The only person who was truly inconvenienced by the marquess’s continued presence was Anderley, who was forced to ride up top with the coachman. Given the fair weather, I thought he might not mind, but seeing the furtive looks he sent Marsdale’s way, it was clear I was wrong. Knowing what I did now about Anderley’s penchant for making his displeasure known and felt, I couldn’t help speculating on how he would manage that in this case.
I didn’t have long to wait. After our first stop at a coaching inn to stretch our legs and use the necessities, Marsdale spent half an hour squirming fitfully. I bit my lip, trying to work out the source of his discomfort. When finally he coaxed Bree, who was seated next to him, to check the back of his cravat, she pulled out a burr which had become buried in the folds.
“How the devil did that get there?” he remarked.
None of us responded, though I heard Gage clear his throat, and when Bree turned toward the window, I could see she was suppressing a smile.
Much of the rest of the journey passed without incident, though it was warm and not altogether comfortable, even with Gage’s shoulder to lean on. Because Gage had elected to take the Circular Road, we traveled through several swaths of open country where the view from our windows was quite lovely— green hills, and fields of wheat, and clear rippling streams. West of Dublin, we passed several artillery barracks, the dreaded stone block of Kilmainham Jail, and the Royal Hospital with its tall central spire. Then the road crossed over and ran alongside a wide canal, busy with barges, before sweeping away to the north toward the city. Soon after, we finally turned to the south, crossing the canal once again and plunging deeper into the impossibly green, wooded landscape for which Ireland was so well known.
Just when I began to wonder how much farther we had to go before we reached Rathfarnham, the sound of the carriage wheels changed as we rolled across the stone surface of a bridge. Over the clatter of the wheels, I could hear the rushing waters of the River Dodder, and leaned forward to stare out through the branches of the ash and alder trees overhanging it, largely blocking our view of the tributary. Our coachman had informed us in his lilting tongue that the river was the boundary of Rathfarnham village and the old Rathfarnham Demesne. Here the roadside gradually gave way to more homes and businesses. Next to the river on the right stood the sprawling wooden structures of a mill, and then the stolid block of a gray stone manor house. The imposing walls of a gate lodge which, no doubt, led to some other manor rose up to our left, before the beginning of a tidy row of shops that stretched along either side of the lane.
Our carriage slowed to a crawl, giving us a better glimpse of the town, as well as its people, bustling to and fro in the afternoon sun. The villagers barely spared us a glance. I supposed because our carriage wasn’t the only coach and six on the street, though there were far more single-horse carts and buggies, pulled just as often by mules and donkeys, as black town coaches. An arched opening in an otherwise plain stone wall on the right marked the entrance to a graveyard blocked by black iron gates, I presumed to separate the living from the dead.
Only two shops stood between this sober reminder of mortality and the barracks of the county constabulary, situated at the corner of a narrow lane. Several horses were tethered at the front of the billet, their heads buried in troughs. With the street in front of the building so occupied, our coachman guided the carriage toward the opposite corner, where the parish church stood in all its Georgian splendor. Its tall spire reached up as if to pierce the sky, towering above everything around it. We slowed to a stop next to a swath of manicured shrubs and bright flowerbeds buzzing with bees.
I glanced at Gage, expecting him to issue some sort of instructions before we alighted, but his gaze was focused on the scene outside my window. I could tell from the pucker between his brows that something was troubling him, but before I could ask what, he suddenly reached for the door. “Wait here,” was all the explanation he offered as he stepped out.
We heard him conferring softly with the coachman, though Bree and Marsdale gave no indication they could make out his words any better than I could. A moment later, he climbed back into the coach and we set off down the road again.
“I thought you wished to consult with the chief constable,” I queried, confused by this sudden change in our plans.
“I did. But upon seeing how many people would witness our first stop in Rathfarnham being at the constabulary, I decided that might not be in our best interest, or that of our investigation.”
I turned to peer out the window at the villagers again, several of whom now paused to take note of our passing carriage. Their heads tilted together in speculation.
“Aye. An’ the other half o’ the village would ken ye went to the Peelers by sundown.” Bree shook her head. “The Irish dinna trust the guard.”
“True enough.” Gage’s eyes looked a question, but he did not ask it.
“Her grandmother was Irish,” I explained. And then, lest Bree feel awkward, I added. “As was mine.”
“I’d forgotten that,” he remarked. “Your mother’s mother?”
“Yes. She was born north of Dublin, but she moved to Scotland to live with an aunt and uncle when she was young.” I turned to look out the window as the road swerved to the east, and the tall trees lining the road thinned enough to provide a glimpse of a square white tower. “She didn’t often speak of Ireland. Though I was only five when she died. So it’s possible I simply don’t recall.”
My grandmother, Lady Rutherford, had been a formidable and fascinating woman. Even as a young child, I had seen the way others watched her. With her white hair, and bright lapis lazuli eyes—the same shade as mine—and her musical voice, she had still possessed the ability to charm men half her age, though it had been obvious she had adored only my grandfather until the day she died. There had been some scandal over their marriage because of her lineage. It was ridiculous. Yes, she could trace her ancestors back to the ancient Irish kings, but she also claimed blood from English nobles, part of the Ascendancy who had been granted Irish land confiscated by the Crown during one of Ireland’s unsuccessful seventeenth-century revolts. As far as I could tell, it was pure snobbery, possibly because my grandmother refused to hide the lilt that still colored her voice. The lilt my grandfather so loved.
“So you have relatives here in Ireland?” Gage persisted, unaware of my thoughts.
I glanced back at him. “I suppose. But I’m afraid I don’t know where or even who they are.” The truth was, it had been a long time since I’d thought of the Irish branch of my mother’s family. I didn’t even know for certain how my grandmother had felt about her relatives, though I had a very vague sense that she was happy to leave them in the past.
“So where are we going?” I asked, returning to the matter at hand. “The cottage where we’ll be staying? The Priory?” At least, that was what Lord Gage had called it.
“I thought we’d pay a visit to the abbey first. We’ll be passing it anyway, and I’d like to speak with the mother superior to find out what details she can tell us as soon as possible.” Gage’s eyes cut to mine. “Besides, didn’t you say time was of the essence in regards to certain pieces of evidence?”
I knew he was speaking of the body. We’d not been given the exact date of the murder, and I’d expressed worry over the amount of decomposition the nun’s corpse might have already undergone, particularly in the summer heat. At a guess, I estimated at least a week had passed, and I was already bracing myself for the level of putrefaction I would be forced to confront.
I swallowed and turned away. “At this point, another hour won’t make much of a difference. It’s still going to be extremely unpleasant.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marsdale wince, guessing correctly what evidence we were referring to.
“Well, regardless, I’d like to visit the abbey first,” Gage declared before giving him a hard glare. “Mars
dale, would you like me to have the carriage stop at this tavern?” He tipped his head toward the window, where outside we were passing a thin, three-story building painted the shade of ochre with brown trim. “The Yellow House” was emblazoned above the door and windows in gold letters.
We’d waited the entire trip for Marsdale to tell us where to convey him, but since we’d turned on the road leading south, I’d begun to have a sneaking suspicion we were not going to be rid of him so easily. Though why he should wish to linger with us was beyond my fathom. Surely the marquess would enjoy whatever entertainments could be found in Dublin city far more than those here in the countryside. To be fair, he had been surprisingly quiet much of the journey, and he’d kept the majority of his ribald humor to himself, but I didn’t trust this good behavior to last.
“No. I know a fellow who lives nearby. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy to take me in.” His voice was lighthearted enough that I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t, not until he’d actually been delivered to this friend.
Evidently, Gage felt the same way. “Then the coachman can deliver you to this friend while we speak to the mother superior.”
“No need for that. I can join you and have the carriage take me once you’re settled at this Priory you mentioned.” He smiled his most amiable smile. “I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you.”
Bree scoffed at this last comment, continuing to stare out the window.
I pressed my lips together to hide my amusement. However, Gage was focused on something I’d missed.
“You are not entering the abbey with us, Marsdale.”
Some of his nonchalance began to slip. “Why not? I could be of assistance.”
Gage arched an eyebrow at the absurdity of that statement. “How exactly? By questioning the nuns?” His voice was flat, suggesting nothing overtly, but I felt my cheeks heat at the hidden implication.
Marsdale’s teeth flashed in a wide grin. “I bet I could charm them out of quite a lot. But no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Regardless, I’m not going to allow you to make a nuisance of yourself.” His mouth twisted. “At least, not any more than you already have.”
“Oh, come now,” he wheedled. “I’m quite capable of behaving myself when the situation warrants it. In fact, I’ve been very well mannered this entire carriage ride. You know I have.”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. He sounded like nothing so much as a little boy trying to persuade us he deserved a special treat.
Gage was equally unimpressed. “That may be so, but that doesn’t mean I trust you to keep a civil and courteous tongue while we’re at the abbey.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Marsdale snapped. “I’m not going to seduce the nuns.”
“I should hope not.” Gage turned to stare out the window in a bored manner. “Regardless, you’re not going to be given the opportunity.”
Marsdale’s mouth turned down in frustration, but he made no further arguments. It seemed the matter was dismissed.
We continued past the Yellow House following the line of trees and shrubbery which separated us from the tall white tower I’d seen earlier. A short distance from the tavern there was another gap in the vegetation. This one revealed a tiny stream or mill race which had run under the road and emptied into a large pond. Beyond that stood the white tower, one of four matching turrets that projected symmetrically from each corner of a large four-story square building. I decided this must be Rathfarnham Castle. Our coachman had told us about it at our last stop when I’d asked him how much he knew about our intended destination. His knowledge was limited, but he was aware of there being a castle which the village had initially been established to serve.
A short distance later, the road ended abruptly at a cluster of small cottages that appeared to have seen better days. We were forced to turn either left into almost a leafy tunnel or right in the direction our driver guided the carriage, heading south again for another quarter mile. Here on our left stood a black wrought iron gate flanked with gray block pillars. As the carriage slowed and turned onto the gravel before the gate, I had a brief glimpse of the black and gold seals hanging from the center of each which read “Loretto Abbey.”
We had been waiting for about a minute for someone inside the grounds to come open the tall gates for us to enter, when Marsdale suddenly spoke from the corner where he sat silently stewing. “She’s my cousin.”
All three of us turned our heads sharply to look at him.
Marsdale glowered at us when we didn’t reply. “Miss Lennox. The girl you say was murdered. She’s my cousin.”
I didn’t know whether to think this was some peculiar trick to convince us to let him join us inside the abbey or the truth.
“She’s your cousin?” Gage attempted to clarify.
“Yes. Though on her father’s side. I’m no relation to Wellington.” Who was related to her through her mother.
Gage and I shared a look, communicating our mutual mistrust and suspicion.
“I see.” Gage settled deeper into the squabs, clasping his hands in his lap as he studied the marquess. “And you didn’t think to inform us of this until now?”
Marsdale’s eyes cut to the window, where a bee buzzed about the frame and then flew away. “Yes, well. It seemed a dashed awkward thing to discuss.”
“Is that really why you were in Whitehaven?” I asked.
“No. I told you the truth about that. I didn’t know your voyage to Ireland had anything to do with my cousin until you mentioned her on the boat.” His mouth twisted in self-deprecation. “Didn’t even know she had entered a convent, let alone that she was dead.”
“Then you weren’t close?”
“I don’t think I can even tell you the last time I saw her.” He shot me another wry glance. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.” His brow furrowed and his voice softened. “But I was rather fond of her, in my own way.”
I watched the play of emotions across his face and realized they were genuine. They made the boorish and selfish marquess somehow more likable, though I was sure he would have hated to hear me say so. “That’s why you sounded like you were choking. On the boat. You weren’t holding back laughter but shock and distress.”
Marsdale didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. I already knew it was true.
“You could have told us then that she was your cousin,” Gage pointed out.
“I could have. But I didn’t. And then it seemed it would be better if I kept it to myself, so I didn’t have to explain why I kept quiet. As you’re making me do now.”
Gage was not swayed by this display of frustration. “You’re only telling us now so that we’ll let you join us in our interview with the mother superior, but I still don’t think that would be a good idea.”
His dark eyes flashed. “Dash it, Gage! She’s my cousin. I have every right to hear how she died and why.”
“Perhaps. But that’s not what I meant.” The lines around Gage’s mouth had grown tight, and I shifted uncomfortably, knowing of what he spoke. Bree’s hands clenched in her lap.
Marsdale seemed intent on arguing, but then comprehension dawned in his eyes. He swallowed before speaking in a flat voice. “I could remain in the parlor.”
Gage shook his head as he replied, not ungently. “Today’s visit is going to be unpleasant for a number of reasons. You do not want to join us. I assure you. Your cousin would not want it.”
Marsdale’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, turning his eyes blindly toward the window.
We all fell silent, brooding on what was to come. It was as if a shadow had fallen over our carriage even though the sun still shone bright on the stone and gravel outside.
We waited what seemed like a quarter of an hour for a nun to walk down the long front drive to open the gate. I saw her standing to the side in her black habit, watching as we passed. T
he grass on either side of the lane was trimmed and evenly spaced with short evergreens no more than a dozen years old, except for one which stood tall in the distance, casting its shade over a small building with a cross above its door.
The abbey itself was nothing like what I’d expected. Rather than the cold, stolid stone and the soaring heights to be found in the ruins of abbeys like Dryburgh and Kelso, which stood near my childhood home in the Borders region of Scotland and England, here sat a quaint Georgian manor house. Built of warm red brick seven bays wide, it better resembled the home of a prosperous country squire than that of a religious institution. This was clearly not a medieval structure, but a far more modern establishment, and as such, the melodramatic Gothic scenarios which had played in my head since I heard of the nun’s death fled.
At the center of the building, a double stair built with the same stone as the gateposts swept up to form a small terrace with a white balustrade before the main door. This door was fashioned of a warm oak, and topped by a classically inspired pediment. Below the terrace, at ground level, stood another door painted gray to blend in with its surroundings, which likely led into the kitchens and old servants’ quarters. It was this door that opened first and then swiftly shut again before another sister emerged onto the terrace above. Her hands were tucked inside the black linen serge sleeves of her habit.
As Gage climbed out of our conveyance, I turned to Bree. “Will you join us?”
She seemed to falter for a fraction of a second before answering, though it was clear from the look in her eyes when she did that she knew what I was really asking. “Aye, m’lady.”
I studied her a moment longer, wondering at that hesitation. Perhaps she was unsettled by our earlier conversation with Marsdale, but that was unlike Bree. She had iron nerves, forged from her past—some of which I knew, and some that I only guessed at. In the few months she’d been employed as my maid, she normally seemed quite eager to help with an investigation. I supposed it was wrong for me to presume that would always be the case, but in this instance, I didn’t think that’s where the uncertainty lay.
As Death Draws Near Page 5
