Married by Moonlight

by Heather Boyd

  The sound seemed to come from all directions at once. He looked around, just as everyone else was doing, too.

  The orchestra fell silent, as did the entire room.

  Anna clutched his arm as a second anguished scream broke the silence of the room and was abruptly cut off.

  He looked up to where the sound seemed to originate. A dome ceiling loomed over them.

  Carmichael barreled into the room, a look of panic in his eyes. “What has happened?”

  Gilbert peered into the shadowed upper reaches—and saw a white gloved hand stretching lifelessly through the balustrade above them. “There,” he said as he pointed up.

  “Come on,” Carmichael urged as he sprinted away toward the main staircase.

  Gilbert hesitated, glancing at Anna. “Will you promise to remain with your father and never leave his side?”

  Her grip tightened. “What about you?”

  “I need to see what might be done.”

  “All right.”

  Gilbert ran after Carmichael, dodging slower guests intent on climbing the stairs. At the top, he found his host, Lord Thwaite, standing over the body of a fallen woman. Lord Thwaite was pale and shaking. His grip on an unknown lady at his side, protective.

  “She’s dead!” Thwaite said in a horrified voice.

  “Who is it?”

  The woman in Lord Thwaite’s arms answered after a pause, “Miss Myra Lacy. We just left her father in the card room not ten minutes ago. He was winning.”

  “Have him sent for.” Gilbert pushed forward as Carmichael gently closed Miss Lacy’s eyes. “Who found her?”

  “We did,” Lord Thwaite admitted.

  “And the screams?”

  “Mine,” the lady admitted with a little sob.

  “We did not see her at first,” he confessed, looking uncomfortable.

  Gilbert assessed the pair, weighing the odds of them being truthful. Their clothing was disordered, as if they had dressed in a rush or had been undressing. A tryst interrupted most likely, but Thwaite and the lady—not his wife—would bear further scrutiny.

  “Carmichael?”

  “She’s been slashed across the throat.” He moved a little, and Gilbert saw a long blade remained in her chest. “Sliced across the throat first, and then stabbed in the heart?”

  He peered at the blade more closely, noting the fine, almost delicate design of the thing. It was not a weapon he was familiar with. Bespoke most likely, but not in any way ornate. It would be difficult to locate the craftsman but he would let Bow Street narrow down a likely manufacturer.

  He looked around the high balcony. The location of this murder was exposed to discovery by anyone who happened to stumble up here. However, the imperfect illumination must have hid the assailant, at least at first. Given the amount of blood around the fallen woman, the killer must have some upon them, too.

  “We need to hurry,” he told Lord Thwaite. “Detain everyone.”

  The earl rushed off, shouting orders to his servants to secure the house.

  Gilbert gestured Carmichael close. “Follow him and make sure no one leaves. Also, send Davis up after he sends for the magistrate.”

  As he spoke, he caught Anna gaping from the crowd near the top of the staircase. She was with her father, but her eyes were locked on the corpse.

  “I just spoke to her tonight,” she whispered to herself. Tears slipped down her cheeks in unending streams. “She congratulated me on my betrothal. She was happy for me.”

  Anna lifted her gaze to his and she sobbed.

  Since her father could do nothing but stare in shock at poor Miss Lacy, Gilbert hurried to her and drew Anna into his arms to let her sob against his coat. She’d witnessed violence twice now, and he felt bad about that. He set his hand to the back of her head while he fumbled for a handkerchief in his pocket. “Here,” he whispered.

  She clutched the handkerchief to her face and continued to sob quietly against him.

  “Someone had to see something tonight. Someone will have Miss Lacy’s blood on their hands or clothing.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” Anna whispered urgently, pushing out of Gilbert’s arms and fleeing down the hall. He considered following but as she neared a room where two maids lingered, he hesitated.

  “Is there a retiring room up here, too?” he asked of no one in particular. “I thought it was downstairs nearer the ballroom.”

  “Lady Thwaite always has an extra room set aside upstairs for the ladies with more delicate constitutions and sensitivity to crowds,” Mrs. Hayes advised, growing pale with concern.

  “I’ll make sure Miss Beasley is all right.” With one last darting glance at the victim, Mrs. Hayes turned away, saying, “How terrible to die like that.”

  Mr. Beasley finally came out of his stupor and glanced around. “Anna?”

  “Anna felt ill, sir,” he advised Mr. Beasley.

  Gilbert glanced down the hall, anxious for Anna to reappear. Anything could happen in that room, and she’d be defenseless.

  Carmichael returned. “Davis was already at the door when I went down. The Runners have secured the house and begun inspecting every guest and servant they see for blood. Perhaps this time we will have the upper hand.”

  Mr. Beasley sucked in a sharp breath. “This time? Don’t tell me this has happened before?”

  “Shh,” Carmichael urged quickly, pulling Mr. Beasley aside. “Best not to increase the panic of the guests any further.”

  Worry gnawed at Gilbert. There might still be other deaths if they didn’t catch this killer soon. In the meantime, he was determined to ensure Anna remained safe. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her now. “Sir, might we both talk to you later in greater detail?”

  The older man nodded as he spotted Anna returning. “I’m taking my daughter home now.”

  He’d been with Mr. Beasley and Anna all night, so he could vouch for them personally. “Neither of you are suspects.”

  Gilbert smiled at Anna as she returned. She was pale and trembling still. “I will see you to your carriage but Carmichael and I must stay. We will call on you both as soon as possible.”

  She nodded but leaned heavily upon her father as they made their way down the stairs. Gilbert followed them to the carriage door and waved them off. Then he returned upstairs to view the body of poor Miss Lacy.

  “Another young life ended all too soon.” He turned away from the body after making notes on how she’d fallen. “Damnation! Who is this attacker?”

  “Miss Lacy’s dowry had been five thousand pounds,” Carmichael informed him. “She’d had many suitors, but none so far had won her hand that I’ve heard of. She was popular, and outrage will grow over her death.”

  Gilbert appreciated the information but he had a delicate question for Carmichael to answer. “Ah, I have to ask…did you kiss her too?”

  “Not this lady. I had decided on Angela by the time we met.” Carmichael’s voice broke on his last words.

  Gilbert set his hand to his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “We will have to reveal the loss of the rest of them now. Especially Angela.”

  Carmichael paled. “What will the killer do next, once everyone knows there’s been a string of deaths—retreat or become even more unpredictable?”

  “I don’t know, Carmichael. I just don’t know.”

  Chapter 16

  Gilbert and Lord Carmichael arrived just before full dawn. Both were still wearing their evening clothes as they stepped into Anna’s front parlor. Both appeared exhausted by their long night.

  Only her betrothed smiled at her, and she rushed to meet him. Last night had been a grisly scene, so much worse than the last one. Anna couldn’t close her eyes without seeing that horrible, sharp blade run through Miss Lacy’s pretty pink striped muslin gown.

  Gilbert took her hand in his and begged to know how she fared as he sank down at her side on the nearest settee meant for two.

  “Better now that you have come,” she promised
him. “And you?”

  “No worse for wear I expect.” He kissed the back of her hand gently. “I’m sorry you had to see that again,” he whispered in a voice that wouldn’t carry far.

  “The second time was worse because I knew Miss Lacy better than I did Miss Goldwell. She was nice to me, even if I wasn’t brave the way she was about finding a husband.”

  He kissed the back of her hand again and squeezed her fingers firmly. “You’re brave in the ways that count to me.”

  She looked across the room, where Carmichael and Father were talking amongst themselves in low tones. Father made a grab for Carmichael’s shoulder, but Carmichael shook off the touch. “I’m all right, sir. Let us sit and I will start from the beginning, so that Anna might hear what we say, too.”

  Her father took a chair. “Yes, that would be appreciated. It seems you have been keeping secrets from me, young man.”

  Gilbert gripped her hand a little more firmly and then laced their fingers together. She stared at their hands and smiled slightly. She felt infinitely better when he was near.

  Carmichael cleared his throat, drawing Anna’s attention from Gilbert, and he winced. “I am sorry to have not been honest with you both, but you will see the situation is far worse than I ever wanted you to know. Angela Berry is dead, Anna. She died the night of her mother’s ball,” he told her with tears in his eyes.

  “What? How?”

  “She was murdered, in a kinder fashion than Miss Goldwell, and Miss Lacy last night.”

  “I say! Is Miss Goldwell dead, too?” her father cut in, sounding very shocked.

  “Yes, Father. Two weeks ago now it was,” Anna confirmed to spare Carmichael the confession. She’d never seen her tormentor so pale before or more upset. “I am so sorry about Angela, Carmichael. I know you were very fond of her.”

  “I loved her,” he said simply. “We were to be married. I had already proposed, and we would have announced our intentions to our friends and family the night she died. She would be my wife today if someone had not struck her down.”

  “Have you hidden the truth all this time?”

  He nodded. “For good reason. I was at first suspected of killing her. I found her lying on the conservatory floor and rushed to lift her up. Her blood stained my clothes, and without proof I’d just found her, the initial investigator detained me for questioning. If not for Sorenson’s intervention, cool head and greater knowledge of investigation techniques, I might still be under a cloud of suspicion.”

  “No!” she cried. Carmichael might be many unpleasant things, but killer could never be one of them. Anna knew the Berry conservatory well. It was out of the way. Angela had suggested it was the most romantic place she knew. Anna had spent many a happy afternoon there sipping tea and trying to talk Angela out of falling in love with Carmichael. She could imagine Carmichael rushing to pick her up had she fallen, too. “It wasn’t like her to leave her mother or her friends during an entertainment they were hosting.”

  Angela had loved the noise and chaos of society just as much as Carmichael did. She had thrived on entertaining. It was Anna who slipped away to find a quiet corner when the crowd became too overwhelming.

  “No, she was very good,” Carmichael said, voice cracking with the most dreadful pain, “but I have a terrible feeling she was lured away under the pretext of meeting someone.”

  “She would only have slipped away to meet you,” Anna suggested. “She said once that she’d do anything if you would but ask. After all, your continued interest had pleased her mother to no end and made her life bearable at home at last.”

  Carmichael licked his lips. “Our arrangement was her idea in the beginning. I grew to enjoy our time together very much. Our conspiracy against her mother’s matchmaking efforts was great fun. I wished to make it more.” Carmichael bowed his head, and then shook it. “Angela was too good to be stolen away like this,” he exclaimed suddenly. “So were the others. I will find who killed her, and them.”

  Gilbert brushed his free hand over his eyes. Neither one must have slept, but she kept her attention trained on Carmichael.

  “You hinted there were other deaths last night,” Father asked.

  “Yes, sir. After Angela died, I recalled there had been other unexplained deaths. Sorenson looked into my suspicions, and now he and Bow Street believe they were victims of the very same killer.”

  She looked at Gilbert in surprise. “How did you do that?”

  “I have worked for Bow Street for a number of years.” He gestured to Carmichael. “I knew he was innocent of course, having been the recipient of his written confidences about his affection for Miss Berry for some time. His connection to the other victims is flimsy at best but it is the only lead we had to begin with.”

  “What connection?”

  “I had kissed them,” Carmichael confessed.

  Anna gasped but Father did not seem shock by that admission. “You thought you were responsible?”

  Carmichael looked away.

  “Miss Lacy’s death breaks the connection to Carmichael,” Gilbert murmured. “He did not kiss her and so her death lacks that similarity to the other murders.”

  “I see.” She looked at her betrothed more closely. He exuded confidence and familiarity in the detection of crime. He was far and away more secretive than she’d imagined. “This was the secret you kept from me?”

  “I did not want you to be afraid.” He nodded. “All the deaths we’ve connected to this murderer have occurred on Fridays during a popular ball,” Gilbert murmured as he reclaimed Anna’s hand. “There are enough deaths spanning two seasons to justify a full investigation by Bow Street.”

  She stared at Carmichael. No wonder he’d been so odd of late. “There has to be a reason the people around us are dying. These are my friends,” she cried.

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Carmichael snapped, raking his hand through his hair frantically. “Do you think I would not try to stop it if I knew how?”

  “That’s why I must remain in London,” Gilbert said with deadly seriousness, drawing her attention. “I’ve had enough experience investigating crimes that Bow Street has put me in charge of the investigation.”

  “They call him the Almighty’s bloodhound in his parish,” Carmichael remarked, moving to stand behind a single armchair. He gripped the back so tightly, Anna feared the wood would crack.

  Gilbert grimaced. “London is a more complicated situation.”

  Her father stood and poured himself a drink. Anna noticed his hands trembled as he set the decanter down. “So do you have any leads yet?”

  “We are interviewing all parties involved with the victims,” Gilbert replied. “We’ve been at this for weeks now, and still have nothing but more bodies.”

  Anna squeezed his hand tighter. “You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you. In both of you,” she said, including Lord Carmichael in her comment. He seemed quite upset over Angela, and she felt she owed him her compassion and support. “We were talking only last week about where Angela had disappeared to.”

  “We?” both Gilbert and Lord Carmichael demanded.

  “Myself and Portia Hayes are friends and confidants. We could not understand why Angela was not in London when you were obviously attending every ton event.”

  Lord Carmichael pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Steady, Carmichael,” Gilbert cautioned. “Tears won’t bring her back.”

  Lord Carmichael looked their way. “We’re going to need a wedding.”

  “A wedding?” Anna asked.

  Carmichael strolled close, staring at Gilbert. “She needs to be protected.”

  Gilbert sighed.

  Anna glanced between them. “Who does?”

  “You,” Carmichael stated. “I want you and Sorenson to marry immediately. I need certainty that you are safe.”

  Anna blushed and extracted her hand from her betrothed’s. “Carmichael, that is none of your business.”

  “It is
my business. You are my oldest friend, and I need Sorenson in his right mind. I can’t do this alone. Sorenson is always hovering over you as it is. Until Miss Lacy, the deaths have only been unmarried women in want of a husband that I have kissed.”

  “You still worry you’re to blame?” She stared at Carmichael. “You kissed me once. I suppose that’s why you think I might be next.”

  Anna’s father spluttered at her remark. She hadn’t blabbed to Father about Carmichael’s shocking behavior some years ago. She couldn’t look at her father now, or her betrothed.

  Carmichael shrugged apologetically. “There was mistletoe hanging over your head and everyone else was doing it.”

  When she risked a peek, Gilbert did not seem pleased by the news. He seemed to swell in place and become threatening. “When was this?”

  “Many years ago,” Carmichael promised. “A peck on the lips.”

  “I was fourteen, and Carmichael a pretentious eighteen years of age. I hated him for it. He only did it to spoil my memory of my first kiss, which should have been my future husband’s.”

  Carmichael appeared abashed and mumbled out an apology. “Regardless of that, marrying Sorenson will put you firmly out of harm’s way.”

  “Could put her out of harm’s way,” her betrothed cut in, correcting Carmichael. “There are no guarantees the killer has even considered her a target. I won’t coerce her to marry me. There are a few days left to make any decision about advancing the date precipitously. The killer only ever strikes on a Friday, usually at a well-attended ball or route. As long as Anna remains around people day and night, she should be quite safe.”

  “And what about the others who slip away while your attention is fixed on Anna next Friday?”

  Gilbert shifted a little. “Anna will always claim my attention. Marriage will not change that.”

  Anna felt a burst of pleasure at his words. It was one thing to have him reveal his interest in private but quite another to hear it openly declared before her father and oldest…well, what exactly should she call Carmichael now? He’d been truly horrible to her as a child, but that was then.