The Anatomist's Wife Page 33

  “Yes, the man has proven several times over how black his heart was,” Philip pronounced in anger as he settled back into his chair.

  “You might also remember Alana told us that, on the day she was murdered, Lady Godwin asked her to have a footman meet the mail coach in Drumchork to post a letter to her sister, this Miss Herbert,” I told them. “I can only guess that Lady Godwin was so urgent to have the letter posted because she wished to warn her sister.”

  Alana shook her head. “Poor girl. But why Miss Herbert? Wouldn’t Lord Stratford have been wiser to choose someone that none of his acquaintances knew?”

  “Yes, but Lady Godwin had already borne two boys to her husband,” I pointed out. “And, more important, Lord Stratford himself had been able to impregnate her. I assume that Stratford believed her sister would easily do the same.”

  “So his only motive for killing his wife was because she had not borne him an heir?” Sir Graham’s voice rang with disgusted incredulity.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, who is the earl’s current heir?” he huffed. “A brother? A cousin? Was there some animosity between them?”

  “A distant cousin,” Philip answered. “A Frenchman, I believe.”

  I nodded, thinking back on Stratford’s angry words the night before. “He seemed to harbor a deep hatred of the French, something he developed during his service in the war.”

  “The man served under Wellington,” Gage confirmed, having returned to his position next to the hearth. He rubbed his chin in thought. “He suffered several gunshot wounds, if I recall.”

  “One in his shoulder and one that grazed his scalp,” I confirmed.

  Philip’s fingers drummed the arm of his chair in agitation. “What I would like to know is whether Stratford deliberately set about blaming his wife.” His gaze flicked to his own wife. “I mean, how did Lady Stratford’s scissors and shawl end up covered in blood? Did he just happen to have them in his pocket when he went to meet Lady Godwin that night?”

  I wrapped my arms around my swirling stomach and stared at my knees. “Make no mistake, Philip. Every move Lord Stratford made from the moment he murdered Lady Godwin—with the knife he carried in his boot, incidentally, not the embroidery shears—was deliberately intended to direct the blame toward his wife.” Or me, I added silently. “He smeared the scissors with blood and placed them in the maze. Then he swiped the very shawl his wife had been wearing at dinner that night from her room and wrapped the child in it.” My voice hardened with anger. “Even his decision to remove the baby was influenced at least partly by his desire to point the finger at Lady Stratford.”

  “All of our evidence wasn’t actually evidence at all. Even the apron,” Gage explained. His voice was clipped, his eyes hard. “He manipulated us from the very beginning.”

  “Wait.” Philip leaned forward in his chair. “Wasn’t he one of the first people to appear after Lady Lydia screamed?”

  I nodded and sighed. “And if I’d thought deeper about it at the time, I might have realized how odd his appearance was.” The others stared at me in confusion. I reached up to fiddle with the lapels of my dressing gown. “The buttons of his frock coat were all off by one, as if they’d been buttoned up very quickly.” I shook my head. “I noted it, but I was so distressed that I didn’t understand the significance.”

  “Well, don’t scold yourself, Kiera.” Philip grimaced. “Stratford helped Gage and me move the body to the cellar, and we never noticed anything suspicious.” His brow furrowed. “The man must have had ice in his veins to be able to do such a thing and not give himself away.”

  “Likely learned from his time fighting France,” Sir Graham said grimly. “If he served for any length of time on the peninsula, he would have had to train himself to block off his emotions just to be able to survive.” He sighed and shook his head, as if dismissing some troubling memory of his own. I wondered if he had spent time fighting abroad as well. “Though killing an enemy on the battlefield is a far cry from killing one’s own mistress and child.” He shook his head in disgust. “Did Stratford make up an alibi?”

  I thought back, trying to remember whether we had ever questioned him about it.

  Gage gave a short bark of laughter. “He thought he had.” We all turned toward him curiously. “Unfortunately, he was foolish enough to assume Lord Marsdale would cover for him.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  His eyes crinkled with humor. “Remember when we asked Marsdale where he was during the time of Lady Godwin’s murder? He told us he and Lord Stratford retired to the men’s parlor for a smoke immediately after dinner.”

  “Oh, yes,” I gasped in remembrance. “He told us Lord Stratford left soon after, leaving him with no one to corroborate his alibi until Lord Lewis Effingham arrived to tell him about the murder.”

  Sir Graham appeared baffled. “Why would Lord Marsdale do such a thing?”

  “Marsdale is the Duke of Norwich’s heir,” Gage muttered wryly, as if that explained it.

  And apparently Marsdale’s reputation preceded him, for Sir Graham heaved a sigh in understanding and shook his head. “Well, in this instance, at least, it seems the marquess’s devilry has done more good than harm, foiling Lord Stratford’s hoped-for alibi.” A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “Perhaps I should inform the duke just how helpful his son has been to this investigation.”

  Philip’s mouth twitched. “Yes, I’m sure his grace would be happy to hear that his wastrel heir is finally taking on some responsibility. It might tempt him to give his son more.”

  Gage laughed. “Marsdale would be so grateful to us.”

  I shook my head at the men’s jesting, but I couldn’t stop the smile that curled my own lips. Poor Marsdale. He had merely been attempting to further blacken his reputation, and here he’d gone and done something worthwhile by being so honest. I doubted he would find the realization so humorous.

  “There’s one thing I just don’t understand,” Alana huffed in vexation. Her brow was furrowed in serious contemplation. “If Lord Stratford went to all that trouble to blame his wife, then why did he change his mind and decide to murder her? Wasn’t he taking a big risk?”

  The men’s good humor swiftly died, leaving a heavy silence in the room.

  “Well,” I replied hesitantly, looking away from Alana’s earnest face. “I think partly it was because he had begun to worry that he might have missed something—that something or someone could unwittingly connect him to the crime. After all, Celeste had seen him in his wife’s chamber the night of the murder, presumably to check in on her. What if Celeste or Lady Stratford remembered something suspicious enough to shift the inquiry his way?” I didn’t mention that the earl had also been worried I knew too much, deciding Gage and my sister did not need to be privy to that information—not if it would only worry them and earn me a scolding.

  “But, mostly,” I continued, “I think it was because he needed his wife to actually be dead before he could remarry.”

  Alana’s hand lifted to cover her mouth.

  “He started to realize how lengthy the trial process could be, and that there was no guarantee his wife would be found guilty of the crime or executed for it. A guilty verdict was likely, yes, but not certain. And here in Scotland, the jury could always find the case simply ‘not proven,’ rather than guilty or not guilty.” I glanced at Sir Graham for confirmation, and he nodded. “As for hanging her, well, I’m certain you all realize that the upper classes are not particularly fond of killing their own, particularly when the accused is titled and a female. After all, it sets a dangerous precedent.” Justice was often skewed when it came to social class, and the upper echelons preferred for it to stay that way. “Lord Stratford knew that while his wife still drew breath he could not take another bride, and he understood tha
t if he waited for a trial, too many things could go wrong.”

  Alana’s voice was sickened. “So he thought to guarantee her death himself by making it appear as if she’d escaped and then drowned in the loch?”

  “Yes.”

  Her face screwed up in puzzlement. “But what if her body was never found? Wouldn’t dumping her in the loch potentially cause him an even bigger problem?”

  I shook my head. “He always intended for Lady Stratford’s body to conveniently wash ashore. He hoped to make it look like Celeste had killed her and then escaped. He even admitted that he planned to abduct them the night before, but there were too many potential witnesses hanging about when Freya dropped her foal.”

  “So he was forced to wait until last night,” Alana concluded. “And you got in his way.”

  “Well, yes.” I hesitated to elaborate, not wanting to upset my sister further by expounding on Stratford’s altered plans.

  “Stratford thought to make it look like you kidnapped Lady Stratford and Celeste, didn’t he?” Gage crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me, forcing the point.

  Alana gasped in outrage.

  I scowled at him.

  “He was going to make it look like you murdered Lady Stratford and Celeste and then disappeared,” he continued doggedly, his voice tight with anger. “He was going to leave us all wondering who the real criminal was.”

  I felt no need to confirm what he said. I was still too twisted up inside by how very close Lord Stratford had come to making that happen.

  Alana pounded her fist on the back of the settee behind my head. “Why, the cad! How dare he!”

  “Calm yourself, Alana.” Philip murmured. “We’ve already seen what a manipulative monster the man could be. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised he thought to use Kiera’s undeserved reputation against her.”

  My sister huffed. “Yes, well, the man still deserves to be stuck between the ribs for such vile behavior.”

  I flinched, wondering if Alana realized Stratford had already been stabbed, and by none other than her baby sister.

  Philip glanced at me in concern. “That seems a bit pointless now, Alana, seeing as how the man is already dead.”

  “Are we certain?” she persisted, glancing from one man to another. “Could he have swum to shore?”

  The men all exchanged glances with each other and then me.

  “He’s dead,” Philip told her certainly. “Definitely dead.”

  Alana opened her mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. She released a heavy breath and nodded her head, staring down at her lap.

  Philip rose from his chair and came around to kneel before her. He gripped her hands and leaned forward to peer up into her eyes. They were bright with fear and uncertainty. A lump formed in my throat at the evidence of her distress.

  “He truly is dead,” he assured her in a soft voice. “We can all vouch for that. Lord Stratford will never be able to hurt anyone again—not Kiera, not the children, not anyone.”

  She sniffed and nodded, her face contorted by the effort to hold back her tears. Philip gathered her close and turned her face into his shoulder to shield her from our view.

  I turned away, feeling like an intruder on this intimate moment. I was, however, relieved to see them getting along again. I’d grown tired of watching them bicker and fight over the past few days.

  Sir Graham stared patiently down at his lap, allowing them their privacy. I wondered if he was accustomed to seeing such displays of emotion. In his line of work, it seemed very likely.

  Gage had probably witnessed his fair share of tears as well. I glanced up to find him watching me, a strange look in his eyes. It made the blood pump hard through my veins. I didn’t understand it, and by the tightness around his eyes, I wasn’t certain he did, either. But I knew it signaled that something had changed between us—something that we couldn’t reverse. And I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

  Gage had come to mean a great deal more to me than I could have ever expected. I cared for him—I couldn’t deny that, or the fact that I’d initially misjudged him—but I wasn’t easy with the feelings developing between us. Not after his dismissal of my concerns over Lady Stratford’s guilt. My anger and frustration at what I viewed as his abandonment might have faded, but the pain and disillusionment had not. I could tell that Gage regretted his actions toward me, though whether that was because of the consequences or a twinge in his own conscience, I could not tell. Either way, I couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t react the same way again, and I didn’t think I could be with a man who doubted me. I might trust Gage with my life, but I did not trust him with my happiness or my heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The carriage yard and lower levels of the castle were a madhouse the following morning as the guests jockeyed for position, trying to persuade the Cromarty servants to move their carriages to the front of the line to be loaded next. It seemed everyone was eager to escape Gairloch after the long confinement in the wake of Lady Godwin’s murder, and I could only say that the residents of Gairloch were just as happy to see them go. Some more than others.

  Though Alana insisted I stay in bed, I simply had too much restless energy. The flesh wound in my side still pained me, and I could not move quickly, but as long as I left off my corset and moved with care, I did not see why I should be confined to my room. My sister scolded when I joined her and Philip for breakfast in the family salon, avoiding the pandemonium downstairs, but I ignored her. When Alana was in the family way, her emotions always swung in great arcs, and I knew that soon enough they would have to take an upward turn.

  I largely stayed away from the main areas of the castle, wanting to avoid contact with the guests who gathered in the great hall and front drawing room as they waited to board their carriages for their long journeys home. In the interest of my sanity, and the preservation of even tempers, it seemed best to confine myself to the family wing and the nursery. But late in the morning, when Philipa began to complain of a stomachache, I made the mistake of volunteering to search out Alana. I found her easily enough and coaxed her out into the great hall to explain about her daughter’s fussing. She immediately turned her steps toward the stairs, with me trailing alongside her, and we had all but exited through the doorway on the far side of the room, when Lady Westlock’s strident voice echoed off the stone walls of the chamber.

  Later, I would realize how fitting it was that the confrontation happened in the great hall of the old keep, where weapons and armor decorated the walls from floor to ceiling. The ancestors of the Earls of Cromarty had been warriors and then the lairds of the Matheson clan long before the crown bestowed a title upon them, and they took great pride in displaying these reminders of their former occupation. More than once, I had caught Philip staring up at the emblem on a shield or the battered pommel of a sword in grinning revelry, and his son, Malcolm, showed every sign of following him in this absurd masculine regard for the trophies of war.

  “You know, I simply don’t believe it,” Lady Westlock hissed. I glanced over my shoulder to see that she stood beneath a flanged mace, gossiping with Mrs. Smythe. Her eyes locked with mine, lit with vicious glee. “They say Lady Darby is the one who discovered that Lord Stratford murdered Lady Godwin, but I think her family bribed Mr. Gage into saying so.”

  I stiffened, both shocked by her derisive words and surprised to hear that Gage had informed the others of my involvement. Part of me was pleased to be acknowledged in such a manner, but another part of me was anxious about how society would react, and what new tales they would invent about me.

  “They actually think we’ll be foolish enough to fall for such a blatant ploy to repair her character,” Lady Westlock sneered, echoing my fears.

  Alana halted in her tracks beside me. Her gaze swung toward Lady Wes
tlock and narrowed with a fury that raised the hairs along my arms. Sensing the impending altercation, I reached out to try to urge her along. But, foolishly, Lady Westlock would not be denied her chance to deride me.

  “If she assisted with the investigation, it was only because she wanted an opportunity to view Lady Godwin’s corpse,” she declared, raising her voice even louder to be heard across the hall. She seemed completely oblivious to her hostess’s towering rage, even though Mrs. Smythe was shaking her head at her in warning. Several ladies and gentlemen on the other side of the room had even turned to stare at her, but Lady Westlock would not be deterred. I decided right then and there that the woman was not only cruel but stupid. “She’s sick, I tell you. Sick.”

  “Lady Westlock,” Alana snapped, marching across the hall in long strides.

  Still oblivious to her peril, the baroness smirked.

  “Are your bags being packed?”

  Lady Westlock seemed startled by the question. “Why, yes. Yes, they are. My husband and I are eager to be away.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Alana announced in clipped tones, her eyes narrowed as if on an insect. “Because you have exactly a quarter of an hour to get off my husband’s property or I will have you thrown out.”

  Lady Westlock’s mouth dropped open comically, her chin bobbing as she attempted to form a response. Mrs. Smythe gasped while the others gathered across the hall began to whisper to one another excitedly. I pressed my fingers to my lips, having difficulty suppressing my amusement at seeing Lady Westlock in such a state. My sister ignored all but the baroness, keeping her dark gaze fixed upon her.

  “Well . . . well, I never,” Lady Westlock spluttered. “How dare you! I will not be treated in such a manner.”

  “You are a guest in my home, Lady Westlock,” Alana retorted firmly. “A guest who has belittled and berated members of my family, and circulated nasty rumors about them. I am completely in my rights to throw you out.” She had steadily shifted forward until she was biting off each word inches from the baroness’s face. “Especially in light of the fact that your husband attacked my sister.”