A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (5 page)

I stiffened at his disparaging remark. I’d regained some much-needed weight since my return to Edinburgh after an emotionally harrowing winter, but I was far from plump. If anything I was still underweight by a few pounds.

“No, Lady Darby doesna need to speak wi’ Mrs. Larkins.” He flicked his wrist toward the door. “Show her oot.”

“Actually, I’m here to collect your wife’s portrait,” I announced before Jeffers could move to do just that.

Lord Drummond glanced back at me, a guarded look in his eyes.

“I thought I might finish it in my studio since . . .” I swallowed the grief that suddenly welled up inside me “. . . since there’s no reason for me to work on it here anymore.”

His gaze drifted to the unfinished canvas propped on the easel still covered by a sheet. For a moment, I thought I saw some semblance of pain cross his features, but then it was gone, like a mirage. “Dinna bother,” he replied dismissively.

I was stunned. He didn’t want me to finish his wife’s portrait?

I watched as he picked up a stack of letters and began to flip through them, as if he hadn’t just done something so cold and unfeeling that it left me speechless.

“But what of the children?” I argued. “Won’t they want to have a portrait of their mother? I would think it would comfort them.”

He didn’t even look up. “Dinna worry, Lady Darby. You’ll still receive your full fee.”

Fury shot through me, hot and swift. “I don’t care about my fee.”

He flicked a glance at me.

“What I care about is preserving Lady Drummond’s memory. So I’m going to finish her portrait whether
you
care or not. For I’m sure your son and daughter do.”

He returned to his letters. “Do as ye like.”

I was forced to bite my tongue lest I say something I would later regret. I couldn’t believe his heartless demeanor, his callous disregard for his children’s feelings about their mother’s loss. The portraits of my mother still gave me comfort, and she had been dead for almost twenty years. What kind of man was he that he didn’t care to be reminded of his wife’s image or preserve it for their children?

But perhaps her portrait would only remind him of what he’d done. It would be difficult to bear her likeness staring down at him if he had hastened her demise. If so, I hoped it haunted him. I hoped it wracked him with so much guilt that his conscience would eat him alive.

I directed Johnny in how to carry the canvas and then followed him and Jeffers from the room. At the threshold, I couldn’t resist darting one more spiteful glance over my shoulder at the baron, and was surprised to find him staring after us. The look on his face was one of extreme anguish, but of what kind? Grief or guilt?

He turned away before I could decide.

As I was crossing the hall, it occurred to me that I’d never seen a portrait of Lord Drummond’s first wife either. Was that because there wasn’t one, or because he didn’t wish for it to be hung in his home? Of course, I hadn’t been in every room in the town house. Perhaps it was hanging in one of the less public rooms out of deference to his second wife. Or maybe it graced the wall of his first daughter’s room—a memento of her mother.

As if conjured from my own thoughts, I glimpsed a flicker of movement on the landing of the staircase. There stood the baron’s first daughter, Imogen. Her long, golden curls hung down her back unrestrained. In her simple gown, she was the perfect image of innocent young womanhood, and yet her eyes told a different story. They were
watchful and sad, as if she had seen much, and was afraid of seeing more. Or was that my fancy?

She gripped the banister tight beneath her hands. I considered going to her, for I suspected she had something to tell me, but then a voice called her name from above. Her head jerked toward the sound, and with one more backward glance at me, she lifted her skirts and scampered up the steps and out of sight.

I frowned, wanting to abandon all pretense of politeness and propriety and follow her. But Gage had warned me not to reveal our suspicions and intentions too soon and I had already risked much coming here this morning. Besides, Lady Drummond’s body was likely laid out in her bedchamber above to be prepared for burial, and I had no desire to stumble upon it in my current state. So I stifled my impatience and forced my feet toward the door.

I waited on the steps as Johnny struggled against the wind, carefully sliding the canvas into the carriage and propping it against the backward-facing seat. Then he stood to the side, offering me his hand as I climbed the steps into the coach. Just as I was about to duck my head inside, I felt a prickle along my neck and looked behind me once more. A curtain in a room on one of the upper stories twitched shut.

“My lady?” the footman asked.

I smiled absently at him, and climbed the rest of the way into the carriage.

Who had been watching me—Imogen or someone else? And why? Did they have something to tell me? Or were they unnerved by my visit?

I
was still contemplating the matter when I followed Johnny carrying Lady Drummond’s unfinished portrait into the town house on Charlotte Square. “Up to my studio, please,” I directed as I stripped off my gloves to hand them to Figgins.

“My lady.”

Hearing the note of tension in his voice, I glanced up.

“Dr. Fenwick is with Lady Cromarty.”

He hadn’t finished the words before I was hurrying toward the stairs.

“My lady, your cloak,” Figgins called after me.

I pulled it off and thrust it at him before dashing up the steps. Johnny pressed himself to the wall as best he could, carrying the canvas, while I squeezed past.

Dr. Fenwick was not scheduled to visit Alana today. I would have known, for I sat in on every visit now that her lying-in was so close. So if he was here now, that could only mean something was wrong. Something urgent enough for the physician accoucheur to rush here, for I’d been gone for less than an hour.

I rapped on Alana’s door only out of courtesy before opening it. She was propped up against her pillows, her face drawn in pain, as Dr. Fenwick gently prodded her abdomen. Her lady’s maid, Jenny, stood silently next to the bed, waiting for instructions. I closed the door softly behind me and crossed to where Philip was wearing a hole in the rug pacing back and forth in front of the window, his hat still in his hands from riding to fetch the physician. He spun the brim round and round between his fingers.

“What’s happened?” I whispered to him.

He did not reply, but glanced at his wife lying on the bed. She suddenly seemed so fragile. His silence unsettled me, but I didn’t press him for answers. The physician would provide them soon enough.

Dr. Fenwick leaned over to speak to Alana, who nodded. Then he poured something into a glass of water and passed it to Jenny for her to help my sister drink.

Philip stopped pacing and eagerly turned toward the physician as he approached us.

“There’s no way to be certain,” Dr. Fenwick began to explain in a low voice. “But I suspect that the placenta is separatin’ from Lady Cromarty’s uterus. It would explain the pain she’s feelin’ and her bleedin’.”

My stomach dropped sharply. “That sounds serious,” I murmured.

“It is.” His eyes were earnest behind his spectacles. “But the bleedin’ was relatively minor and has stopped for the time bein’. I’ve given Lady Cromarty some laudanum to help wi’ the pain, and explained to her that she must remain in bed for the remainder of her confinement. Too much movement could tear the placenta irreparably.”

“And if she doesn’t?” The question had to be asked, though Philip stiffened beside me.

“She could hemorrhage.”

Which would almost certainly result in her death and perhaps that of the infant.

I nodded, glancing at Alana where she lay with her eyes closed. Her face looked dreadfully pale against the plum counterpane.

Dr. Fenwick followed my gaze. “Should she begin to bleed again, send for me immediately, but beyond that I’m afraid all that can be done is to keep her still, and calm, and comfortable. If so, the placenta may reattach itself.”

“Thank you,” Philip said, finally speaking up. His voice was tight with strain.

The physician gathered up his things, placing them in his satchel. I turned to look at Philip, but his gaze remained fixed on his wife’s prone form. I thought maybe he would go to her, but his feet remained rooted to the spot.

“If there are no more questions . . .” Dr. Fenwick glanced at each of us.

Philip surged toward the door to Alana’s room. “I’ll show you out.”

I frowned after him in confusion. It was not like my brother-in-law to abandon my sister when she needed him most. He had always stood steadfastly beside her, in sickness and in grief. He was the shining example of constancy and dependability. So why now did he always seem so eager to escape her presence?

I knew he had a seat in Parliament and estate matters to attend to, but more and more often of late that had been the dismal excuse for his absence, either closeting himself in his study or attending dinners about Edinburgh. In the past Alana had accompanied him, but since she had been restricted to the house, she no longer could. I wondered if Philip truly needed to be present at all of those events or if they were just another pretext for avoiding his wife’s company.

I caught Jenny’s eye, recognizing the same uneasiness furrowing her brow that I felt. Pushing it aside for the moment, I drew a chair up to Alana’s bedside and reached out to clasp her hand in mine. She squeezed it lightly, letting me know she was aware I was there.

“Go to sleep, dearest,” I crooned. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

•   •   •

I
moaned as I sank down on the seat in front of my dressing table later that evening. My temples throbbed with worry for my sister and my neck ached from when I’d fallen asleep in an awkward position in the chair in her room earlier. I reached up to rub the spot where it still twinged every time I turned my head to the left.

“Here, m’lady.”

I opened my eyes and sighed in relief. “Oh, Bree, you’re a gem.” I took the cup of willow bark tea my maid held out to me and drank it. I was in so much pain I almost didn’t mind the musty aroma, though the bitter aftertaste left something to be desired.

I watched her smile to herself in the reflection of the mirror as she folded my discarded shawl. “Nay. Just good at tellin’ when someone’s head is fit to split open. Canna blame ye wi’ all yer worries this week, what wi’ Lady Drummond dyin’ in front o’ ye like that, and then Lady Cromarty’s scare this morn.”

She was right. It had been a troubling few days.

“Do ye still plan to attend the ball at Inverleith House tomorrow evenin’?”

I stifled a curse. In all the upheaval, I’d completely forgotten about it. “I was supposed to visit Madame Avignon’s shop today for my final fitting.”

“I sent a letter roond earlier to tell her what happened. She said she’s happy to send her assistant by on the morrow.”

I spun around to face her. “Did I call you a gem? I should have declared you a saint.” I sighed. “Thank you, Bree.”

She brushed my grateful words aside and gestured for me to turn back around so she could start on the buttons up the back of my dress.

I considered her in the reflection of the mirror, still somewhat amazed at how easily we’d adapted to each other. I had never been completely comfortable with my previous lady’s maids. The first had been too much
under my late husband’s thumb, whether out of fear or reverence, and I’d never trusted nor liked her. If I’d been allowed, I would have replaced her almost immediately. While Lucy, an upstairs maid from Philip’s household at Gairloch Castle, had proved untrustworthy and far too naïve.

Bree, on the other hand, was perhaps more worldly-wise than even I was. I knew she had seen and experienced things she’d only hinted at, and I had to admire her resiliency and determined good cheer. And, of course, there was also the fact that she wasn’t afraid of me and my scandalous reputation, no matter how unfairly it had been earned. I suspected not many maids would consider themselves lucky to be employed by me.

I wondered what would happen to Lady Drummond’s maid now. Would she remain in the household, perhaps passed down to the stepdaughter, Imogen, as she came of age, or would she be forced to look for employment elsewhere? And if so, how long would Lord Drummond wait before he gave her a reference and sent her on her way? I suspected it depended on how much the girl had seen.

I wished I could have spoken to her. She could probably tell me more than any of the other servants combined. After all, she helped the baroness dress and bathe, took up her breakfast tray, attended her when she was ill, and a hundred other tiny, intimate tasks. She would know if Lady Drummond had hidden any bruises or if she had been feeling poorly of late. She might have also been witness to an altercation or two between Lord and Lady Drummond. And most important, she had been with Lady Drummond immediately before she suddenly became sick, collapsed, and died. She could tell me how the morning had proceeded, what the baroness had eaten, and who had visited her employer recently.

I felt an almost urgent need to talk to the girl before it was too late. The poisoner could begin to wonder, like me, if she had seen too much. Or Lord Drummond could send her away, whether he was the killer or not, because he worried what she might report if someone did start asking questions.

I supposed there was also the possibility she had been the murderer’s
accomplice, since she was so intimate with Lady Drummond and could easily slip her the poison, but I didn’t think so. My instincts told me she was not involved. Her grief and upset at the baroness’s passing were too genuine, and I had seen no fear or contention in the maid’s eyes when she looked at Lady Drummond during the days leading up to her death.

If only there was a way I could interview the lady’s maid and all of the Drummond staff without Lord Drummond knowing. I glanced again at Bree, who was now pulling pins out of my barely tamed hair. Her auburn curls were still neatly arranged after a fourteen-hour day of work.

“Bree, do you ever get an opportunity to converse with the lady’s maids from other households?” I mused.

“I chat wi’ some o’ the maids in the houses next door oot in the mews from time to time. And if by chance we meet on our day off or oot runnin’ errands.” She glanced up from extracting a pin from a snarl in my hair, a curious look in her eye. She was smart enough to know I had not asked my question out of idle curiosity.

“So it’s possible you could encounter a maid from another street or square, even maybe Hanover Street.”

Her mouth curled in amusement at my obvious hinting. “It is.”

“Is that something you would be willing to attempt if I asked?” I kept my tone neutral, not wanting to force Bree into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with.

She tilted her head to the side and began pulling a brush through my hair. “I’ve been thinkin’ that Lady Drummond’s maid could surely use a shoulder to cry on, poor lass.” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine in the glass. They twinkled with understanding. “What would ye like me to ask her?”

•   •   •

I
lay in bed that night with my cat, Earl Grey, curled up at my feet, replaying my conversation with Bree. I simultaneously fretted that I’d both forgotten to tell her something to ask Lady Drummond’s maid
and just done something monumentally stupid by enlisting Bree’s help. But I had no choice. The maid needed to be questioned. She potentially possessed far too much information that could help us make sense of her employer’s death.

I’d almost drifted into sleep when I suddenly heard a loud thump and a muffled curse coming from the bedchamber next door. I guessed Philip must have stumbled into something in the dark, but then I realized the sound had come from the guest room at the back of the town house. What was someone doing in there? Had my brother, Trevor, come to visit? If Philip had thought to write to him after the scare over Alana’s condition this morning, he might have just arrived from his home in the Borders region, but only if both he and the messenger had nearly crippled their horses.

I frowned, doubting anyone could ride that fast on the muddy March roads.

I grabbed my dressing gown from the bottom of the bed, tugging it out from underneath the bulk of my cat, who grumbled before settling back into sleep. I pulled it on and tied the belt as I opened my door. The light of a single candle gleamed through the open door to the guest room. I crossed the hall on soft tread, careful not to disturb Alana in the chamber at the front of the house. I hoped I wasn’t about to embarrass myself unnecessarily in front of a stranger.

Barnes, Philip’s normally gregarious valet, came bustling through the doorway. He stopped short at the sight of me and his eyes slid to the side. I wondered why.

“M’lady,” he pronounced, bowing once before he hurried off.

I stared after him before turning to face Philip, who now stood in the doorway. He looked harried and exhausted, a state I’d seen him in more and more often of late. His dark hair had even begun to turn silver at the temples, something I would have expected Alana to lovingly tease him about, but she had yet to mention it in my presence.

“Is there something you need, Kiera?” His cravat was askew, as if he’d begun to take it off.

“I heard a crash.”

He nodded. “That was me. I apologize. I’m not used to the arrangement of the furniture.”

“You’re sleeping in the guest chamber?”

He glanced to the side. “Alana needs her rest. I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Yes, but I don’t think Dr. Fenwick meant you couldn’t share the room with her.”

“Maybe,” he replied, still not meeting my eyes. “But I don’t want to take any chances.”

I frowned in confusion, not understanding why his answers did not feel so kind and considerate. “What did Alana say when you told her?” I couldn’t believe she had taken his decision well. She always found comfort in her husband’s presence, even if they were also prone to argue.

“I haven’t.”

The unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at me since my return to Edinburgh bit a little deeper. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

He sighed wearily. “If you don’t mind, Kiera, I’d like to go to bed. Perhaps we can talk in the morning.”

I nodded, though I knew we wouldn’t. He would be too busy with one thing or another—work on the new reform bill several members of Parliament were currently drafting, a leak in the roof at the London town house, a new horse he wanted to take a look at for his stables. Chances were that he would be gone before I even came downstairs the next morning.

“Good night,” he said with a tight smile before closing the door.

I gazed at the hard wood a moment longer before turning toward Alana’s door a dozen feet away. The space between them suddenly seemed much farther, and it was growing wider every day.