The Anatomist's Wife (21 page)

I turned away, wanting to escape this awkward situation, when the door opened and
in walked Celeste. She seemed fidgety and uncertain, though in all fairness, the expression
on our faces was not exactly welcoming.

“Mrs. MacLean said ya wanted ta see me?” she asked, fisting her hands in her skirt.

“Yes.” Gage cleared his throat. “Close the door and come in.”

She turned around to shut the door softly and then took two short steps into the room
before stopping. Her posture was as stiff as a statue, albeit an unstable one. The
maid had titian hair and a pink complexion. She looked more like an apple-cheeked
dairy maid than a coldhearted killer—a girl who was more likely to be talked into
a roll in the hay with a handsome stranger than be convinced to help her employer
commit murder.

“How long have you worked for Lady Stratford?” Gage asked gently, trying to put the
woman at ease.

“Since a’fore her debut,” she replied in a shaky voice. “I were her sister’s maid
a’fore that, but when Lady Alice married, she decided she wanted a different maid.
A’fore that I was but an upstairs maid.”

Gage perked up and seemed pleased to discover Celeste was talkative. “You must be
grateful her ladyship kept you for her lady’s maid when
she
wed?”

“That I am. Lady Alice thought me clumsy, but Lady Charlotte says she’s happy to have
me. ’Sides, she’s much prettier than her older sister. And she’s a countess now, and
a great lady.” Celeste raised her chin in pride, a tight smile stretching her lips.

“We’ve been told she was a good friend of Lady Godwin’s.”

Celeste’s smile fell, and she looked across the room at Faye. “She was. Took her ladyship’s
death right hard. ’Specially considerin’ . . .” She shrugged, leaving us to wonder
what she had not said.

“Especially considering what?” I asked.

The maid chewed her lip and glanced back and forth between me and Gage. “I s’pose
ya know by now that Lady Godwin was expectin’.” I nodded. “Well, her ladyship didn’t
want the babe. Least, that’s what she told my lady.” Her eyes flicked to Faye, who
did not dispute this assertion. “My lady convinced her to give the babe to a family
near Glasgow so that my lady could visit the babe whenever she stayed with her great-aunt.”

Gage folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. “She did that, even knowing
the child’s father was Lord Stratford?”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Yes. Even knowin’ that.” She rocked back on her heels. “Maybe
’specially ’
cause
of that.”

A frown puckered Faye’s brow, as if she was confused by this answer and wasn’t certain
if she should say something. Gage shifted and squared his body so that he could focus
solely on Celeste. I knew the conversation was about to become even more serious.

“Can you tell me where you were the evening of Lady Godwin’s murder?”

The maid’s body froze, and her hands tightened in her skirt. “I was tendin’ my lady.
She gets megrims. ’Specially when his lordship is not behavin’ himself,” she added
defiantly. “Her ladyship retired after dinner, and I stayed with her. We didn’t even
’ear ’bout the murder ’til the next mornin’.”

“Did anyone see you run errands for Lady Stratford that evening? Can anyone vouch
for you?” Gage pressed.

“Not after her ladyship called me ’way from the dinner table. I slept in her dressing
room case she needed me.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Yes. As I says, she gets megrims, and sometimes they be right terrible.” The maid
sounded frank and confident, but her body language told a different story. Her hands
continued to twist in the fabric of her skirt, and she rocked back on her heels several
more times. Was she always this fidgety? I wondered whether to trust her verbal or
physical cues.

Gage crossed the room to stand over Celeste, intimidating her with his height. She
shrank away from him. “Did you borrow an apron from Faye two days ago?”

Celeste’s eyes flicked to Faye and back to him again in confusion. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I had to wash mine, and m’spare was missin’,” Celeste replied cautiously.

“Did you report this to Mrs. MacLean?” Gage asked, pacing around her.

“No.” She watched dazedly as he passed behind her. “I didn’t think I needed ta.”

“Why?”

“I figured it would turn up. It didn’t seem like somethin’ somebody would go ’bout
stealin’. I got more at her ladyship’s house in London.”

“I see. Was there anything distinctive about it?”

“Uh . . . no. Just a white apron.” By now I was getting dizzy watching Gage circle
around the woman, and she looked a bit frantic. “Have you found it then? Is that what
this is all ’bout?”

“We have,” he admitted.

“Where is it? Did someone have it?”

“
Where
is not as important as
how
we found it, and how it appeared when we did.”

Celeste looked positively flummoxed by his clever twisting of words. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” he replied, halting in front of her. “Can you tell me whether Lady
Stratford embroiders?”

She blinked up at him, clearly thrown by the change of topic. “Y-yes. Yes, she does.”

“And what does she embroider?”

“Uh . . . samplers, and blankets, and shawls, and things. Oh, and once she stitched
yellow roses onto a pair of gloves. They were right pretty.”

My stomach dipped.

“She embroiders shawls?” Gage confirmed, and the maid nodded her head. “Do you know
if she stitched pink roses along the border of an ivory silk stole?”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. It happens to be one of her favorites. Loves to
wear it with her pink satin.”

His eyes met mine across the room. “Do you know what her embroidery scissors look
like?” he asked.

She looked down and licked her lips, perhaps just realizing that his questions were
not so innocent. “Um. I believe they have vines and flowers and things on ’em.”

Gage reached into his pocket. “Like this?” He held up the pair of embroidery scissors
we had found in the maze. They had been cleaned and the blood removed.

Celeste seemed to cower from Gage. “Y-yes.”

“Are these her ladyship’s scissors?”

Her eyes darted down to them and then back to his eyes. She licked her lips again.
“Well, they look very like ’em. I . . . I don’t know if that’s her pair exactly.”

I heard Faye gasp behind me and then release a string of curses in French. “You murderer!
Vous le cochon dégoûtant!
” I moved forward to intercept her before she could lunge at Celeste. “
Je découperai votre coeur!
”

“I’m not a murderer,” Celeste protested. Her voice rose in panic as if she only now
comprehended exactly what all of this questioning was about. “I’m not a murderer.
I never touched Lady Godwin. I was with my lady.”

“
Meurtrière! Meurtrière!
” Her anger quickly spent, I managed to coax Faye to lie down on her bed, where she
curled into herself and began to sob.

I glanced at Gage, who was taking all of this in with a look of careful indifference.
I couldn’t manage such cold composure. Not while my heart raced and my ears still
rang with Faye’s cries.
Murderess! Murderess!

“Lady Darby,” Gage said coolly. “Please take Celeste out into the hallway and wait
for me there.”

“I’ve done nothin’ wrong!” Celeste shouted at him.

“Then you’ll have no problem with my searching your things.”

“Go right ahead. But I’m not leavin’.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He looked at me. “All right. But stay over by the door with Lady Darby.”

Gage began rifling through her belongings, of which, fortunately, there were few.
He opened the drawers of the dresser and slammed them shut again when he found nothing.
Then he flipped through the garments in the wardrobe and searched the bedding on Celeste’s
tiny cot.

“See. Nothin’,” the maid declared belligerently.

I sighed. Such a cheeky tongue was only going to anger Mr. Gage.

He glared at her. “We’ve already found more than enough. This was simply a formality
to make certain you haven’t any more damning evidence.”

“A missin’ apron and my lady’s embroidery scissors don’t mean anythin’.”

“They do when they’re found covered in blood.”

Celeste gasped while across the room Faye whimpered. Even I cringed at the bluntness
of his words.

“That’s not true! It can’t be!” Celeste said. “I haven’t done anythin’.”

“You’re coming with us,” Gage declared, reaching out to take hold of her arm.

She squirmed against his hold, and he clamped down on her upper arm even harder. “But
wait! I . . . I have to fix her ladyship her tonic.” Her voice was desperate and her
eyes wild. “She needs it. I’m already late.”

Something in my memory clicked into place, and I halted Gage before he could drag
her out the door. “What tonic?” I questioned her. “What kind?”

“Her . . . her chasteberry tonic. She takes it every afternoon. Please, m’lady,” she
pleaded. Tears sprang to her eyes, and her lip wobbled. “I . . . I haven’t done anythin’.”

I looked up at Gage. “Do you know what chasteberry tonic is used for?”

He did not shake his head, but I could tell he was aggravated by the question, believing
it to be irrelevant. Like most males, he was clueless as to the tonic’s medicinal
properties.

“I think you should,” I told him gravely.

His gaze sharpened. “Let me place this maid under Mrs. MacLean’s supervision. And
then we’ll talk.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I
rapped twice on the parlor door to the Stratfords’ suite, and when no one answered,
rapped twice more. There was only silence inside the chamber. Celeste was sequestered
in the housekeeper’s quarters, and though I wasn’t certain where Lord Stratford and
his valet were, I strongly suspected Lady Stratford was alone in the suite. At least,
I hoped so. It would make all of this easier.

Twisting my hands in my skirts, I glanced up and down the corridor before cautiously
opening the door and peering inside. The sun-filled chamber sat empty, save for the
furnishings, but still I hesitated at the threshold, troubled by what I might discover
within. Afraid I might find that a monster
can
lurk behind even the most fragile facade.

It seemed absurd that I was not relieved by the information Celeste had given us.
After all, this was what I had wanted—to catch the murderer and remove suspicion once
and for all from myself—but I simply couldn’t feel pleased with such a result. Not
knowing that a woman like Lady Stratford could be so evil. It sent spiders crawling
up and down my spine.

I don’t know what I had been expecting.
Someone
murdered Lady Godwin and her child, and though no one at the house party had struck
me as a probable suspect, from the beginning, I had been well aware that the likely
culprit was a fellow guest. But Lady Stratford? Especially knowing what I did about
her health. That was almost beyond my comprehension. It was certainly beyond my understanding.

I shook my head, saddened and confused, and sickened by the knowledge of what I must
do. Glancing behind me once more, I stepped into the room and closed it softly behind
me. I wished Gage was with me. No matter what he said about Lady Stratford being more
comfortable speaking with a woman,
I
would be more comfortable with him by my side. I felt certain he would be better at
coaxing her to talk than I, but he insisted that I interrogate her on the matter of
the chasteberry tonic while he retrieved the embroidered shawl from the chapel cellar
and located Philip and Lord Stratford. I knew the only alternative was for me to revisit
the cellar and collect the shawl, and I had absolutely no intention of ever returning
to that foul, makeshift crypt. So in the end, my only option was to confront Lady
Stratford alone.

I wasn’t afraid that the countess would harm me, and, in any case, Gage and the others
would be joining us shortly. However, I was still distressed by the task set before
me. My hands shook as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I surveyed the
parlor. Lady Stratford’s embroidery hoop lay discarded on the blue settee where she
had let it drop when she stormed out earlier. It sat with her work, face up, and I
realized, with a jolt, that she was stitching a picture of a rocking horse. For whom?
Lady Godwin’s baby? Celeste told us Lady Stratford had arranged for the adoption of
Lady Godwin’s child and planned to visit the little girl. Would a woman do such a
thing if she planned to murder the mother and child?

I shook my head and strode across the room. There was no indication that the murder
had been premeditated. Perhaps Lady Godwin had changed her mind about the adoption
or threatened to take up with Lady Stratford’s husband again, upsetting Lady Stratford.
Who knew what a person was capable of in a moment of rage or despair?

I knocked once on the dressing-room door before entering, having already expected
to find the countess in her bedchamber through the door on the other side. Beautiful
gowns lined the walls, and delicate slippers were arranged side by side across the
floor. A simple cot stood in one corner. Perhaps Celeste hadn’t lied about sleeping
in here, or at least she’d done so on one of the subsequent nights following Lady
Godwin’s murder.

“Lady Stratford,” I called, tapping on the bedroom door. No one answered, but I was
quite certain the countess was listening. “Lady Stratford, I need to speak with you.”
There was still no reply. I sighed and leaned my head against the wood, knowing I
was going to have to say something far more ruthless to convince her to emerge. “If
you do not speak with me now, I’m afraid you will find it far more difficult to do
so when Mr. Gage and Lord Cromarty arrive. Such delicate matters really aren’t meant
for gentlemen’s ears.”

There was a moment of silence when I began to worry that even those words would not
coax her to come out. Then I heard a faint rustling and the whisper of skirts gliding
across the floor. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Lady Stratford’s irritated
face.

“What do you want?” she snapped, her mouth twisting in anger.

I was so accustomed to seeing her immaculately coiffed that the sight of her wrinkled
skirts and crooked fichu momentarily stunned me. I found myself wishing she did not
suddenly appear so young and vulnerable. Her harsh perfection would have been much
easier to confront, under the circumstances.

The reason for my shock must have been evident, for her scowl deepened and she reached
up to re-pin a pale strand of hair that had fallen from her chignon.

Recovering myself, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Gage has a few more questions he would
like you to answer. Perhaps we should return to your parlor.” Without giving her time
to reply, I turned and made my way back across the dressing room, forcing her to either
follow me or wait to discuss matters with Mr. Gage. I trusted she knew exactly what
“delicate matters” I had been referring to, and their implications, and she would
soon join me.

“What if I refuse to answer any further questions?” she challenged, trailing me through
the door to the parlor.

I sat on the brocade settee across the tea table from her pale blue one and spread
my skirts out. “That is, of course, your choice. However, I believe it is in your
best interest that you do. Remaining silent will only make you look more suspicious.”

Her frown deepened, and I could see the thoughts flickering across her gray eyes like
clouds across the silvery surface of the loch. She seemed nonplussed and uncertain
what to do. I wasn’t sure whether that was because she genuinely didn’t know what
was happening or if she had just realized we suspected her of something.

She carefully lowered herself to the cushions and moved her embroidery aside. Her
movements were strained and stiff. I could only compare them to the way she behaved
two days prior, when she had been agitated by my presence, but not forced in her movements
like she was now. I wondered what that meant. Would Lady Stratford turn violent when
cornered, as her role as murderess suggested, or would she crumble from within? I
perched cautiously on the edge of my seat, not willing to take a chance.

“Have you spoken with my husband?” she surprised me by asking.

“Not yet.”

“I told you he could answer these questions far better than I. Why do you continue
to pester me in this manner?” She fisted her hands in her lap and lifted her chin.
“I can assure you he will be most displeased when he learns how I have been mistreated.”

I wasn’t entirely certain of that. In fact, Lord Stratford seemed remarkably indifferent
to his wife’s welfare. I suspected Lady Stratford was keenly aware of this, if her
husband’s treatment of her at dinner two nights past was any indication of the state
of their marriage. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to pretend otherwise, particularly
in a situation like this. I thought I would have lied as well.

“You know we are only doing our best to uncover Lady Godwin’s murderer.” I struggled
to keep my voice calm, even as my heart pounded in my chest. “Can you blame us for
being suspicious when we discovered you lied to us about Lord Stratford being one
of Lady Godwin’s lovers?”

“I told you, that is a vicious rumor,” she snapped.

“One we have confirmed. And one we have confirmed you knew about.”

Lady Stratford’s mouth tightened into a white line.

“We have also confirmed that you knew your husband was the father of Lady Godwin’s
baby. And that you convinced Lady Godwin to give the baby to a couple living near
your great-aunt, so that you might visit the child from time to time.”

She stared back at me boldly, but I could see the edges of her composure beginning
to fray. Her chest rose and fell with each agitated breath. “You can’t have confirmed
it. Not if you haven’t spoken to Lord Stratford.”

I answered evenly, refusing to rise to her bait. “And when we talk to him? What do
you think he’s going to tell us?”

She blinked like an animal that realizes it has walked into a trap.

“Let’s cease with the denials,” I told her more sharply. “They will do you no good.
I’m afraid you have much more serious implications to contend with than simply the
effect all of this will have on your reputation.”

Lady Stratford looked startled by this proclamation. I wondered whether she was one
of those ladies who believed reputation was everything or if she truly was naive enough
to think that was the only thing at risk in this situation.

“Why did you convince Lady Godwin to give the baby up for adoption to a couple near
Glasgow?” I asked.

“Because she didn’t want the child,” she blurted, as if such a thing was unfathomable
to her. “She planned to pass it off to the housekeeper at one of her husband’s properties
to raise. She didn’t care what became of the babe.”

I could understand Lady Stratford’s distress over such a proclamation. “And this couple
actually wanted the child?”

“Yes. They have been desperate for a baby. The wife birthed a stillborn babe not long
ago and almost died herself. The midwife told her she would never be able to have
another child, so adoption was their only chance to be parents.” I heard the fervency
in the countess’s voice, the desperate need to help this nameless couple from Glasgow.
It tugged at my own heart.

“The couple lives close to your great-aunt? Did you plan to assist the child?”

She hesitated, perhaps thinking I might disapprove of her interest in a bastard child
that was not even her own. “I thought I might look in on them from time to time, just
to make certain the child was well cared for.”

I knew she was understating the matter, but I did not press her. I was well aware
that a less sympathetic gentlewoman would find her intentions untenable. “You must
have been furious with Lady Godwin,” I remarked, trying to make the comment sound
as if it was not leading. “First for bedding your husband, and then for expecting
his child.”

Lady Stratford was not completely foiled by my nonchalance, but she answered me nonetheless,
shifting awkwardly in her seat. “Yes. Yes, I was,” she answered quietly.

“How unfair it must have seemed for such a lady to be blessed with a baby when there
are so many other women who are more worthy.”

Lady Stratford stared down at her lap, twirling a diamond-and-ruby ring round and
round her finger.

“I’m quite certain that couple who were going to adopt Lady Godwin’s little girl would
have been much more deserving of . . .”

Lady Stratford’s head snapped up. “It was a little girl?” she gasped. Raw longing
shimmered in her gaze.

“Yes,” I replied, suddenly wary.

Lady Stratford lowered her head, sniffing as tears overflowed her eyes. If she had
killed Lady Godwin and taken the child from the womb, then she would know it was a
little girl. Was she feigning this emotion, or had she truly not known? Either possibility
soured my stomach.

I weighed my next words carefully. It was a terrible thing to know you wielded the
power to harm someone just with the knowledge of what rested on your tongue. I did
not like it. It gave me new respect for the manner in which Gage conducted his interrogations.
The charm he exerted was used as much for personal protection as for softening the
blow of his questions. I didn’t have that charm. All I had was an innate sensitivity
to this subject and the wisdom to cushion the blow.

Leaning toward Lady Stratford, I clutched my hands together and gentled my voice.
“You are having difficulty conceiving.” I didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was
in essence one, nonetheless. Lady Stratford glanced up at me, more in confirmation
than surprise, as more tears filled her eyes. “The chasteberry tonic, the red-raspberry-leaf
tea, even your garnet necklace.” I gestured toward the amulet dangling over her décolletage.
“They are all supposed to cure barrenness.”

The countess pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes but still
she did not respond.

“You have been married to the earl for nearly seven years,” I pressed, hating the
necessity of doing so. “And still you have not given him a child. He must be anxious
for an heir.”

Her mouth thinned into a line of annoyance. “Is that all anyone ever thinks of? My
husband’s need of an heir? What about me?” she demanded, pressing her palm to her
chest. “All I’ve ever wanted from this marriage was children. I watch as my sisters
and friends fill their homes with babies they don’t even want, and yet I remain childless.
I have suffered my husband’s attentions, and his odd remedies and methods for conception,
and still no baby grows in me. I am reminded time and time again of how I have failed
in my duties as a wife.” She sniffed. “Of all people, Lady Darby, I thought you might
understand.”

I sat back, realizing what she meant. “I don’t know whether I have difficulty conceiving,”
I admitted. “Sir Anthony visited me so rarely, I don’t think it is possible to know.”
Lady Stratford almost seemed more shocked by this revelation than anything else, and
I wondered what that said about both my attractiveness and the earl’s sexual proclivities.
“But I understood that conceiving an heir would one day become central in his thoughts,
and I would be expected to deliver on the implied promise noblemen believe we have
made when we agree to marry them.”