Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery)

by Huber, AnnaLee

  I stared across the flickering flame at the man, wondering what it was he wasn’t telling us. He was deliberately holding something back, almost toying with us. I scowled, liking him even less than I had before.

  A stray draft of cold air from somewhere suddenly blew across the back of my neck, making the hairs there stand up on end. I shivered and wrapped my arms tighter around me. And as I did so, Donovan’s gaze shifted from Gage to burrow into my corner of the settee. His eyes still gleamed with smug amusement, but I could see a flicker of something else in their depths. Was it anticipation?

  “Why do you view Mac’s protectiveness as a bad thing? Isn’t that his job? And yours, for that matter?” Gage asked, still trying to probe Donovan for answers.

  “Aye. But you wouldna see me cleanin’ up what I shouldn’t. Or pretendin’ the things that have happened haven’t.”

  “What are you implying?” Gage demanded crossly.

  Donovan leveled his gaze at him. “I willna say. You’ll have to ask Mac. But when ye do, ye might wanna ask him aboot the walks he and his lordship take doon by the water.”

  I sat up straighter at his mention of the firth. Just what was he hinting at? We knew Will liked to walk there. Michael had told us as much. So why the intimation that there could be something troubling about those outings?

  I looked at Gage fully for the first time since we’d taken our seats in the shadowy parlor. His eyes showed the same confusion, though he was doing a much better job of hiding it than I was. He studied Donovan across the table, and I could tell he didn’t like the other man’s smug certainty either. If Donovan knew something, he should simply tell us, not make vague insinuations and gloat over our lack of comprehension.

  “Is there anythin’ else?” he asked.

  Gage’s expression was hard. “No. Thank you for answering our questions, Mr. Donovan. You are free to go.”

  I bit my tongue as he rose from his seat, bowed almost mockingly, and walked around us to exit the room. When the door clicked shut, I turned on Gage. “Why didn’t you press him?”

  “Because he was only toying with us. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he had no intention of telling us more. Only smirking about it.” He scowled at the table. “Besides, I’m not entirely certain I believe anything he says.” His pale blue eyes lifted to mine, appearing soft gray in the gloom. “He’s hiding something. I know you sensed it, too.”

  I didn’t deny it. “What do you think it is?”

  His mouth tightened into a thin line. “I don’t know. But he definitely didn’t like us prying into his past. Did you see how wary he became when I asked him about his previous patients?”

  “Then why didn’t you push him harder?” I demanded.

  His eyes flashed. “Because I didn’t know what to ask. Poking around an old wound is worse than useless if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Subjects will only withdraw, and they’ll be more reluctant than before to let you meddle where they don’t want you.”

  I frowned, but had to concede his point.

  “Perhaps Michael’s queries into Donovan’s references will lead us somewhere. But in the meantime, I think our next course of action must be to question Mac to see if there is any truth in Donovan’s words. Depending on how Mac reacts, we may have our answer.”

  “You want to question him now?” It had only been about a quarter of an hour since the irascible man had slammed the door in our faces.

  Gage rose to lean over the table and blow out the brace of candles. “What better time than when his temper is less than even? It may lead him to say more than he usually would.”

  The smoking wicks made my nose wrinkle. “That or he’ll refuse to cooperate.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, I wasn’t far off.

  The muscle in Mac’s cheek had jumped when he answered the door to our knock, and again when Gage had insisted on speaking to him, but he had bowed to the order. He had directed us to sit in the parlor and asked, or rather, more accurately, threatened us, to speak in low voices so as not to wake Will, who was sleeping in the next room. From the way Will had looked when we visited him that morning, the exhaustion that had dragged at him, I wasn’t surprised to hear he was resting. But I was surprised by the almost tender expression I glimpsed on Mac’s face as he peered through the bedchamber door to check on him. However, by the time he turned back to us, his features had returned to looking stony and unyielding.

  That jaw muscle jumped again the moment Gage started peppering him with questions and small talk, and now even his neck was rigid. His answers all measured three words or less, and he bit them out in the most belligerent tones, until Gage questioned aloud whether he was truly qualified to be caring for a man in Will’s condition. That set a fire blazing in his dark eyes.

  “I been lookin’ after Cap’n Dalmay since he was fifteen. I followed him to school, and then into the cavalry. Looked after him, patched him up, and made sure he came home again. I stayed wi’ him at Swinton Lodge ’til he was taken, and I’ll be wi’ him ’til I die. No one cares for him better.”

  “What did you do before you became his valet?” Gage asked. It was a legitimate question, for I certainly couldn’t see him as a footman, the normal route to such a position.

  He glared at Gage. “Worked in the stables.”

  “That’s a strange leap of position.”

  “Aye.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Cap’n Dalmay chose me.”

  Apparently we were back to short answers.

  Gage tilted his head. “Where did you work during the nine years of Lord Dalmay’s confinement?”

  “The stables.”

  “Did you know where Lord Dalmay was being held?”

  “Nay,” Mac answered forcefully. “I wasna there the day he was taken. The housekeeper told me he went wi’ his father, so I hurried here. But the ole Lord Dalmay . . .” he seemed barely able to speak the former baron’s name “. . . said he wrote a letter sayin’ he were goin’ away.”

  “And you believed him?”

  He shook his head. “Cap’n Dalmay wasna goin’ anywhere, and if he were, he’d ha’ taken me wi’ him.” He narrowed his eyes. “No, I kenned something was wrong. Searched for him, even found oot aboot a carriage that was at Swinton. Trailed it to Edinburgh, and lost its track.” His voice lowered in defeat at the last, and I could tell from the shame in his eyes that he felt guilty he’d not tried harder.

  But remorse could be a double-edged sword, making us lash out at those who made us feel such regret. How was it for Mac?

  Gage laced his fingers together in his lap, a motion I knew meant he was on to something. “So you feel a responsibility to Lord Dalmay?”

  “Aye,” Mac answered more calmly.

  “A need to protect him?”

  He nodded his head once.

  “Would do almost anything to see him kept safe from further harm?”

  “Aye.”

  “Would you lie for him?”

  I held my breath as Gage dropped the question into the silent room.

  Mac’s wrinkled face folded into deeper lines and his scraggly gray eyebrows lowered over his eyes. Gage didn’t re-pose the question, but stared at the older man, ordering him to answer. For a moment, I felt convinced Mac wouldn’t speak, but then he raised his chin in challenge.

  “You’re askin’ the wrong question.”

  Gage arched his eyebrows.

  “Aye, I just might lie for him. But have I?” He paused, making us wait. “Nay.”

  I blew out my breath in a rush of air, not knowing if I believed him.

  “Are we done?” he snapped. “I’ve his lordship’s dinner to see to.”

  “One more question,” Gage replied calmly. “I’ve been told that Lord Dalmay likes to take walks down by the firth.”r />
  Mac’s face stiffened. “Aye. He needs the light and fresh air.”

  “I can understand that. The view is quite spectacular.”

  I studied Gage out of the corner of my eye, wondering where these questions were leading.

  “Miss Remmington admitted she likes to stroll there as well. Have you and Lord Dalmay ever encountered her there?”

  Mac’s expression was stony again, but this time it was fueled far less by anger than by some other emotion. “Aye,” he bit out.

  “I believe she meets her friend Miss Wallace down there.” Gage paused, letting that knowledge sink in. My stomach clenched, suddenly seeing what he was hinting at. I had to resist the urge to reach out and smack him. I knew we were supposed to be proving either Will’s innocence or his culpability in the girl’s disappearance, but I had been hoping it was the former. If Gage was able to establish that Will had known her . . . That certainly would not prove his guilt, but it would put a large dent in his defense.

  “Did you by chance have the pleasure of making her acquaintance?” Gage finished asking Mac.

  “Nay. I’m afraid no’.”

  He answered with a convincing amount of indifference, but rather than sounding truthful it had the opposite effect. My heart sank.

  “She’s the missing girl, no?” he surprised me by asking.

  “Yes.” Gage’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How did you know about her?”

  Mac glowered at him. “Servants do talk. Everyone kens aboot her.”

  He rose to his feet, signaling it was time for us to leave. I was reluctant to depart without seeing Will, especially in light of this most recent worrying discovery.

  “Could I just look in on him?” I asked.

  Mac scowled down at me.

  “I promise not to wake him. I just . . . want to see for myself he’s well.”

  Something in my voice or my expression must have won him over, for he reluctantly nodded, leading me to the door. He eased it open and I peered through the gap.

  William lay on his back in the middle of the bed. His face was turned to the firelight, which limned the eyelashes resting against his cheeks in gold. One leg was bent beneath the covers and his left hand lay draped over his middle. My heart warmed at the sight of him like this—so peaceful, his face unlined by trouble. A soft smile curled my lips as I silently wished him sweet dreams.

  I glanced up to thank Mac, only to discover he had been watching me the entire time. A strange expression marred his brow and, unable to decipher it, I was about to simply turn away when he spoke.

  “I remember you,” he murmured softly. “You’re the lass he tutored, who lived o’er the Tweed.”

  I nodded.

  His face cleared of the remaining hostility that had been stamped there since our return to Will’s chamber, and he bobbed his head in respect—his version of a tug to his forelock, I suspected.

  I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, glad to know the gruff man now understood I truly was a friend to Will, and then turned to go.

  Gage was waiting for me by the outer door, his back turned to me. I preceded him through the door, feeling my ire rise with each step down the corridor, but I waited until we were almost to the end of the hall before I turned on him.

  “What was that?” I demanded.

  I was surprised by the answering anger that flashed in his eyes. “Just following a hunch,” he responded in clipped tones. His long stride swiftly outdistanced me, and I had to struggle to keep up.

  Suddenly unwilling to do so, I halted in midstride. If we were going to have an argument, I would rather it be here in this deserted corridor than in one of the more public parts of the house. “When did you realize what Donovan had been hinting at?”

  Gage whirled around. He stared at me for a moment, his gaze difficult to read in the flickering light of the wall sconces, before marching back to me. “As we were speaking with Mac.”

  “And you couldn’t have waited to ask him?” My voice rose with my anger.

  He frowned and stepped toward me, crowding me closer to the wall. “Why? Why should I have waited, Kiera?”

  “S-so that we could have discussed it first,” I stammered out. I lifted my chin, determined to show him I was not intimidated.

  “The truth is the truth, is it not? And that is why we took up this investigation, isn’t it? To discover the truth about this missing girl, and whether Lord Dalmay was involved in her disappearance?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “But, nothing,” he replied sharply. “You cannot arrange an inquiry to suit your purposes. You must be open-minded and impartial, taking into account all evidence, whether you like it or not; otherwise, the result is flawed.” He leaned in even closer, his pale gaze boring into mine. “And we both know what happens when the results are flawed.”

  “Oh, is that why you dismissed my doubts so readily during our investigation at Gairloch?” I sneered, pressing my hands back against the wall so that I could rise up on the balls of my feet to meet his gaze more evenly. I didn’t want to admit that his words had struck a chord, that I was scared Will might be guilty.

  “Your doubts were based on intuition, not evidence. And I have already apologized for that twice now. I will not do so again.”

  “But you will not tell me why. Why, Gage? Why did you turn your back on me?” I heard the hurt creeping into my voice and shook it aside. “After all, the truth is the truth, is it not?” I snapped, throwing his words back in his face.

  I gasped as he pushed forward and flattened me against the wall, his hands splayed on either side of my head. He glared down at me and I glared back, pouring all of my rage, frustration, and pain into my gaze.

  Why couldn’t he be honest with me? Why was that so difficult? I wasn’t a demanding person. And I certainly didn’t expect much from him. I knew he couldn’t give me what I had only begun to suspect I secretly wanted in the deepest recesses of my heart. All I needed was his honesty, and perhaps a little of his trust. Was that so much to ask?

  Whether Gage could read my expression or not I didn’t know, but his own became more conflicted. His pupils dilated, swallowing the flecks of silver that sparkled when he was angry or amused. His body, which had been rigid with fury, softened, and the next thing I knew, his hands cradled my head and he kissed me.

  Whether this went on for seconds or minutes, I don’t know, but by the time he lifted his mouth from mine, I was tingling from head to toe. I leaned against the wall, afraid my knees wouldn’t hold me up if I tried to step away from it. Gage continued to cradle the back of my neck in his hand as he gazed down at me, our breath sawing in and out of our lungs in unison. I was too dazed to form words and it pleased me that Gage seemed similarly affected.

  I’m not certain what either of us would have said next had the sound of a lock turning not interrupted us. He stepped back just before a footman entered through the hall door carrying a tray of food. The footman jumped at the sight of us, almost spilling the contents of Will’s dinner all over the floor. Fortunately his reflexes were quick, and Gage was sufficiently recovered to mumble some sort of pleasantry while ushering me through the door.

  We were silent on the stairs, both of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Mine mostly ran the gamut of what one was supposed to say after being kissed breathless in a hallway—it was a novel experience for me. I was afraid that Gage, on the other hand, being far more experienced, was trying to come up with an apology or a reason why he could never do so again. I didn’t want to hear either.

  And in the end, I didn’t have to, for Lord Keswick was standing at the base of the stairs, already dressed for dinner. He asked Gage a question, and I excused myself to go change, hurrying down the hall away from the men before Gage could catch up with me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After dinner, a rather uncomfortable affair for me, b
eing seated next to Gage as I was, we gathered in the drawing room, where the butler entered a few moments later with a pair of notes delivered late from Edinburgh. The first was for me, and I took it up eagerly, having been expecting word from Philip and Alana of their safe arrival. The second was handed to Gage, who accepted it with a frown.

  I opened my letter and gave it a cursory glance to see that it was indeed from my brother-in-law, saying they had reached their town house in Charlotte Square. I told the others as much and then excused myself to sit at the dainty writing desk in the corner to finish reading the missive.

  Philip assured me that Alana and the children were now settled, and they were already feeling better for arriving home at their journey’s end. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that my sister was probably tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle at her feet and a warm cup of tea on the nightstand beside her. Philip would take care of her. And I trusted he would write me should any of her new physician’s instructions prove questionable, as he promised in his letter. I smiled. Alana must have told him about my terse directives.

  However, the last paragraph of Philip’s missive proved the most interesting. He had already uncovered a small bit of information about Dr. Sloane, and from an unexpected source—his servants. Apparently several of the housemaids had heard gossip about him from the servants in the neighboring town houses.

  It appears Dr. Sloane has developed something of a fearful reputation for being interested in unusual subjects. Rumor has it that a young maid in a household on Princes Street was examined and taken up by Dr. Sloane because of her marked stammer and extreme shyness. Where this maid was said to have gone, and from which establishment she was to have come from, the maids could not say. I do not know if there is any way of verifying this information, but, regardless, this Dr. Sloane seems to be viewed by the servants as a figure to be feared.

  I frowned, turning to stare at the tapestry that hung on the wall to my left as I considered Philip’s words, but the sight of Gage seated at the larger writing table in the opposite corner of the room made my thoughts pause. His arms were crossed over his chest and his face was tight with displeasure as he glared down at the letter on the desk in front of him where he had dropped it. He eyed it like an offensive piece of rubbish that he knew he must take care of but wished he could simply turn his back on and ignore. I couldn’t help but wonder whom it was from, and what it said that so aggravated him.