The Anatomist's Wife Page 32

  Alana’s eyes dropped. “Dead.”

  My chest tightened in sorrow. “Did he have any family?”

  “A mother and sister in the village. Philip has offered to pay for the funeral and provide the mother with a pension. He also promised the sister a position here at the castle when she’s old enough.”

  “That’s kind of him.”

  Alana shrugged. “It was the least he could do.”

  I nodded and sipped my water.

  We sat silently for a moment, both contemplating the deceased footman and his family, I presumed. He was heavy in my thoughts, as was the realization that I had stabbed Lord Stratford. I knew that in the end it was the bullet that killed him, but it still troubled me to know I had harmed another human being, no matter how necessary it had been or how much he had deserved it. I flexed my fingers. How strange it had been to feel the blade sink into human flesh after watching Sir Anthony do it so many times. No matter what I had claimed only four short days ago, the experience had not been even remotely the same, and I had not been prepared for it.

  Misunderstanding the alarm and uncertainty tightening my features, Alana leaned closer to squeeze my hand. “Oh, dearest, it’s over,” she assured me. Her brilliant blue eyes softened with affection. “Stratford is dead, and we’re all safe. Because of you.” She smiled, and I tried to grin back, but I knew the effort had not been very successful.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, rising to her feet to pull the cord to summon Lucy. “I’m sure they must have some soup left over from luncheon, and there is always some sort of cold meat and cheese lying around.”

  “Luncheon?” I gasped, turning to stare at the sunlight pouring in through the window. For the first time since waking, I noted the slant of the sunbeams across the floor.

  “Why yes, dearest. It’s already late afternoon. Your body was exhausted from last night’s ordeal.”

  And the numerous sleepless nights before that, I suspected.

  There was a knock at the door and Alana called for my visitor to come in.

  “Is she awake?” Philip murmured, poking his head around the door frame. His face broke into a brilliant smile when he saw me looking back at him. “Well, good afternoon. It’s nice to see you’ve returned to the land of the living.”

  I grinned broadly at him, relieved to see him looking so well.

  “Now don’t start making her feel guilty,” Alana scolded, planting her hands on her hips. “She’s already shocked she slept so long. She needed the rest.”

  “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand in defense. “I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. I’m just glad to see she’s awake.” He smiled gently down at me. “How do you feel?”

  I shifted so that I could see him better. “Sore, but otherwise fine.” I knew he was only asking about my state physically.

  “Do you feel up to speaking with Sir Graham?”

  “No, she does not,” Alana snapped before I could open my mouth. “She was kidnapped, shot, and nearly drowned, for heaven’s sake. She needs her rest, not to rehash last night’s events.”

  I appreciated my sister’s protectiveness, but I did not want to be shielded. I wanted it to be over. I wanted this entire terrifying experience to be finished. And I knew the only thing I could do to hasten its end was to answer Sir Graham’s questions. A part of me, borne from the injustices of my life with Sir Anthony, still feared the procurator fiscal might believe I orchestrated the whole thing, that he would arrest me for murder. No matter how I tried to stifle it, I couldn’t shake that fear. It would remain overshadowing my every thought and action until this investigation ended and Sir Graham returned to Inverness.

  “Yes,” I said over Alana’s voice. She glanced back at me in shock. “Yes, Philip, I’ll speak with him.”

  “Kiera,” my sister protested, alarm tightening her voice.

  “I need to do this,” I told her firmly. “Now, and not later, after I’ve stirred myself up with anxiety.” I softened my voice, pleading with her to understand. “I need this to be over.”

  “All right,” she agreed begrudgingly. “But you’ll conduct the interview here, in your bedchamber, and I’ll hear no complaints about it. We can have the chaise longue moved from my parlor for you to recline on so that you don’t have to remain in bed.”

  I hid a smile at her continued effort to control the situation.

  “But if he puts too much strain on her, I’m holding you accountable,” she threatened her husband, stabbing a finger in his direction.

  Philip nodded and looked to me. “I’ll be with you the entire time,” he promised me, his eyes shining with sincerity and devotion.

  “And me as well,” Alana added.

  A lump formed in my throat, and I had to blink several times to hold back the wetness stinging my eyes. “Thank you,” I told them.

  Philip nodded.

  “Give us an hour,” Alana told him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  As promised, exactly one hour later I found myself reclining on Alana’s oatmeal silk chaise longue, primped and presented like a Christmas goose.

  Lucy and Alana had fluttered and fussed over my appearance for nearly the entire hour, giving me little time even to ingest a bowl of cock-a-leekie soup. My hair was to be styled neatly but effortlessly, my complexion glowing but not flushed with health, my clothes flattering but not overtly so. When I asked my sister why on earth they had gone to so much trouble just to wrap me in an emerald-green silk dressing gown and pull a quilt over my legs, she only shook her head and muttered something about our mother rolling over in her grave.

  After that, I suspected it had something to do with the finer feminine arts I had never bothered to master, since they all seemed to take such a ridiculous amount of effort only to receive indefinite results. Case in point, it would have taken me five minutes to pull half my hair back from my face and don my current attire, even with the gunshot wound in my side. Granted, I might be slightly more winded and perspiring from the exertion. My hair might not have lain so perfectly smooth, my gown so creaseless. But nevertheless, my appearance did not require such detailed planning.

  The only benefit I could see to such fussing and primping was that I had been allowed little time to fret over the pending interview with Sir Graham Fraser. So much so that when Alana opened the door to his knock, I was so annoyed with her that I had to remind myself that I was supposed to be worrying. And perhaps that had been Alana’s intention all along.

  I smothered the irritation still trickling through my veins and pasted on a bland smile to receive the procurator fiscal.

  “Lady Darby,” Sir Graham proclaimed as he bowed over my hand in greeting. “Allow me to say how glad I am to hear you will recover from your wounds.”

  The man’s eyes twinkled with kindness beneath two bushy white eyebrows. They looked like two scraggly tufts of cotton blossom stuck to his face. His tall forehead was etched deeply with wrinkles, as were the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth, making me believe he smiled brightly and often.

  “Thank you,” I replied, genuinely charmed by the older man. I offered him a small smile. “I’m glad as well.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. Yes. I’m certain you are. Well then . . .” he looked up to include everyone in the room “. . . let’s get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, shall we?” His voice was good-natured but brisk—a man accustomed to doing things efficiently.

  I appreciated his good wishes, but I valued his willingness to hurry matters along even more. I nodded firmly, feeling the first flutter of nerves in my stomach in the past hour.

  Alana directed him to one of the navy-blue chairs before the hearth while Philip claimed the chair opposite. Tea was offered and declined, and then Alana was leaning close to me, uselessly fluffing my
pillows. “What about you, dear? Would you like some tea?”

  I could tell from my sister’s raised eyebrows that she was asking me far more than whether I was thirsty. “No, thank you,” I replied, addressing her concern. “I’m fine.”

  She searched my eyes anxiously for a moment, as if to ascertain I was telling her the truth, and then nodded. Stepping back, she pulled a ladder-back chair closer to my chaise to sit by my side, hovering over me like a sentry.

  Sir Graham, who had waited patiently through our exchange, now folded his hands over his stomach. “Lady Darby, if you’re ready to begin?” I dipped my head for him to continue. “I’ve already spoken with Lady Stratford and her maid, Lord Cromarty,” he nodded to Philip, “and Mr. Gage. Which leaves . . .”

  “Did someone mention my name?”

  My chest tightened at the sound of Gage’s voice. I had not seen him since they pulled me from the water, since our kiss, and I had to stop myself from turning toward him where he stood in the doorway over my shoulder. Such a movement would wrench the wound in my side. And make me look far more eager to see him than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

  “Am I late?” he asked with what sounded like forced joviality. His confident footsteps crossed the room. “I thought you said half past five, Cromarty?”

  “I did. But you don’t have to be here, Gage.”

  I looked up, catching Gage’s eyes as he came abreast of Alana’s chair. A charming smile was pasted across his mouth, but I could see the lines of worry crisscrossing his forehead.

  “I know,” he replied. “But I thought perhaps I should be. I’m eager to hear how Lady Darby uncovered the information we missed.”

  I wanted to take offense at his declaration of interest, particularly since the man had displayed no such curiosity two days prior, when I expressed my concerns regarding Lady Stratford’s guilt. But I couldn’t maintain my indignation, not when I could so easily read the concern reflected in his eyes. Concern that I suspected was for me.

  “Yes, well, it’s up to Kiera whether she wants you to stay or not,” Alana interjected brusquely, still playing the part of overprotective sister. She turned to me expectantly, awaiting my decision.

  I looked to Gage again, noting the tightness around his eyes. He was genuinely worried I would send him away, and for some reason, such a possibility pained him. I felt the tenuous strands of my lingering anger begin to loosen inside me. It seemed small and petty to maintain my irritation when the man had saved my life. He had dived into the freezing waters of the loch, with no small risk to his own safety, and cradled me in his arms as he pulled me to the surface. No matter the fault of his actions beforehand, he had been there when I needed him most, and I would be eternally grateful.

  “Kiera?” Alana pressed, interrupting my thoughts. She frowned at me in confusion, making me wonder how long I had been staring at Gage.

  Fighting a blush climbing its way up my neck, I cleared my throat. “Of course, he can stay.”

  The tightness around Gage’s eyes eased and the brittleness of his smile softened to something more genuine. I turned away, unsettled by my reaction to him. In the past, my annoyance had always kept any softer feelings I might be contemplating for the man buried, but without that aggravation, that drive to prove him wrong, I suddenly had no armor to block the other confusing emotions. They floated to the surface, pulling and twisting my insides with unfamiliar sensations. They were at once invigorating and frightening, and I was as yet unprepared to deal with them.

  I plucked at the stitching on my quilt, watching out of the corner of my eye as Gage moved to stand next to the fireplace. He propped his elbow on the edge of the mantel and leaned his hip into the stone. The man seemed incapable of standing up straight if there was a wall or mantel or doorway to lean on.

  Sir Graham cleared his throat, recalling us all to the purpose of this gathering. “As I was saying.” He glanced quickly around the room, as if to verify there were to be no more interruptions. “I’ve already questioned most of the witnesses and, as you already know, I was present for most of the events that transpired last night on the loch. Lord Cromarty and Mr. Gage have already filled me in on the rather . . . unorthodox . . . level of your assistance with the investigation.”

  My throat tightened at the censure in his voice, even though most of it seemed to be leveled at Philip and Gage.

  “But that is not the issue at hand.” He turned to study me with a calm demeanor. “What I need from you, Lady Darby, is for you to . . . fill in a few holes, if you will. There are a few matters the gentlemen and I have been unable to piece together ourselves.”

  I traced an embroidered flower on the quilt over my lap, trying to hide my internal agitation. They must be rather curious how I’d figured out Lord Stratford was the murderer before he admitted as much after kidnapping us from the carriage house.

  “Lady Stratford told us that her husband’s original plan was to murder her so that he could remarry, and when Lady Godwin found out about it and confronted him, he killed her to keep her quiet.”

  “That is true,” I replied calmly. “He admitted as much in the boat last night.”

  “But you already knew Lord Stratford was Lady Godwin’s murderer, even before he told you so?”

  My nerves took to wing inside my stomach. “I suspected it.”

  “May I ask how, Lady Darby?” Sir Graham asked, gently prodding me. “Was it just a simple hunch? All Lady Stratford could tell us was that you had inquired about a recent trip her husband made to Shropshire to view some property.”

  “Yes. Except it’s not the kind of property you are all thinking of.” They glanced at each other quizzically as I turned toward my sister. “I need you to get something for me.”

  She sat forward in surprise. “Of course.”

  “It’s in the bottom drawer of my desk. The jewelry box.” She stood and moved toward the escritoire while I explained to the others. “When I went walking yesterday morning, I found a man’s handkerchief stained with blood stuffed inside the hole of a tree. Well, actually, Beowulf and Grendel found it,” I amended. “I just retrieved it.”

  “My wolfhounds,” Philip explained to Sir Graham.

  “I assume it was near the spot where you found blood several days ago and speculated that the murderer had laid the child there and come back to bury it later.”

  Philip’s eyes looked troubled. “You found this handkerchief before you returned to the stable with the dogs?”

  I flushed and nodded.

  “And you didn’t tell me about it,” his voice was flat.

  “I was waiting for Mr. Gage. You’ll remember I asked after him.”

  He nodded dully, hurt by my apparent unwillingness to confide in him.

  “There was nothing we could do about it until he returned,” I hastened to add. “And I . . . I didn’t want to worry you any more than you already were.” My gaze flicked to Alana, who was now standing next to me holding the small wooden box.

  Her brow furrowed, clearly realizing I had been referring to his worry over her and her barricading herself in the children’s nursery. She held the box out to me. “Is this it?”

  “Yes.” My gut churned at the hurt gleaming in both Philip’s and Alana’s eyes. I wanted to explain further, but what could I say? Neither of them had been in a state to help me, and that had not been my fault. “I just . . .” I began to explain before cutting myself off. I shook my head. Now was not the time to discuss family dramatics. “I need the key. It’s tucked inside the backing on the frame above the desk, there.” Alana moved away solemnly, and I tried to forget the pained expression I had seen on her face.

  I turned back to address the men. “At the time, I couldn’t be certain it was a man’s handkerchief, but unadorned as it was, I knew it wasn’t a lady’s. Which
only increased my suspicion that Lady Stratford was not the murderer. So I decided to search Lady Godwin’s chambers. Thank you,” I told my sister, taking the key from her hands.

  “But I searched her chamber four days ago,” Gage said.

  “Yes, I know. And had I searched it then, I also would have missed what I’m about to show you.” I carefully extracted the handkerchief from the box and handed it to Philip, who rose to transfer it to Sir Graham. “These are two letters I found on Lady Godwin’s escritoire,” I said, passing them to Philip as well. “The first is not addressed or signed, but it is clear, once you read the contents, that the intended recipient was Lord Stratford. Notice she mentions how they were lovers with a great deal between them. Then she tells him she knows what he is about to do and that he won’t get away with it. ‘My family is not for sale,’” I quoted.

  Gage moved around to read over Sir Graham’s shoulder. “I never saw this letter,” he replied almost defensively.

  “It had fallen to the floor and slid under the writing desk. Perhaps you missed it. In any case, the information it contained was useless until we uncovered Lord Stratford had been her lover and was the father of her child. And without the next letter, there would have been no connection.” Sir Graham flipped to the next page. “This note is from Lady Godwin’s younger sister, a Miss Carina Herbert, who resides in Diddlebury, Shropshire.”

  Gage looked up at me, his eyes bright as he quickly realized the implication.

  I nodded at him in confirmation. “Miss Carina tells her sister of a Lord S who arrived to pay her court, promising to return as soon as he could to ask her a most important question.” I thought of the young lady who had obviously fallen head over heels for the fiend’s charms and was about to be given a very harsh and cruel awakening. “I’m sure you can guess that her Lord S is actually Lord Stratford,” I said solemnly.

  Sir Graham stared at the letter for some time, as if having difficulty digesting the cunning and malice of Lord Stratford’s actions. “The man was courting his wife’s replacement while plotting to kill her. Despicable,” he spat, shaking his head.