An Artless Demise Read online

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  When the knock on our bedchamber door came in the predawn hours, I was already awake, and had been so for some time. My dreams of late had been a vivid mixture of bizarre and arresting. This was not extraordinary for a woman in the family way. Alana had experienced much the same. But they were new to me.

  Overall, I had to say I vastly preferred the more carnal dreams I’d experienced, even if I did wake tingling and disoriented. It made me appreciate all the more the advantages to sharing a bed with my husband.

  But that night had not been filled with pleasant imaginings.

  I’d dreamed of Sir Anthony—something I hadn’t done in many months. One minute I’d been standing beside him, sketching the intricate muscle tissue laid open to me, and the next I was staring up at a man from a great height. I’d tried to push to my feet, but found I couldn’t move. When the man lifted a shovel full of dirt to rain down on me, I understood why.

  I’d woken with a start, sweat beading my brow. One glance at Gage had told me he was still asleep, his handsome face relaxed with slumber. So I’d lain still, tracing his features on the pillow beside me in the dark as my breathing slowed and my sweat dried in the cool night air.

  There was no real wonder that I should have such a dream given the current stresses I was under. It had only been a matter of time before memories of my life with my first husband and the activities he undertook crept into my dreams. I could only feel grateful the worst of my nightmares had not returned, but I was braced for them anyway. They had always plagued me at the most inopportune times.

  My stomach had begun to rumble, making its hunger known, and I had just been contemplating whether I should rise for the day or try to go to sleep again when the knock roused me. I knew the staff would not disturb us at such an hour unless it was a matter of urgency, so I prodded Gage on the shoulder.

  “Sebastian,” I murmured. “Wake up.”

  He groaned and blinked open one bleary eye before closing it. “Yes, darling.” His arm draped around me, pulling me closer. “You know I’m always at your service.”

  I blushed lightly. “No, Sebastian. Someone’s at the door.”

  Both eyes opened to slits to stare at me as if I’d said something absurd. But when a second knock sounded on the door, he released me and pushed up onto one elbow to gaze at the offending piece of wood. Then he scrambled from bed, pulling his dressing gown over his bare shoulders and knotting it loosely.

  I could not see around the door when he opened it, but I heard him softly confer with someone. From the sound of the pleasing baritone, I realized it was Anderley. He passed Gage a paper of some kind, which Gage lost no time in opening, holding it up to read it in the light of the candle his valet held.

  The change that came over him was immediate. His back stiffened and his shoulders hunched. It must have been but a few short lines, for he soon dropped it to his side and reached for Anderley’s candle.

  “Set out my clothes for the day, and order the carriage made ready.” He started to turn away, but stopped to add one more request. “And send Miss McEvoy up to attend to her mistress.”

  “What is it?” I demanded, sitting bolt upright in bed as he strode over to the hearth.

  Having stirred the banked embers to life, he rose to his feet to face me. “There’s been a second stabbing in Mayfair.”

  Shock sent a tremor down my spine, but I retained enough control of my senses to realize he hadn’t said murder. “Is the victim alive?”

  His expression was grim. “Barely.”

  I pressed a hand to my pounding chest. “Then we must hurry.” I pushed the sheets and blankets off me, mindful of my wrist, and climbed out onto the rug. I moved toward the dresser where my undergarments were stored, but Gage stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.

  “Kiera.”

  I glanced up into his shadowed eyes, my alarm growing.

  “The victim is David Newbury.”

  I gasped.

  He nodded. “Miss Newbury’s brother.”

  “Oh, poor Ellen. She’s such a sweet girl.” I wondered if I had time to dash a letter off to my brother. He would wish to know.

  “And Kiera.” The strain in his voice made my eyes snap back to his. “You should also know the letter mentioned a sticking plaster.”

  His words sank into the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. Had we been wrong? Had Feckenham’s murder been at the hands of an amateur burker?

  I inhaled a shaky breath. “Then I suppose we shall have to confront that like the rest.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Though the drapes were still drawn at Lord Newbury’s townhouse at such an early hour, light illuminated the curtains in several windows, and sought any gaps in the fabric to send tiny shards of light spilling out across the street. Much of Mount Street was populated by cabinetmakers, upholsterers, and sculptors, as well as a handful of taverns and coffeehouses, but desirable homes were interspersed among them, including Lord Newbury’s. Situated in a block of houses between Berkley Square and St. George’s Workhouse, the Newburys’ position was respectable, although not as vaunted as the Earl of Redditch in Upper Brook Street.

  We were ushered into the small drawing room, where Lord Newbury paced the floor while his wife and daughter perched fretfully at the edge of the furniture, still attired in their nightclothes, with warm wrappers pulled over them. Though a fire blazed brightly in the hearth, I was glad I’d insisted on keeping my woolen redingote to combat the night’s chill permeating the room.

  Lady Newbury was the first to approach, leaping to her feet at the sight of us. However, contrary to the warm, maternal figure I was accustomed to encountering, we faced a vengeful fury. “Is this because we allowed your brother to pay addresses to our Ellen?”

  I stiffened as she pointed a finger in my face.

  “Are you responsible for bringing these burkers down upon us, upon our dearest son?”

  Gage stepped forward to intercede as she loomed over me. Whether she was actually intent on doing me harm, I didn’t know, but her face was a twisted mask of anger, grief, and pain.

  “Alma,” Lord Newbury called out, moving forward to restrain his wife. “We do not know that Lady Darby is to blame.” But I could tell from the glint in his eyes he was close to condemning me as well. “Let us hear what they have to say before we make any accusations.”

  She allowed him to coax her back to her seat on the sofa, though her wrathful eyes never left my face.

  Faced with such naked animosity, I retreated inside myself, trying to numb the hollow ache that reverberated with the echoes of such a familiar refrain. I couldn’t summon the anger I’d learned to use to guard against it, not when faced with Lady Newbury’s evident pain. She had lashed out in worry and grief, and shouting back at her was not the answer, no matter how unfair her allegations.

  So I allowed Gage to lead me over to a settee facing the Newburys, welcoming the support of his hand clasped in mine. However, I could not bring myself to meet Lady Newbury’s gaze, though I felt it boring holes into my skin. Ellen sat beside her, pleating the trim of her pea green wrapper, her eyes rimmed with red. They dipped briefly to the wrist Bree had wrapped in a bandage, but she didn’t speak.

  “Now, tell us what happened,” Gage stated calmly. “When was Mr. Newbury attacked? And where?”

  “A constable on his rounds found him lying at the mouth of a stable yard which opens onto Mount Street just west of here. It was apparent he’d either been shot or stabbed, and an attempt had been made to suffocate him. A sticking plaster covered his face.” Lord Newbury’s eyes flicked to mine and then back. “Fortunately, it didn’t hinder his breathing as much as the perpetrator hoped.”

  “How long ago did this occur?”

  His eyes glanced at the clock. “The constable pounded on our door at about half past fou
r. So perhaps an hour ago.”

  “I assume a physician has been called for?”

  “He’s examining him now.”

  Gage nodded. “I hate to be indelicate, but did the constable relay any further information about the state he’d found your son in? Did it appear as if he’d been bleeding long?” he clarified.

  Lady Newbury gave a little gasp and turned aside.

  Lord Newbury patted her hand where it gripped his shoulder. “Steady on, girl.” His own face appeared pale. “The constable expressed concern at the blood he’d lost. Said he couldn’t be roused.”

  Gage did not speculate on what this could mean, waiting to speak to the doctor first before he remarked on the possible timing of the attack. “Did he mention anything else?”

  The baron shook his head, the dark hair he normally kept ruthlessly pomaded back from his face flopping side to side with the motion.

  “Is the constable here?”

  “No. But I’m sure Lockwood can provide you his name and direction.” He dipped his head toward the door, obviously referring to the butler who had shown us in.

  “Mr. Newbury resides here with you? He was returning home?”

  “Yes. Plenty of room. No need for him to take quarters of his own.” Lord Newbury’s abrupt manner of speaking reminded me he had once been a younger son and an officer in the army, an aide-de-camp to Wellington during the latter part of the wars against France. He hadn’t inherited the barony until a decade ago, when his older brother had died without male issue.

  “Merely a point of clarification,” Gage replied, attempting to soothe his evident affront. “Do you know where he was returning from?”

  “Why the blazes does that matter? Seems dashed obvious to me what happened.”

  “I would like to discover whether he was followed, or if someone laid in wait for him. Was he specifically targeted, or was the attack random?” Gage explained.

  Lord Newbury’s face reddened with outrage. “Why should my son have been targeted? He’s neither a scapegrace nor a hellhound.”

  Before Gage could reply, the door opened to admit a middle-aged gentleman possessed of a fiery crop of red hair and freckles.

  “Dr. Woods,” Lady Newbury gasped, rising to her feet. “How is he?”

  Lord Newbury and Gage both stood out of politeness as the physician moved closer. “I’ve made him as comfortable as I can. Stanched the wound, and addressed the bruising along his collarbone.” His brow furrowed. “But he’s lost a significant amount of blood, and the wound continues to bleed. I could recommend a surgeon to stitch it, but the problem is internal. The knife likely severed a vein or pierced an organ. He hasn’t regained consciousness.” He gazed solemnly at the family. “I’m afraid you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

  Lady Newbury crumpled before our eyes, and it was her daughter who turned and gathered her weeping mother into her arms even as silent tears streaked her own cheeks. There couldn’t have been a clearer distinction between the genuineness of Lady Newbury’s outpouring of grief and the feigned one of Lady Redditch a week earlier.

  His hands hanging by his side, Lord Newbury glanced listlessly between his spouse and child, and the doctor. “There’s . . . no hope?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid.”

  He nodded in acceptance, though I could tell he was far from feeling it.

  Dr. Woods turned to us. “You are Mr. Gage, are you not? And Lady Darby?”

  I couldn’t tell by his expression whether he was pleased to make our acquaintance or not, but as always, I was wary of medical men who were unknown to me. They undoubtedly knew of my reputation and Sir Anthony, and many of them had harsh opinions of me.

  “Yes,” Gage replied.

  “I assume you’ll be investigating this matter.” He scowled. “And I’m heartily glad of it, for there is a clear indication of foul play.” His eyes shifted to the family, and he lowered his voice. “But perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere.”

  “No!” Lady Newbury protested, her voice trembling with tears. “No, I want to hear.”

  “Alma, it won’t be pleasant,” Lord Newbury shook himself from his stupor long enough to caution.

  “I don’t care. I don’t want them discussing this behind our backs. I want to know the truth.”

  Dr. Woods shrugged. His eyes dipped to my waistline, noting my expectant state. “Shall we sit?” he told Gage.

  Once everyone was settled, he leaned toward us. “Now, I’m sure you have questions for me, but first allow me to tell you my impressions. Mr. Newbury was stabbed in the right side with a blade. Something long and thin. Might have killed him within minutes, except it appears to have nicked a rib.”

  Gage and I shared a speaking look.

  “As for the sticking plaster, I must tell you, I think someone is trying to stir up a hornets’ nest with these burkers being on trial. There was no need for such a contrivance, not with the knife wound. Which would clearly denote the presence of foul play to any surgeon the culprit might attempt to sell the body to. But based on the bruising, it seems they knelt on his chest and applied it to his face anyway, before running away.” He shook his head in disgust. “I blame it on these penny broadsheets and their lurid caricatures of the burkers. Never saw such nonsense in my life.”

  “He wasn’t burked?” Lord Newbury asked in astonishment.

  “No, my lord. But whoever did this wanted you to think he was.”

  Relief trickled through me at his words, pleased to hear the physician state the case so decisively. But I also couldn’t halt a niggle of doubt from worming its way through my brain. His outrage seemed genuine, and the facts lined up with his opinion, but I wondered whether his motivation was more from a desire to salvage the medical community’s reputation than an observation of actual fact. After all, it wasn’t just the surgeons and anatomy schools who were facing criticism and closer scrutiny, but all of the medical establishment, if to a lesser degree.

  “What you’ve described aligns almost exactly with the attack made on Lord Feckenham a week ago,” Gage told the doctor. “Even the sticking plaster, though in his case it was found next to the body,” he added smoothly, telling a small lie, lest they question our judgment. “That matter was not disclosed publicly to prevent panic, but now I’m glad of it for another reason. It tells us that the person or persons who killed Lord Feckenham also attacked Mr. Newbury.”

  “But why? Why would someone do such a thing?” Lord Newbury argued. “Feckenham, I can understand. He was rumored to be a scoundrel. But why would they wish to murder my son? Unless you think it was random?”

  Gage narrowed his eyes in thought. “It’s possible, but I cannot see that being the case. No, I think he must have been chosen specifically. As for why, I do not know.”

  “The only immediate thing I can see that they have in common is that they’re both the heir apparent to a noble title,” I murmured. “But maybe it’s not a matter of something they are . . . or were,” I added awkwardly. “But something they did or saw.”

  “My wife is right. It could be any number of things. But I think this is perhaps not the time to be racking our brains for such details.” He cast a sympathetic glance at the Newburys. “Later, if you have the strength to do so, cast your minds back and try to recall anything Mr. Newbury might have done or said in the preceding weeks or months, any connections he might have had with Feckenham, no matter how innocent. Write them down, and send them to me.”

  Lord Newbury answered for them all. “We will.”

  “And should Mr. Newbury regain consciousness, write down everything he says. Perhaps he recognized his attacker, or something about him. Details matter.” His gaze locked with Lord Newbury’s. “Right now, I need to know where Mr. Newbury was coming from this morning. Did he share what his plans were when he left the house yesterday evening?”

  I wa
s surprised when it was Lady Newbury who answered. “He escorted Ellen and I to Lady Aldecott’s Ball, and then went back out after returning us safely home for the night. I assume he was meeting friends.” She hiccupped. “Lord Damien Marlowe might know.”

  I wasn’t surprised to hear the two young men were friends. They were of an age and possessed similar temperaments. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t alarmed to discover he had a connection to both murder victims.

  “We’ll speak with him,” I replied.

  “Then we shall take our leave of you now,” Gage said. “Send word . . . should there be any developments.” He had chosen his words with care, but Lady Newbury still flinched, realizing this was a request to be informed if David succumbed to his wounds.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I told Lady Newbury in earnest, and then glanced to Ellen. “I like David. I like him a great deal.” I felt emotion burn the back of my eyes at the realization that the smiling young gentleman might soon no longer be with us. “I shall pray,” I added before pushing to my feet to follow my husband from the house.

  Before I could take more than a half-dozen steps, Lady Newbury halted me. Grabbing my arm, she whirled me around and pulled me to her. I’d struggled to adjust myself to the baroness’s penchant for hugging ladies of even the briefest acquaintance, uncomfortable with such an embrace. But after the accusations she had flung at me earlier, this was the most awkward one of all. I patted her back as she sniffled against my shoulder.

  “Please forgive me. I’m horrified by the things I said.”

  “Think no more of it,” I replied. “We all say things we don’t mean when we’re in pain.”

  “Oh, you are so good.” She released her hold on me, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief.

  I smiled tightly. “No, just rational.”

  I hurried away, wishing I could believe what I’d said. That the words that arose from our pain were nonsense, and not the truth we were too polite or too afraid to speak.