The Anatomist's Wife (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

T
he remainder of the evening was subdued, as was to be expected. Most of the guests
chose to assemble in one of my sister’s two parlors to rehash the details of what
happened in the garden and share their “expert” knowledge. Lady Lydia recovered quickly
upon returning to the castle and was even now holding court in the front parlor, describing
her ordeal in excruciating detail.

I decided to make myself scarce, checking on my nieces and nephew in the nursery before
slipping into the library to sit silently in my favorite spot. It was there that Alana
found me just before midnight.

“I am getting too old to keep climbing these stairs,” she declared, dropping her skirts
into place as she reached the top step. “Why can’t you hide in normal places? Like
your bedchamber or your art studio?”

I smiled tightly. “Because then people would find me.”

Alana sighed and sank into the sofa next to me. “Did you not wish for me to find you,
dear?”

I leaned my head on her shoulder. “No. You’re fine.”

She rested her head on top of mine.

We sat that way for several minutes, staring past the wooden banister, out at the
ceiling of the library. A large mural depicting the life of Saint Andrew, patron saint
of Scotland, covered the entire space from one wall to another. Though it was certainly
not the work of Michelangelo, it had a charming rustic quality I found soothing. None
of the colors were deep or the lines sharp, but the muted shades and blurred lines
were somehow appropriate to its location in the far north of the Highlands.

Alana had asked me once why I liked the library loft so much, but I hadn’t been able
to explain it to her. Perhaps there was some sense of peace being so high above it
all, with the saint on the ceiling my closest neighbor. All I knew was that I always
felt better, that my thoughts were always clearer, when I was curled up in the little
space below the eaves.

“Philip sent me to find you,” Alana said. “He wishes to speak to all of the guests
in the front parlor.” She paused, and I knew her thoughts had returned to the scene
in the garden. “I’m sorry you had to hear those accusations again. I would send Lady
Westlock and Mrs. Smythe away except for the lateness of the hour and our distance
from any decent lodging.”

I nodded and reached back to squeeze her hand where it lay over my shoulder. Alana
knew I had come here to hide from just such a thing, but I did not blame her for this
evening’s outburst.

Alana and Philip had not invited guests to Gairloch Castle since my arrival nearly
sixteen months ago. When they asked my permission to throw this house party, I felt
like the veriest ogre that they felt the need to do so. After all, they were the ones
who sheltered me, supported me, and though they never complained, I knew the burden
I brought with me. The sales of my artwork, done under an assumed name, of course,
provided me with some funds, but Philip refused to take even a penny of it. He encouraged
me to save it, to invest it, and he was more than happy to assist me in that regard.
However, he would not take payment for my food and lodging.

“I suppose Philip has sent for the local coroner,” I said, fidgeting with the lace
trim of my gown. “And they will want to question me.”

“Yes and no.”

Hearing the hesitation in Alana’s voice, I looked up. Her deep blue eyes, so like
my own, were clouded with worry.

“I think we’d better hear what Philip has to say. Come on.” She groaned like a woman
closer to sixty than thirty as she pushed up from the sofa.

I allowed her to take my hand and lead me down the steep spiral staircase, as if we
were still young children. Sometimes I still felt like one—hiding away in my older
sister’s castle, following her instructions, as I’d done most of my life. When living
with Alana, I learned long ago it was much easier to simply comply with her wishes
than to argue over every last detail. Especially when the outcome of the dispute hardly
mattered to me. For almost the entire past year I had obeyed her requests without
question, not caring what clothes I wore or food I ate. The only part of my life in
which my sister had no say was my artwork, and she knew better than to offer her opinion
on that.

The front parlor was located off the great hall near the main entrance to the castle,
overlooking the circular drive and the loch beyond. It was monstrous in proportion.
Philip’s grandmother had decided the former drawing room was too small, so she had
removed the wall between it and the parlor to create one cavernous chamber. The shades
of Cromarty livery, scarlet and ebony, adorned the room, intermixed with neutrals
and a liberal sprinkling of gilding and mirrors. It was the showpiece of Gairloch
Castle, and, having been redecorated during the time of Georgian overindulgence, hideous.
I always felt that I had wandered into some monstrosity of French rococo excess. Alana
agreed but had yet to work up the nerve to tackle the daunting space.

The buzz of agitated voices increased as we stepped through the door. I had done my
best to stand in Alana’s shadow, hovering behind her as she stepped to the side just
within the doorway, but apparently my efforts to go unnoticed had been in vain. Some
of the guests’ eyes narrowed into suspicious glares as they leaned toward one another,
whispering about me. Though I could not hear their words, the skin at the back of
my neck prickled, for I knew the accusations being bandied about me. I crossed my
arms over my chest and tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach.

Most of the guests seemed to be present, but not all. I noticed Lady Stratford was
missing, though her wayward husband, the Earl of Stratford, stood near the sideboard
with several other gentlemen, including the Marquess of Marsdale, drinking my brother-in-law’s
fine whiskey. Philip’s cousin, Caroline, was also absent, as well as many of the other
young, unwed females.

Lord Westlock and the other gentlemen Philip had invited specifically to discuss business
matters were gathered near the hearth, while their wives sat on the arrangement of
furniture before them, gossiping and sending me spiteful glances.

I shifted uncomfortably, wondering how long we would have to wait for Philip to address
us. I considered going to search for him, but then he entered the room through the
second doorway. He glanced briefly around the room at those assembled, before nodding
to Alana and me.

As he moved forward to address the group, I noticed for the first time the man lurking
behind him, though why I should be surprised I didn’t know. Of course, Mr. Gage would
be eager to hover about Philip. He wasn’t one to miss being at the center of attention.

I felt a pulse of annoyance, of dislike for the popular rogue, and wondered what he
and Philip had been discussing that had so delayed them. Was Philip allowing Mr. Gage
to conduct an investigation? I hoped Philip realized that just because Mr. Gage’s
father was skilled in such matters, it did not mean his son knew how to conduct a
proper inquiry.

“If I could have your attention, please.” Philip raised his voice to be heard over
the rumble of voices. “This has been a long and unpleasant evening, and I’m sure you
would all like to retire to your chambers, so I will make this as brief as possible.”

Their attention caught, the room fell silent.

“First of all, I know you are all concerned with the tragedy that befell Lady Godwin
this evening, and I want to assure you that everything possible is being done to apprehend
the culprit.” Philip’s gaze swept calmly over everyone as he spoke, as reassuring
as any of his words. “Lady Godwin’s body has been secured, and a pair of riders has
been dispatched to collect the appropriate authorities from Inverness.”

“Inverness?” Lord Westlock snapped, clearly voicing what was on the minds of everyone
else as they turned to whisper to one another in horror. Even I was taken aback by
the news. “But that’s at least two days’ hard ride to the southeast,” the silver-haired
baron protested.

Philip lifted his hands to calm the excited murmurs. “I’m well aware. But, unfortunately,
we have no other choice. The closest procurator fiscals are located in Fort William
and Inverness, and both are several days’ journey from here.”

“But aren’t you the local magistrate? Can’t you adjudicate?”

“I’m afraid not,” Philip replied with a sad shake of his head. “The crime happened
on my property. If it were theft, or even the demise of a servant, perhaps I could
handle matters. But with Lady Godwin being a viscountess and her husband in India,
I cannot adjudicate over this unfortunate event. My only recourse was to send for
the procurator fiscal at Inverness.”

“But that means . . .” Mr. Fitzpatrick’s eyes darted nervously between Philip and
the other guests. ”He won’t arrive for another four days.”

Philip seemed reluctant to admit this, but he really had no choice. “Yes.”

The other guests all began talking at once, arguing with one another about the absurdity
of living so far from civilization. The pitch of their voices increased with their
panic.

“But, see here,” one gentleman demanded. “This has no effect on us. My wife and I
are leaving at first light.”

Several others chimed in with their agreement.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Philip interrupted.

“What do you mean?” someone asked.

I watched as Philip visibly steeled himself. “Until the procurator fiscal arrives,
and is able to investigate the murder and interview any potential witnesses, none
of you will be allowed to leave.”

“But why?” Lady Darlington asked. “I haven’t witnessed anything.”

Philip turned to look at her. “You may not realize you have until you are questioned.”

“But how could we?” Lord Marsdale argued with a flippant smirk. “Surely the murderer
isn’t one of us.”

The guests turned to stare at one another, wide-eyed, as if realizing for the first
time the other unspoken reason that Philip could not let any of them leave. Alana
reached over to grip my hand.

“This is ridiculous,” another gentleman declared. “I’m no murderer. And I won’t be
treated like one.”

And that statement set everyone off arguing again.

“Please.” Philip’s countenance was growing more and more haggard with each pronouncement.
“Everyone, let’s remain calm. No one is accusing anyone of any crime yet. But I must
take steps to secure the witnesses, and yes, possible suspects, until the authorities
reach us.” He looked directly at the ladies. “Now, I realize that you are understandably
apprehensive. That is why I ask that you do not go off alone. Keep in pairs, though
groups of three or four would be best. And instruct your servants to do the same.”

I shivered, thinking of the number of times I had taken to the countryside alone,
especially in the last few days since the house-party guests had arrived.

“In the meantime . . .” He glanced back at Mr. Gage, and I felt something inside of
me clench with dread. “I’ve asked Mr. Gage to conduct an inquiry of his own into the
matter. So I must ask all of you to cooperate with him fully.”

“I can tell you right now who’s responsible, no need for an inquiry,” Lady Westlock
muttered under her breath, loud enough for most to hear. Her spiteful gaze bored into
me.

Alana stiffened beside me. “Come,” she told me with a nudge toward the door. “It’s
time for us to leave. We’ll wait for Philip in his study.”

Feeling his eyes on me, I glanced up to find Mr. Gage watching me intently as we exited
the room. I wanted to snap back, to defend myself, but I knew now was not the time,
and that few, if any of them, would listen to me. So I followed my sister sullenly
from the room, angry to find myself once again in such a defensive position.

Philip’s study was in a room nestled between the library and the family parlor at
the back of the castle. It was not particularly large, especially when compared to
the chambers adjoining it, but it was cozy and comfortable. I had spent more than
one cold winter night curled up with a book in one of the two red wingback chairs
while my sister claimed the other and Philip worked at his desk. The large stone fireplace
and low plastered ceilings enabled the room to hold much more heat than any of the
places we normally spent our evenings.

Alana sank into one of the chairs while I slowly paced the perimeter of the room.
I was too rattled to relax while waiting for Philip to appear. Would the guests’ accusations
make my brother-in-law begin to doubt my innocence? Would he finally tire of sheltering
me? I knew he was a good man—and did not believe me mad so much as eccentric—but he
and his family had suffered a great deal of ridicule on my behalf. I would not blame
him if he suddenly decided I was too much trouble.

I sighed, looking up at the walls to study the tapestries woven with ancient Highland
battle scenes in rich greens, browns, and reds. The cloth was mottled and faded with
the dust and the patina of time, but it still spoke of the weaver’s talent. When I
first came here, still raw from the inquiries after my husband’s death, I tried painting
a landscape to match. Philip hung it over the fireplace, delighted with the depiction
of his Highland home, even though I knew it wasn’t representative of my best work.
The portrait of Alana hanging in the front parlor and the wedding portrait in their
bedchamber were far more skillfully wrought. People captured my eye, my brush—not
forests or rivers or castles. And if the person somehow managed to touch my heart,
it was all the better—like my sister’s portrait, or the study I made of our nursery
maid, Betsy, or the sketch of Frederick Oliver.

I shook my head, not wanting to the think about the man. Not after what happened tonight.

I was grateful when I heard Philip approach, interrupting my morose musings, but not
so much so when I turned around.

“Well, the guests certainly did not all take our news well,” Philip declared, reaching
down to lift Alana’s hand and kiss it. “I thought we might never escape the parlor.”