As Death Draws Near

by Anna Lee Huber

  “Thank you,” I replied, grateful she had thought to do as much. “Could you at least tell how she died?”

  “She was bashed in the back of the head.” She reached up to press a hand to her black crape veil on the right side. “Here.” She lowered her hand quickly into her lap, clenching it so that it almost disappeared inside the pure white weepers of her cuffs. “At first I thought she might have tripped and fallen, striking her head. But there were no stones or other hard objects near enough to where she lay. And . . . the fabric on her shoulder was torn. Ripped,” she clarified.

  “Oh.” The word left me on an exhale. I had not considered the possibility that the girl might have suffered another crime. One she might have lived through, for a short time anyway.

  Reverend Mother’s expression had grown grimmer as we talked, her face pale from the strain, but she never flinched from the truth. “From what I could see, I don’t believe it was taken that far. I asked Sister Mary Bernard to see if she could tell anything further, though I don’t know that she knew what to make of her observations. You might be able to draw a more decisive conclusion from the things she has to share.”

  “Of course.” I hoped she was correct. That the girl, at least, had not suffered that pain and indignity.

  Her eyes appealed to Gage. “But you understand why I felt compelled to think this wasn’t merely an accident? That someone had harmed Miss Lennox?”

  “I do,” Gage replied solemnly. “Based on what you’ve been able to tell us, I’m inclined to agree. But until we’ve investigated the matter thoroughly, we can’t accurately speculate on what happened.”

  “You must do what you think is best in order to get to the truth. It is why I wrote to the duke.” Her perfectly straight back somehow straightened further. “I only ask that you proceed with kindness and fairness. Many of our sisters, students, and staff are deeply troubled by what has happened. They do not know any better but to cower from harsh questions.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder how unpleasant and severe the local constabulary had been to make this woman feel like she had to warn us.

  Gage’s voice warmed with reassurance. “We will do our best not to unduly upset anyone. That is never our intention. But murder is a nasty business, and by its very nature disturbing. I’m afraid we cannot avoid distressing people entirely.”

  “I understand.” She inhaled wearily. “Then, would you like to begin tomorrow? You should speak with Sister Mary Bernard, and I also think you should talk to Mother Mary Fidelis. She is our mistress of postulants, and would have acted as an advisor to Miss Lennox. If anyone would have known about something that might have been worrying Miss Lennox, it would be her.”

  “Thank you.” I turned toward Mother Paul, who had observed our conversation in silence. “Would it be possible to speak with Mother Mary Paul as well?”

  Reverend Mother turned to glance at the other woman, who only looked mildly surprised. “Of course. You must speak to whomever you like. Our abbey is open to you, Lady Darby.”

  “Please, call me Mrs. Gage.” I smiled. “At least in private, if you’re not comfortable doing so elsewhere. I know you are simply extending me courtesy, but I would prefer it if you called me by my newly married name.”

  “Certainly,” she replied, her eyes traveling between Gage and me, reconsidering whatever she had already decided about us. “It was only how His Grace referred to you, so I assumed.”

  “I know. It’s one of those perplexing rules of society that I don’t entirely understand.”

  “Of course. But, Mr. Gage, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to venture no further than this parlor when you return,” Reverend Mother cautioned. “You understand? This is a convent and a girls’ boarding school. It would not do to allow a man to wander about the building, no matter how good his intentions.”

  He nodded in easy acceptance. “May I be allowed to view the orchard through which Miss Lennox walked to reach the gap in the wall?”

  “You may visit any part of the gardens and grounds you wish. It’s only the buildings that I must restrict you from entering.”

  “For the sake of thoroughness, would it also be possible to have a list of everyone who had access to the abbey or its grounds at any time during the days surrounding Miss Lennox’s murder? Nuns, boarders, gardeners, staff, workmen? And any callers who might have visited the abbey for any reason, be they guests of those living here or delivering supplies?”

  “I can do that. I gave something similar to Chief Constable Corcoran, but who knows what the man has done with it.”

  Though she didn’t say so, I could tell by the restrained tone of her voice that the reverend mother was not fond of Mr. Corcoran, and if that had not been clear, the brief flattening of Mother Paul’s mouth would have been indication enough. Both women were careful with their criticism, but it was obvious they were not pleased with their local constabulary, or else there would have been no need to request our assistance. I only hoped the chief constable had accepted their banning him from the abbey with grace; otherwise we might have an angry constabulary to contend with as well as a murder to solve.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Anderley and Bree were standing next to our hired carriage, deep in conference, when we emerged from the abbey. They both turned as we approached, and Anderley nodded to the unspoken query in Gage’s eyes.

  “Marsdale’s settled then?” Gage confirmed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Neither man hid his satisfaction at that fact, and Bree and I shared a long-suffering look.

  Evening had begun to settle in, thinning the piercing blue of the sky. Birds soared and dived overhead, seizing the opportunity to frolic in the dying rays of sunshine before they were forced to search out their nests for the coming night. I could hear a thrush singing in the trees that bordered the southwest corner of the abbey, perhaps chiding her fledglings as they fluttered and tussled across the sky nearby.

  Once we were all seated inside the coach and had set off back down the lane, I turned to Bree.

  “I dinna have much to tell,” she replied with a shake of her head. “All the sisters and the other staff I spoke wi’ seemed to like Miss Lennox, and were saddened by her death. Even sayin’ her name set one scullery maid to whimperin’ as she scrubbed oot a pan. But Sister Pip, who runs the kitchens, said no’ to mind her, she was merely simple.”

  “Sister Pip?” Gage asked, voicing the same thought that had struck me. “Was that truly her name?”

  “Nay. ’Twas Sister Mary Philippa. But all the students call her Sister Pip—apparently, they have nicknames for all the sisters—and she says that suits her just fine.”

  I nodded distractedly. “But she didn’t have anything to say about Miss Lennox’s death?”

  The corners of Bree’s lips curled in the beginnings of a smile. “Oh, she had plenty to say. They dinna say the Irish are blessed wi’ the gift o’ the gab for no reason. But none o’ it was much to do wi’ Miss Lennox or her death, ’ceptin’ how awful it was.” She paused, tilting her head. “Though she did mention she thought the undergardener may have been sweet on her, even hopeless as that was.”

  “Did she tell you why she suspected that?”

  “Nay. But she did say Miss Lennox was uncommonly pretty, so it may have been just that.”

  Gage’s expression was doubtful. “Could he truly tell that with her draped in one of those voluminous habits?”

  “But she weren’t.”

  We all turned to her in confusion.

  A little vee formed between Bree’s eyes and she hesitated, as if deciding how to explain. “Miss Lennox was still a postulant, which means she wore a simple dress, similar to what those schoolgirls were wearin’. Nuns dinna cut their hair and start wearin’ a habit and veil until aboot a year after they enter the convent and become a novice.”

&nbs
p; Clearly Bree knew much more about nuns and convents than any of the rest of us did, and I couldn’t help but wonder how. Had her grandmother been a Roman Catholic? I could tell from the wary look in her eyes that this was not something she wished to discuss now.

  Gage appeared to have intuited the same thing. “So she would have been dressed as any normal woman, if plainly.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “This changes things perceptibly.” He flicked a speaking glance at me.

  “Her body was found just outside the abbey’s property, which means it’s possible that whoever murdered her didn’t even know she was a nun,” I said, putting into words what he was thinking. “He, or she, could have believed her a member of the staff, or even a student.” That thought was somehow more upsetting. I rushed on to say, “Or perhaps he didn’t even know she was connected to the abbey in any way.” I frowned. “Though the proximity of where she was found to the abbey does make that doubtful.”

  Gage turned toward the window, deep furrows grooving his forehead. “Another possibility we have to consider is that Miss Lennox did, in fact, trip and strike her head.”

  “But what of the ripped dress?”

  “Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe her companion tried to move her, tearing the shoulder of her dress in the process.”

  “Then why haven’t they come forward to say so?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re worried about being blamed. Or perhaps they have something to hide. Something they’ll be forced to reveal by admitting their presence there.”

  “One of the other nuns?”

  Gage shrugged.

  I supposed the theory had merit. If it were true, it might be the kindest outcome all around. No murder would have been committed, only a terrible accident.

  But perhaps that’s precisely what the killer wanted us to think.

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my fingers, trying to alleviate the pain pressing behind my eyes. The past few days had been long and tiresome, and a bit of rest would do us all a world of good.

  Even as I thought it, our hired carriage slowed and turned into a long drive, which passed between the solid stone pillars of an old entrance gate standing open before winding between groves of beech and chestnut trees. The shade of the trees was so complete in the deepening twilight that I couldn’t help but lean forward to peer out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead. Then the tunnel suddenly ended, and a small yard spread before us. The coach slowed again, this time inching forward between another small white gate set between a massive stand of beech trees on the left and a great dark cedar on the right. Holly trees and briar patches crowded against the fence, blocking the sights beyond from casual view.

  As we rounded the carriage sweep of the inner yard, the rather plain but substantial edifice of the Priory finally came into view. Why it was called the Priory, I did not know, for it certainly didn’t look like one. Though to be fair, Loretto Abbey also had not looked like an abbey. I was beginning to sense a pattern, which perhaps began and ended with my antiquated medieval expectations.

  The stone manor house was covered with ivy, kept well trimmed and away from the doors and windows, which stared out at us like large eyes, gleaming with expectation in the setting sun. I knew such thoughts were fanciful, but there seemed a melancholy watchfulness about the house, as if it were waiting for something, something it was not sure would ever come. Maybe it was the silence of the air, for the tall trees surrounding it on all sides seemed to block the wind, cocooning the house in a shell of stillness.

  Several other buildings clustered around the manor, including a barn and stables. I could smell the freshly cut hay which the animals had been bedded down with, along with the crisp scent of the coming evening, and the soft perfume of crushed violets peeking through the green undergrowth at the edge of the gravel yard. When the door to the house did not open upon our arrival, Gage gestured for Anderley to proceed us down out of the carriage. He crossed the short distance to rap on the door while the rest of us descended to stare up at the slumbering façade. Even so, it took far longer for someone to answer the door than was customarily acceptable, and the shabbily dressed man who did so merely gasped and stared out at us with a rather dazed expression.

  “This is the Priory?” Gage queried when Anderley’s prodding was met with more astonished silence. “The home of Mr. Curran?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” another man bustled forward to say. This servant was at least clothed in appropriate livery, though his sandy hair needed straightening. He must have caught my glance, for he reached up to smooth it down as he pushed the other man out of the way. “Con, what are ye doin’ answerin’ the door? Get belowstairs.” He turned back to us with a tight smile. “My apologies. How can I be assistin’ ye?”

  The man seemed too young to be a butler, but the manner in which he’d taken control of the situation suggested he must be. However, his failure to recognize us or even to invite us inside was not in the least reassuring.

  Gage moved a step closer, pulling me along with him into the light spilling from the doorway. “I am Mr. Gage, and this is my wife. My father, Lord Gage, informed us that Mr. Curran had made arrangements for us to stay . . .”

  There was no need for him to finish his statement, for his words had elicited such a reaction in the butler as to be almost comical. His eyes widened in alarm, and his hand clutched at his coat pocket where I heard paper crinkle. “Mr. Gage! And . . .” He turned to me and paused in confusion. “Are ye not a lady of some kind?”

  “Lady Darby,” I replied. “But I much prefer . . .”

  “My sincerest apologies. Please, please come in.” He ushered us inside, guiding us toward the first door on the left. Then he swiveled to snap at two maids peering around a corner. “You, light the candles in the parlor. And you, fetch Mrs. Shaughnessy.” He turned back toward us with another smile. “My name’s Dempsey. We only just received Mr. Curran’s letter today, and we believed we still had several more days before yer arrival. The family has been absent for nearly six months, so we’ve been keepin’ many of the rooms closed up.”

  We paused just inside the doorway, staring at furniture covered in sheets to keep the dust off. They hovered like pale ghosts at the edges of the gloomy room as the maid moved from table to table, lighting what candles were there. Many of the sconces and holders stood empty. If this was any indication of what we would find in the rest of the house, it was a disappointing arrival indeed, particularly to my travel-weary bones.

  “So you are, in fact, not ready for us,” Gage murmured in a voice almost as fatigued as my own.

  “’Tis but the work of a moment,” the butler assured us. “We’ll whisk the cloths away and . . .”

  “What of dinner? I suppose there is nothing prepared.” His voice was not accusatory, only matter-of-fact; however, Dempsey stammered as if he had been berated.

  “Well . . . there . . . we haven’t . . .” He swallowed and finally gasped, “I’m sure somethin’ can be done.”

  It was evident now we should have come here instead of going to the abbey first. Then at least the staff would have had several hours’ notice in which to clean and air the rooms we would most need and arrange dinner. There was no way such a thing could be done in a matter of a half an hour, and our standing about watching them would only make it worse.

  My stomach grumbled and I put an embarrassed hand to it. This action seemed to galvanize Gage’s decision.

  “Does the Yellow House serve food?”

  “I . . .” Dempsey began to protest, but then seemed to realize Gage was giving us all an easy escape from this awkward situation. “Why, yes, sir. Might I recommend their lamb stew. ’Tis quite delicious.”

  “Then we shall go there for our meal. See that our bedchamber, just one, is made ready before our return. The rest can be addressed tomorrow.”

  “Aye, sir. Very good,
sir.”

  I allowed Gage to lead me back out into the growing dusk, where our trunks were being unloaded. Bree and Anderley insisted on remaining behind to see that our room and our things were handled properly. Whatever deficiencies Gage and I had detected in the staff, it was clear that Bree and Anderley were even less impressed.

  So Gage and I set off for the Yellow House and whatever sort of meal we could avail ourselves of there. I was of half a mind to request merely a bit of bread and broth, feeling too tired to stomach much more. However, once we entered the tavern lit brightly by candles and bubbling with colorful voices and the notes of a lively reel played by a small group of musicians on the far side of the crowded room, I felt my spirits revive. The room smelled of yeast, ale, and some kind of meat stew mixed with the general stench of humanity clustered together. The sweat I could ignore when there was the promising aroma of that stew.

  People stopped to look at us as we wove our way through the crowd trying to find an empty table, but I suspected this was because we were strangers, not because we actually stood out. There was a mixture of classes, some dressed in clothes as finely made as mine and Gage’s, while others appeared as if they’d come straight from the fields, the grime of a hard day’s labor staining their collars. The accents I heard were predominantly Irish, but there was also more than a few crisper English voices. One in particular made my spine stiffen.

  “Gage! Kiera!”

  We turned as one to see Lord Marsdale waving his free arm to capture our attention. The other arm was wrapped around the waist of a rather pretty, and rather buxom, Irish lass perched on his knee. I felt Gage’s hesitance. I was no happier to see the roguish marquess than he was, and slightly irritated by his use of my given name, but given our crowded surroundings, also reluctantly grateful he hadn’t yet exposed me as a lady.

  “He has a table to himself,” I pointed out, noting it seemed improbable we would find an empty one in this crush.