“No, sir.”
“Did you hear any suspicious noises?”
Mr. Tuthill’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling in thought before returning to Gage. “No, sir. I don’t believe so.”
“What of you, Lady Lydia? Did you hear or see anything?”
She shook her head, and the curls bounced.
Gage frowned, tapping his lip with an index finger. “So when you saw Lady Godwin and the state she was in, you screamed?”
“Yes.” She nodded. Bounce. Bounce.
“And I believe I shouted,” Mr. Tuthill added.
Gage flicked a glance at him before returning his focus to Lady Lydia. “And you kept screaming?”
Nod. Bounce. Bounce.
“Even after Lady Darby arrived?”
“It was just such a frightening sight,” she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. “You’re ever so brave for investigating such a gruesome matter,” she added breathlessly. Bounce.
“Yes, well.” Gage seemed unimpressed by her adoration. “Mr. Tuthill acquitted himself quite admirably, catching you when you swooned and carrying you back to the castle.” He nodded at the baron’s second son, whose chest seemed to expand with pride.
“Oh, yes,” Lady Lydia agreed, turning toward Mr. Tuthill. “He did, indeed.”
Gage shared another humored look with me while the two young lovers stared into each other’s eyes.
“How long would you say it was until Lady Darby arrived?”
Mr. Tuthill blinked, re-collecting himself. “Only the matter of a few seconds.”
Gage’s attention swung to me, to play out this last little part of our charade. “Did you see Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill enter the maze?”
“No. And I saw no one else enter before or after me.”
He nodded. “Do you know the maze well?”
“I do,” I replied, feeling the other witnesses’ eyes on me. I suddenly had the horrible urge to giggle, and had to fight to suppress it. Gage did not help matters with his eyes twinkling at me. “I can walk straight to the center without a wrong turn. I imagine if Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill made enough errors trying to find the correct path . . .” or stopped to kiss often enough “. . . I could have easily caught up with them.”
Gage and I turned to look at them.
Mr. Tuthill cleared his throat. “We did, indeed, take several wrong turns.”
Lady Lydia’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
“How long did it take until others arrived?” Gage queried.
I glanced at Mr. Tuthill. “But a few minutes?” He nodded in agreement. “We could hear their shouts and curses as they tried to find us in the maze.”
Lady Lydia blushed brighter. “I passed out before then.”
Gage tapped a finger on the chair arm again as he thought. “Did you notice if anyone acted strangely or suspiciously?”
I furrowed my brow, trying to remember, but all I could recall was that I’d looked away from their faces. I’d been too worried about my own presence being noticed to pay much attention to anyone else. “I don’t know,” I replied haltingly. “I don’t really remember.”
Mr. Tuthill shook his head. “My attention was focused on Lady Lydia.”
Gage nodded, watching me closely. “Are you aware of anything else I should know?” he continued, focusing on Mr. Tuthill and Lady Lydia again. “Connections Lady Godwin had with the other guests? Disputes she may have had with anyone?”
Mr. Tuthill flushed faintly, and his gaze flicked to Lady Lydia. I suspected he had caught the meaning of “connections” Gage intended. “Er . . . I will think on it and get back to you,” he replied. Talk of extramarital affairs was not polite conversation for young, unwed women.
“I know Lord Godwin is out of the country,” Lady Lydia chimed in. “And Lady Stratford and she were close friends.”
Gage’s eyes flared slightly at this tidbit of knowledge. “Then she would be a good person with whom to speak. Thank you, Lady Lydia.”
She beamed. And her curls bounced.
“Well,” Mr. Tuthill proclaimed, rising to his feet. “If there is nothing more?” Apparently, he’d taken all the fawning over Gage he could handle.
Gage stood with him. “That’s all for now. Should you think of anything else, please let me know.”
“We will.” Mr. Tuthill shook his hand and then offered Lady Lydia his arm.
She allowed him to escort her from the room, even though she was gazing over her shoulder at Gage until they vanished from sight.
“When would you like to interview Lady Stratford?” I asked, avoiding his gaze while I smoothed down the skirts of my dress as I rose.
“Hold on. Before we come to that.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “Do you truly not remember how the others reacted to Lady Godwin’s murder?”
“I . . . I looked away from their faces,” I admitted.
He seemed stunned.
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to be assisting in an investigation into the matter,” I replied crossly. “I was shocked. I . . . I may have seen corpses, but I’d never seen someone who was so obviously murdered.” I worried my hands together and risked another glance at his face.
“Of course,” Gage replied consolingly. He reached out to touch my arm, and I let him, needing the contact of another person.
I swallowed. “So before or after luncheon?” I asked, harking back to my question about Lady Stratford and hoping he wouldn’t try to discourage me from joining him.
“After. I have some things I need to do first.”
I nodded.
His arm fell to his side as he stepped away, and I felt the loss of his touch more acutely than I expected.
“Until then,” he said, a faint frown marring his brow, and then quit the room.
I reached up to cradle the spot where the warmth from his hand still lingered on my gray walking dress. My skin underneath seemed to tingle a bit, and I closed my eyes to better appreciate it.
When I realized what I was doing, I jerked my hand from my arm and opened my eyes. What ridiculousness! I glanced at the settee where Lady Lydia had sat, and shook my head. I was not some silly girl with romantic notions in her head. I didn’t want to be.
And with that firm reminder, I escaped to the familiar solitude of my art studio.
CHAPTER TEN
Several hours in my studio did much to soothe my tattered nerves worn raw by the events of the last sixteen hours. The familiar roughness of the charcoal in my hand as I sketched the outline of a new portrait comforted me. Its musk of earth and ashes permeated the air, clearing away the lingering memory of blood and death. I lost myself in the sweep of lines, forgetting place and time.
That is, until Mr. Gage’s summons recalled me to it. I sighed at the sight of his message delivered by one of the maids, suddenly reluctant to return to the uncertainty of the investigation. It was easier, safer, to remain immersed in my art. But I had promised Alana I would find answers, and as I returned to reality, my own natural curiosity reasserted itself.
So I consumed several cold bites of the soup of summer squash, which the servants had brought me for luncheon probably hours before, and set out to find Mr. Gage.
I found him pacing before the fireplace in the sunny family parlor where we had interviewed Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill. His hands were clasped behind his back and his head bowed as if deep in thought. I hesitated to make myself known, taking a moment to observe his unguarded expression and the deep lines of frustration crisscrossing his brow. He seemed in that moment like a caged animal circling his enclosure.
He glanced up as he pivoted and, upon catching sight of me, wiped his face clear of all emotion. “Ah! There you are,” he declared, moving toward me.
He did not sound irritated, but impatient. He was not pleased to have been kept waiting. “Where did you disappear to?”
I was tempted to point out that he had not divulged the destination of his urgent business, but I suspected he intended to be vague about his plans earlier and would only smile enigmatically and change subjects. Perversely, it made me want to be just as mysterious. “Does it matter?” I challenged. “I’m here now. Are you ready to interview Lady Stratford?”
He smiled as if amused by my display of defiance. “It doesn’t matter. Though why you are so reluctant to admit you were in your art studio baffles me.” He reached out to swipe a finger gently across my cheek, bringing it away smudged with charcoal.
Feeling heat steal into my cheeks, I scowled and wiped my palm across my face to remove any lingering traces of the powder.
“Here, allow me.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and grasped my jaw between his thumb and forefinger.
I jerked back from his touch. “That’s not necessary.” I held my hand out for the square white cloth.
His smile widened, but he relinquished his hold on the handkerchief. I fought a blush as I studied my visage in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the door and carefully removed all traces of my art supplies, including a smudge of yellow paint from the side of my left palm. I wasn’t certain why I felt so embarrassed by my rumpled appearance. It had never much mattered to me before, but I did know that I did not like the cheeky grin stretching across Gage’s face as he stood over my shoulder watching me. I handed the cloth back to him with a curt thank-you, even though I felt more like tossing it in his face. He nodded, folded the square, and tucked it back into his pocket.
“Now,” I pronounced, crossing my arms over my chest. “Lady Stratford?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. We shall be speaking with her in her chambers.” I followed him toward the door. “I took the liberty of sending her a note requesting an audience.” He chuckled. “The countess is quite a proper bit of muslin. I knew she wouldn’t be able to rudely dismiss such a formal request.”
I frowned in confusion. “Would she have refused to be interviewed?”
“Only as a matter of principle.” His eyes twinkled. “You should know that Lady Stratford does not like me very much.”
“Well then, that’s something we have in common,” I replied tartly.
He did not seem hurt by my comment. “Come now. I know that can’t be true. You like me well enough,” he said with patronizing certainty.
I arched an eyebrow but decided not to contradict the infuriating man. “Is she waiting for us now?”
He smiled knowingly, which almost convinced me that an argument would not be such a waste of time. “Yes. And I’ll be blaming you for making us late.”
“That’s fine. I doubt she cares much for my company, either. This shall make for an interesting conversation,” I remarked dryly. I glanced up at him out of the corner of my eye. “Why are you allowing me to accompany you? I half expected you to visit Lady Stratford by yourself and inform me of it later.”
“Well,” he hedged. “As I said, she is quite staid and proper. I wasn’t certain she would see me alone. I thought the company of a female might help smooth things along.” He cleared his throat as we turned a corner. “By the way, she’s not actually aware that you will be the female accompanying me.”
I turned to look up at him.
“I may have led her to believe your sister would be the one joining us.”
I sighed. It was no wonder Lady Stratford didn’t like the man. I wondered if she would turn us away when she discovered he had duped her by bringing me instead.
“Don’t worry,” he told me confidently. “I have it all figured out.”
I doubted that, but I was willing to play along. The nasty comments Lady Stratford was sure to make about me would not be pleasurable, but I thought I might enjoy watching Gage have the door slammed in his face. When she turned us away, I would send Alana to speak with her, armed with all the questions I had for the countess. In the end, I would find a way to get the information I wanted.
Lady Stratford and her husband had been placed in a suite of rooms near the end of the southeast hall block. As we passed by, I realized that Lady Godwin’s assigned chamber had only been several doors away. I wondered if my sister had placed them in such proximity because she was aware of their friendship, or if it had been merely a happy coincidence.
The Stratfords’ suite was one of the best and largest in the castle. Each room was decorated in sumptuous shades of chocolate and pale sky blue, with gold and buttercup yellow. Most of the furniture was heavily ornamented in a rococo style, although Alana had softened the heavy gilding by simplifying the cloth and wall patterns to solids and wide, uncomplicated prints. The his and hers bedchambers were connected by two dressing rooms and a comfortable parlor.
It was at the door of this parlor that Gage paused and knocked. Lady Stratford’s maid showed us in before disappearing through the dressing room to collect her mistress.
When the countess appeared, it was clear that the maid had already informed her of my presence. Her eyes immediately narrowed on me. The soft gray of her irises had hardened to chips of ice. “Mr. Gage,” she bit out in clipped tones. “If I might have a word with you.”
I stepped away from the grouping of furnishings at the center of the room and moved to stare out a window on the opposite side of the chamber at the garden below. The wind rippled the leaves on the trees just as the chill in Lady Stratford’s voice ruffled my nerves. I hated being confronted with others’ disgust and prejudice over something they knew nothing about. It angered me and made me feel small and helpless. I bit my lip to withhold all the words burning inside of me, as I always did, and strained to hear Gage and Lady Stratford’s conversation.
“What is she doing here?” Lady Stratford hissed.
“Her sister was detained and asked her to accompany me,” Gage replied in conciliatory tones.
“I realize that Lady Cromarty believes her sister innocent as a baby lamb, a testament to her loyalty, I’m sure.” The countess didn’t sound as though she placed much value in familial devotion. “But the fact remains that most of society believes her unnatural. Is she not your prime suspect?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the old adage ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’?” he whispered.
I tensed, wondering just how much of this conversation was truth and how much fiction. Did Gage view me as the enemy?
It irritated me to live with this doubt, especially in the face of the upheaval already caused by Lady Godwin’s murder. Did I not already have enough to worry about without suspicion and betrayal being thrown into the mix?
I did not hear Lady Stratford’s response, but she must have given her consent, for Gage called me over. He smiled at me as we settled into our seats, but I could not force myself to smile back. Not in the face of his duplicity and Lady Stratford’s naked displeasure.
It was remarkable how much a disagreeable expression could sour beauty. Lady Stratford often reminded me of a china shepherdess, with her pale blonde hair, porcelain skin, and slight figure. She was both the picture of hearty country living and fragile womanhood. But a year younger than my sister, Lady Stratford had caused quite a stir the year of her debut. It was rumored that every eligible nobleman had vied for her hand, from dukes to second sons. The ton had delighted in her marriage to the roguish and elusive Earl of Stratford, happy to see a gentleman who had fought the bonds of matrimony for so many years finally caught in its net. She was certainly a diamond of the first water. However, at that moment, with her lips pursed and her eyes hard, she looked anything but lovely and soft.
“How may I help you?” she finally asked Gage, folding her hands over the lavender skirts of her gown. I had not failed
to notice she was also wearing half-mourning colors.
“It has come to my attention that you were a good friend of Lady Godwin,” he began gently. His gaze dipped to take in her dress, letting me know he had not missed the significance of the color, either. “I wondered if you might answer a few questions for me. To aid in my investigation.”
Lady Stratford lowered her eyes for a second. I watched her reaction carefully, perplexed by the nervous fidgeting of her hands. She stilled them when she caught me observing her and turned back to Gage. “I will hear your questions, though I cannot promise I will know the answers,” she replied.
He studied her for a moment and then nodded. “Of course.” He settled deeper into the chocolate and gold bergère chair. “First, I’ve been led to believe that Lord Stratford is currently in India?”
She nodded carefully. “That is correct.”
“Do you know how long ago he left England?”
She tilted her head in thought. “It was just after the first of the year. I remember I was surprised he would undertake such a journey in the midst of winter. So . . . seven, almost eight months ago now, perhaps.”
We were interrupted by the arrival of the tea tray, and Gage shared a glance with me while the maid settled the dishes. If Lord Godwin had departed England almost eight months ago, then Lady Godwin’s baby had most certainly not been her husband’s.
Lady Stratford poured the tea, politely asking how we liked ours prepared. Then she dispensed hers from a separate, smaller pot included with our tea service that I had been puzzling over. “It’s made with red raspberry leaf,” she explained when I caught her eye. “For my health.” Her eyes cast down again and a pale pink blush suffused her complexion.
“Did Lady Godwin consider accompanying her husband to India?” Gage asked, jumping right back into the conversation where we left off.
“No. At least, I don’t believe so. And never did either of them act as if she would. From the very moment Lord Godwin mentioned he would be making such a trip, it was presented as if he would go alone.”
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