A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) (10 page)

Lady Drummond had died on Wednesday morning, which meant her note to Lady Stratford just might have been the last missive she ever wrote. From the tightness around Lady Stratford’s eyes, I could tell she was conscious of this.

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

“Were you acquainted with her husband?”

“Not well. Lord Drummond was quite a bit older than his wife.” She hesitated slightly, her posture and expression becoming more rigid, as I remembered it from seven months ago. “Like Lord Stratford was. So we had that in common. And though she never went into details, she did say that he was also a bit controlling.” As Lord Stratford had been.

“Would he have any reason to disapprove of his wife’s acquaintance with you?”

Lady Stratford’s eyes drained of all emotion.

“My apologies,” I leaned forward to say, realizing I had misstepped. “I’m not explaining myself well. You see, Lady Drummond received a letter on Tuesday that her husband became very angry about. He confronted her about it during our portrait session, and I was just wondering if it could have been the note from you. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

She held up her hand. “Please. I understand.” Her lips compressed into a tight smile. “I’m afraid I’m still a bit touchy. I find I’m not used to being considered a social pariah because of what my late husband did.”

I nodded, wondering how much more difficult it must be to fall from the ton’s graces when you were one of their darlings. Would Gage face a similar downfall once he wed me? Would he resent me for it?

“Have they snubbed you?” I asked gently.

“Some people have.” She tilted her head to study me. “But I suppose, if nothing else, this whole experience has shown me who my true friends are. And maybe I needed to learn that.” She sighed. “But to answer your question, I don’t know how Lord Drummond felt about me. Lady Drummond never said. But it’s quite possible he believed I was too scandalous for our association to continue.”

So the letter Lord Drummond had waved in her face could have been from Lady Stratford. Though it seemed an extreme reaction to have over such a small thing. After all, Lady Stratford was still in mourning, and as yet unable to move freely about society. It was unlikely their friendship would be noted or commented upon.

Lady Stratford squeezed her hands together in her lap. “You were there when she died?”

“Yes.”

She glanced down and then up again. “Did she . . . was she in a lot of pain?”

I didn’t know how to answer her. I couldn’t tell her yes, and yet I didn’t want to lie. But in the end, my silence spoke for me.

She nodded and tears filled her eyes.

“It was over quickly,” I said through the tightness in my throat, hoping to alleviate some of her distress.

She sniffed into a lace-edged handkerchief she’d pulled from her sleeve. “And . . . and you believe it was murder, not an apoplexy?”

Once again, I hesitated, and she lowered her handkerchief to look at me more closely. “I don’t know,” I finally admitted. Revealing my misgivings to Lady Stratford suddenly felt very different than speculating on them to Gage or my sister, or even Lady Rachel, who had held suspicions of her own. Would they seem ridiculous? Would they only hurt her more?

When Lady Stratford continued to stare at me, I pressed a hand to my forehead, feeling confused and uncertain. “There’s no proof that it was murder. It could very well be an apoplexy. That’s what everyone seems to think.” Including Gage’s father.

“Yes. But everyone is not you,” Lady Stratford replied with quiet certainty.

I looked up in surprise.

“And proof is not always clear. Did not the proof in Lady Godwin’s murder all point to me? And yet you knew something was not right. You believed in my innocence before you had evidence of it.” Her steady gaze brooked no argument. “So if you believe that Lady Drummond’s death was not so straightforward, if you think something is wrong, I trust you’re right. I would be a fool not to.”

A warmth flowed through me at the surety in her words. Her
confidence bolstered something inside me that had been floundering, something that even my sister’s belief had not repaired. But before I could thank her for it, she pressed me with another question.

“What does Mr. Gage think?”

I placed my teacup on the table. “He is willing to support me.” I frowned, reaching up to finger my mother’s amethyst pendant. “Or at least, he was. I’m not sure what he thinks after his father scolded us last night for our idiocy in pursuing such an investigation.”

Lady Stratford took a dainty sip of her tea. “I thought relations between Mr. Gage and his father were strained?”

My hand tightened on my pendant. “Is that commonly known?”

“How could it not be? You must have seen the way they bristle when they are near each other.”

“Like two hedgehogs fighting over a snail.”

This surprised a smile out of her. “Quite.”

“Do you know Lord Gage well?”

“No,” she said, drawing out the word. “But I am aware he’s a terrible snob. And determined to see his son rise to even greater heights than he has.”

“I gather Gage’s mother’s family did not approve of the match.”

She laughed dryly. “Not in the least.” Her eyes narrowed in consideration. “But then not many respectable members of the ton dream of having their children marry into the notorious Roscarrock family.”

“Roscarrock?”

“Lord Gage’s mother was a Roscarrock from Cornwall. Apparently they’re infamous. Smugglers and rogues, barely able to call themselves gentlemen.”

This was the first I’d heard of Gage’s maternal ancestors. Like so many things, he had been reticent to share much about them.

I turned to stare at the fire crackling in the hearth. “Well, Lord Gage seems to have conducted himself honorably enough,” I said, wondering if and when Gage would finally share all of himself with
me. Maybe he was waiting on me to ask, but when I had in the past, he’d always turned the conversation. Of course, I hadn’t been his fiancée then.

“Yes. Which is why he’s determined for his son to continue in the same vein. Even if that means making him unhappy.”

“Would it?”

“Yes.”

I glanced at Lady Stratford, realizing I’d actually voiced my question aloud. Her gaze was perceptive and her mouth set in a determined line.

“I don’t know Mr. Gage well, but I do know him well enough to be sure of this.”

“Even though I’m completely hopeless in social situations?” I could hear the pleading whine sneak into my voice, and I hated it. But still I craved reassurance. Even from such a tentative friend as Lady Stratford.

Her eyes softened, but her voice still scolded. “You know he doesn’t care about that, or else he wouldn’t have proposed marriage.”

I did know this. Or at least I should have. But recognizing you should believe something and actually believing it were two very different things.

“But . . .” she added. “If you wish to feel more competent among society, I might be able to help.” She smiled wryly. “I’m currently an outcast, but I do still know how to charm and mingle.”

“It would be nice to feel less awkward,” I admitted. I doubted I could ever become comfortable with the whirl of society, but if Lady Stratford could help me feel even a fraction more capable and relaxed, then it was worth a try. Perhaps Gage was not concerned with my ineptness, but I was concerned for him. Especially now that his father was in Edinburgh.

I
left Lady Stratford with a promise to call on her again soon, and set off to visit a home around the corner on St. Andrew Lane. After the kindness the countess had shown to me, I knew what I needed to do. Gage and his father might be cross with me for intervening, but only if they found out.

Lady Kirkcowan did not hide her surprise or her wariness as her butler ushered me into her drawing room. I did not waste time by mincing words as we settled into a pair of Hepplewhite chairs near the front bow window.

“Lord Gage knows it was you who stole your jewelry. Though how you can steal something that is rightfully yours, I don’t know,” I added, not bothering to hide my aggravation.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied stiffly, even though her panicked expression would fool no one.

“Mr. Gage and I tried to convince him to remain quiet, but I’m afraid he’s intent on informing your husband.” I leaned forward to stare into her eyes. “I’m telling you this so that you can do something about it before he does so.”

She swallowed. “Perhaps they’ve been miraculously found?”

“Exactly. Accidentally stored in the bottom of a trunk. Or . . . or fallen behind your dresser,” I suggested. They were inane excuses, but without implicating a servant and further complicating the matter, there weren’t many places they could have disappeared.

She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “What if Lord Gage tells him anyway?”

I considered the matter. “If he hasn’t already, then maybe a letter from your husband saying the matter is resolved will keep him from doing so. We can hope.”

Her eyes strayed to the window, watching a carriage drive by. “Yes. I suppose that’s my only choice.” Her shoulders sagged with the weight of my revelation, and undoubtedly the realization that the gems were once more at risk to her gambling husband.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, wishing there was something I could do.

“It was silly to even try, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t think so.”

She sniffed. “You don’t?”

“No. Better to try something than nothing.”

She nodded and offered me a tight smile.

My heart was heavy as I rose to leave. At the door, I glanced back to find her still staring out the window. Fear tightened her features, and I knew it was not just for herself, but for her three young children. I wished there was some way I could help her.

•   •   •

T
he ring of church bells filled the air, momentarily holding me and Gage silent as we crossed the street to the garden at the center of Charlotte Square. The dome of St. George’s Church soared above us on the west side of the square, reverberating the peals of its bells. I knew better than to attempt to speak before the midday chimes had
finished, but Gage attempted to talk over the ringing. I shook my head, refusing to raise my voice, at least not for this particular conversation, and Gage looked up to frown at the copper dome.

The rain from the day before had blown east, leaving behind the low-hanging gray clouds Edinburgh was so known for. However, unlike on most March days, periodically the sun would peak through, teasing us with its warmth. It was enough to tempt us outside, away from the stifling atmosphere of the house. Gage had not remarked upon it, being already acquainted with the source of the majority of our tension, but I could tell from the way he had rolled his shoulders when we had escaped into the chill air that he had noticed.

Our steps slowed once we entered the garden to cross toward the other side. I noticed we weren’t the only ones enjoying the weather. Children dashed about playing games under the watchful eye of their governesses, while other couples meandered down the paths or perched on the benches spaced throughout. A pair of spinster sisters who lived in the town house two doors down from Philip and Alana sat closest to us, darting disapproving glances at the man in shabby clothes lurking under a tree in the corner trying to look unobtrusive.

I smiled and shook my head. “If Bonnie Brock is going to continue to send his men here, he really needs to do a better job of teaching them to blend in,” I murmured as the sound from the last bell ring died away.

Gage’s mouth tightened at my mention of the notorious criminal. “He still has men watching your town house?”

“From time to time.”

His expression grew angrier.

“Did you honestly think he would heed our orders for him to stop?” I asked.

“How can you find this so amusing?” he demanded instead.

I tilted my head in gentle chastisement. “Because there really is no other option.”

At first I had been infuriated and alarmed by the men Bonnie Brock
Kincaid repeatedly sent to shadow me, but since they never approached me or attempted to do me any harm, I learned to see the humor in the situation. The men he was sending to watch over me were clearly not the cleverest or keenest in his band of merry thieves and grave robbers. They were becoming increasingly easy to spot, and I had begun to suspect that tailing me had become a sort of training exercise for new recruits to his criminal gang or a way to occupy his dimmest underlings. There was really no other reason for him to continue to keep watch over me.

We had first encountered the rogue a few months before during an investigation into the body snatching of bones from old graves. I no longer feared or particularly disliked Bonnie Brock, but I knew better than to trust him. He was a hard and ruthless man. Gage, on the other hand, despised him.

“Something really needs to be done about him,” Gage ruminated. His eyes narrowed in challenge.

“That is the job of the city police, not you,” I reminded him. “Besides, you know as well as I do that if he is ever convicted, someone else will rise to take his place. Someone we are not acquainted with, and who might not listen to or agree with our reasoning.” I squeezed his arm where it linked with mine. “I know how much you loathe him, Gage, but I say better the devil we know than the one we don’t.”

Gage did not argue, though I could tell he wished to. But he did sneak one last angry glare at Bonnie Brock’s minion. I hoped the man would not report that back to Bonnie Brock. I was sure he would only find Gage’s displeasure entertaining.

We painted on neutral expressions to nod to a passing couple.

“How is your sister faring?” Gage leaned closer to ask, turning the conversation to a more amicable, though not more cheerful, topic.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Well enough, I think. She seems to be sleeping a lot. Which is good, for both her and the baby. She can’t worry when she’s resting,” I contemplated, staring down at the russet brown silk of my skirt peeking out from my forest green pelisse with ecru trim.

“And how is Cromarty?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I muttered.

Gage turned to me in surprise. When I failed to elaborate, he began to speculate himself. “He did seem a bit distracted when I came to see you yesterday.”

“Well, the half hour you spent with him waiting for me to return was longer than I’ve spoken to him in weeks.” I looked up at him out of the corner of my eye, wanting to tell him my concerns over Philip and Alana’s increasingly strained relationship, but it somehow seemed like a betrayal of their trust. In any case, Alana had not yet spoken to me about it. I wondered if my brother-in-law had been as silent.

“Did he . . . confide anything to you?” I asked, trying not to sound as curious as I was. Gage had needed to leave before I arrived home, so I’d not had a chance to quiz him then about their conversation.

I felt Gage’s eyes studying my profile. “About Alana’s condition?”

“About anything.”

“Not really. Unless you’re referring to his frustration at the Tories in Parliament.”

My brow furrowed. “No.”

“He did say that Alana seems determined to continue our wedding plans. That it appears to be a welcome distraction for her.”

It was a relief to hear that Philip at least knew this much. “Yes. I told her not to concern herself, but she insisted.”

Gage led me through the gate on the opposite side of the garden. “Is she asking for your input?”

I could hear the concern in his voice and paused to look at him. “Yes. Though you know I’m not very well versed in such things.” I pressed a hand to his other arm in reassurance. “If it makes her happy to plan our nuptials, then I’m happy, too. I . . . I just want to marry you. It doesn’t really matter to me how it’s done. Big and lavish, or small and intimate.”

His pale blue eyes warmed and the corners of his mouth curled
upward in that affectionate smile he seemed to reserve only for me. For once, my acting seemed to have fooled him, hiding the nerves that fluttered in my stomach every time I thought of the grandiose affair my sister was planning.

He pulled me closer. “Then I will say no more, for it does not matter to me either. I will be content when I know that I can finally call you mine.” His eyes dipped to my lips, and I knew that if we were not standing on the street in broad daylight with two dozen onlookers, he would have kissed me.

I swallowed. “What of your father? Do you think he’ll attend?”

A line formed between his eyes. “I do not know. And the truth is, I don’t really care.”

But I knew he was lying. I could see it in the pain reflected in his eyes. He did care. Perhaps not enough to bow to his father’s wishes, but enough that his absence would leave a permanent scar. I ached for him.

My father had never tried to dissuade my interest in art. And when I’d determined to continue my training and even seek out portrait commissions, he had supported me wholeheartedly even though such things were simply not done by a gentlewoman. The fact that I did not do it for the money at that time did not matter. I was still courting scandal by pursuing such a course.

From what I had witnessed, Gage did not have that kind of love and support from his father. He was to do as he was told. Return to London when he was ordered, not hang about in Scotland. Investigate the inquiries assigned to him, not seek out his own. Marry the woman chosen for him, not fall in love with an eccentric outcast.

The irony was, for all of Lord Gage’s dutiful expectations, it was obvious he would never respect his son if he meekly submitted. He wanted his orders followed, just like when he was captain of a ship in the Royal Navy, but he would never really be pleased with such obedience from his own flesh and blood. This conflict within his father made it impossible for Gage to please him. Even to try was to fail.

We resumed our stroll, turning up Charlotte Street toward the castle, hovering dark and forbidding high on the hill overlooking the city.

“Did you speak with him about Lord Drummond?” I asked, pressing a hand to my bonnet as a gust of wind pushed against its brim.

“I did. And he’s still insistent that our inquiry into Lady Drummond’s death is foolish, and he remains adamant that we stop.”

I sighed, even though I hadn’t expected to hear anything different.

“He maintains that Lord Drummond is incapable of murder.” Gage’s voice turned cynical. “Even though this opinion is based on his friendship with the man fifteen years ago.”

“What do you think?”

He frowned, considering my question. “I don’t think it matters what I think. We’ve established that there are numerous potential motives for him to have murdered his wife. What we haven’t proved is that Lady Drummond was actually murdered. And until we do that, all of this speculation is for naught.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “Still no luck in questioning the apothecaries and chemists?”

“I’m afraid not. But maybe Sergeant Maclean has been more successful in Old Town.” He dipped his head toward me. “I’ve arranged a meeting with him at his sister-in-law’s tea shop for tomorrow morning after Lady Drummond’s funeral.” His eyebrows lifted. “I assume you wish to join us?”

“Of course.”

He nodded once. “After we’ve spoken to Maclean, we can decide how to proceed.”

We fell silent as a gentleman walked past us huddled in his coat. He tipped his hat to me politely. I glanced behind us to watch as he hurried away, wondering if I knew him. Perhaps he was an acquaintance of Philip’s.

“Kiera, you know I have the utmost faith in your instincts,” Gage
said, seeming to take extra care with his words. I lifted my eyes to meet his anxious gaze. “But if Sergeant Maclean doesn’t have any information for us tomorrow, I’m afraid there may be nothing we can do.”

“I understand.” And I did, even though the thought of halting the inquiry tore a hole inside me. Without facts, without proof, my instincts were useless in bringing Lady Drummond’s killer to justice, particularly if a man like Lord Drummond was involved.

“I’m sorry,” Gage murmured, and I could see that he thought he was failing me.

I gripped his arm where it twined with mine. “You did what you could. That’s all I can ask. We’ve been impeded at nearly every turn.”

“I know. But it
frustrates
me to admit defeat, especially when it matters so much to you to uncover the truth.”

“What of the servants? Maybe one of them knows what really happened.”

“But will they ever admit it?”

“What about the kitchen maid who quit?”

“Anderley found her.”

“He did?” I gasped, feeling renewed vigor spread through me. “Where? What did she say?”

“She was working as a scullery maid in a pub off Canongate.”

A significant step down from her position in the household of a baron.

“From what he could understand in between her heaving sobs was that she feared for her life because Lord Drummond was furious with her. Apparently she dropped a crystal dish that held Lady Drummond’s sugared plums and it shattered. I guess they were her ladyship’s favorite treat, and the maid had been ordered to toss the remainder of them out.”

My eyes widened. “I’d forgotten about those. She would nibble on them during her portrait sessions sometimes.” I looked up at him. “But isn’t that . . .”

“Suspicious?” he finished for me, but in a far more subdued voice. “Yes. But since there are no sugared plums left to examine, we can’t prove there was anything wrong with them.”