The Anatomist's Wife

by Anna Lee Huber

  Alana had asked me once why I liked the library loft so much, but I hadn’t been able to explain it to her. Perhaps there was some sense of peace being so high above it all, with the saint on the ceiling my closest neighbor. All I knew was that I always felt better, that my thoughts were always clearer, when I was curled up in the little space below the eaves.

  “Philip sent me to find you,” Alana said. “He wishes to speak to all of the guests in the front parlor.” She paused, and I knew her thoughts had returned to the scene in the garden. “I’m sorry you had to hear those accusations again. I would send Lady Westlock and Mrs. Smythe away except for the lateness of the hour and our distance from any decent lodging.”

  I nodded and reached back to squeeze her hand where it lay over my shoulder. Alana knew I had come here to hide from just such a thing, but I did not blame her for this evening’s outburst.

  Alana and Philip had not invited guests to Gairloch Castle since my arrival nearly sixteen months ago. When they asked my permission to throw this house party, I felt like the veriest ogre that they felt the need to do so. After all, they were the ones who sheltered me, supported me, and though they never complained, I knew the burden I brought with me. The sales of my artwork, done under an assumed name, of course, provided me with some funds, but Philip refused to take even a penny of it. He encouraged me to save it, to invest it, and he was more than happy to assist me in that regard. However, he would not take payment for my food and lodging.

  “I suppose Philip has sent for the local coroner,” I said, fidgeting with the lace trim of my gown. “And they will want to question me.”

  “Yes and no.”

  Hearing the hesitation in Alana’s voice, I looked up. Her deep blue eyes, so like my own, were clouded with worry.

  “I think we’d better hear what Philip has to say. Come on.” She groaned like a woman closer to sixty than thirty as she pushed up from the sofa.

  I allowed her to take my hand and lead me down the steep spiral staircase, as if we were still young children. Sometimes I still felt like one—hiding away in my older sister’s castle, following her instructions, as I’d done most of my life. When living with Alana, I learned long ago it was much easier to simply comply with her wishes than to argue over every last detail. Especially when the outcome of the dispute hardly mattered to me. For almost the entire past year I had obeyed her requests without question, not caring what clothes I wore or food I ate. The only part of my life in which my sister had no say was my artwork, and she knew better than to offer her opinion on that.

  The front parlor was located off the great hall near the main entrance to the castle, overlooking the circular drive and the loch beyond. It was monstrous in proportion. Philip’s grandmother had decided the former drawing room was too small, so she had removed the wall between it and the parlor to create one cavernous chamber. The shades of Cromarty livery, scarlet and ebony, adorned the room, intermixed with neutrals and a liberal sprinkling of gilding and mirrors. It was the showpiece of Gairloch Castle, and, having been redecorated during the time of Georgian overindulgence, hideous. I always felt that I had wandered into some monstrosity of French rococo excess. Alana agreed but had yet to work up the nerve to tackle the daunting space.

  The buzz of agitated voices increased as we stepped through the door. I had done my best to stand in Alana’s shadow, hovering behind her as she stepped to the side just within the doorway, but apparently my efforts to go unnoticed had been in vain. Some of the guests’ eyes narrowed into suspicious glares as they leaned toward one another, whispering about me. Though I could not hear their words, the skin at the back of my neck prickled, for I knew the accusations being bandied about me. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach.

  Most of the guests seemed to be present, but not all. I noticed Lady Stratford was missing, though her wayward husband, the Earl of Stratford, stood near the sideboard with several other gentlemen, including the Marquess of Marsdale, drinking my brother-in-law’s fine whiskey. Philip’s cousin, Caroline, was also absent, as well as many of the other young, unwed females.

  Lord Westlock and the other gentlemen Philip had invited specifically to discuss business matters were gathered near the hearth, while their wives sat on the arrangement of furniture before them, gossiping and sending me spiteful glances.

  I shifted uncomfortably, wondering how long we would have to wait for Philip to address us. I considered going to search for him, but then he entered the room through the second doorway. He glanced briefly around the room at those assembled, before nodding to Alana and me.

  As he moved forward to address the group, I noticed for the first time the man lurking behind him, though why I should be surprised I didn’t know. Of course, Mr. Gage would be eager to hover about Philip. He wasn’t one to miss being at the center of attention.

  I felt a pulse of annoyance, of dislike for the popular rogue, and wondered what he and Philip had been discussing that had so delayed them. Was Philip allowing Mr. Gage to conduct an investigation? I hoped Philip realized that just because Mr. Gage’s father was skilled in such matters, it did not mean his son knew how to conduct a proper inquiry.

  “If I could have your attention, please.” Philip raised his voice to be heard over the rumble of voices. “This has been a long and unpleasant evening, and I’m sure you would all like to retire to your chambers, so I will make this as brief as possible.”

  Their attention caught, the room fell silent.

  “First of all, I know you are all concerned with the tragedy that befell Lady Godwin this evening, and I want to assure you that everything possible is being done to apprehend the culprit.” Philip’s gaze swept calmly over everyone as he spoke, as reassuring as any of his words. “Lady Godwin’s body has been secured, and a pair of riders has been dispatched to collect the appropriate authorities from Inverness.”

  “Inverness?” Lord Westlock snapped, clearly voicing what was on the minds of everyone else as they turned to whisper to one another in horror. Even I was taken aback by the news. “But that’s at least two days’ hard ride to the southeast,” the silver-haired baron protested.

  Philip lifted his hands to calm the excited murmurs. “I’m well aware. But, unfortunately, we have no other choice. The closest procurator fiscals are located in Fort William and Inverness, and both are several days’ journey from here.”

  “But aren’t you the local magistrate? Can’t you adjudicate?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Philip replied with a sad shake of his head. “The crime happened on my property. If it were theft, or even the demise of a servant, perhaps I could handle matters. But with Lady Godwin being a viscountess and her husband in India, I cannot adjudicate over this unfortunate event. My only recourse was to send for the procurator fiscal at Inverness.”

  “But that means . . .” Mr. Fitzpatrick’s eyes darted nervously between Philip and the other guests. ”He won’t arrive for another four days.”

  Philip seemed reluctant to admit this, but he really had no choice. “Yes.”

  The other guests all began talking at once, arguing with one another about the absurdity of living so far from civilization. The pitch of their voices increased with their panic.

  “But, see here,” one gentleman demanded. “This has no effect on us. My wife and I are leaving at first light.”

  Several others chimed in with their agreement.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Philip interrupted.

  “What do you mean?” someone asked.

  I watched as Philip visibly steeled himself. “Until the procurator fiscal arrives, and is able to investigate the murder and interview any potential witnesses, none of you will be allowed to leave.”

  “But why?” Lady Darlington asked. “I haven’t witnessed anything.”

&n
bsp; Philip turned to look at her. “You may not realize you have until you are questioned.”

  “But how could we?” Lord Marsdale argued with a flippant smirk. “Surely the murderer isn’t one of us.”

  The guests turned to stare at one another, wide-eyed, as if realizing for the first time the other unspoken reason that Philip could not let any of them leave. Alana reached over to grip my hand.

  “This is ridiculous,” another gentleman declared. “I’m no murderer. And I won’t be treated like one.”

  And that statement set everyone off arguing again.

  “Please.” Philip’s countenance was growing more and more haggard with each pronouncement. “Everyone, let’s remain calm. No one is accusing anyone of any crime yet. But I must take steps to secure the witnesses, and yes, possible suspects, until the authorities reach us.” He looked directly at the ladies. “Now, I realize that you are understandably apprehensive. That is why I ask that you do not go off alone. Keep in pairs, though groups of three or four would be best. And instruct your servants to do the same.”

  I shivered, thinking of the number of times I had taken to the countryside alone, especially in the last few days since the house-party guests had arrived.

  “In the meantime . . .” He glanced back at Mr. Gage, and I felt something inside of me clench with dread. “I’ve asked Mr. Gage to conduct an inquiry of his own into the matter. So I must ask all of you to cooperate with him fully.”

  “I can tell you right now who’s responsible, no need for an inquiry,” Lady Westlock muttered under her breath, loud enough for most to hear. Her spiteful gaze bored into me.

  Alana stiffened beside me. “Come,” she told me with a nudge toward the door. “It’s time for us to leave. We’ll wait for Philip in his study.”

  Feeling his eyes on me, I glanced up to find Mr. Gage watching me intently as we exited the room. I wanted to snap back, to defend myself, but I knew now was not the time, and that few, if any of them, would listen to me. So I followed my sister sullenly from the room, angry to find myself once again in such a defensive position.

  Philip’s study was in a room nestled between the library and the family parlor at the back of the castle. It was not particularly large, especially when compared to the chambers adjoining it, but it was cozy and comfortable. I had spent more than one cold winter night curled up with a book in one of the two red wingback chairs while my sister claimed the other and Philip worked at his desk. The large stone fireplace and low plastered ceilings enabled the room to hold much more heat than any of the places we normally spent our evenings.

  Alana sank into one of the chairs while I slowly paced the perimeter of the room. I was too rattled to relax while waiting for Philip to appear. Would the guests’ accusations make my brother-in-law begin to doubt my innocence? Would he finally tire of sheltering me? I knew he was a good man—and did not believe me mad so much as eccentric—but he and his family had suffered a great deal of ridicule on my behalf. I would not blame him if he suddenly decided I was too much trouble.

  I sighed, looking up at the walls to study the tapestries woven with ancient Highland battle scenes in rich greens, browns, and reds. The cloth was mottled and faded with the dust and the patina of time, but it still spoke of the weaver’s talent. When I first came here, still raw from the inquiries after my husband’s death, I tried painting a landscape to match. Philip hung it over the fireplace, delighted with the depiction of his Highland home, even though I knew it wasn’t representative of my best work. The portrait of Alana hanging in the front parlor and the wedding portrait in their bedchamber were far more skillfully wrought. People captured my eye, my brush—not forests or rivers or castles. And if the person somehow managed to touch my heart, it was all the better—like my sister’s portrait, or the study I made of our nursery maid, Betsy, or the sketch of Frederick Oliver.

  I shook my head, not wanting to the think about the man. Not after what happened tonight.

  I was grateful when I heard Philip approach, interrupting my morose musings, but not so much so when I turned around.

  “Well, the guests certainly did not all take our news well,” Philip declared, reaching down to lift Alana’s hand and kiss it. “I thought we might never escape the parlor.”

  Mr. Gage appeared just behind my brother-in-law’s shoulder, and his gaze immediately searched out mine. I resisted the urge to scowl at him, knowing my displeasure would only fuel his obvious suspicion.

  “Kiera, why dinna you take a seat,” Philip suggested, pulling my eyes away from Mr. Gage’s pale blue ones. Philip’s brogue had deepened, as I’d noticed it often did when he was tired. Like most aristocratic Scots, his accent had been educated out of him, until he sounded like any upper-class Englishman. But on nights like the one when Alana had nursed their son, Malcolm, through a dangerous fever while Philip and I sat up waiting for news, by morning his accent was as thick as any Highlander’s.

  I thought about arguing, but seeing my brother-in-law’s obvious fatigue and the warm regard with which he looked upon me, I decided to obey. Things could not be so bad if he still viewed me in such a manner. Philip might have a seat in the House of Lords, but he could never be duplicitous. Unlike Mr. Gage. From all I’d witnessed, deceit and charm seemed the hallmarks of his trade.

  “In any case, whether they like it or not, I’ve delivered my instructions.” Philip propped one leg up on the corner of his desk and scraped a hand down his face, bristling over the stubble beginning to show there. “Now let’s hope they can remain calm and keep their heads about them until the procurator fiscal from Inverness arrives.” He sounded doubtful that was possible.

  “Speaking of which, do you know where Lady Godwin’s family lives?” he asked his wife. “I dinna think I’ve ever heard the lady speak of her kin. I sent a letter to be posted to Lord Godwin with the servants riding for Inverness, but who knows how long it’ll take to reach him in India.”

  She tilted her head in thought. “She asked me to send a footman to meet the mail coach in Drumchork this morning with a letter for her sister.”

  I glanced at Alana in curious surprise. Lady Godwin must have been quite eager for that letter to reach her sister if she’d asked Alana to send a footman especially to meet the mail coach.

  “I believe the girl lives in . . . Shropshire?” She shook her head in frustration. “Perhaps the footman will remember the letter’s exact direction.”

  “’Tis no matter.” Philip shrugged. “I’m sure one of the other guests will know if the footman can’t recall. Mr. Gage can ask them about it.”

  “Ah, yes, I heard you say you’ve asked Mr. Gage to begin an inquiry of his own into the matter.” Alana examined the man before us with the same curiosity I felt. “Have you conducted many inquiries, Mr. Gage?” Her tone was laced with light curiosity, but I knew my sister nursed the same skepticism I did.

  I pressed my hands against my thighs, rumpling the fine Parisian-blue muslin between my fingers, grateful she had voiced the same question I had been struggling not to ask.

  Mr. Gage, meanwhile, appeared perfectly at ease in his dark evening clothes, leaning against the wall near the window, his arms crossed over his chest. “I have assisted my father many times.”

  Alana glanced at me. We both knew what that meant.

  Mr. Gage’s face twisted subtly in irritation before smoothing out. “I assure you, I am more than capable of handling this investigation. You ladies have nothing to worry about.”

  I was not fast enough to suppress my snort and was forced to raise my hand to my mouth and cough to try to cover it. Mr. Gage was not fooled, for his brow darkened.

  “Are you all right?” Philip asked, raising a single eyebrow in chastisement.

  “Of course,” I replied, glancing at Alana, who was studying the red and white floral pattern o
n her goldenrod skirts intensely. I suspected she was trying not to laugh.

  “Good. Because I have a favor to ask of you.”

  My eyes jumped back to my brother-in-law. My back stiffened when I saw his troubled frown. Whatever the favor was, Philip did not like asking it.

  I swallowed carefully before nodding for him to continue.

  “I’ve asked Mr. Gage to conduct the investigation, but I would like you to assist him.”

  My eyes widened.

  “What?” Mr. Gage exclaimed, straightening from his practiced slouch.

  Alana reacted no better. “Are you daft?”

  “Now wait.” Philip raised his hands. “Hear me out.”

  I kept my lips firmly shut, trying to suppress the quaking I felt in my stomach as I waited for his next expected words. Alana’s mouth was also taut, but more from anger than fear.

  Philip sighed. “No matter how tragic the circumstances, Kiera does have experience with this sort of thing.”

  “Philip!” Alana scolded.

  “I’m not forcing her to do it, Alana. I’m simply askin’,” he argued. “The local surgeon passed less than a month ago, and they’ve yet to replace him. Otherwise, I would’ve sent word for him to come. While Gage has often assisted his father, he has little experience with murder.” He gestured absently toward the man, who scowled. “If we’re gonna be trapped here for four days or more with all o’ these guests, and likely our murderer, I’d like to make every effort to catch him in case there’s a chance he intends to strike again.”

  I suppressed a shiver, straining to keep my reaction from the others’ notice. Would the killer attack someone else? I blinked slowly, remembering the gruesome sight of Lady Godwin’s body. What kind of madman did we have on our hands?

  Alana pressed her palms to her stomach and shook her head in bewilderment. “I . . . I hadn’t thought of that. I heard you say as much to the others, but . . .” Her troubled gaze lifted to her husband. “Are the children safe?” She suddenly looked frantic. Nothing could disturb my sister so except concern for her children.