A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (6 page)

I
spent the next morning scouring the shelves of Philip’s study for information on poisons and any other medical knowledge that might be pertinent to Lady Drummond’s death. Unfortunately, Philip’s collection of books in his Edinburgh home was not as extensive as his vast library at Gairloch Castle. I suspected I would have to make a visit to Dr. Renshaw at the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh to uncover the information I sought. Dr. Renshaw had been my late husband’s apprentice during the early months of our marriage, and had assisted Gage and me during an inquiry we conducted late the previous year. I hoped he would be willing to help me again, or at least grant me access to the Royal College’s library so that I might find the answers I sought myself.

I decided it would be best if I approached the Royal College with a letter of introduction from Philip, in case I had difficulty gaining admittance to speak with Dr. Renshaw. I’d learned to be wary of medical men’s reactions to me. Thanks to my famous and infamous late anatomist husband, most of them knew my name, and some, like Dr. Davis, did not respond kindly. Others, like Dr. Fenwick, bore me no grudge. I’d discovered there was no way of predicting how each
physician or surgeon would react, but a letter of introduction from an earl always helped.

If only Philip were here to provide one.

As anticipated, he was absent this morning. I swallowed my worry and annoyance and jotted off a message to request the letter I needed, and left it on his desk for him to find when he returned.

Alana was asleep, so I decided it would be a good time to call on Lady Rachel Radcliffe. I hoped she might have some useful information for me, but if nothing else, the lively widow was sure to distract me from my other concerns.

And I needed distraction. Gage was out questioning chemists, while Bree, whom I’d ostensibly given the morning off, would be doing her best to arrange a chance encounter with Lady Drummond’s maid. Between my fear over my sister’s health, Philip’s distant demeanor, and my anxieties over the investigation, it was no surprise I felt tense. Add to that the fact that I’d promised to attend the Inverleith Ball with Gage that night, when I dreaded most society events, and it was a wonder I hadn’t retreated to my art studio and refused to come out.

I realized I was calling at an hour that was earlier than etiquette allowed, but Lady Rachel graciously agreed to receive me anyway, having her majordomo lead me up to the intimate parlor attached to her bedchamber. The room was decorated in shades of emerald green, ivory, and gold, from the gilded mirror over the hearth to the chintz upholstery on the furniture. With its rich fabrics and plush pillows, it was the perfect balance of cozy and sumptuous.

Lady Rachel rose from her fainting couch, still draped in a lavender blue dressing gown with a high collar and exquisite embroidery. Her hair was half-dressed, with dark ringlets pinned around her crown and falling down her back. I could appreciate the effort she was making to appear her normal elegant self, even though her eyes were puffy and rimmed in bright red and her skin was ashen and swollen from extensive crying.

“Lady Darby! How good of you to call on me.” She took my hand, guiding me to sit beside her.

“Thank you for seeing me at such an early hour.”

“But, of course.” She turned to her servant. “Monahan, some tea, please.”

The man nodded solemnly before backing out.

“Now, tell me what you’ve uncovered,” she said.

“I’m afraid nothing yet,” I told her, knowing there was no use in prevaricating about the reason for my visit. But that didn’t mean I needed to admit all. “I’m hoping you might be in possession of some information that could be helpful to us.”

“Of course,” she declared. “Anything.” She leaned back, draping one arm along the back of the couch.

“Well, to begin, can you tell me when you last visited Lady Drummond? We’re trying to get an idea of the timeline of events in the days leading up to the morning she died,” I explained.

“Let me see.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and tapped her chin with a finger. “We had tea at our normal time on Monday afternoon around four, so I suppose that was it.” Her face tightened as she turned to the side.

“And did you notice anything odd about her behavior that day?”

She pressed her lips together as she considered my question. “She did seem a bit more anxious than normal, I suppose. I assumed her husband had been particularly unpleasant. She got that way from time to time, usually after he’d raged at her for one thing or another.” Her mouth twisted. “But perhaps in this case I was wrong. Maybe something else upset her.” Her eyes saddened. “Maybe I should have asked her about it instead of presuming I knew the truth.”

I felt that same twinge of guilt inside me that I saw reflected in her eyes. I waited for her gaze to meet mine again. “I noticed it on Tuesday during our portrait session, and I didn’t say anything either. So if you failed her in this, you didn’t do it alone.”

Lady Rachel blinked rapidly and nodded.

Monahan returned with the tea tray, so we paused in our discussion while the aromatic brew was poured. Once we were both settled with a cup and the quiet servant had slipped out again as unobtrusively as possible, I waited for Lady Rachel to take a sip before I pressed her for more information.

“So you only noticed her anxiety on Monday? Not on the days leading up to that?”

She shook her head. “Though she did seem a bit distracted. I noticed it about a week before. She kept having to apologize for letting her mind wander while we were conversing. And other small things, like letting her tea grow cold before she remembered to drink it. I only noticed because it wasn’t like her. She was normally so attentive.”

I nodded. Lady Drummond had been alert and focused. In fact, I would have described her as being more vigilant. It was the natural characteristic of a woman who was ever watchful of her husband’s mood, listening for the heaviness of his tread, or the slight edge in his voice, the dip of his brow. For her to have been distracted must have meant something significant was occupying her thoughts.

Or her brain was not functioning properly. My chest tightened. I had heard distraction listed as one of the many symptoms of an apoplexy. I shook it aside, reminding myself it could be the symptom of any number of things. That alone did not prove Dr. Davis’s diagnosis.

“Do you know what she might have been distracted by?”

“I’m afraid not.” I watched as she stirred her spoon around and around in her cup. “But I’ve heard that some women get that way when they suspect they’re expecting, especially if it’s unplanned.”

She glanced up at me through her lashes and I wondered whether she was trying to tell me something. Perhaps something she’d been told in strict confidence.

“Do you think that was what it was?” I asked, not wanting to force her to betray that trust, even if it was a bond with a deceased woman.

She stared down at her tea again. “I honestly don’t know. But . . . it’s possible.”

I nodded slowly, not sure I was grasping all of the ramifications of what she was saying. “Lord Drummond’s?”

She did not immediately respond, and I felt my stomach dip in shock. “Lady Drummond had a lover?”

“I don’t know that,” she hastened to say. “I don’t know anything for certain. But I know there were several men interested in her. One in particular. She mentioned him several times, though not by name. And . . .” her gaze dropped “. . . well, I encouraged her.”

I stared at her in silence, hoping my expression was not openly disapproving.

Her dark eyes flashed. “You’ve witnessed what a brute her husband is. And Clare was still a beautiful young woman. She deserved a man who would treat her the way a man should. Her husband was incapable and unwilling to do so. She gave him his heir. Why shouldn’t she have taken a lover?”

I supposed there was some justification in what she was saying. Lady Drummond had deserved a better husband, and that was unlikely short of Lord Drummond dying since divorce was nearly impossible, even with the husband’s support. So her only other option for satisfying companionship was to take a lover. I allowed myself to wonder for a moment what I would have done had I met Gage while my husband still lived. Would I have attempted to conduct a liaison with him? Would I have risked it?

Would Lady Drummond have? She must have known how furious her husband would be if he found out. Is that what had happened? Is that what had been in the letter he had shaken in her face? And if she had gotten with child . . . I inhaled sharply. There was no telling what he might have done.

My expression must have been as grim as my musings, for the fight drained out of Lady Rachel. “Yes. Those were my thoughts exactly.”
She set her cup aside and wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d suddenly caught a chill. “If Lord Drummond had discovered his wife was being unfaithful . . . well, that could be his motive for killing her. I knew he would not react well when I encouraged her, but, of course, I’d never thought he would go so far.”

I studied her. “The other day you said he grew tired of his first wife, and I got the impression you meant to insinuate he may have done her harm. From what I understand, she died in childbirth. Do you know something otherwise?”

“Not for certain.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t seem to know anything for certain. But Clare said she had learned his first wife had taken a tumble down the stairs. That was what sent her into labor early. Apparently, she and Lord Drummond had argued furiously just a few hours before. The entire staff had heard it. And he was upstairs when she fell.” She shrugged one shoulder, allowing me to infer the rest.

The implication was sickening.

“But no one saw him push her?” I asked, wanting everything to be clear.

“No. That’s why there was never an inquiry or serious scandal.” Her gaze sharpened. “Nothing could be proved.”

Only a dunce would fail to see the similarities, and they unsettled me. Unfortunately, Lord Drummond’s behavior after his second wife’s death made it all too easy for me to believe him capable of being so cruel and unfeeling. Perhaps murder had not been his real intention when he pushed his first wife down the stairs in such a delicate state, but that didn’t change the fact that his actions had caused it. He must have realized he’d been lucky not to get caught, and so he’d planned his second wife’s death much more carefully.

But of course, once again, this was all supposition. Damning though it might be, none of it could be proven. Yet.

“You know the physician has now officially blamed Lady Drummond’s death on an apoplexy,” I said.

Lady Rachel wiped a hand over her brow. “But you don’t believe it.” I didn’t reply, and she glanced to the side at me. “I know. You cannot say,” she muttered impatiently. “But I am not unobservant. And in any case, I also doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Because she was young and healthy. Because her husband was a brute, and likely had more than one reason to wish her dead. Because . . . because I am not unfamiliar with apoplexies. My late husband died of one, and his heart was not good.” Her eyes bored into mine. “In every way. And that she should have died in the same way as that bastard . . .”

Her words broke off and she turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t know.”

She inhaled audibly. “I know,” she replied in a broken voice. “Not many do.”

I didn’t hear the door open or the majordomo enter, but suddenly he was leaning down to assist Lady Rachel. “My lady, are you unwell?”

She shook her head. “I . . . I just need a moment.”

The man glanced up at me. “Perhaps I should see Lady Darby out?”

“No. There is no need.” She sat straighter, accepting the handkerchief Monahan offered her. She dabbed her face and inhaled several steadying breaths. “I am well. Thank you. You may leave, Monahan.”

He appeared as if he wanted to argue, but a well-trained servant would never do so in front of a guest, even if they were on intimate enough terms to do so otherwise. He bent to collect our tea things and excused himself.

“I apologize. I didn’t expect to become emotional like that.”

“It’s understandable.”

“You can appreciate why Lady Drummond’s suffering at the hands of her husband so upsets me.”

I nodded. It explained her and Lady Drummond’s close friendship. But unfortunately, it also made her a poor judge of Lord Drummond
and what he was capable of. Memories of her own abusive husband would undoubtedly cloud her opinion and reactions, and I had no way of knowing if she was capable of being objective. I fervently hoped that my at least being aware of a similar conflict within myself would make me more impartial than I might otherwise have been.

I thanked her for her help. I was leaving with more questions than answers, but at least we now had a potential motive beyond Lord Drummond’s simply growing tired of his second wife. With any luck, Lady Drummond’s other friends would be able to tell me more, though I would have to be careful. I couldn’t ask them directly if the baroness had taken a lover, nor could I hint at our suspicion that she had died of anything other than an apoplexy. But I had watched society ladies imply and insinuate often enough that I hoped I was capable of emulating them.

I promised to keep Lady Rachel apprised of the investigation before being escorted from the house by Monahan. He did not overtly show his disapproval, but I was certain he was cross with me for upsetting his mistress, and more than happy to see me go. I wondered again at their close relationship, and then dismissed it from my mind. It was none of my affair what Lady Rachel did with her man-of-all-business. She was a widow, and I was sure he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

•   •   •

“P
lease give Madame Avignon my compliments,” I told the timid slip of a girl the modiste had sent to finish fitting my gown for the ball that evening. She dipped her head shyly before following the upstairs maid from the room. I stared after the girl, wondering how young the rest of the dressmaker’s seamstresses were. She looked to be no older than twelve or thirteen, but she was a deft hand with a needle.