So Dr. Davis had not reconsidered the matter. I’d known he wouldn’t, but apparently I’d been holding out some hope that he would. Then I wouldn’t have to decide whether to push for an inquiry, or face so much difficulty if I did.

But none of this affected Lady Rachel. Not immediately anyway.

“That’s what he said,” I replied neutrally.

Her eyes searched my face and then flared wide. “I knew it,” she exclaimed with vehemence.

I drew back in surprise.

“I knew there must be more to it. He killed her, didn’t he?”

“But I didn’t say . . .”

“I know you saw the way he treated her, the way she cowered in his presence. He finally grew tired of her and decided to kill her. Just like his first wife.”

I hardly knew what to say. If Gage and I did begin an official inquiry into the matter, I couldn’t divulge the details of it, nor could I share my thoughts on a suspect. However, this was the first I’d heard about his first wife’s death being suspicious. I knew he had been married before. I had met his eldest daughter, the current Lady Drummond’s stepdaughter, very briefly. She was perhaps fifteen, not quite out of the schoolroom.

“Lady Rachel, I can’t . . .”

“Oh, I know you can’t say anything. Not yet. But you have begun an investigation, haven’t you? You and Mr. Gage?”

I floundered. Should I deny it? Tell her we were only beginning to look into the matter?

She patted my hand, offering me a tight, but satisfied smile. “I understand. You’ll come to me with your questions when you can.”

She rose to leave, taking several steps toward the door before I found my voice.

“Lady Rachel.”

She glanced back at me.

“This is a private matter. Can I count on your discretion?”

“Of course. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never happened.” She waved her hand as if to make it disappear.

I nodded, hoping she could be trusted. For though I’d never said a word, somehow my intentions had been made clear, but it would be best for all if they didn’t come to light so soon. Otherwise, this inquiry might be obstructed before it had even begun.

I stared after her, pondering how I was going to explain to Gage what had just happened.

My sister appeared in the doorway, staring over her shoulder. When she saw me, she asked, “Was that Lady Rachel Radcliffe?”

“Yes,” I replied, watching Alana waddle across the room. She hated for her wobbling walk to be called that, but in her condition it truly was the best way to describe it.

“Why was she here?”

I waited for my sister to sit down beside me on the settee and swing her feet up. I settled the blanket over her legs and slid to the opposite end. She gazed across at me, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Lady Drummond died this morning.”

She gasped. “Oh, no. That’s terrible.” She glanced back at the door with a frown. “Did Lady Rachel come to inform you? But I thought you had a portrait session with Lady Drummond this morning.”

“I did.”

I waited for her to grasp the implication.

“Did it happen while you were there?”

I nodded.

“Oh, Kiera,” she murmured sympathetically. “Why does death seem to follow wherever you go?”

I knew she had not meant it so, but her comment stung. It was not my fault that I’d encountered so many deaths in the past seven months.

She seemed to realize what she had said and reached a hand out toward me. “Oh, dearest. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She sighed. “My words seem to come out all wrong lately.”

I wondered if she was referring to the argument I’d heard coming from her and Philip’s bedchamber last night. I couldn’t make out what was being said, nor did I want to, but it was difficult to ignore the raised voices coming through the wall my room shared with theirs.

I squeezed her fingers. “I know.”

“So does this mean you and Gage will be investigating?” Her voice was resigned.

“How do you know it was murder?” I hedged. “Maybe she died of natural causes.”

Her bright lapis lazuli eyes turned scolding. “I may be slower than normal, but I’m not daft. Why else would Lady Rachel have visited you? And why else would you be mincing your words, worried that I’ll dissolve into hysterics?”

I offered her a sheepish smile.

“Between you and Philip, I think you’d like to wrap me in cotton padding and lock me in a room. I’m made of sterner stuff, Sister dear.”

“It’s only because we love you.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.” She sank back against the pillow propped behind her. “Now, tell me.”

I described what had happened at the Drummond town house that morning, and then relayed for her what Gage and Lady Rachel had said, though I left out the part about seeking Gage out at his lodgings. I didn’t think Alana needed those details. She listened while absently rubbing her rounded abdomen.

“Well, I know nothing about poisons or apoplexies, so I’m afraid I’m no help there,” she said regretfully.

My lips quirked upward in a smile. That my sister would apologize for not knowing something any lady shouldn’t warmed my heart. I was the unusual one, but you wouldn’t know it listening to her.

“However, I do know how keen your intuition is. In fact, I’ve never known it to be wrong.” She leaned forward as far as her belly would let her. “If you think Lady Drummond’s death is suspicious, then it undoubtedly is.”

“Yes, but I’ve never encountered something like this before,” I argued.

“How so?”

“What if I’m letting my own past cloud my judgment?” I dropped my gaze to my lap. “What if when I see Lord Drummond, I’m really thinking of Sir Anthony?”

From her silence, I knew she understood what I meant. We’d talked very little about what had happened during my marriage, but I knew she must have speculated. If Sir Anthony would threaten to break my fingers if I didn’t sketch his dissections, what was to stop him from striking me when he was displeased?

“I think you’re doubting yourself unnecessarily.”

I looked up to find her watching me.

“Did you not worry that your own desire to escape suspicion would influence your opinion of Lady Stratford and her guilt or innocence? Did you not fret that your history with William would make it impossible for you to be objective about him?” she recited, naming just a few of the complications I’d encountered during the first two inquiries I’d worked on with Gage. “I think you’re more conscientious than most people about your ability to be impartial during an investigation.”