The Anatomist's Wife (10 page)

“So Lady Godwin had many enemies?” Gage asked.

Lady Stratford nodded hesitantly. “Yes, potentially.”

“Any that you believe might commit murder?”

She pressed her hands together palm to palm and stared down at her lap. “I cannot
honestly say,” she replied in a soft voice. She swallowed. “It seems quite impossible
that it actually happened. She may not have been well liked, but I never believed
she was so hated as to be murdered.” Her arms shook slightly, and I realized she was
holding her hands together to try to control her emotions. I wished she would look
up so that I might see her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know this must be difficult,” Gage said softly in sympathy.

She nodded.

“If I may, just a few more questions, and I will trouble you no further.”

She took a deep breath and finally looked up, giving him permission to continue. Her
eyes were shiny and rimmed in red from unshed tears.

Gage shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It is widely known that Lady Godwin has taken
lovers, particularly in the months since her husband left the country.”

Lady Stratford did not confirm or deny this.

“Most recently, she has been linked with Mr. Fitzpatrick.” He shifted again, and I
wondered, with some amusement, whether he was about to tug on his cravat. “Are you
aware of any other men with whom she has . . . carried on liaisons?”

Lady Stratford seemed entertained by his discomfort as well. Her pale pink lips tipped
up at the corners. “And what makes you think I would share any such information with
you?” She raised her eyebrows in scolding.

“Because I think one of Lady Godwin’s past lovers may have had something to do with
her death.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
could have smacked Gage for all the subtlety he used in making such a statement. For
all my social awkwardness and impatience with the ton, I would never have made such
a bald declaration, especially to a woman who was so obviously grieving her friend,
even if it was in her own restrained manner.

Being the reserved matron she was, Lady Stratford fortunately did not burst into tears
or histrionics. However, a curtain seemed to be pulled over her features, removing
all trace of humor, light, and joy, leaving her cast in shadow. Her hands tightened
in her lap, and she turned away to stare at the windows looking out on the garden.

I scowled at Gage, not understanding how someone who was so well-known for his charm
could be so tactless. He frowned back at me, and then tightly shook his head before
focusing his gaze on Lady Stratford once again. Recognizing such a dismissal when
I saw one, I bit my tongue. Perhaps he wanted to play this out as if his shocking
declaration had been deliberate, but I was not convinced his nerves had not compelled
him to be so blunt.

The countess heaved a weary sigh. “I’m sure there are many here in this castle who
could, and would love to, comment upon Helena’s escapades,” she said, her gaze still
focused on the window. “After all, she was never very discreet. And she had a rather
masculine desire to flaunt her conquests. So I suppose I would not be betraying her
by telling you. Perhaps I would even be doing her a favor by relaying the information
through friendly lips rather than venomous ones.” Her soft gray eyes turned to study
each of us in turn as we waited patiently for her to finish. “Other than Mr. Fitzpatrick . . .”
She trailed off as if she were still having difficulty answering. She swallowed. “There
are only two other men in attendance who have shared her bed. If I tell you those,
will that be sufficient?”

“For now,” Gage replied gently.

Lady Stratford nodded, understanding the words he left unspoken. Just because a jilted
lover was not at Gairloch Castle did not mean he was not a suspect. He could have
hired someone to carry out the murder, believing himself safely removed from discovery.

The countess took a deep breath. “Lord Marsdale and Mr. Calvin.”

Mr. Calvin came as somewhat of a shock, but I was definitely not surprised to hear
that Lord Marsdale was on the list. The Duke of Norwich’s son was an ill-mannered
swine, by whom I had already had the misfortune of being accosted twice during his
stay.

“Do you recall how long ago they were involved?” Gage asked.

Lady Stratford tilted her head. “Marsdale was not long after Lord Godwin left for
India, and Mr. Calvin perhaps some time in May or June.”

I slid toward the edge of my seat and glanced at Gage, knowing he would realize what
that meant. My excitement must have been more evident than I wished, for I turned
to find Lady Stratford watching me carefully and guardedly. Something in her demeanor
told me it was not fear of me as a suspect but fear of my knowledge.

“One more question,” Gage announced, seeming oblivious to our unspoken exchange. “Was
Lord Godwin aware of her affairs?”

Lady Stratford’s eyebrows lifted. “How could he not be? But since she provided him
with two sons, an heir and a spare, he pretty much allowed her to do as she wished.”

Gage nodded and rose. “Thank you. We shall not trouble you further.”

I followed him to the door, but a question still nagged at me. I paused on the threshold
and turned back to the countess still seated on the pale blue settee. “One more thing.
Did Lady Godwin confide in you what her plans were after leaving here?”

Lady Stratford met my gaze squarely, and I knew she realized what I was really asking.
I half expected her to dismiss me without replying, but she nodded her head once and
spoke with quiet dignity. “She planned to stay at an estate owned by my great-aunt,
just north of Glasgow. She said she wanted the peace and quiet.”

I opened my mouth to thank her when her lady’s maid suddenly appeared through the
door to the dressing room. “I have your chasteberry tonic, my lady.” The servant stumbled
to a halt, carefully balancing the small glass full of liquid. “Oh! I beg your pardon.”
She flushed a bright rose, almost as deep as the tonic. The girl had obviously believed
the countess was alone.

“I was just leaving,” I said to reassure the maid. With a nod of thanks to Lady Stratford,
I closed the door.

“What was that all about?” Gage asked, waiting for me several steps down the corridor.

“She knew she was expecting.”

His steps faltered. “What?”

“Lady Stratford knew that Lady Godwin was expecting,” I reiterated, continuing down
the hall.

Gage’s expression was incredulous. “You asked her that straight out?”

“Of course not.” I frowned. “Although, if I had, it would have been no worse than
your intimating that one of her lovers killed her.”

“I wanted to see her reaction.” His voice sounded a tad sulky for a grown man. “Besides,
it got us the information we needed, didn’t it?”

I didn’t intend to offer even the smallest amount of praise for his tactics, and I
knew agreeing with him was tantamount to doing just that. “Do you really believe one
of her lovers murdered her?”

“Why not? It’s the best theory we have so far.”

“I suppose so,” I groused. “But I don’t understand the motive for such an attack.”

“Jealousy.”

“Yes, but . . .” I glanced around to make sure no one was lurking nearby before continuing
in a lower voice. “I think it would take an emotion far stronger than jealousy to
motivate someone to . . .
violate
a mother and child the way the murderer did.”

Gage surveyed our surroundings as I had, and then pulled me into an alcove flanked
by two suits of armor. The one on the left gleamed, obviously having seen very little
use in battle, while the other was dented and tarnished from blood, sweat, water,
and time.

“Maybe her lover was angry. If she’d dismissed him in a cruel manner, or disparaged
his manhood in a public way.”

I considered his words. “Yes, those emotions make sense for the murder, but the baby . . . ?”

He breathed out impatiently. “Maybe . . .” He exhaled. “Maybe she was blackmailing
the baby’s father somehow.”

I had to admit that was a possibility. Lady Godwin had certainly not been the most
principled individual, and it seemed highly plausible that she could have tried extortion.
But still, it didn’t seem right. There were too many other factors that had not yet
come into play, and I could not yet fit them into the picture.

“What of the embroidery scissors?” I asked.

Gage paced the short distance of the alcove and back, stroking his chin. “I don’t
know. Perhaps this lover had an accomplice.”

“Perhaps,” I reluctantly conceded.

He sighed. “Regardless, we still need to speak with these men.”

“I agree.”

He stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the carpet runner down the center
of the corridor. “I suppose it makes sense to start with Mr. Fitzpatrick, since he
was the most recent man connected with her.”

“When do you want to do it?”

“It’s too close to dinner to talk with him now. Maybe after, in the library; it’s
likely to be empty.”

This plan sounded as good to me as any. “All right. Shall I meet you there after the
ladies and gentlemen separate for after-dinner tea and port?”

Gage looked up at me. “I think it best that you sit this one out.”

I lowered my brow in displeasure.

“No matter how indiscreet Lady Godwin was,” he continued, “Fitzpatrick is a very courteous
and correct gentleman. He would be most uncomfortable discussing a topic such as his
relationship with the late viscountess while you are present. In fact, I think it
likely he would withhold information to protect your sensibilities.”

Gage had a point. Mr. Fitzpatrick was among the more subdued young men I had met,
and if most gentlemen would have a problem speaking of such things in front of a gently
reared female solely on principle, Mr. Fitzpatrick certainly would. However, I hated
to be left out entirely, partly because I wanted to hear his answers, and partly because
I wasn’t confident that Gage would share every detail of their conversation. Perhaps
Philip and Alana trusted Mr. Gage, but I was still reluctant. Especially after the
comments he’d made to Lady Stratford.

“I see your point,” I admitted. “But I . . .”

“No,” he stated determinedly before I could finish my sentence. “You are not taking
part in this one.”

I frowned. “You haven’t even let me . . .”

“I will not hear your objections.” He leaned down toward my face, calm but implacable.
“Lord Cromarty placed me in charge of this investigation, and I will conduct it as
I see fit.”

“Mr. Gage . . .”

“No. And if I find you in the library, I shall throw you out.”

I gritted my teeth, furious that he wouldn’t even allow me to explain. “You . . .”

He turned on his heel and strode away, appearing as unperturbed as ever.

“You buffleheaded fool!” I called out after him.

He didn’t even acknowledge the insult I hurled at his back.

I clenched my hands into fists, determined to thwart him in this. Taking a deep, calming
breath, I knew what I had to do. And I refused to feel guilty for it. If Gage had
only listened, he would not be left in the dark.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
n light of recent events, and the unspoken truth that we were all essentially trapped
together at Gairloch, I expected the atmosphere in the front parlor to be somewhat
sedate and somber when the guests gathered there before dinner. I anticipated hushed
conversations and wary glances as they studied one another and wondered who among
them had murdered Lady Godwin.

I should have known better.

The upper class’s stubborn sense of entitlement could not be curtailed by something
so mundane as murder. And as such, they had gathered in their customary, expensive
evening attire to gossip and compare and enjoy Philip and Alana’s excellent hospitality
with all the unconcerned joviality of those who believe tragedy and horror can never
touch them.
Lady Godwin’s murder was certainly dreadful, but surely she had it coming, what with
her immoral behavior and all
—seemed to be the consensus. And by their pointed stares in my direction, most of
them still believed I was the culprit who should be brought to justice for the matter.

I entered the parlor quietly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but just as
the evening before, the effort was futile. No one had failed to note my appearance.
I might as well have worn a scarlet gown rather than a lovely deep plum dress with
black trim. They watched me with narrowed, mistrustful eyes and whispered to one another
behind their fans. A few brave souls voiced their nasty opinions of me loud enough
to be overheard, but most kept quiet—out of deference to their hosts, I had no doubt.
Only Lady Westlock insisted upon volleying loud insults about me to her two closest
allies, Mrs. Smythe and Lady Darlington, despite Lord Westlock’s panicked urgings
for her to remain quiet. I gave their circle a wide berth and decided to find a seat
on the opposite side of the room before my sister, who was edging ever closer to the
Westlocks, tossed them out of the castle with her own two hands.

I settled into a plush beige velvet chair in a quiet corner by the windows and tried
to quiet the internal agitation the guests’ silent and not-so-silent accusations had
caused me. I needed to focus on those assembled around me, to observe their behavior
and examine it for any signs of anxiety or guilt. After all, it was the only reason
I had agreed to join the others for dinner instead of taking a tray in my room. But
I discovered it was more difficult to concentrate than I anticipated, thriving on
so little sleep the night before and a dully throbbing skull from the pain Lucy caused
me while styling my hair. I wanted nothing more than to abandon the entire enterprise
and lay my head down on a soft pillow and close my eyes.

I sighed and focused on Lady Stratford, who held court on a gold brocade settee at
the center of the room. She looked cool and composed in a dusky violet gown as she
conversed with several other ladies. A group of men, including Lord Marsdale and Mr.
Fitzpatrick, congregated on the opposite side of the room, near the grand piano, sipping
predinner drinks and laughing heartily at their own jokes. I shook my head at their
antics. As far away as the gentlemen were, I should not have been able to hear their
crass talk so clearly across the large room if they had been speaking in a normal
tone of voice.

Alana stood flanked between the two doorways, looking lovely in a midnight-blue gown
trimmed with mauve ruffles. By all appearances she seemed to be attentively listening
to Mrs. Calvin, who was speaking rather animatedly with her hands. However, I could
tell my sister’s attention was far away, and the irritation vibrating through her
frame like a struck bell was likely directed at her husband. Her gaze darted between
him, the Westlocks, and Mrs. Calvin with such speed I wondered if she wasn’t developing
a headache. Positioned by the stone hearth, speaking with two other lords, Philip
seemed just as aware of his wife’s antagonism and returned it full force. I glanced
around the room, curious whether I was the only one who noticed the tension arcing
between the two hosts.

Gage leaned against the sideboard and nursed a glass of deep amber whiskey. One would
have thought he would be mingling with the guests, trying to gain information for
his investigation or, at the very least, observing them for oddities in their behavior,
as I was. But instead he stood charming a trio of ladies, lapping up their adoration.
I frowned at the two married ladies who touched his arm at every opportunity and giggled
at his comments. Their display was nauseating, and the very idea that gentlemen actually
enjoyed this behavior baffled me. I watched in puzzlement, trying to figure out why
the appeal of such conduct eluded me.

With the unwed Miss Darlington present, I assumed their conversation would remain
proper, but when Mrs. Cline pressed her bosom against Gage’s elbow and fluttered her
lashes at him like a hummingbird, I wondered if perhaps I might be mistaken. The young
Miss Darlington was not known to be particularly bright, so most innuendos would likely
fly right over her head. One wondered if her older sister, Lady Lewis, was any quicker.
As if on cue she pressed tightly against Gage’s other side and tilted her head up
to speak into his ear, despite the fact that her husband was standing but a few feet
away.

The sight of the two women clinging to him stirred a strange feeling in my chest.
It pinched painfully and made my stomach dip, much like when my father had died, but
not nearly so acutely. I frowned and reached up to toy with the amethyst-and-diamond
pendant my mother had given me on her deathbed. She claimed the violet stones were
for protection, but I had never felt guarded so much as comforted by them.

I lifted my gaze from Gage’s arm to find him looking straight at me; a smirk tilted
the corners of his lips. The two ladies at his sides followed his gaze and sent me
glares filled with spiteful glee. It made me wonder if Gage had told them anything.
I scowled, embarrassed to be caught watching, and angry that Gage encouraged the ladies’
ill behavior and seemed to enjoy it.

But after all, why shouldn’t he be enjoying himself? He wasn’t the one being treated
to disdainful glances and blatant accusations, or shunned like a weasel in the henhouse.
Instead, the men slapped him on the back like a war hero and the women fluttered and
flattered like he was the cock of the walk. I looked away, determined to ignore him
and cease worrying about what kind of gossip he had shared with the ladies.

When the party finally adjourned to the dining room, I was only too pleased. The dark
wood of the long table was polished to a shine, and each place setting gleamed in
the light of the many candles. Tapestries spanned the length of one wall, while on
the opposite side, tall, pointed Gothic windows provided a magnificent view of the
loch. The massive stone fireplace crackled behind Philip’s chair at the head of the
room.

I discovered I was seated with Lord Stratford on my left and Philip’s cousin, Lord
Damien, on my right. I knew I could thank Alana for this bit of luck. Lord Stratford
was the least querulous of his peers when it came to the matter of my reputation,
and Damien was essentially family.

Philip’s aunt Jane, Lady Hollingsworth, may have continued to look at me with only
a shade less distrust than the other guests did, but her children, Damien and Caroline,
had displayed just a slight hesitation that quickly disappeared upon meeting me. Perhaps
they were just more tactful than their elders, but I strongly suspected they simply
held more faith in the innate goodness of others and the judgment of Philip. Regardless,
I was glad the pair had elected to view me with fondness, and even mild interest,
rather than distrust, and was happy to be seated next to Damien now.

Given he was the second son of a marquess, and at the relatively young age of twenty-two,
it had been a surprise to discover his mother was already pushing him toward marriage
as stalwartly as his eighteen-year-old sister. Gentlemen were generally given more
time to mature before coaxing them into matrimony. His older brother, the heir, was
already wed and expected his first child in early autumn. Since the Hollingsworth
title was secured, I did not understand Philip’s aunt’s rush to see her other children
wed, particularly Damien.

“How goes the bridal quest?” I leaned toward him to jest.

He grimaced as he settled his napkin in his lap. “It goes.”

I smiled in commiseration. “I take it none of the young ladies here have struck you.”

He shook his head.

I sipped my wine. “Your mother won’t force you to pick a wife from among the girls
present, will she?” Lady Hollingsworth could be quite formidable when she chose to
be.

“No. But not out of any deference to me. It’s only because she hasn’t found a young
lady here whom she would like as a daughter-in-law.” Damien’s tone was light with
mockery, and I smiled in appreciation of his forbearance. He picked up his glass,
staring at the pale gold chardonnay. “Caroline, unfortunately, has not fared so well
in that regard.”

“Why? Who has your mother set her cap for?” I was struck by a sudden thought. “Not
Marsdale, I hope.”

“No, no. She knows what a scoundrel he is.”

In my opinion, it spoke well of Philip’s aunt that she did not view wealth and title
as an excuse to overlook such poor behavior, as so many other matrons did.

“It’s Mr. Abingdon.”

I glanced down the table at the man in question. “He seems a steady enough fellow,”
I replied, not knowing much about him other than he was rumored to be an avid horseman.
He was taller and broader than most gentlemen, which I imagined accounted for the
great black beast of a stallion he rode. More than one of the stable boys had been
injured while trying to care for the brute. I wasn’t certain if his horse’s manners
spoke well of him, but I supposed that depended on the behavior of the other creatures
in his stables.

Damien shrugged. “My only concern is whether Caroline likes him.”

“And does she?”

“I honestly do not know.”

My gaze slid down the table to the right of Mr. Abingdon to where Caroline leaned
toward Mr. Pullham. From my observations, a quiet, studious gentleman like Mr. Pullham
seemed more to Caroline’s liking. Mr. Pullham was already wed but perhaps he had a
friend or relative of the same disposition to whom he might introduce her.

I skimmed my gaze back down the table and opened my mouth to tell her brother so,
when my eyes collided with Mr. Gage’s pale blue ones. He studied me openly, not diverting
his gaze or pretending disinterest, and I felt my cheeks growing warm in response.
Conscious of the prying eyes all around us, I arched an eyebrow in challenge, uncertain
of his motivations. His eyes sparked with humor, as if he knew how much his gaze discomforted
me.

“So tell us, Gage,” a voice boomed from farther down the table, making me stiffen
in alarm. Had someone seen our silent exchange? “Have you uncovered who the murderer
is yet?”

“Mr. Smythe,” his wife hissed, her customary disapproving frown pulling down her face.
“This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation.”

Mr. Smythe frowned across the floral centerpieces at his wife. “Why not? I daresay
we all want to know,” he growled belligerently, making me wonder just how many predinner
drinks the man had consumed. “So let’s save the chap from having to repeat himself
twenty times.”

Gage smiled disarmingly. “No, I have not uncovered the murderer.”

“But you are close? Surely you must have some idea who the culprit is?” Mr. Smythe
pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

Gage’s grin tightened. “I assure you that when I have news to share, I will share
it. However, for the moment, I do not believe it would be appropriate to speculate
on such a thing.” He glanced up and down the table at all the guests before adding
confidently. “We are doing all we can to solve this murder and ensure no harm befalls
any of you.”

“We? Who’s we?” another man asked suddenly.

I tensed, shocked that Gage had said such a thing. Was he talking about me? I cautiously
lifted my gaze from my bowl of asparagus soup to see what he would do. He appeared
just as stunned, for his eyes flared wide for a split second as the guests leaned
toward him in keen interest.

“Why, our host, Lord Cromarty, of course,” he replied, recovering himself quickly.
He flashed an assertive grin.

Most of the guests settled back in their seats, accepting his assurances of their
safety with only a few uncertain glances at one another. It was as if no one wanted
to be the first to admit they were even the slightest bit frightened by the idea of
a murderer seated among them. I couldn’t help but wonder if they wouldn’t be better
off knowing exactly what kind of monster we were dealing with. Committing murder was
one thing, but harming the baby the way they had . . . I shook away the thought. That
was another brand of terror altogether.

I sat back as the footmen traded out the first course for the second, and for the
first time that evening, I truly felt the fear and uneasiness humming below the surface
of those surrounding me. They had done well to hide it earlier, but such a blatant
discussion of the incident had stirred up many of the guests’ anxiety. I also began
to understand why so many of them, both men and women, had nursed glasses of brandy
and whiskey in the drawing room, and now downed the wine from my brother-in-law’s
cellar like it was water. I sipped my own glass a little slower. With so much drinking
going on around me, it would be best if I kept my head about me. I knew from personal
experience just how hostile some people became from heavy drink, and as the primary
suspect for Lady Godwin’s murder, I began to anticipate more than one potentially
nasty altercation.

I picked at the herb-crusted salmon before me, hoping many of the guests decided to
retire early so that I did not risk running into them later. The night before, they
had gathered in packs, rehashing the scene in the garden maze, commiserating with
one another, and, no doubt, feeling safer collected together in numbers. The fear
and shock were more settled now, more tense and wearying, preying on minds and nerves.