The Anatomist's Wife (26 page)

Pausing in my descent of the staircase, I looked up toward the ceiling high above
as the drumming rain became deafening, echoing through the space. Its furious pounding
was like anvil strikes to my nerves. Closing my eyes, I said a silent prayer for the
storms to abate and for Gage to return safely. Then I lifted the skirts of my gown
and hurried back to my room to pass the time.

Once Gage returned, this would all be over. The wait would be the worst part.

If only I’d been right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I
waited all afternoon and into the evening. I wrote letters. I sketched. I stretched
new canvas across several empty frames, though, because of the rain, I could not prop
open the windows and finish preparing them by brushing them with gesso. I paced the
floors and tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to glance at the clock every five minutes.
But when darkness fell, transforming the cloud-strewn twilight into murky night, I
could wait no more.

Sebastian Gage had not returned to Gairloch. I didn’t know why. The rain had stopped
two hours earlier, so the weather could not be blamed for his failure to make the
thirty-minute journey back from Drumchork. Perhaps he’d been detained. Perhaps the
missing footman had put up a fight when Gage confronted him and accused him of assisting
a murderer. I hoped Gage wasn’t being too hard on the fellow. In light of the evidence
I now held, I sincerely doubted the man had anything to do with Lady Godwin’s murder
or her baby’s burial. In any case, Gage should be bringing the footman back to Gairloch,
which left me to wonder, once again, why he hadn’t appeared.

Maybe Mr. Renshaw had invited him to dinner in the village. Gage would have introduced
himself to the squire upon his arrival in Drumchork, and a dinner invitation would
likely have been forthcoming. Such a request would only be considered polite, especially
when the storms rolled through earlier. However, I couldn’t help thinking of the squire’s
two pretty daughters. I gritted my teeth. They were likely fawning over the handsome
Mr. Gage like royalty, and he was probably eating it up, relaxing and enjoying himself
while I stewed.

I squeezed my fist around the puzzle piece in my hand, feeling the wooden edges bite
into my palm. I was tired of waiting at Gage’s leisure. If he couldn’t be bothered
to present himself, then I saw no need to delay further. I would simply have to take
matters into my own hands.

I tossed the puzzle piece down on the table and marched across the room to yank the
bellpull. I wanted the truth—I
needed
it—and I was determined to have this matter resolved before I laid my head down on
the pillow. Before my loved ones spent another night under the same roof as a murderer.

I locked the letters I had taken from Lady Godwin’s room inside my jewelry box with
the bloody handkerchief for safekeeping. Then I picked up a page of foolscap and jotted
off a quick message to Gage explaining my findings and my intention to speak with
Lady Stratford. No matter how much I wished to do otherwise, I knew better than to
run off without leaving word of my whereabouts in case Gage returned to the castle
and asked for me. Lucy looked at me oddly when I instructed her to slip the note under
Gage’s door but, upon seeing my seething countenance, wisely held her tongue.

The evening air was cool for late summer, even by the Highlands’ standards. I pulled
my deep green cloak tighter around me, bowed my head to keep the gusting wind from
blowing the hood back, and struck out across the stable yard. It was littered with
black puddles, and I was forced to slow my pace to carefully pick my way around them.
I jerked my toe back as it slid into one of the inky depths, sending ripples across
the water. In the gloom, they appeared bottomless, like cavernous holes an unsuspecting
person might tumble into. I shivered and stood still as the moon slipped through a
gap in the scuttling clouds overhead and rose in the reflection of one of the pools
like a slumbering creature opening its eye. It blinked, making the air seize in my
lungs, and then was gone, disappearing behind the smoky gray clouds above that blocked
out the stars.

My heart thudded in my throat, and I considered turning back—to wait for Gage or to
ask Philip to accompany me. Surely, this could not be a good omen. But then I saw
the lantern swaying in the breeze above the door to the carriage house. Its light
beckoned me onward.

Abandoning propriety, I lifted my skirts and dashed across the yard, hurdling over
the puddles in my path. The guard watched my approach with unabashed interest. I was
certain I was giving him quite a good look at my legs, but I didn’t care. Let the
servant gawk. The creatures lurking in the shadows were far more troubling.

I lurched to a stop before the guard and tried to smile up at him disarmingly.

“Lady Darby, how can I help ye?” the footman asked. He searched the stable yard over
my shoulder, as if hoping to see someone had accompanied me.

“I wish to speak with Lady Stratford,” I informed him, still huffing from my mad dash.

The guard opened his mouth but seemed at a loss for what to say. “But . . . I’m sure . . .”

“I will speak with her,” I added before he could protest. “If you need to lock me
in with Lady Stratford or observe us while we speak, so be it. But I
will
speak with her.”

The guard frowned and looked like he still might try to object. But then he released
a long sigh. He shook his head as if in resignation. “Who’m I to complain?” he grumbled,
fumbling with the key in the lock. “His lordship won’t be takin’ it oot o’
my
hide if yer no’ supposed to be here.”

I felt a moment’s unease, knowing he spoke the truth. Philip would not be happy with
my actions—coming here alone and bullying the guard—but I comforted myself that the
end would justify the means. Once we had the real murderer behind lock and key, it
wouldn’t matter that I’d left the castle alone at night in order to secure the proof
we needed. Besides, I was with the guard now, so technically I was not alone.

The lock snicked open, and the footman pulled the lantern from the peg above and pushed
open the door. We passed through a short, musty hallway with several doors leading
off it. I glanced through a door that stood open to the right into a room cluttered
with spare carriage parts and tools. Wheels leaned against the walls and leather tacking
hung from the exposed timbers of the ceiling. An old carriage seat was shoved into
one corner, its leather cushion covered with ragged holes.

The guard stomped past a door on the left, which I suspected led into the larger part
of the building where the carriages were stored, and marched straight toward a heavy
oak door in the back. He knocked once. “Visitor,” he called before twisting a key
in the lock. “I’ll leave this’n open, but the outer door’ll have to stay locked,”
he told me apologetically.

“I understand.”

“Just knock when ye want let oot.”

I thanked him and waited for him to retreat to his post outside before approaching
the door he unlocked. Light spilled from beneath it, and I could hear hushed voices
within.

Uncertain how I would be received, I reached out and knocked hesitantly. The voices
quieted and a pair of feet shuffled toward the door. It creaked open, and Celeste’s
frightened eyes peered out through the crack.

“Lady Darby!” she gasped.

“Good evening, Celeste,” I said gently. “I was hoping I might speak with Lady Stratford.”
I tried to look past Celeste into the room, but the door blocked my view.

The maid glanced behind her, presumably to gain permission from her employer, and
I hovered for an uncomfortable beat of time while Lady Stratford exercised her prerogative
to make me wait. My nerves stretched and tautened, and I was on the verge of saying
something to force my way in when Celeste finally stepped aside and allowed me to
enter.

The bachelor quarters were smaller than I anticipated but cozy and well maintained,
albeit dark. I imagined that even during the brightest day, the room would remain
quite gloomy, for a single tiny window high up near the ceiling on the outer wall
was the only source of sunlight. As many of the bachelors I knew preferred to carouse
all night and sleep during the daylight hours, I could understand how the dearth of
windows would be preferable. It also gave Lady Stratford few options for escape.

A large bed, covered in black-and-mahogany-striped fabric, dominated the interior
wall of the room, while the opposite side of the chamber boasted a writing desk, wardrobe,
and a small breakfast table with two chairs. A sideboard rested against the wall beyond
the table. It was covered with assorted bottles of liquor, and I wondered if the countess
had given in to the urge to drink herself into oblivion. If our situations were reversed,
I certainly would have considered it. I was considering it even now, just standing
in this space.

A pair of tan leather chairs was situated before the hearth, which held prime place
in the middle of the back wall. This was where Lady Stratford sat glaring at me as
I finished my inspection of her prison.

“I hope you haven’t come here hoping to coax a confession out of me, for you won’t
get one,” she announced crisply.

I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and swallowed my impatience. The countess
had every right to be angry with me. I would have to be gentle with her. “That’s not
why I’ve come. But I do have some questions for you.”

“And why should I answer them? So far, your questions have brought me nothing but
grief.” Her voice rang with bitterness.

Ignoring the stab of guilt her words caused me, I inched closer. “Because I think
these
answers might help prove your innocence.”

Lady Stratford stared at me blankly.

“I don’t think you killed Lady Godwin,” I continued, taking the opportunity her silence
presented me. “But I think I know who did.” I moved a step closer. “However, I need
your help to prove it.”

“You . . . you don’t think I’m guilty?” she asked uncertainly.

I shook my head. “I don’t.”

Lady Stratford’s rigid posture began to crumple, and she cupped a hand over her mouth.
Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue and her complexion was pale, but even racked with
grief and detained for a crime she didn’t commit, the countess was still impeccably
coiffed, with nary a wrinkle in her gown or a hair out of place. It made me feel quite
shabby in my own crumpled plum muslin and unruly braided coronet.

I perched on the edge of the other chair. “Will you help me?”

She nodded, allowing me a glimpse of the timid hope blossoming inside her, as yet
scared to fully bloom. I wanted nothing more than to promise her that she was safe,
that everything would be all right, except I knew it never would be again. Not when
she learned what I suspected to be true.

“Do you need a moment,” I asked, pressing my hands into my lap to keep them from fidgeting.
I had waited half the day with this weight hanging over my head; I could wait a little
longer for her to gather herself.

The countess sniffed and pulled a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her
eyes. “No. No. I want this nightmare to be over with. Go ahead. Ask.”

I shifted in my seat. “First of all, do you know if Lord Stratford has visited Shropshire
recently?”

Lady Stratford blinked in confusion, clearly not having expected such a question.
“Why, yes. He went there to view some property he was considering purchasing.”

I suppressed the urge to snort. It was obvious from the countess’s expression that
when Lord Stratford spoke of property, she believed he was talking about land. Unfortunately,
I suspected this property was of a much more human variety. “When did he journey there?”

She tilted her head in thought. “A month ago, may-be two.”

I nodded. That fit with my suspicions. “Whose idea was it to accept my sister’s invitation
to Gairloch? Yours or the earl’s?”

Her brow furrowed. “Well, I thought it was mine. But now that you mention it, Derek
did seem particularly eager to attend. After I discovered Lady Godwin was going to
be present, I thought maybe that was the reason why, even though he had broken off
his affair with her in May. Am I . . .” Her eyes widened as the direction of my inquiries
became clear. “You don’t think . . .”

I held up my hand to forestall her query. “Just a few more questions. Has Lord Stratford
visited you in your rooms?” She colored. “I know it seems an indelicate question,
but I assure you it
is
relevant.”

She looked down at her hands where they were clasped in her lap. Her knuckles were
white. “Yes. He has.” Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and I could see the hurt and disillusionment
shining in their depths. “At the time, I found it odd. I even remarked upon it to
my maid.” She gestured toward Celeste, who confirmed her words with a nod. “Derek
stopped coming to me months ago—around the time Lady Godwin must have discovered she
was expecting. I . . . I had tried to convince him we should try again, but he seemed . . .
disinterested.” I could hear how much it pained her to discuss these things, but I
could not spare her feelings in this. “When he came to me several nights before Lady
Godwin’s death, I thought he’d changed his mind. Are . . . are you trying to tell
me it was for another reason entirely?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. My nerves tightened with dread. “Did you ever find him in either
your bedchamber or your dressing room at odd times? Times when he had no reason to
be there?”

Lady Stratford shook her head. “No. Not that I can recall. And Celeste never mentioned . . .”

“I did.” The maid’s soft voice rang through the room like a shout. She still stood
next to the door, as if uncertain where else to position herself.

“What?” The countess sounded genuinely shocked. “What do you mean? Why didn’t you
tell me?”

Celeste shrugged awkwardly, wringing her hands. “I didn’t know if I should,” she stammered
before turning to me. “I found his lordship in her ladyship’s bedchamber the night
of Lady Godwin’s murder. He told me he was checkin’ on her. I thought it odd, but
when I heard ’bout Lady Godwin bein’ murdered and how her body was found in the garden
that night, it seemed to make more sense. That’s why I didn’t say nothin’.”

The countess seemed momentarily nonplussed by the idea that her husband had looked
in on her while she was sleeping. Then she shook herself sharply and tossed her handkerchief
into her lap. “Enough questions! I want to know what you are implying.” Her eyes were
heavy with shadows. “Do you believe that Derek . . .” Her remaining words were swallowed
by a choked sound, as if she couldn’t bear to say them aloud. “That he . . . stood
back and allowed me to take the blame?”