The Anatomist's Wife Page 21

  “Thank you, Cromarty.”

  He waved it off with a flick of his wrist and quit the room, closing the door behind him.

  Gage turned to look at me, his blue eyes brightened by the midnight hue of his jacket. I spoke before he could say something I did not wish to hear. “You should sit here,” I instructed him, touching the back of Philip’s large chair. “It will give your appearance more weight.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Yes. I’d already planned on that.” He crossed behind the desk to the right while I went in the opposite direction. “And just where do you propose to sit?” It was a leading question.

  “Why, right here,” I proclaimed, settling back into the red wingback chair farthest from the door and straightening the pansy-purple skirts of my morning dress.

  He sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to sit out on this one?” He sounded so hopeful.

  I smiled. “Sorry.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you are.” He gazed at me for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to make any further effort to remove me. “All right,” he relented. “But I’ll ask the questions.”

  I nodded, not caring who interrogated the man, so long as I was present.

  “You know,” he said after a minute longer of staring at me, in which I was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t have promised them you would catch the killer.”

  “Why not? I certainly plan to.”

  “Not every investigation gets solved, no matter how diligently it is pursued.” His words were slow and precise.

  “Well,” I faltered for words, thrown off by the pity in his eyes. “This one is going to be.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So stop trying to discourage me.”

  “I just wanted to make certain you . . .”

  “I understand,” I stated firmly. I glared at him, telling him to change the subject.

  He sighed and lifted his hands as if to ward off my evil eye. The chair squeaked as he leaned back. “So . . . did you remember anything else you saw in the maze, or just Mr. Fitzpatrick’s trousers?” The end of his question was heavy with insinuation, as if I’d been intentionally examining the man’s lower extremities, and I resented it. The door opened before I could respond.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Gage, but I was finishing my breakfast,” Mr. Fitzpatrick exclaimed jovially as he entered. “Footman said you wanted to see me.”

  Gage rose and reached across the desk to shake his hand. “No problem. The Cromartys offer quite a spread, don’t they?”

  “That they do. The cook must know we men need a hearty break to our fast before we start the day.”

  “You know Lady Darby.” Gage gestured my way, and Mr. Fitzpatrick stiffened.

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” He recovered quickly from his shock and offered me a shallow bow. “How do you do, my lady?”

  “I am well,” I replied, deciding to be cordial. “Thank you for asking. And yourself?”

  “Oh, wonderful, wonderful.”

  I wondered if he planned to keep repeating his words through our entire conversation.

  “Have a seat, sir,” Gage said, settling back into his own chair. “I just have a few additional questions for you.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, of course.”

  “It has come to my attention that you had mud splattered all over the back of your trousers when you appeared in the maze after the discovery of Lady Godwin’s body. Can you explain how it got there?”

  “Oh, well,” he stammered, flicking his gaze to me once again. He leaned toward Gage and whispered. “Is this really an appropriate conversation to be having while she is present?” As if I couldn’t hear him.

  “She is here for a reason,” Gage replied with a hard glint in his eye. “Now, ignore her and answer the question.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick huffed and fidgeted. “Well, if you really must know . . .” His gaze shifted to me again. “I was . . . chasing Lady Lewis.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising.

  “Chasing?” Gage queried, keeping his voice and face carefully neutral.

  “Yes,” he grumbled. “She promised me a kiss if I could catch her.”

  A twinkle lit Gage’s eyes, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “I see. And the mud?”

  “I slipped in a flower patch and almost fell. It was damn embarrassing. She saw the whole thing.” He glanced at me. “That’s when I gave up and joined Sir David and Mr. Abingdon.”

  “So you didn’t traipse into the forest?”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick’s face crinkled in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh, there’s a great many reasons, but never mind.” Gage studied him closely, and I could tell he was trying to make a decision about something. I didn’t think it had to do with whether to believe his explanation for the mud, which even I found convincing.

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick,” he began seriously. “I need your word that whatever is revealed in this office will not be spoken of to anyone who is not present.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick turned to look at me more directly.

  “Do I have it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  I scrutinized Gage and wondered where he was leading this conversation.

  “The reason Lady Godwin’s figure had begun to change was not because she was getting fat. She was with child.”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick’s eyes opened so wide I thought they might pop out of their sockets. “I . . . well . . . are you sure?” he spluttered.

  Gage exchanged a glance with me. “Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Very sure,” he replied dryly.

  “Well . . .” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “Thank heavens Godwin was in India. If he knew I had been sticking my . . . uh . . .” He flicked a panicked look at me. ”Bedding his wife while she was in such a state, he would have chopped my . . . uh . . . hurt me badly.”

  Gage arched an eyebrow rather eloquently. “Well, Lord Godwin is not here. And he’s not the father.”

  “He’s not? Well, I’ll be.”

  I almost sighed aloud at the man’s idiocy.

  “Then who is?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Gage replied with much more patience than I could have mustered. “So far we know that Lord Marsdale bedded her in February, about a month before she would have gotten with child, and Mr. Calvin in . . .”

  “Mr. Calvin bedded Lady Godwin?” Mr. Fitzpatrick interrupted. “Well, I’ll be damned. There’s more to the prig than I thought.”

  Gage ignored him. “And Mr. Calvin in May or June, which is too late. You said you never bedded her until the end of June.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “So we’re left wondering who lay between her sheets in March. Do you have any idea?”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. “Hmmm . . . Let me think . . .”

  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at this display of mental acuity, thinking this entire conversation was a waste. Gage’s eyes smiled at me.

  Mr. Fitzpatrick shrugged. “Don’t think I can help you. Lord Stratford was her lover at one point, but I couldn’t tell you whether that was in March.”

  I jerked my gaze back to Gage and sat forward in my chair.

  “Did you say Lord Stratford was one of her lovers?” he asked for clarification.

  “Well, yes,” Mr. Fitzpatrick replied. “But like I said, I don’t know if that was in March.”

  I watched as Gage shifted in his seat, trying to contain his excitement much the way I was. “Anyone else here in attendance who has been linked to Lady Godwin?” he asked the ma
n.

  He tapped his chin again and shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

  Gage nodded and rose from his seat. “Thank you for your assistance, Fitzpatrick.” He shook the man’s hand. “And remember what I told you about keeping this quiet.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said with a bob of his head.

  The door closed behind him with a solid thud, and I leaned toward Gage. “Do you think Lady Stratford didn’t know?”

  He shook his head sharply from side to side and narrowed his eyes. “Not for a second.”

  “So she lied to us?”

  “A lie of omission is still a lie,” he stated.

  My muscles tightened in anticipation. “Perhaps we need to have another conversation with her as well.”

  Gage nodded. “This time unannounced.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lady Stratford was not happy to see us when she opened her parlor door. In fact, she made little effort to suppress the scowl furrowing her features. Gage was, of course, charming, and she allowed us in, but she could not be bothered to offer any of the trite pleasantries ladies were taught to. Instead, she settled back on the pale blue settee she occupied the last time we spoke with her and lifted an embroidery hoop and continued to stitch. I noticed the basket at her feet filled with threads, ribbons, and needles, and the distinctive round handles of a pair of dainty shears. Gage perched on the edge of the chocolate-brown chair before Lady Stratford, but I decided to remain standing just over his shoulder.

  “Lady Stratford,” he began in the voice of a parent scolding his child for a minor infraction. “I was disappointed to discover you lied to us.”

  She glanced up at him, her brow lowering in irritation. “Do not patronize me, Mr. Gage. I’m not in the mood, nor of the rank, to allow it.”

  “You neglected to tell us that your husband was one of Lady Godwin’s lovers.”

  “That is just a nasty, uncorroborated rumor,” she snapped, stabbing her needle into the fabric.

  “Yes, but it also happens to be one I find remarkably credible.”

  Lady Stratford glared at Gage.

  “After all, your husband has never been known for his fidelity or discretion, and neither has Lady Godwin,” he continued in an indifferent voice.

  Her gray eyes hardened to chips of ice. “Much like yourself.”

  He nodded once slowly, acknowledging her right to return his rude comment with one of her own. “Can you tell me where you were the evening of Lady Godwin’s murder?”

  The countess’s bosom lifted and lowered as she took a deep breath. “I had a headache after dinner, so I retired to my room.” Which explained her absence from the parlor later that evening when Philip addressed everyone, but gave her no real alibi. “My maid attended me. She can confirm my whereabouts.”

  Except that servants could too easily be bought or threatened if they did not do as their employer wished. Her maid was a witness, but not a very good one. And Lady Stratford seemed aware of this, if the challenge in her gaze, daring us to contradict her, was any indication.

  Gage leaned forward and gentled his voice. “You must have been terribly upset when you learned that Lady Godwin was being bedded by your husband.”

  Lady Stratford’s gaze dropped to her needlework. “I told you it was only a rumor.”

  “Yes, but it still must have hurt. It’s one thing to be forced to follow convention and sit back and indulge Lord Stratford in his indiscretions, and quite another to discover they involve your closest friend—a woman who should have known better, who should have been loyal.” His sympathetic words rattled the countess, for her thread tangled and she flung aside her embroidery with a grunt of frustration. “Lady Godwin must have been aware that you would not approve.”

  Lady Stratford gazed across the room toward the windows and laughed bitterly. “Since when did she care for anyone’s approval?”

  Gage hesitated, as if waiting to see if she would elaborate. When she didn’t, he goaded her further. “Surely her closest friend’s approbation meant something to her.”

  Her eyes were bleak and wintry when they turned back toward us, as if a blizzard raged behind those icy gray orbs. “You clearly did not know Lady Godwin, Mr. Gage.” Her gaze rose to meet mine over his head. “Did you, Lady Darby?” I shook my head, chilled by the loathing in her stare. “No? Well, count yourself lucky.”

  “Do you know when they . . . ?” Gage began.

  “No. I do not. Sometime in the spring, I gather. If the rumors are true.”

  “Is he . . . ?”

  Lady Stratford abruptly rose from her seat. “I’m finished. If you want to know anything else, why don’t you talk to my husband? I’m sure he’ll be happy to swap tales of your conquests,” she called over her shoulder, one last parting shot as she exited through the door to her dressing room.

  “Well, that went well,” I muttered dryly.

  “It did, rather,” Gage replied as he rose to his feet.

  “She just stormed out on us,” I reminded him, confused by his satisfied tone.

  “Yes.” He held the door to the corridor open for me. “And in doing so, proved she is both upset by Lord Stratford and Lady Godwin’s relationship and has a temper.”

  I considered his words, struggling with the idea of Lady Stratford as a murderess. “Do you honestly believe she could have done it?”

  He glanced at me. “Why not? She has motive. And a pretty shabby alibi.”

  “Yes,” I replied uncertainly. “But somehow I can’t imagine Lady Stratford slicing Lady Godwin’s neck just because she bedded her husband, let alone harming that baby. It sounds mad.”

  “Well, maybe when she discovered their betrayal, she went a little mad. Such things have happened before.”

  I contemplated this idea and then shook my head. “No. Maybe if she had just found out, but the rumors circulated months ago. People don’t focus on old relationships when there are new ones to gossip about, and it sounds as if Lady Godwin has hopped into any number of gentlemen’s beds since she was with Lord Stratford.”

  “True,” he conceded, turning down the corridor toward the main hall. “But what if Lady Stratford only recently confirmed the rumors? What if Lady Godwin approached her at this very house party and told her she was expecting her husband’s child?” Gage raised his eyebrows. “That would be quite a blow.”

  I frowned. “I suppose. However, we still have a few other issues to contend with. Such as the amount of strength it took to inflict Lady Godwin’s wounds.”

  “Anger can generate a lot of power, Lady Darby.”

  That was true, but I still felt Lady Stratford was too dainty to have sliced the viscountess’s throat so cleanly. “What about the muscle it would have taken to dig that hole in the forest and bury the baby? Anger is potent, but it also spends itself quickly when exerted.”

  He was silent for a moment while he thought. “Perhaps she had help.”

  I looked up to meet his gaze. “Her maid?” I asked, thinking of her alibi.

  “She seems the likely choice.”

  I pressed my hands together, realizing he could be right. I didn’t want to believe Lady Stratford could have committed the crime, especially as it involved a child, but I had to at least reconcile myself to the possibility. “All right, then who are we questioning first? Lord Stratford or the maid?”

  Before he could reply, my question was answered for us. Mrs. MacLean called our names and came hurrying down the hall toward us. Huffing and puffing with either panic or excitement, she pressed a hand to her side as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Oh, Mr. Gage, m’lady,” she gasped, the pitch of her voice rising. “I was just comin’ to find you.”

  “What is it, Mrs. MacLean?” Ga
ge asked calmly. “Has something happened?”

  “Aye! Faye, Lady Godwin’s maid, ya ken. She told me that Celeste, Lady Stratford’s lass, borrowed one o’ her aprons. Said she couldna find her spare.”

  His gaze met mine, and his eyes seemed to sharpen like a falcon sighting his prey. “Thank you, Mrs. MacLean. We’ll go speak with Faye.”

  “She’s in ’er room. I just came from there.” She clucked her tongue. “Wanted to check on the puir dear.”

  “Let Lord Cromarty know what you’ve discovered,” Gage instructed her. “And send Lady Stratford’s maid up. But don’t tell her why.”

  “Course.” The housekeeper performed an odd curtsy and hurried off down the hall.

  I pulled Gage to a stop just before he entered the servants’ stairway. “Aren’t you concerned by how all of this suddenly seems to be falling into place?”

  “It normally does, once you hit on the right suspect,” he replied. I could see the suppressed excitement in his frame as he began to climb. “Perhaps Faye remembers something about Lord or Lady Stratford that can help us?”

  “Yes, but will she even speak ill of the countess?” I asked as I followed. “The lady has been so kind to her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused by his ominous tone of voice.

  “If Lady Stratford is the murderer, it would certainly shed a different light on her willingness to help the maid.”

  “Guilt?” I guessed.

  “Or something much more nefarious. If Faye knows something, even something she may not realize is important, Lady Stratford might decide she needs to keep her quiet. Permanently.”

  A chill crept down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around my torso. I just couldn’t see Lady Stratford being capable of such evil things, but what if I was wrong? She certainly wouldn’t be the first person to fool me. Sir Anthony had seemed harmless enough before we wed. It wasn’t until a week after that I discovered how wrong I was. I didn’t want to discover the same about Lady Stratford a week too late to help Faye.