The Anatomist's Wife Page 7

  “Should you be getting up?” Alana asked uncertainly.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” I countered. “Ring Lucy and ask her to bring a headache powder. I need to get dressed.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and paused to make sure my skull would not protest if I tried to stand.

  My sister touched my arm to stop me. “There’s no need to dress. I’m certain no one would mind if you kept to your rooms for the day and rested.”

  “I told Mr. Gage I would search the gardens with him and Philip. I assume they haven’t already done so if Mr. Gage sent you to wake me.” I rose to my feet and felt a slight pulse in my head from the change in posture, but otherwise it troubled me no more than it had when I was sitting down.

  Alana stood with me. “Mr. Gage didn’t send me to wake you,” she protested.

  I lifted my eyebrows at her. “Why else do you think he sent you to check on me?”

  “Because he was worried about your health.”

  I moved across the room toward my wardrobe. “Maybe. But I have a feeling it was his way of expressing impatience to be at it without being so rude as to order you directly to wake me.”

  Alana frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. I could tell she wasn’t pleased with the idea that Mr. Gage had manipulated her. I turned away to hide my smile and began flipping through my gowns, looking for something suitable for both half mourning and traipsing through the garden. I had left off wearing mourning garments for my husband far earlier than was socially acceptable, but since I lived in the Highlands, where no one saw me, I had been able to get away with it. Fortunately, I had kept a few gowns made up from my half-mourning period. A sturdy gray walking dress with black embroidery on the skirts and collar, and a black belt, seemed appropriate with my kid-leather ankle boots. I pulled the gown from the closet and moved to lay it across the bed.

  My sister now stood by the bellpull, and I assumed she had followed my instructions and rang for Lucy. Her brow was furrowed, and I could tell she was puzzling over something. Trusting Alana would speak when she was ready, I poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin and began to scrub my face and neck clean, careful not to move my head too abruptly.

  I heard my sister instruct Lucy to bring a headache powder when she appeared, and then Alana closed the door and moved back toward the bed to help me dress. She finally spoke when my back was to her as she loosely laced my corset, knowing how much I hated to be restrained too tightly during the day, especially when I was painting.

  “Philip has informed me that I cannot throw Lord and Lady Westlock out of our home, despite their actions toward you,” she stated in a voice tight with anger.

  I’d wondered if she knew exactly how I received the bump on my head, and was impressed she waited this long to mention it.

  “If I had my way, they would already be banished from the grounds of Gairloch Castle.” She tugged too hard on the laces, and I wriggled, letting her know to loosen the last loop. “I know I’m supposed to obey my husband in all things, particularly when I’ve been give a direct order, but in this I find I cannot.”

  She tied off my corset and turned me to face her, allowing me to see the rage I had only guessed at until that moment blazing in her jewel-bright eyes. Alana was absolutely furious.

  “If you want me to, I will send them away this very minute, regardless of Philip’s orders.” She nearly spat the word, clearly displeased with her husband’s command. “It is an insult to share a roof with them after the way they treated you. For you, I will get rid of them. If you want me to?” She pressed her lips together, likely to stop herself from saying more, and waited for me to reply.

  I was touched by my sister’s concern and, if truth be told, a little startled by her vehemence. I almost pitied the Westlocks, for Alana was certain to make the remainder of their stay quite uncomfortable. But they did deserve it, after all. Under any other circumstances, such behavior would have seen my brother-in-law flinging them from his home himself. Only the murder investigation saved them from his wrath.

  And that being the case, I couldn’t ask my sister to do such a thing for me, especially when it would get her in trouble with her husband. Philip possessed just as ferocious a temper as Alana when provoked, and disobeying a direct order would certainly provoke it. I had heard them argue enough times in the last sixteen months to know I did not want to be the cause of such a quarrel. Besides, Philip happened to be right. Lord and Lady Westlock could not leave the castle until after the procurator fiscal arrived to clear them of suspicion.

  I lifted my hand and touched my older sister’s arm. “It’s all right,” I assured her. “I know they have to stay.”

  Her shoulders sagged a bit, and I suspected that despite all her protestations to the contrary, she had not been looking forward to defying her husband in this. Her pride was bruised from being forced to provide accommodations to someone who had so blatantly harmed a member of her family, but I wondered if she was taking out some of her anger at the unnamed murderer on the Westlocks. It disturbed her, and rightfully so, that someone she had trusted enough to invite into her home would commit such a horrific act. It troubled me just to know I had dined with, and likely spoken to, such a person.

  The fierce light in her eyes remained even as my sister nodded in acceptance of my decision. “All right, Kiera. They can stay, for now. But should you change your mind . . .”

  I squeezed her arm. “I’ll let you know.”

  She studied my face before her gaze rose to my head and the unruly morning waves of my hair. “Are you sure you feel well enough to assist Philip and Mr. Gage?” she asked, as lines of concern wrinkled her brow.

  “Yes.” I reached for my dress. “Besides, I don’t think they know what to look for,” I replied vaguely, not comfortable sharing the discovery I’d made about the state of Lady Godwin’s health.

  Alana did not question my unclear statement, and I supposed it was because she did not want to know. As strong and courageous as my sister was, that strength and courage did not carry over to matters of the internal workings of the human body. She had once asked me about the things I had seen during the years I was forced to assist my husband, and later confessed she had nightmares for a week afterward just from imaging the few things I told her. Telling her to think of the body as a work of art did not seem to console her as it did me.

  She helped me guide the gray gown over my head, careful not to touch the sensitive spot on the back of my head. Styling my hair was going to be tricky.

  “To be honest, with as much trouble as he gave us yesterday over the matter, I’m surprised to hear Mr. Gage is allowing you to help him today,” Alana said as she fastened the buttons up the back of my dress.

  “So am I,” I admitted.

  “You must be pleased that he seems to be taking you seriously?”

  Lucy strolled through the door at that moment, brandishing my headache powder and cooing over my injury. I was relieved not to have to answer Alana’s question. To me, the real quandary was not whether I was being taken seriously, but whether I was being taken seriously as an assistant, or as a suspect.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I managed to make it down the terrace steps and out of the earshot of anyone listening from the castle before rounding on Mr. Gage.

  “What ungodly whim possessed you to tell my sister about my head injury?”

  He threw up his hands in defense and paced a step away, his midnight-blue frock coat bunching at the shoulders. “She overheard me telling her husband,” he defended, nodding at Philip.

  My brother-in-law was frowning at the ground, his shoulders slouched forward, and I wondered again how fierce the argument between he and my sister had been that morning over the issue of the Westlocks.

  “Well now, it wasn’t very intelligent of you to hold such a conversation wher
e Alana might overhear it,” I scolded Gage, irritated that his carelessness had not only caused my sister distress but also stirred up a fight between her and her husband.

  “How was I to know Lady Cromarty had permission to enter his lordship’s study despite the fact that the door was closed?” he remarked dryly.

  I glanced at Philip out of the corner of my eye in time to see the tick on one side of his jaw. So the Westlocks’ continued presence at Gairloch was not the only dispute they had quarreled over this morning. Under the circumstances, I was impressed by my brother-in-law’s discretion. Had the situation been reversed, I was certain Alana would have embarrassed Philip by retorting that he, in fact, did not have permission to enter her study at all times, as I knew she did not have consent to do so in this instance. However, Philip kept his mouth clamped tightly in a line and his gaze on the wet grass at our feet.

  At barely nine in the morning, the Highland sun had not yet burned away the dew and lingering dampness of the night. I was grateful for the snug wrapping of my new walking boots. My slippers would have been soaked through a mere ten steps from the stone terrace.

  Philip guided me across the stretch of lawn lying between the maze and the gardens proper. It was there that his wolfhounds liked to run and play with him and his seven-year-old son, Malcolm. Alana and I enjoyed watching their antics from the terrace, allowing them to mistakenly believe their laughter and voices did not carry so far. But laughter did not ring here today, only heavy silence. Even the birds seemed to have quieted their songs.

  Tension coursed through Philip’s body and into the stiff arm pressed against my own. Though I could do nothing about his unease over our current task, I could relieve him on one point. I squeezed his arm with my own. “She won’t do anything foolish,” I murmured when he glanced down at me.

  The tightness around his brown eyes eased a fraction, even if the tautness of his mouth did not. He nodded once, telling me he understood what I was referring to. Alana wouldn’t do anything rash. At least for the moment.

  The entrance to the maze suddenly loomed before us, sending an unexpected quiver down my spine. I took a steadying breath as Philip addressed the footman he had stationed at the entrance to prevent anyone from entering. I wondered if he and Gage felt the same sick swirling in their stomachs at the prospect of revisiting the site of such a gruesome crime. Gage in particular seemed remarkably calm and unruffled. However, I suspected he was just better at hiding his emotions. Philip pulled my arm in tighter to his side and stepped inside the labyrinth. Gage followed close behind.

  The maze was tucked into a corner of the wide cleared lawn on the eastern side of the castle. Forest bordered the maze on two sides, its tall trees stretching their long limbs over the hedges. In spring and summer, when the trees were lush and in bloom, they spread a canopy over the outermost path. I normally found the covering serene and charming, as sunlight filtered through the leaves and dappled the trail in front of me. But today the overhang of vegetation seemed more ominous, more menacing. I somehow doubted I would ever view the leafy bower in such a quaint and harmless manner ever again.

  I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders as we made our way deeper into the maze. Most of the path was cast in shadows, as the sun had yet to reach its pinnacle, and the chill of morning still clung to the land. My heart pounded faster with each step we took closer to the alcove where Lady Godwin’s body had lain. So much so that by the time we approached the last turn, it was beating so hard I thought for certain Philip and Gage could hear it knocking inside my chest.

  Philip paused just before we could see into the alcove and looked down at me. I could see the battle raging behind his eyes. He clearly wanted to protect me from further distress, but he also knew I would never have accompanied them on this errand if I did not think it was important. His faith in my good sense won out. He sighed rather gustily, as if he was giving in against his own better judgment, but he did not try to send me back to the castle. I squeezed his arm in gentle scolding, as well as reassurance.

  Gage waited patiently behind us through this exchange. Only the shuffling of his feet told me how anxious he was to continue. Philip grimaced and stepped forward so that we could see into the niche.

  As far as I could tell, the scene before me had remained undisturbed since the men removed Lady Godwin’s body the night before. The pale cream stone bench was tacky with dried blood softened by the morning dew. The cool, damp air of night had blown away any lingering fumes of death, but I suspected I would still be able to smell the sharp stench of blood once I moved closer. Which, unfortunately, I needed to do to get on with this investigation, no matter how much I would rather keep my feet planted where they were.

  Taking a deep breath, I released my grip on Philip’s arm and followed Mr. Gage into the alcove. “Did you find anything last night when you moved the body?” I asked them, trying to go about this in as systematic a manner as possible.

  “Nothing,” Gage replied, kneeling next to the bench on the end where Lady Godwin’s head had lain. “Although, we did remove her jewelry before placing her in the chapel cellar. Lord Cromarty has the items locked in his safe.”

  “What pieces was she wearing?”

  Philip’s voice softened as if thinking back. “A few rings, one with a rather large diamond, a sapphire-and-diamond necklace, and sapphire earbobs.”

  My eyes widened. Clearly the motive for her attack had not been theft. “What about a reticule? Was she carrying anything?”

  “No. At least none that we found.” Gage pointed at the corner of the stone seat. “What do you make of that?”

  I knelt down next to him, careful not to touch the bench or the ground. Much of the blood that had covered the earth the night before had soaked into the dirt or been washed away by the dew, but I still felt squeamish about placing my skin against it. I suddenly wished I had worn gloves this morning instead of dismissing them so readily when Lucy offered them to me.

  The blood on this end of the stone had left a predictable pattern. Crimson streaked the limestone where Lady Godwin’s neck had lain, almost forming a complete stripe of color across the surface. A few droplets decorated the stone in irregular patterns from when she was moved. However, at the corner where Gage pointed there was a short strip of red, as well as a smudge of black. The leg of the bench below was sprayed with blood.

  Wrinkling my nose at the blood’s faint metallic scent, I leaned in closer to examine the inky black substance. “Have Beowulf and Grendel been kept away from this?” I asked Philip, wondering if perhaps his wolfhounds had found their way inside and disturbed the scene.

  “They’ve been locked up in the stables since the incident,” Philip replied, moving to stand behind me and Gage.

  I racked my brain for potential substances that could match the stain. It was too dark to be mud or shoe polish. It could be ink, but it looked more like charcoal. I was about to give up and assume the marking had been left there prior to Lady Godwin’s murder when I suddenly realized exactly what it was.

  “It’s kohl,” I declared, turning toward Gage. “Lady Godwin blackened her lashes and eyebrows. This must be how she received that bruise.”

  Gage rubbed his chin and nodded.

  “Her neck must have already been cut,” I continued excitedly. “It would explain the spray pattern on the stone here.” I pointed at the leg and then rose to my feet. “Which means her throat was likely sliced right around here.” I backed up a step, examining the grass and hedges around me for confirmation. “See. Look here.” I slid closer to the alcove wall, indicating the crimson droplets scattered across several of the leaves. “When the murderer sliced her across the neck,” I mimicked the gesture, “cutting her jugular, blood sprayed across the area. The murderer must have lost his grip on her, either accidentally or on purpose, and she fell forward, striking the corner of the be
nch.”

  I looked up to find Gage and Philip watching me with a bit of trepidation, and I realized, with a slight tremor of horror, that my voice had risen in enthusiasm and the corners of my mouth had worked themselves up into a smile. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I guess I got a little carried away. I just . . .” I glanced back and forth between the men. “It was rather like fitting together a puzzle.”

  Philip was the first to recover and reached out to touch my arm in reassurance. “It’s all right, Kiera.”

  I nodded and lowered my eyes, feeling hot shame burn my face. This wasn’t a game. Lady Godwin had been murdered, and I had just described the killer’s methods as if I were playing charades. I could hardly blame Gage for suspecting me of committing the crime after such a display.

  I peeked up at him through my lashes to see he had turned away and was frowning at the hedge walls. That was not a good sign. Pressing a hand to my now-cramping stomach, I moved away to study the other end of the bench. The sooner I finished what I came to do, the sooner I could leave this place, and Mr. Gage.

  I took a deep breath of the clearer air and allowed my eyes to slide over the stone, and the grass and hedges around it. As far as I could tell, the blood pattern fit what I would have expected, or at least what Sir Anthony had dictated should be expected when I took notes about blood flow during his dissections.

  “Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?” Gage asked from just over my shoulder.

  I nearly jumped. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t heard him move closer. “No. Everything else appears as it should, considering the injuries that were inflicted.”

  He nodded, his gaze focused on the bench before us.

  “What about you?” I ventured, and he glanced up at me. “Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?”

  His pale blue eyes bore intensely into me, and I wondered for a second if I should have kept my mouth shut. Perhaps he thought I was fishing for information. If I were in fact the killer, wouldn’t I want to know whether he had uncovered any evidence against me?