Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) (29 page)

“Does the Lord Chancellor allow the family members any say?”

Sensing my concern, Gage pressed his hand over mine where it rested on his arm. “He might. But even if he doesn’t, there’s no cause for alarm. The Lord Chancellor would never choose a place like the Larkspur Retreat.”

“So, effectively, if Dr. Sloane were still trying to get William back, he’s now lost all ability to do so.”

Gage stopped to look at me as if I’d just said something important.

“William’s stay in a lunatic asylum is no longer a secret, so should he prove to be innocent but still require more care than Michael can give him, Michael can search wherever he likes for another place to take his brother,” I elaborated. I doubted Michael would ever do such a thing, but should he have to, there were no more concerns over secrecy.

Gage pressed a hand to his head. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t I see this before?”

I widened my eyes in alarm. “See what?”

He paced away from me a few steps and back again. “Dr. Sloane. He’s been truly manipulating us all.”

“What?”

He stood staring down at his feet for a moment, almost in awe.

“What do you mean he’s been manipulating us?” I demanded.

Gage’s eyes turned hard and he shook his head. “The bloody bastard.”

“Gage,” I exclaimed, growing agitated.

He glanced up at me. “I’ll explain. But first . . . Michael,” he called across the room to where Michael was deep in conversation with Keswick. Michael looked up in question. “Do you want to help prove your brother is innocent?”

He straightened. “Of course.”

“And you, Keswick?”

He murmured his assent.

“Keswick, take a pair of footmen with you to Banbogle Castle. Check to see if there’s a boat stored there, and if there is, send word back, but don’t let it out of your sight.”

“What is this all about?” Michael asked as Keswick departed. He looked as bewildered and exasperated as I felt.

“I’ll explain. But I need you to make sure Donovan is not in your brother’s chambers.”

“Donovan?”

“Yes. And if he is, bring him down to his room in the servants’ quarters. Either way, we’ll be waiting for you there.”

Gage hurried away before he could answer, toward the flight of servants’ stairs we’d used earlier. I had to practically run to keep up.

“Gage. Gage!” I grabbed hold of his arm just as he was opening the door and pulled him around to face me. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

He wrapped his hand around my upper arm and pulled me into the dim stairwell. He cast a fleeting look up and down the stairs to be certain we were alone and then began speaking in a hushed voice. “All along we’ve suspected that Dr. Sloane was eager to have William Dalmay back at his Larkspur Retreat. You yourself suggested he might know something Sloane doesn’t want revealed. So he decided to control the situation. He put one of his men in position to keep an eye on Dalmay and report back to him.”

My eyes widened as I realized what he was saying. “Donovan?”

“That’s my guess. Did you notice that Dr. Sloane once worked in the same infirmary Donovan gave as a reference—the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh?”

I gasped, wondering how I’d missed that connection.

“I don’t think that’s just a coincidence.”

I scowled. “Did I tell you he’s been cozying up to my maid?” From his frown I could tell I hadn’t. “He wanted information from her—about me, about my past.”

He stiffened and his eyes turned watchful. “I hope you reprimanded the girl.”

“I did,” I replied, still trying to read his expression in the low light. “And I hope she’s had the sense to stay away from him since. I’m still considering sending her back to Gairloch.”

He turned away abruptly and guided me down the steps with a warm hand to my back.

“I still don’t understand,” I said. “Has he been manipulating us through Donovan?”

“Partly. But you remember Dr. Sloane sought me out and specifically asked me to investigate. I’m beginning to wonder if he knew all along that Michael and I were old friends, and so I would be more inclined to see his brother confined to an asylum than face a public trial. And . . .” he paused in his descent of the stairs to look at me “. . . most importantly, that I would be more eager to keep Dalmay’s crimes hidden from the authorities.”

I began to comprehend. “Dr. Sloane was relying on the fact that all of us would want to keep Will’s past and his current mental state secret. So if he could convince us through a series of incidents that William was a danger to himself and others, and that Michael was incapable of caring for him, he hoped we would then urge Michael to realize that his brother was better off at Larkspur Retreat rather than risk revealing his condition to the rest of the world.”

“Exactly.”

The entire scenario sickened me to the point that I felt physically ill. “That’s . . . that’s . . .” I stumbled over my words, unable to think of a description horrible enough. “That’s
evil
.” I clasped my amethyst pendant, running my fingers over the smooth, cold stone. My mother had given it to me as an amulet of protection, and I needed the comfort of it, and her, now. “Do you think that’s what’s really happening here?”

“That’s my theory.”

I leaned against the wall at my back, feeling a little weak-kneed. “And so Mary Wallace . . . He killed Mary Wallace just to make us doubt Will?”

Gage’s answer to this was slower in coming. “Possibly.”

“But why drag her into this?”

“She befriended Dalmay, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but if Dr. Sloane was so keen to keep the matter contained then why didn’t he nab Miss Remmington or Laura or me instead?”

“Perhaps it was simply a matter of opportunity. He could make Miss Wallace’s death look like an accidental drowning, keeping the authorities from investigating too closely, while still making all of us doubt.”

I shook my head, having trouble accepting all of this.

Gage stepped forward to cup my elbow. “I know it all seems unbelievable, but from the beginning I’ve had a hunch that nothing was as it seemed. And without declaring Will insane, and blaming all of this on him outright, I can think of no other explanation.” His gaze was so intent I couldn’t look away. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

For me. He was keeping an open mind for me. That was what he left unsaid. He was testing every avenue, even those that seemed somewhat ludicrous, so that I wouldn’t have to accept that Will might be beyond my means to help. Gage himself was not convinced this was anything but an outrageous theory, but he was willing to consider it, for me.

That realization warmed me from the inside out, blunting the icy fear Dr. Sloane’s potential involvement had caused me. “Do you think you can make Donovan talk?”

“I don’t know.” His features hardened. “But I’m determined to try.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

H
e pulled open the door to the servants’ quarters, frightening a maid, who stood on the other side clutching a stack of clean linens. He reached out a hand to help her steady the toppling pile and murmured an apology before asking for directions to the men’s lodgings. Making only one wrong turn through the dimly lit corridors, we eventually located Donovan’s room among the bedchambers for the male staff.

There was no answer at the door when Gage knocked. I could tell from his lowered brow and the way he had compressed his mouth into a tight line that he wasn’t happy about this. Without waiting for Michael’s permission, he pushed the door open and strode in. I smiled awkwardly at the footman who was watching us with some curiosity from his room across the hall and followed Gage inside.

The room was small, as most servants’ quarters were, with bare walls and a single window high up near the ceiling. The window was too small for even a petite adult to squeeze through, and it let in so little sunlight that Gage was forced to light the candle we saw sitting on the dresser. The only other piece of furniture was a bed, neatly made, but so short and narrow that I had difficulty imagining brawny Donovan fitting in it.

I stood near the door and observed while Gage rifled through Donovan’s belongings. “Aren’t you worried he’ll be upset if he discovers you searching his things?”

“I don’t particularly care,” Gage replied, kneeling to dig through the bottom drawers of a dresser.

I watched him another moment before venturing to inquire, “You do realize Miss Remmington has spoiled his plan by alerting Constable Paxton?”

He slammed the drawer shut. “Yes.” Then his voice was muffled as he bent over to search under the bed. “And I’m worried Donovan will now flee, taking whatever evidence there is with him. Now,” he murmured, reaching his hand up under the frame, “what have we here?”

He sat back holding a tin of some kind and I leaned closer to see what it was. But before he could open it, the shuffle of footsteps distracted us.

Michael paused just inside the door, glancing around in confusion. “He’s not here?”

“No,” Gage said. “And I take it he wasn’t in your brother’s chambers either?”

He shook his head.

“Dash it!” His expression turned grim. “Well, let’s hope Keswick finds that boat.” The implication being that otherwise Donovan might have already fled.

I frowned, wondering if he had been listening in the stairwell when Gage and I confronted Miss Remmington. If so, he’d had a good hour and a half to make his escape without our knowing it. I cursed myself, wishing I’d taken the time to check on the noise I’d heard. If Donovan got away, we might lose our only chance to find the answers we sought and to clear Will of suspicion for good.

I admitted I still had doubts. Could Dr. Sloane really have manipulated events so skillfully? It seemed improbable, if not impossible. But after what he’d done to Will in that asylum, I knew it wasn’t inconceivable.

However, if he
had
been influencing us, I could say with certainty that no matter what Dr. Sloane had made us believe about Will, we would never have recommended that Michael return his brother to that cesspit called Larkspur Retreat. But maybe Dr. Sloane had already known that was unlikely. Maybe his real intention had been to discredit Will and cast doubt on his sanity. After all, if no one believed what Will said, then Dr. Sloane’s secrets were safe.

That thought made me uneasy, for I certainly had my doubts now about Will and just what he was or was not capable of. It troubled me to think that at least some of my misgivings might be at the behest of a devious man.

I moved closer to peer over Gage’s shoulder as he lifted the lid on the tin he’d found under Donovan’s bed. It scraped against the base and the odor that wafted up from it immediately made me take a step back.

“Ugh!” I pressed a hand over my nose and mouth to block the stench.

He scrunched up his nose and reached inside to sift the sawdust-looking material through his fingers. “It’s dried valerian root.”

“I thought I recognized it. Lucy brought me a cup of valerian root tea last night,” I told them, speaking through my hand. “Vile brew. She said your cook had told her it would help me sleep.”

“Yes,” Michael replied. “It’s one of her better remedies. We tried to give some to Will when he first came home from the asylum, but he reacted so strongly to it we never tried again.”

The back of my neck began to tingle. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he kicked up a right fuss and then threw the cup against the wall. Shattered it. The stain never did come out of the wallpaper. It was there until we removed it to get rid of the first round of his drawings.”

I thought back to that first night at Dalmay House, when we had entered Will’s room and I had seen him hunched in the corner scrabbling at the wall with his charcoal.

“It’s the valerian root,” I gasped.

Gage and Michael turned to look at me.

“That’s what’s triggering Will’s melancholic episodes.”

Gage glanced back at the tin, his jaw hardening.

“But we haven’t tried to give him valerian root tea since that first time,” Michael protested.

I shook my head. “It’s not the tea. It’s the smell. It reminds him of the asylum.”

He frowned. “Because they served it to him?”

“No.” Gage rose to his feet to explain. “She means the scent must be similar to what the asylum smelled like. I admit, it is quite rancid.”

Michael still looked confused. “It smells like an herb.”

I stared at him in amazement. “What are you talking about? It
reeks
! Like stale body odor and . . . and smelly feet.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Gage’s mouth. “I’d heard there were people who didn’t actually mind the smell of valerian root, but I’ve never actually met any. Until today. I guess you and your cook simply enjoy the smell of rancid feet.”

Michael scowled.

“I smelled this in Will’s bedchamber on the night we arrived,” I said, gesturing to the tin in Gage’s hands. “I caught a whiff of it as I was approaching Will. I remember thinking it was body odor, but as I moved closer it dissipated. Donovan must have put this in something or wiped it on an object. He must have introduced it to the room on purpose, knowing it would upset Will.” I pressed my hand to my nose again. “Close that,” I told Gage.

The lid clanged against the container as he pressed it down. “Donovan must have noted Dalmay’s reaction to the valerian root tea when you tried to give it to him. Then he began introducing it to Will’s environment when he thought no one would notice or when he wanted him to have an episode. Clearly he was up to mischief when he provoked a fit the other night. Sabotaging your engagement, I’d wager, when he heard you’d told your fiancée and her family about Will.”

Michael rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and stared at the tin as if it were a snake about to bite him. “Could it be he had trouble sleeping and he simply used it to make himself a cup of tea?”

Gage’s expression was dubious. “If it were something so innocent, why did he feel the need to hide it in a place few people would think to look?”

He had no answer for that.

I felt sorry for Michael—he appeared horrified by the realization that the man he’d hired to take care of his brother had, in fact, been doing him injury—and, yet, at the same time, I was furious with him. He was so protective of Will, even willing to go so far as to lie for him, but he hadn’t noticed that one of his staff was hurting him. If he truly couldn’t sense how awful the valerian root smelled, perhaps I could forgive him for missing it. However, I couldn’t help thinking that if Donovan had been so capable of harming Will in this way, how many other little things had he done to impair him? Had Michael missed those, too?

I crossed the room to lean against the door frame, staring out into the corridor. Perhaps I was being too hard on him. But I couldn’t offer Michael any words of comfort just then. And I knew if I couldn’t dredge up enough sympathy to do that, I might say something I regretted.

“I need to speak to Lucy,” I told the men, without looking back or waiting for a reply.

I could hear the clang of pots and the thwack of a knife up ahead and followed it into the kitchen. The scent of bacon lingered in the air from breakfast, mixing with the sharp aroma of the onions one of the maids standing at the butcher-block table was chopping. The girls looked up at me in surprise.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I told them with a reassuring smile. “I’m looking for my maid. Could you point me in the direction of the women’s quarters?”

As they stood gawking at me, I began to realize how absurd the situation was—ladies did not go belowstairs to seek out their servants—and felt a blush sting my cheeks.

“Well, dinna just stand there gawpin’ like fish,” a little, round woman in a long apron scolded, entering the room behind me. “Answer ’er ladyship.”

The maids continued to stare, neither of them seeming to be able to find their tongues.

The woman sighed and shook her head. “They dinna have a lick of sense betweenst the both of ’em.” Then she turned to look at me, as if she conversed with ladies in this manner every day. “Yer maid’s quarters’ll be doon that hall. But I think ye might find ’er quicker in the servants’ hall across the way. Heard the maids in there twitterin’ away like magpies just a moment ago.”

“Thank you,” I said and followed the direction of her pointing finger.

As I drew closer, I could hear the maids as well, giggling about something. Hesitant to give them as much of a scare as I’d given the kitchen maids, I reached up and rapped on the open door. The laughter straggled to a stop as I peered around the corner into the chamber. The maids stiffened in surprise as they realized who I was.

“M’lady,” Lucy gasped and rushed forward, smelling like starch. “Were ye callin’ me? I dinna hear ye ring.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, was I s’posed to be waitin’ for ye in your rooms?”

“No, Lucy.” I grabbed hold of the frazzled girl’s shoulders. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Her face was still crinkled in worry. “Then why are ye doon here lookin’ for me?”

I shook my head impatiently. “I’ll explain later. I need to know everything you learned from Donovan. Was there anything he told you about himself?”

Her eyebrows lifted toward her hairline.

“Lucy, it’s important,” I added when she didn’t speak right away. “He must have told you
something
.”

“Well,” she finally murmured. I didn’t know if her dithering was due to a misguided loyalty she still felt for Donovan or because of my frantic demeanor. “He told me where he worked afore, but ye already ken that. And that he grew up in a small village near Kirkcudbright.”

“Twynholm,” the maid across the room stitching the hem of a gown muttered, making us all glance over at her. Her cheeks reddened as if she hadn’t meant for us to hear her. “Me mam came from the area,” she explained. From her broad Cumbrian accent, I pegged her as either Laura or Miss Remmington’s maid, likely Miss Remmington’s.

I turned back to Lucy, who was studying the other maid in unhappy suspicion, and released her shoulders.

“What about the people here? The Dalmays or the other servants. Did he talk about them?”

“Sometimes,” she answered guardedly, flicking another glance at the other maids.

“Did he talk about Lord Dalmay?”

“Nay.” Then she ventured to ask a question of her own. “Did that constable really come and try to arrest his lordship?”

I could see the other maids were interested in this answer as well, for they leaned forward. “He tried,” I replied, unwilling to gossip about William. “What about Miss Wallace or anyone from Cramond? Did he mention any of them?”

Her eyes widened. “Nay.”

I swallowed a sigh of frustration. What on earth had she and Donovan talked about? Surely they hadn’t discussed me the entire time. “Did you notice anything suspicious? Was there any topic he seemed to avoid?”

“Why are ye askin’ me this?” Her gaze searched mine for what I wasn’t saying. “Has he done somethin’ wrong?”

I hesitated to disclose such a detail, but I decided it would be best to destroy any romantic notions she still held about the man while I still had a chance of extracting useful information from her. “We found proof that he’s been harming Lord Dalmay.”

Lucy pressed her hands over her mouth.

“And we suspect he might be involved in Miss Wallace’s death.”

“How?” she stammered.

“I’m not going to reveal that to you. But I need to know about his suspicious behavior.”

Her eyes grew bright and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I dinna see anythin’ suspicious.”

“I did,” the same maid who had spoken up earlier announced. A slightly older maid seated in a chair nearby, polishing a brooch, hissed her name, but she lifted her chin and ignored her. “I saw somethin’ suspicious.”

“And you are?”

She quickly bobbed a curtsy. “Irene, m’lady. I’m Miss Remmington’s maid,” she told me, confirming what I had guessed.

“What did you see?”