The Anatomist's Wife (25 page)

He nodded rather uncertainly but did not question me further.

In an effort to avoid the other guests, I struck out for the side entrance, which
fed into the servants’ staircase and wound up toward the family hall. As the door
swung shut behind me I stumbled to a halt, suddenly realizing how dark and isolated
the stairwell was. Dim sunlight filtered through the small windows on each landing,
the only sources of light for the entire stairwell. Raindrops pinged against the glass,
echoing through the space.

I rubbed my palms down my skirts and ordered myself to stop jumping at ghosts. There
was nothing there to get me but the figments of my own imagination. I shook my head
at my foolishness and began to climb.

The stairwell was darkest at each kickback, and I found myself hurrying past each
one to get closer to the stormy light straining through the windows. One flight below
my destination, I heard a shuffle of feet on the landing below me. My heart kicked
in my chest. There had been no sound of a door opening or feet stomping up the stairs
after me. Was someone intentionally being quiet?

I didn’t want to wait and find out. Gripping the banister, I propelled myself upward
as fast as I could run.

I couldn’t hear much beyond the pounding of my footsteps and my heart, but it sounded
as if someone was pursuing me. Flinging open the door to the family wing, I darted
into the hall. I forced my steps to slow to a brisk walk, glancing over my shoulder
to see if anyone emerged from the stairwell after me.

When I reached the door to my bedchamber, my hands shook so badly I had difficulty
turning the doorknob. I slipped inside, slammed the door, and locked it. I pressed
my back against the solid oak, listening for steps outside in the hall.

Half a minute later, when nothing happened, the panic began to drain out of me. My
gasping breaths began to slow. Another minute later, I began to feel ridiculous.

I stumbled away from the door and flung my cloak over a chair in front of the hearth
to dry. I stared into the low flames crackling in the fireplace.

Had I just made up that entire pursuit in my head? I sank into the chair and scraped
a hand through my hair. I tried to think back to the moment in the stairwell when
I thought I heard someone on the landing below me, but all I could see were the darkened
corners, and feel the surge of terror pumping through my heart.

I shook my head. I needed to stop this nonsense. There was nothing to indicate that
anyone had actually been following me. If there had been a shuffle, it had doubtless
been a mouse. If there were feet pounding up the stairs behind me, it had probably
been a servant hurrying to an upper floor. I really had to stop letting my morbid
imagination run away with me. Just because I was afraid that the killer was still
running free did not mean they were running after me.

I pulled off my sodden half boots and tossed them across the room, angry at my foolishness.
Then, rising in a swirl of skirts, I yanked the cord to summon my maid, Lucy. The
bottom drawer to my escritoire stuck, as it often did when the weather was damp, and
I slammed my fist against its front panel below the handle, prying it loose. My jewelry
box lay tucked inside, between an old sketchbook and a journal I hadn’t written in
since I was twelve. Why I still kept it, I didn’t know. I carefully extracted the
bloody handkerchief from my pocket and opened the jewelry box to lay the cloth on
top. Locking the box, I slid the drawer shut, making certain the swollen wood stuck
as before.

After tucking the key inside the loose backing of the landscape painting hanging above
my desk, I settled in front of my dressing table and began to pull pins from my wilted
hair. Lucy exclaimed in horror when she saw my bedraggled appearance, and began to
fuss over me in the same way I suspected she fussed over her numerous siblings. Normally,
I found her scolding tiresome, but today it felt familiar and soothing. She helped
me to change into a plum afternoon dress with an overlay of black embroidered flowers.
It was trimmed with black lace along the wide, low neckline and long sleeves. She
pulled a brush through my thick hair and braided it into a tight coronet, which I
knew, regardless, would be falling down around my ears by nightfall. Then I devoured
the luncheon she brought me on a tray and set out to my next destination, determined
not to see danger around every corner.

Striding into the hall where many of the guests were housed, I passed Lady Bethel
and Mrs. Calvin. I returned their polite greetings and ignored the curiosity shining
in their gazes. I felt their eyes on my back and measured my steps so that the ladies
would turn the corridor long before I reached my destination. Pausing at a door near
the far end of the hall, I glanced around me to be certain no one was watching before
I slipped inside.

The room Lady Godwin had been given was decorated in shades of lavender and pearl
gray. The furnishings were dainty and the bedding and draperies covered in ribbons
and frills. It was clearly a lady’s boudoir. I could just imagine how insulted a man
like Mr. Gage or Lord Marsdale would feel if they were assigned such a chamber. They
would probably expect a willing lady to come with it.

I locked the door, so as not to be surprised in the middle of my search, and then
crossed the room to open the drapes and let in a little light and air. The chamber
smelled heavily of Lady Godwin’s cloying perfume. I noticed that much of the lady’s
luggage had been brought to the room so that Faye could perform the tedious task of
repacking all of the viscountess’s belongings for the journey back to London. I wondered
how the maid was faring. If her employer’s death hadn’t been enough of a shock, to
have the lady who so kindly offered to escort her back to England turn up as the suspected
murderer must have overwhelmed her completely.

I sorted carefully through the trunk filled with petticoats and other undergarments,
including a pair of stays that extended down over the hips. Lady Godwin must have
worn it to hide the growing swell at her waistline. Shoes, hats, gloves, and other
accessories filled another trunk; however, a thorough search revealed nothing of interest.
Her gowns still hung in the wardrobe in a rainbow of exotic colors. I had noticed
the viscountess liked color, and the more striking the shade the better.

The surface of her dressing table was covered with potions and unctions, some of which
smelled quite horrid. They all claimed to make a woman look younger, slimmer, or more
beautiful, and I was curious as to whether any of them actually worked. I found an
ornate box in one drawer and thought it might contain jewelry; however, it proved
to be filled with a rather lovely collection of delicate paper figurines. A swan,
a butterfly, a crane, and a rose—each one lovingly crafted. There was no evidence
that Lady Godwin had not created the figures herself, but I somehow knew they were
gifts. From whom, I could not begin to guess. I was intensely curious as to why the
viscountess would keep such funny little creatures and treasure them enough to carry
them with her on her travels. She had not seemed the least sentimental, but this collection
proved otherwise. I shook my head and crossed to the desk.

The surface was covered in correspondence. I thumbed through the letters, most of
which were from her husband’s solicitor or her sister in Shropshire. There were a
few bills and one short message from Lady Stratford about the arrangements at her
great-aunt’s cottage near Glasgow. Nothing to incriminate anyone. Nothing to even
hint at an illicit relationship. Just evidence of a woman who was constantly spending
money and asking for more. A woman who had a much younger sister who asked eagerly
about London and spoke of a gentleman suitor who had recently called upon her. In
fact, the single interesting bit of information the correspondence yielded was the
creator of Lady Godwin’s paper figurines—this selfsame sister, who claimed to miss
Lady Godwin so very much, and longed to see her little nephews.

I sank down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. The only thing this search had achieved
was to prove how human Lady Godwin had been. She had been more than a woman who took
far too many lovers, including her closest friend’s husband. Lady Godwin had an existence
outside of those bedrooms, a life before she met Lord Godwin, and more depth than
many of us had suspected. I almost wished she had remained that vain, unfeeling caricature
of my imagination. It made accepting her murder much easier.

I smoothed a hand over my hair and glanced down at my shoes. A piece of paper had
fallen to the floor and slid so far under the desk that only a corner peeked out.
I picked it up to set it with the rest of the correspondence, skimming it as I did
so. The words written there made me stop.

It was a letter begun by Lady Godwin and never finished. It was not addressed, but
the information it contained made it easy to guess whom the intended recipient had
been. The words jogged something in my memory, something I had read very recently,
and I began rifling through the correspondence on the desk looking for one of the
letters from Lady Godwin’s younger sister. A quick second scan of the note yielded
the connection I had been looking for.

I reeled, feeling as if all of the wind had been knocked from my lungs. It seemed
almost impossible, the events that I could suddenly see unfurling in my brain. Such
actions would require the mind of a heartless, malicious individual. I shivered. I
had conversed with just such a person, had perhaps even laughed with them, and I had
never suspected what truly lay beneath the jaded exterior.

I stared down at the two missives again. They appeared so innocuous, yet they pieced
together a tale so twisted I could scarce believe it. It was no wonder Gage had overlooked
their importance, especially when he had yet to uncover the facts that would make
sense of the words. Lady Godwin had spoken in such vague terms, I’m not certain I
would have seen any more than Gage if I had read them but two short days ago.

I thought of the letter Lady Godwin had been so eager to post to her sister—the one
Alana had so casually mentioned when she was trying to give Philip the direction of
Lady Godwin’s family. I would have given a great deal to read that missive, even though
I was quite certain I already knew what it said.

I folded the letters I did have and tucked them securely into my pocket. I swallowed,
trying to remove the revulsion that coated my throat. It filled my stomach, making
me feel tainted by the evil that continued to lurk among us. If only Gage had not
ridden to Drumchork. One glance toward the windows told me that the rain had not abated,
but increased, racing down the windows in crooked streaks. The wind stirred up white
caps on the gray waves of the loch. Gage would not be returning anytime soon.

I took a deep breath and rose unsteadily to my feet. Perhaps I should speak with Philip.
Even if he insisted on waiting for Gage’s return, at least someone else would share
this burden of knowing.

I scolded myself. That was no reason to explain my suspicions to my brother-in-law.
If I told him, it should be out of concern for him and his family’s safety. Alana
and the children still remained in the nursery, under guard, and as far as I could
tell, no one else was in danger from our murderer. Further violence would not be in
the killer’s best interest, seeing as they had gone to so much trouble to cast the
blame on Lady Stratford. It would not be right to share what I had uncovered with
Philip. He was already consumed with worry over Alana’s condition, and exhausted from
dealing with the guests, as well as Freya’s foaling. Why should he be made to suffer
any more anxiety than he already did just to ease my troubled mind? I could wait a
few more hours for Gage’s return.

Unlocking the door, I glanced back into the shadowed chamber briefly to make certain
I had not overlooked anything, and then slipped out into the hallway. When I turned
to make my way back down the corridor toward the stairs, my heart leapt into my throat.

“Faye,” I gasped, pressing a hand over my pounding heart as I leaned back weakly against
the door. “My goodness, you startled me.”

The maid blinked back at me with wide eyes. “
Pardon, Madame
.”

“No, no. It’s all right.” I laughed a bit breathlessly. “I’m just a bit jumpy today.”

The maid nodded hesitantly.

Pushing away from the door, I brushed a hand down the front of my dress. “How are
you?” I asked, remembering the girl’s predicament.

She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I will survive.”

I nodded in appreciation of her bravery. I hoped she would find a worthy new employer
upon her return to London, and quickly.

Faye’s eyes slid past me to the door.

“How is the packing coming along?” I asked, thinking quickly. The maid must be wondering
what I had been doing in Lady Godwin’s former bedchamber. “Lady Cromarty asked me
to see if you needed anything.”

The wariness did not leave her eyes. “I believe I have everything.”

I pressed my hands to my skirts, making certain the letters I had tucked inside were
still well concealed. “Well, if you think of anything, please let me know.”

She nodded.

I pasted a smile across my face, hoping it looked reassuring, and stepped away from
the door. Moving swiftly down the hall, I refused to let myself look back to see whether
Faye was watching me. It was clear she didn’t trust me or my reasons for being in
Lady Godwin’s chamber. In any case, by tomorrow the truth would be out, and any strange
actions on my part would be well justified. However, I didn’t want to give her any
reason to spread word of my visit to Lady Godwin’s chamber before Gage returned from
Drumchork. The last thing I needed was for the murderer to catch wind of my actions
and begin to wonder whether I suspected anything.