An Artless Demise Read online

  “Really?” a voice drawled behind me, making Gage and me both stiffen. “Then why didn’t the owner publish those journals immediately upon Sir Anthony Darby’s death? He could have made a fortune.”

  I blinked in shock as Lord Gage moved forward to stand at my side, eyeing Lady Felicity as if she were some silly debutante, hardly worth his time.

  Lady Felicity seemed similarly affected. Then her eyes narrowed and she gave a toss of her artfully coiled blond ringlets. “Of course you would defend her. She’s your daughter-in-law.”

  He gave a huff of dry laughter. “When have I ever done so before?”

  Those gathered around her seemed persuaded by this point, murmuring fervently among themselves. A blush of fury crested her cheeks, and I had to admit that even in a rage, she looked spectacular.

  “Those published journals will still net a fortune. For I certainly intend to buy a copy and find out just what sort of viper has been brought into our midst.”

  “No worse than some that already slither among us, I suspect.”

  Lady Felicity glared at him, clearly unable to decide whether she’d just been insulted or not.

  “Come, my dear,” Lord Gage said, taking my hand and threading it through his arm. “Such insipid conversation gives me a headache.”

  I allowed myself to be led away, still trying to rally from the astonishment of having my father-in-law publicly defend me. And against Lady Felicity Spencer—his choice for his son’s bride—no less. With his son following in our wake, Lord Gage guided us into a small alcove near the parlor where gaming tables had been set up.

  Before either Gage or I could speak, Lord Gage whirled me about to face him. “I have the journals.”

  If I’d thought I’d suffered a shock before, it was nothing compared to this.

  “How?” Gage spluttered. “When?”

  His eyes scanned the hallway beyond the alcove to be sure no one was listening. “This morning. Pilcher’s statement before Minshull gave me the idea. If the weight of the Crown wouldn’t work, I realized that perhaps the influence of the Royal College of Surgeons would. As you can imagine, they don’t wish for any further scandal at the moment. So I convinced them to threaten to oust him from their distinguished membership if he did not relinquish Sir Anthony’s journals to me to be destroyed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, arching his eyebrows. “They also offered him the chance to assist with one of the dissections of the burkers, should they be convicted to hang.”

  “Thank you, sir,” my husband gasped, offering his hand to his father, who shook it. “We are most grateful.”

  Relief swept through me, from my head all the way down to my toes. And yet the thought that kept echoing through my head was, He’s had them since this morning. I felt myself sway, and both men reached out to steady me. It was then that I realized I’d been holding my breath. I released it, and then gasped, “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  “No need for explanations,” Gage told me, pulling me to his side.

  I nodded, leaning into him for support.

  “Where are the journals now?” he asked. “Have they been destroyed?”

  “No, they are in the safe in my study.” Lord Gage’s eyes shifted between us, something swimming in their depths I’d never seen before. “I was under the impression you needed some information from them.”

  My hands tightened around my husband even as he answered.

  “We do.” He glanced down at me in confusion.

  “Do we?” I murmured. “We already have the names we were looking for.”

  “Yes, but what if there is more?” he replied gently. “This might be our only chance to find out.”

  He had a valid point, and yet the idea of his reading Sir Anthony’s thoughts about me, about anything, made my mouth dry and my heart race.

  His hand lifted to trail a thumb over my cheek. “Believe me. I do not relish it any more than you. But it must be done.”

  I forced another breath past the constriction in my chest and nodded, knowing he was right, and yet hating it.

  His father reached inside the pocket of his tailcoat. “Then I think you should peruse them in my study.” He passed him a key. “I would rather not take the chance of you or me being accosted and the journals stolen. Burn them in the hearth when you’re finished.”

  “I will. Just as soon as I escort Kiera home.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  I stiffened.

  “That’s not necessary,” Gage demurred.

  “Maybe not, but I’d like to do so anyway,” he argued, not unkindly. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

  Gage’s eyes narrowed at the corners as the two men stood in a silent standoff. Whatever he read in his father’s countenance, I didn’t know, but I was surprised when his expression softened.

  “Please, Sebastian,” Lord Gage replied. His voice was not pleading, but it was close. “I promise you she shall come to no harm. Even from me.”

  Gage turned to me, offering me the chance to refuse. But then I realized, what did it matter? If Lord Gage had read the journals, if he had something to say to me, he would just find another time if I didn’t allow him to do so now.

  The three of us departed the ball together, and Gage pressed a kiss to my temple before he handed me up into Lord Gage’s elegant coach, entrusting me to his care. With a rap of his knuckles against the wall, the carriage clattered forward into the dark London streets, with only the periodic flicker of the gas streetlamps to light the way while the clouds blocked the moon. I wrapped my cloak tighter around me as I stared out into the gloom, waiting for my father-in-law to speak. Why he hesitated, I didn’t know, but when he cleared his throat not once, but twice, I started to wonder if he was a bit uncertain.

  “I suspect you’ve already guessed it, but I read the journals,” he murmured in a gentler voice than I’d ever heard him use.

  His tone affected me in a way I’d not expected, making my throat suddenly tight. I choked back the emotion, refusing to react. I just wanted him to say whatever he wanted to say and be done with it. So I could begin to forget this entire conversation.

  But then he surprised me again by slipping his hand into mine where it rested against the seat. I turned to look at him. His shadow-wreathed features were so like his son’s—the same strong jawline and sculpted cheekbones, the same cleft in his chin. Even the line of the brow and the shape of the eyes were the same. I had noticed the similarities before, but in the semi-darkness they were even more pronounced.

  Or perhaps it was the way in which my father-in-law was looking at me. His eyes were no longer sharp with disdain, but soft with sympathy and perhaps a shade of regret, though I’d never thought to credit him with such an emotion.

  “I think perhaps I underestimated you, my girl. I pride myself on being able to read people well, you know.” He sighed heavily. “But this time, I’m afraid I was stubbornly imperceptive.”

  It was not an apology precisely, but it was the closest I would ever get to one, I realized. And one that his pride allowed him to offer. It was oddly touching while at the same time vindicating. But at what cost? What exactly had he read in those journals?

  He cleared his throat a third time before continuing in his usual blasé manner. “You should know, I don’t usually think of myself as a violent man.” His eyes shifted to meet mine, glinting with rage. “But if your first husband were still alive, I would quite cheerfully thrash him. Damn the consequences.”

  I didn’t respond, for what could I possibly say to that? But I was now certain that Sir Anthony’s cruelness had bled out in the words on the page as it had in person, or else my father-in-law would not have reacted so strongly. They were as bad, if not worse, than I feared.

  I felt light-headed at the realization that the three most painful, degrading years of my life had almost been printed
for public consumption, laid bare for all to read. And knowing Sir Anthony, he had spared no intimate details, had left no depraved thought unrecorded. The scandal would have been horrific, the shame insurmountable. For me, and for those I loved.

  Inhaling a deep breath past the constriction in my throat, I rested my free hand protectively over my abdomen.

  “My wife used to shield Sebastian in the same way before he was born.” The rawness in his voice caught me off guard.

  “I . . . I think it’s fairly common in expectant mothers,” I said, the ache in his eyes finally compelling me to speak.

  He nodded. “Well, it speaks well of you, regardless.” He faced forward, speaking into the darkness as the carriage turned into a shadowy street. “I can only hope my grandchildren inherit your strength and fortitude. It will serve them well.”

  Neither of us said anything more. For my part, I was too stunned, too hesitant to ruin this tentative sense of solidarity that had sprung up between us. If I prodded too deeply, I feared it might crumble. I didn’t want to foster any foolish hope, but perhaps our relationship had finally turned a corner. Not that we would ever be close, but perhaps at least he would stop treating me with such contempt and cease berating his son for choosing me as his wife.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I knew Gage would be poring over the journals for hours, so I went to bed, though I didn’t think I would actually slumber. However, I’d underestimated the fatigue of my current condition and the strain of the day’s revelations. I was asleep in minutes.

  Some hours later, I woke at the click of the door latching and rolled over to find my husband hovering in the shadows by the connecting door. I couldn’t see his face, but I could sense his roiling emotions in the tautness of his frame, and the silent misery rolling off him in waves.

  I hadn’t given any thought to it before, but I began to wonder whether this had been harder on him than me. It couldn’t have been easy to read the things my first husband wrote about me, the things he had thought and done to me. Things I hadn’t even dared to say. I didn’t know whether reading it in black and white was harder than hearing it from me, but discovering those things, and yet knowing they had all happened in the past and there was nothing he could do about it, must have been enraging.

  I held out my hand to him, and he came forward, slowly at first and then faster. His face, when he stepped into the flickering light cast by the hearth, was a twisted mask of grief and rage. I pulled him down into the bed beside me and wrapped my arms around him. He lay there stiffly, with his arms around me, and I knew he wasn’t rejecting me, but berating himself. For a man who placed such importance on protecting those he loved, realizing just what I’d endured must have been hell.

  I brushed my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “It’s over now,” I whispered. “Just breathe, darling.”

  He inhaled a ragged breath and then began to shatter. He wept as I’d never seen him weep before—great gasping sobs of tears that dripped into my hair and onto my shoulder. They tore at my heart like talons. At one point he tried to pull away, but I would not let him. I didn’t care if he soaked my nightdress or soiled my braid. I was not going to let him believe for a moment his reaction upset me or that he had any share of the blame.

  When the tears slowed, and his breathing became more even, I pulled back to look into his beloved face. Weariness dragged at his features, as well as sorrow. I rolled over to grab a handkerchief from my bedside table and then passed it to him. Once he’d mopped his face and blown his nose, he took a deep breath, seeming to settle himself. But I halted him as he drew breath to speak.

  “Don’t even think of apologizing,” I told him firmly as I snuggled in close to him again. “Had I been forced to read his atrocious words, I no doubt would be doing more than crying.”

  Gage brushed the hair from my face as I gazed down at him. “Very well. I won’t apologize for that. But I will apologize for all that you endured.” His voice was rough with emotion. “You told me what it was like, but you didn’t tell me.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, well. I didn’t particularly wish to relive every moment.”

  “I can understand that,” he replied after some thought. His face contorted. “And thank heavens you weren’t privy to his thoughts. I feel tainted simply from reading them.”

  I traced my fingers over the faint stubble growing along his jawline. “I gathered they were pretty awful from your father’s reaction to them.”

  “Was he kind?”

  “Yes.” I thought about saying more, but it was too new, and I found I couldn’t summon the words.

  Gage seemed to understand anyway, for he pulled me down so that my head was cushioned against his shoulder. I burrowed into his neck and inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne and the comforting essence of him, allowing it to soothe some of my agitation.

  A few moments passed without either of us speaking, and then I asked the question that must be faced. “Did you burn them?”

  “Yes. With relish.”

  I nodded. “Good.”

  He traced a pattern on my arm. “My father had the pages of Sir Anthony’s incomplete anatomy textbook as well.”

  I lifted my head to stare down at him in shock. I couldn’t believe Mayer had given those up. My chest tightened. “Did you . . .”

  “No.”

  My shoulders sank in a relief perhaps I shouldn’t have felt.

  “I couldn’t do it. Your drawings were too beautiful. They’re exquisite, Kiera.” His voice almost throbbed with the words. “I’ve seen anatomical sketches before, and they were nothing like these. These were . . . works of art.” His hand cradled my face. “You told me once that’s how you endured. By seeing the splendor in each vein, each muscle, each drop of blood. Well, you captured that and more.”

  I felt tears burn at the back of my eyes to hear him be able to comprehend the way I viewed the world.

  “I only wish others could see them and appreciate them.”

  “It’s enough to know that you do,” I whispered.

  His eyes softened and he pulled my face down to kiss me, tenderly at first, and then with growing passion. There was some new component to our joining that night. It was deep, and at times, almost desperate, and perhaps all the more poignant because of it.

  I should have been exhausted from Gage’s efforts, but I lay awake for some time after that. His long body curled around mine, his arm draped over my middle, as I stared into the darkness.

  That’s when I first felt it. It wasn’t more than a small flutter of movement, but I stilled at the sensation. Alana had told me it would happen soon, but I wasn’t sure. Perhaps I’d imagined it.

  Bracing myself, I waited to find out if it would happen again. Seconds passed, and then . . . There! The same fluttering. My heart thrilled at the realization the tiny baby inside me had just moved, stretching out his little arm or leg to press against me.

  A deep well of love and wonder seemed to open up inside me at the knowledge that there really was a human being growing inside me. Intellectually I had known it, but the reality of it had still seemed a somewhat distant concept. Something to be taken on faith. But here was tangible evidence, a personal connection, and it had a much more profound effect on me than I’d expected.

  I pressed my hand over the spot where the baby had reached out, waiting to feel him or her move again, but they must have settled. Part of me was disappointed by this, and part of me glad. For then I needn’t feel guilty about not waking Gage. I would tell him in the morning, and the next time it happened. But this time . . . This time was just for me.

  * * *

  • • •

  Though we seemed no closer to uncovering the Mayfair Murderer than before, Gage had already declared we would not be venturing far the next day. The trial of Bishop, Williams, and May was set to begin at the Old Bailey that morning, and t
he crowds of people expected to gather outside were not to be underestimated. Anderley had set out during the wee hours of the morning in order to find a space in the Public Gallery, a privilege for which he’d had to pay over a guinea to the sheriffs. Later, he’d reported how crowded the notoriously drafty Sessions House was, filled to the brim with spectators—many of them surgeons, but some of higher rank. Alongside the three judges sat the Lord Mayor of London, two sons of the prime minister, and the Duke of Sussex—the King’s younger brother.

  From the very beginning, the trial proceeded differently from others. For one thing, most lasted less than ten minutes, though some for capital offenses took a matter of hours. In contrast, the hearing for the burkers continued all day. Something the aromatic herbs strewn about the courtroom to combat the stink of the prisoners and the adjoining Newgate prison had no hope of enduring against, not with so many bodies packed tightly together.

  The prosecution called up a total of forty witnesses, from the elderly tailor who lived in Nova Scotia Gardens and cut Williams’s wedding coat—who incidentally did not show, a common occurrence at trials—to a seven-year-old child. The defense had but six, and several of those were of no help at all. The only of the three prisoners on trial who seemed to stand a chance was May, who had an alibi from one of his lovers, but as society saw her morals as being weak, her honesty was also questioned. Bishop also swore in his statement that May had known nothing as to how he came to possess the boy’s body, but he also said the same for Williams, who clearly must have, living in the same home as him.

  In the end, the jury saw no difference between them, and at 8:30 P.M., they passed down the verdict of guilty. The judges donned their black caps and sentenced them to hang on Monday morning and then have their bodies handed over to the anatomists.

  Anderley said the courtroom was almost eerily silent at this proclamation. But through the windows they could hear the vast crowds gathered outside shouting and cheering. So great was the tumult that the court officials had to shut every window to continue the proceedings.