The Anatomist's Wife

by Anna Lee Huber

  “How long did he plan to be gone?”

  She took a dainty sip of her tea. “I can’t say. Though . . .” She tilted her head to the side in a manner I was coming to realize meant she was thinking. “Helena had mentioned something about his returning before summer’s end. But that was months ago. His plans may have changed.”

  Gage set his cup aside.

  “More tea?” she asked.

  “Uh, no, thank you.”

  His brow furrowed, and I realized he was trying to formulate his next question delicately. However, Lady Stratford perhaps did not understand this, and chose to view his expression in a more anxious light. She took another hasty sip of tea and began to fiddle with the gem dangling from her necklace. It sparkled a deep red, almost maroon—probably a garnet.

  “My lady, do you know of anyone who might have wished Lady Godwin harm?”

  Lady Stratford stiffened. “Wish her harm?” she asked vaguely.

  “Yes. Someone she competed against or feuded with? Someone who did not like her?” Gage elaborated.

  She set her tea on the table in front of her carefully and cleared her throat. “Clearly, neither of you knew Lady Godwin beyond a passing acquaintance. Because if you did, you would realize she was not the easiest person to get along with.” Lady Stratford’s eyes flicked to me. “Particularly for other women.” She licked her lips and sat back, still rolling the jewel between her fingers. “She was vain and calculating and duplicitous, and prone to make cutting remarks.” Her face had hardened in anger as she recited these not-so-positive traits about her companion.

  “Pardon me,” I said, speaking up for the first time since we entered the room. “But if Lady Godwin was so difficult, then why were you such close friends?”

  Lady Stratford smiled wearily, as if I’d just asked a very naive question. “Because it was easier to be her friend than not. Because she wanted to be close to me.”

  I studied her features now that the scowl had faded. “Because you’re beautiful?”

  Her smile turned more genuine, though tinged with a somewhat bitter amusement. “Yes. That was part of it.”

  From the first, I had seen how someone as concerned with her good looks as Lady Godwin would not want to be outshone by a beauty like Lady Stratford. It was much more pleasant to pretend that you shared the attention and admiration.

  “So Lady Godwin had many enemies?” Gage asked.

  Lady Stratford nodded hesitantly. “Yes, potentially.”

  “Any that you believe might commit murder?”

  She pressed her hands together palm to palm and stared down at her lap. “I cannot honestly say,” she replied in a soft voice. She swallowed. “It seems quite impossible that it actually happened. She may not have been well liked, but I never believed she was so hated as to be murdered.” Her arms shook slightly, and I realized she was holding her hands together to try to control her emotions. I wished she would look up so that I might see her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I know this must be difficult,” Gage said softly in sympathy.

  She nodded.

  “If I may, just a few more questions, and I will trouble you no further.”

  She took a deep breath and finally looked up, giving him permission to continue. Her eyes were shiny and rimmed in red from unshed tears.

  Gage shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It is widely known that Lady Godwin has taken lovers, particularly in the months since her husband left the country.”

  Lady Stratford did not confirm or deny this.

  “Most recently, she has been linked with Mr. Fitzpatrick.” He shifted again, and I wondered, with some amusement, whether he was about to tug on his cravat. “Are you aware of any other men with whom she has . . . carried on liaisons?”

  Lady Stratford seemed entertained by his discomfort as well. Her pale pink lips tipped up at the corners. “And what makes you think I would share any such information with you?” She raised her eyebrows in scolding.

  “Because I think one of Lady Godwin’s past lovers may have had something to do with her death.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I could have smacked Gage for all the subtlety he used in making such a statement. For all my social awkwardness and impatience with the ton, I would never have made such a bald declaration, especially to a woman who was so obviously grieving her friend, even if it was in her own restrained manner.

  Being the reserved matron she was, Lady Stratford fortunately did not burst into tears or histrionics. However, a curtain seemed to be pulled over her features, removing all trace of humor, light, and joy, leaving her cast in shadow. Her hands tightened in her lap, and she turned away to stare at the windows looking out on the garden.

  I scowled at Gage, not understanding how someone who was so well-known for his charm could be so tactless. He frowned back at me, and then tightly shook his head before focusing his gaze on Lady Stratford once again. Recognizing such a dismissal when I saw one, I bit my tongue. Perhaps he wanted to play this out as if his shocking declaration had been deliberate, but I was not convinced his nerves had not compelled him to be so blunt.

  The countess heaved a weary sigh. “I’m sure there are many here in this castle who could, and would love to, comment upon Helena’s escapades,” she said, her gaze still focused on the window. “After all, she was never very discreet. And she had a rather masculine desire to flaunt her conquests. So I suppose I would not be betraying her by telling you. Perhaps I would even be doing her a favor by relaying the information through friendly lips rather than venomous ones.” Her soft gray eyes turned to study each of us in turn as we waited patiently for her to finish. “Other than Mr. Fitzpatrick . . .” She trailed off as if she were still having difficulty answering. She swallowed. “There are only two other men in attendance who have shared her bed. If I tell you those, will that be sufficient?”

  “For now,” Gage replied gently.

  Lady Stratford nodded, understanding the words he left unspoken. Just because a jilted lover was not at Gairloch Castle did not mean he was not a suspect. He could have hired someone to carry out the murder, believing himself safely removed from discovery.

  The countess took a deep breath. “Lord Marsdale and Mr. Calvin.”

  Mr. Calvin came as somewhat of a shock, but I was definitely not surprised to hear that Lord Marsdale was on the list. The Duke of Norwich’s son was an ill-mannered swine, by whom I had already had the misfortune of being accosted twice during his stay.

  “Do you recall how long ago they were involved?” Gage asked.

  Lady Stratford tilted her head. “Marsdale was not long after Lord Godwin left for India, and Mr. Calvin perhaps some time in May or June.”

  I slid toward the edge of my seat and glanced at Gage, knowing he would realize what that meant. My excitement must have been more evident than I wished, for I turned to find Lady Stratford watching me carefully and guardedly. Something in her demeanor told me it was not fear of me as a suspect but fear of my knowledge.

  “One more question,” Gage announced, seeming oblivious to our unspoken exchange. “Was Lord Godwin aware of her affairs?”

  Lady Stratford’s eyebrows lifted. “How could he not be? But since she provided him with two sons, an heir and a spare, he pretty much allowed her to do as she wished.”

  Gage nodded and rose. “Thank you. We shall not trouble you further.”

  I followed him to the door, but a question still nagged at me. I paused on the threshold and turned back to the countess still seated on the pale blue settee. “One more thing. Did Lady Godwin confide in you what her plans were after leaving here?”

  Lady Stratford met my gaze squarely, and I knew she realized what I was really asking. I half expected her to dismiss me without replying, but she nodded her head once and spoke with q
uiet dignity. “She planned to stay at an estate owned by my great-aunt, just north of Glasgow. She said she wanted the peace and quiet.”

  I opened my mouth to thank her when her lady’s maid suddenly appeared through the door to the dressing room. “I have your chasteberry tonic, my lady.” The servant stumbled to a halt, carefully balancing the small glass full of liquid. “Oh! I beg your pardon.” She flushed a bright rose, almost as deep as the tonic. The girl had obviously believed the countess was alone.

  “I was just leaving,” I said to reassure the maid. With a nod of thanks to Lady Stratford, I closed the door.

  “What was that all about?” Gage asked, waiting for me several steps down the corridor.

  “She knew she was expecting.”

  His steps faltered. “What?”

  “Lady Stratford knew that Lady Godwin was expecting,” I reiterated, continuing down the hall.

  Gage’s expression was incredulous. “You asked her that straight out?”

  “Of course not.” I frowned. “Although, if I had, it would have been no worse than your intimating that one of her lovers killed her.”

  “I wanted to see her reaction.” His voice sounded a tad sulky for a grown man. “Besides, it got us the information we needed, didn’t it?”

  I didn’t intend to offer even the smallest amount of praise for his tactics, and I knew agreeing with him was tantamount to doing just that. “Do you really believe one of her lovers murdered her?”

  “Why not? It’s the best theory we have so far.”

  “I suppose so,” I groused. “But I don’t understand the motive for such an attack.”

  “Jealousy.”

  “Yes, but . . .” I glanced around to make sure no one was lurking nearby before continuing in a lower voice. “I think it would take an emotion far stronger than jealousy to motivate someone to . . . violate a mother and child the way the murderer did.”

  Gage surveyed our surroundings as I had, and then pulled me into an alcove flanked by two suits of armor. The one on the left gleamed, obviously having seen very little use in battle, while the other was dented and tarnished from blood, sweat, water, and time.

  “Maybe her lover was angry. If she’d dismissed him in a cruel manner, or disparaged his manhood in a public way.”

  I considered his words. “Yes, those emotions make sense for the murder, but the baby . . . ?”

  He breathed out impatiently. “Maybe . . .” He exhaled. “Maybe she was blackmailing the baby’s father somehow.”

  I had to admit that was a possibility. Lady Godwin had certainly not been the most principled individual, and it seemed highly plausible that she could have tried extortion. But still, it didn’t seem right. There were too many other factors that had not yet come into play, and I could not yet fit them into the picture.

  “What of the embroidery scissors?” I asked.

  Gage paced the short distance of the alcove and back, stroking his chin. “I don’t know. Perhaps this lover had an accomplice.”

  “Perhaps,” I reluctantly conceded.

  He sighed. “Regardless, we still need to speak with these men.”

  “I agree.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the carpet runner down the center of the corridor. “I suppose it makes sense to start with Mr. Fitzpatrick, since he was the most recent man connected with her.”

  “When do you want to do it?”

  “It’s too close to dinner to talk with him now. Maybe after, in the library; it’s likely to be empty.”

  This plan sounded as good to me as any. “All right. Shall I meet you there after the ladies and gentlemen separate for after-dinner tea and port?”

  Gage looked up at me. “I think it best that you sit this one out.”

  I lowered my brow in displeasure.

  “No matter how indiscreet Lady Godwin was,” he continued, “Fitzpatrick is a very courteous and correct gentleman. He would be most uncomfortable discussing a topic such as his relationship with the late viscountess while you are present. In fact, I think it likely he would withhold information to protect your sensibilities.”

  Gage had a point. Mr. Fitzpatrick was among the more subdued young men I had met, and if most gentlemen would have a problem speaking of such things in front of a gently reared female solely on principle, Mr. Fitzpatrick certainly would. However, I hated to be left out entirely, partly because I wanted to hear his answers, and partly because I wasn’t confident that Gage would share every detail of their conversation. Perhaps Philip and Alana trusted Mr. Gage, but I was still reluctant. Especially after the comments he’d made to Lady Stratford.

  “I see your point,” I admitted. “But I . . .”

  “No,” he stated determinedly before I could finish my sentence. “You are not taking part in this one.”

  I frowned. “You haven’t even let me . . .”

  “I will not hear your objections.” He leaned down toward my face, calm but implacable. “Lord Cromarty placed me in charge of this investigation, and I will conduct it as I see fit.”

  “Mr. Gage . . .”

  “No. And if I find you in the library, I shall throw you out.”

  I gritted my teeth, furious that he wouldn’t even allow me to explain. “You . . .”

  He turned on his heel and strode away, appearing as unperturbed as ever.

  “You buffleheaded fool!” I called out after him.

  He didn’t even acknowledge the insult I hurled at his back.

  I clenched my hands into fists, determined to thwart him in this. Taking a deep, calming breath, I knew what I had to do. And I refused to feel guilty for it. If Gage had only listened, he would not be left in the dark.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In light of recent events, and the unspoken truth that we were all essentially trapped together at Gairloch, I expected the atmosphere in the front parlor to be somewhat sedate and somber when the guests gathered there before dinner. I anticipated hushed conversations and wary glances as they studied one another and wondered who among them had murdered Lady Godwin.

  I should have known better.

  The upper class’s stubborn sense of entitlement could not be curtailed by something so mundane as murder. And as such, they had gathered in their customary, expensive evening attire to gossip and compare and enjoy Philip and Alana’s excellent hospitality with all the unconcerned joviality of those who believe tragedy and horror can never touch them. Lady Godwin’s murder was certainly dreadful, but surely she had it coming, what with her immoral behavior and all—seemed to be the consensus. And by their pointed stares in my direction, most of them still believed I was the culprit who should be brought to justice for the matter.

  I entered the parlor quietly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but just as the evening before, the effort was futile. No one had failed to note my appearance. I might as well have worn a scarlet gown rather than a lovely deep plum dress with black trim. They watched me with narrowed, mistrustful eyes and whispered to one another behind their fans. A few brave souls voiced their nasty opinions of me loud enough to be overheard, but most kept quiet—out of deference to their hosts, I had no doubt. Only Lady Westlock insisted upon volleying loud insults about me to her two closest allies, Mrs. Smythe and Lady Darlington, despite Lord Westlock’s panicked urgings for her to remain quiet. I gave their circle a wide berth and decided to find a seat on the opposite side of the room before my sister, who was edging ever closer to the Westlocks, tossed them out of the castle with her own two hands.

  I settled into a plush beige velvet chair in a quiet corner by the windows and tried to quiet the internal agitation the guests’ silent and not-so-silent accusations had caused me. I needed to focus on those assembled around me, to observe their behavior and ex
amine it for any signs of anxiety or guilt. After all, it was the only reason I had agreed to join the others for dinner instead of taking a tray in my room. But I discovered it was more difficult to concentrate than I anticipated, thriving on so little sleep the night before and a dully throbbing skull from the pain Lucy caused me while styling my hair. I wanted nothing more than to abandon the entire enterprise and lay my head down on a soft pillow and close my eyes.

  I sighed and focused on Lady Stratford, who held court on a gold brocade settee at the center of the room. She looked cool and composed in a dusky violet gown as she conversed with several other ladies. A group of men, including Lord Marsdale and Mr. Fitzpatrick, congregated on the opposite side of the room, near the grand piano, sipping predinner drinks and laughing heartily at their own jokes. I shook my head at their antics. As far away as the gentlemen were, I should not have been able to hear their crass talk so clearly across the large room if they had been speaking in a normal tone of voice.

  Alana stood flanked between the two doorways, looking lovely in a midnight-blue gown trimmed with mauve ruffles. By all appearances she seemed to be attentively listening to Mrs. Calvin, who was speaking rather animatedly with her hands. However, I could tell my sister’s attention was far away, and the irritation vibrating through her frame like a struck bell was likely directed at her husband. Her gaze darted between him, the Westlocks, and Mrs. Calvin with such speed I wondered if she wasn’t developing a headache. Positioned by the stone hearth, speaking with two other lords, Philip seemed just as aware of his wife’s antagonism and returned it full force. I glanced around the room, curious whether I was the only one who noticed the tension arcing between the two hosts.

  Gage leaned against the sideboard and nursed a glass of deep amber whiskey. One would have thought he would be mingling with the guests, trying to gain information for his investigation or, at the very least, observing them for oddities in their behavior, as I was. But instead he stood charming a trio of ladies, lapping up their adoration. I frowned at the two married ladies who touched his arm at every opportunity and giggled at his comments. Their display was nauseating, and the very idea that gentlemen actually enjoyed this behavior baffled me. I watched in puzzlement, trying to figure out why the appeal of such conduct eluded me.