A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Page 7

  “Of course,” she declared. “Anything.” She leaned back, draping one arm along the back of the couch.

  “Well, to begin, can you tell me when you last visited Lady Drummond? We’re trying to get an idea of the timeline of events in the days leading up to the morning she died,” I explained.

  “Let me see.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and tapped her chin with a finger. “We had tea at our normal time on Monday afternoon around four, so I suppose that was it.” Her face tightened as she turned to the side.

  “And did you notice anything odd about her behavior that day?”

  She pressed her lips together as she considered my question. “She did seem a bit more anxious than normal, I suppose. I assumed her husband had been particularly unpleasant. She got that way from time to time, usually after he’d raged at her for one thing or another.” Her mouth twisted. “But perhaps in this case I was wrong. Maybe something else upset her.” Her eyes saddened. “Maybe I should have asked her about it instead of presuming I knew the truth.”

  I felt that same twinge of guilt inside me that I saw reflected in her eyes. I waited for her gaze to meet mine again. “I noticed it on Tuesday during our portrait session, and I didn’t say anything either. So if you failed her in this, you didn’t do it alone.”

  Lady Rachel blinked rapidly and nodded.

  Monahan returned with the tea tray, so we paused in our discussion while the aromatic brew was poured. Once we were both settled with a cup and the quiet servant had slipped out again as unobtrusively as possible, I waited for Lady Rachel to take a sip before I pressed her for more information.

  “So you only noticed her anxiety on Monday? Not on the days leading up to that?”

  She shook her head. “Though she did seem a bit distracted. I noticed it about a week before. She kept having to apologize for letting her mind wander while we were conversing. And other small things, like letting her tea grow cold before she remembered to drink it. I only noticed because it wasn’t like her. She was normally so attentive.”

  I nodded. Lady Drummond had been alert and focused. In fact, I would have described her as being more vigilant. It was the natural characteristic of a woman who was ever watchful of her husband’s mood, listening for the heaviness of his tread, or the slight edge in his voice, the dip of his brow. For her to have been distracted must have meant something significant was occupying her thoughts.

  Or her brain was not functioning properly. My chest tightened. I had heard distraction listed as one of the many symptoms of an apoplexy. I shook it aside, reminding myself it could be the symptom of any number of things. That alone did not prove Dr. Davis’s diagnosis.

  “Do you know what she might have been distracted by?”

  “I’m afraid not.” I watched as she stirred her spoon around and around in her cup. “But I’ve heard that some women get that way when they suspect they’re expecting, especially if it’s unplanned.”

  She glanced up at me through her lashes and I wondered whether she was trying to tell me something. Perhaps something she’d been told in strict confidence.

  “Do you think that was what it was?” I asked, not wanting to force her to betray that trust, even if it was a bond with a deceased woman.

  She stared down at her tea again. “I honestly don’t know. But . . . it’s possible.”

  I nodded slowly, not sure I was grasping all of the ramifications of what she was saying. “Lord Drummond’s?”

  She did not immediately respond, and I felt my stomach dip in shock. “Lady Drummond had a lover?”

  “I don’t know that,” she hastened to say. “I don’t know anything for certain. But I know there were several men interested in her. One in particular. She mentioned him several times, though not by name. And . . .” her gaze dropped “. . . well, I encouraged her.”

  I stared at her in silence, hoping my expression was not openly disapproving.

  Her dark eyes flashed. “You’ve witnessed what a brute her husband is. And Clare was still a beautiful young woman. She deserved a man who would treat her the way a man should. Her husband was incapable and unwilling to do so. She gave him his heir. Why shouldn’t she have taken a lover?”

  I supposed there was some justification in what she was saying. Lady Drummond had deserved a better husband, and that was unlikely short of Lord Drummond dying since divorce was nearly impossible, even with the husband’s support. So her only other option for satisfying companionship was to take a lover. I allowed myself to wonder for a moment what I would have done had I met Gage while my husband still lived. Would I have attempted to conduct a liaison with him? Would I have risked it?

  Would Lady Drummond have? She must have known how furious her husband would be if he found out. Is that what had happened? Is that what had been in the letter he had shaken in her face? And if she had gotten with child . . . I inhaled sharply. There was no telling what he might have done.

  My expression must have been as grim as my musings, for the fight drained out of Lady Rachel. “Yes. Those were my thoughts exactly.” She set her cup aside and wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d suddenly caught a chill. “If Lord Drummond had discovered his wife was being unfaithful . . . well, that could be his motive for killing her. I knew he would not react well when I encouraged her, but, of course, I’d never thought he would go so far.”

  I studied her. “The other day you said he grew tired of his first wife, and I got the impression you meant to insinuate he may have done her harm. From what I understand, she died in childbirth. Do you know something otherwise?”

  “Not for certain.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t seem to know anything for certain. But Clare said she had learned his first wife had taken a tumble down the stairs. That was what sent her into labor early. Apparently, she and Lord Drummond had argued furiously just a few hours before. The entire staff had heard it. And he was upstairs when she fell.” She shrugged one shoulder, allowing me to infer the rest.

  The implication was sickening.

  “But no one saw him push her?” I asked, wanting everything to be clear.

  “No. That’s why there was never an inquiry or serious scandal.” Her gaze sharpened. “Nothing could be proved.”

  Only a dunce would fail to see the similarities, and they unsettled me. Unfortunately, Lord Drummond’s behavior after his second wife’s death made it all too easy for me to believe him capable of being so cruel and unfeeling. Perhaps murder had not been his real intention when he pushed his first wife down the stairs in such a delicate state, but that didn’t change the fact that his actions had caused it. He must have realized he’d been lucky not to get caught, and so he’d planned his second wife’s death much more carefully.

  But of course, once again, this was all supposition. Damning though it might be, none of it could be proven. Yet.

  “You know the physician has now officially blamed Lady Drummond’s death on an apoplexy,” I said.

  Lady Rachel wiped a hand over her brow. “But you don’t believe it.” I didn’t reply, and she glanced to the side at me. “I know. You cannot say,” she muttered impatiently. “But I am not unobservant. And in any case, I also doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was young and healthy. Because her husband was a brute, and likely had more than one reason to wish her dead. Because . . . because I am not unfamiliar with apoplexies. My late husband died of one, and his heart was not good.” Her eyes bored into mine. “In every way. And that she should have died in the same way as that bastard . . .”

  Her words broke off and she turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t know.”

  She inhaled audibly. “I know,” she replied in a broken voice. “Not many do.”

  I didn’t hear the door open or the majordomo enter, but
suddenly he was leaning down to assist Lady Rachel. “My lady, are you unwell?”

  She shook her head. “I . . . I just need a moment.”

  The man glanced up at me. “Perhaps I should see Lady Darby out?”

  “No. There is no need.” She sat straighter, accepting the handkerchief Monahan offered her. She dabbed her face and inhaled several steadying breaths. “I am well. Thank you. You may leave, Monahan.”

  He appeared as if he wanted to argue, but a well-trained servant would never do so in front of a guest, even if they were on intimate enough terms to do so otherwise. He bent to collect our tea things and excused himself.

  “I apologize. I didn’t expect to become emotional like that.”

  “It’s understandable.”

  “You can appreciate why Lady Drummond’s suffering at the hands of her husband so upsets me.”

  I nodded. It explained her and Lady Drummond’s close friendship. But unfortunately, it also made her a poor judge of Lord Drummond and what he was capable of. Memories of her own abusive husband would undoubtedly cloud her opinion and reactions, and I had no way of knowing if she was capable of being objective. I fervently hoped that my at least being aware of a similar conflict within myself would make me more impartial than I might otherwise have been.

  I thanked her for her help. I was leaving with more questions than answers, but at least we now had a potential motive beyond Lord Drummond’s simply growing tired of his second wife. With any luck, Lady Drummond’s other friends would be able to tell me more, though I would have to be careful. I couldn’t ask them directly if the baroness had taken a lover, nor could I hint at our suspicion that she had died of anything other than an apoplexy. But I had watched society ladies imply and insinuate often enough that I hoped I was capable of emulating them.

  I promised to keep Lady Rachel apprised of the investigation before being escorted from the house by Monahan. He did not overtly show his disapproval, but I was certain he was cross with me for upsetting his mistress, and more than happy to see me go. I wondered again at their close relationship, and then dismissed it from my mind. It was none of my affair what Lady Rachel did with her man-of-all-business. She was a widow, and I was sure he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

  • • •

  “Please give Madame Avignon my compliments,” I told the timid slip of a girl the modiste had sent to finish fitting my gown for the ball that evening. She dipped her head shyly before following the upstairs maid from the room. I stared after the girl, wondering how young the rest of the dressmaker’s seamstresses were. She looked to be no older than twelve or thirteen, but she was a deft hand with a needle.

  I tightened the belt of my sapphire blue dressing gown around my waist and turned to watch Bree fidget with the pleats of the ball gown. The deep rose color of the bodice and overskirt was a brighter shade than I normally favored, but Alana had insisted I could not always wear blue and purple in the evening, even if they did compliment my chestnut brown hair and the lapis lazuli shade of my eyes. She had ordered Madame Avignon to use this fabric, and I had deferred to her opinion, though now I wished I hadn’t. The pale cornflower blue I had wanted to use would have been far less . . . shocking.

  Bree must have read the growing horror on my face, for she gave me a bright smile. “It looks lovely on ye, m’lady. It truly does.”

  “It doesn’t make my skin look too pink?” I asked anxiously.

  “Nay. Actually, the opposite. Makes ye look as pale and creamy as a pearl.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and paced toward my dressing table, uncertain whether to believe her, and frustrated that I cared. Before Gage it had mattered very little to me what I wore, so long as it didn’t interfere with my painting, but now I was afraid I would embarrass him. He was the charming golden boy of the ton, always impeccably turned out, and devastatingly handsome no matter what he wore. I knew they didn’t understand how he could be attracted to me—an eccentric, scandalous outcast. I’d heard there were bets being placed even as far away as London on just how long our engagement would last before Gage found some way of ending it. I was sure no one would blame him if he did, even though it would be a horrible breach of promise and protocol.

  I glanced once again at the rose confection with white underskirt and lace trim, and then decided to put it from my mind, at least until I had to wear it. “Were you able to discover anything this morning?” I asked Bree, reaching out to fiddle with the hair brushes on my dressing table.

  She set aside the pair of slippers she was holding up to the dress and crossed the room toward me. “I didn’t find Lady Drummond’s maid. Aileen’s her name. But I did happen upon one o’ the footmen.”

  I looked up into her bright eyes. I could tell from the tone of her voice she had something to say to me. “Oh?”

  “He said Aileen’s been right broken up by her mistress’s death—burstin’ into tears in the middle o’ dinner. And the whole house is in a bit o’ a dither. One o’ the maids left wi’ oot given notice, and several o’ the other members o’ the staff are threatenin’ to quit as well.”

  “Did he say why?” I asked in surprise. Everything had seemed quiet and calm when I’d visited the morning before, but perhaps that was only in the public rooms. Who knew what had been happening belowstairs?

  “I gather they’re scairt. At least the maids are. The others seem concerned he’ll marry his mistress, and apparently she’s no’ fit to fill Lady Drummond’s place.”

  My eyes widened. “Who’s his mistress?”

  Bree shook her head. “He didna ken. But his lordship visits her every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday in some house on Cumberland Street near St. Stephen’s Church.”

  “This footman is quite chatty and relatively well informed,” I replied.

  She smiled impishly. “Dinna ye ken? Servants always ken the best gossip. There’s no’ much else to blather aboot.”

  I frowned, pondering what I should be worried she was telling the rest of the staff about me.

  Her expression softened. “Dinna worry, m’lady. I’m the soul o’ discretion. I ken better.”

  I turned to the side, not wanting to see the empathy in her gaze. “Did he have anything else to say?”

  “No’ that would be helpful to you.”

  I narrowed my eyes as she ran her hands over the bright yellow skirts of her dress. If I wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks had turned a little pink. I wondered if I should be concerned. After all, my previous maid had essentially been seduced into sharing information about me. But Bree was different. She wasn’t some sheltered Highland lass who had never been farther than five miles from home. I suspected if Bree wished, she would lead this footman on a merry chase, not the other way around. Maybe Gage’s valet, Anderley, was not the only one handy at uncovering information from other people’s servants.

  There was a knock on the door, and Bree went to answer it. It was Alana’s maid, Jenny.

  “Lady Cromarty’s awake now, my lady,” she informed me. “You asked me to let you know.”

  I followed her from the room and down the hall to Alana’s chamber, where she held the door for me. My sister was propped up on her pillows, her head turned to the side to look out the window. From her vantage, I didn’t know if she could see much more than the gray sky, but she didn’t seem to be admiring the view anyway. She was lost in thought, and whatever she was contemplating did not seem to be happy.

  I shook my head as I spotted the gray lump of fur curled up next to her side. Alana’s hand periodically stroked over the fur. Leave it to my cat, Earl Grey, to find the warmest, coziest place in the house.

  “When did he sneak in here?”

  Jenny smiled at the gray tabby. “I don’t know, but the rascal was in here when I brought up her ladyship’s luncheon a few hours ago.”

  Earl Grey was a mouser from our childhood h
ome, Blakelaw House, where I had spent the winter with our brother. For some reason, the cat had attached himself to me, finding his way back into my art studio or bedchamber even when he’d been chased out. I had eventually accepted and even welcomed his presence, and now thought of him as my pet, bringing him with me to my sister’s home in Edinburgh.

  “Ring if you need me,” Jenny said before closing the door behind her.

  Alana glanced up as I crossed the room to her. I watched as she visibly made an effort to appear cheery. “Good afternoon, dearest.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were tired and her complexion pale.

  I glanced significantly at the cat curled into her side. “Is he bothering you?”

  Her smile turned into something more genuine as she looked at the feline. “No.”

  Earl Grey opened one of his golden eyes as if to say, Who would be bothered by me?

  I rolled my eyes at him and settled into the same chair I had occupied the day before. I clasped Alana’s hand where it rested on the counterpane. “How are you feeling?”

  “Exhausted,” she sighed. “So no different than before.”

  I appreciated her attempt to make a joke, knowing it was more for my benefit than hers.

  “Growing a baby takes a lot of effort,” I murmured, staring at the mound of her belly beneath the blankets.

  “It does. And it seems to get more difficult with age.” Her eyes drifted to my flat stomach. “So you and Gage better start soon.”

  I flushed at the idea of carrying Gage’s child, at the thought of the act that would create it. “I don’t think we’re in a great hurry,” I replied. “And anyway, I don’t even know if I’m capable.”

  “Because you and Sir Anthony never had a child?” Alana scoffed. “I don’t know what the man made you believe . . .”

  “He never said anything about it.”

  Her eyes searched my face. “Then he must have known it was his fault you never conceived, because he never showed you any kindness otherwise.”

  That was true, but still. “He . . . never really made much of an effort.” I blushed brighter.