A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  “I thought there was something telling in your reaction to it. And Lord Edward’s as well.”

  His face was grim. “If I’m not very much mistaken, I believe there was some sort of marking inside it.”

  Which might have explained why Lord Edward had so swiftly identified the corpse. Helmswick was already on his mind. But was the boot truly confirmation, or had it merely planted the seed of suggestion?

  Probably both. For why would another man be wearing Helmswick’s boots? There was nothing to suggest someone had deliberately set out to obscure the identity of the body. That had all been done naturally. Even the fact that we had stumbled across the body before it resembled the skeletons surrounding it had been pure chance. Given that, such a ploy didn’t make sense.

  “What of the chip in his tooth?” Gage asked, tapping at the shell of his hardboiled egg. “Was Lady Helmswick aware of it?”

  “I forgot to ask her,” I admitted, cradling my cup—the tea having grown tepid. “Truthfully, I suspect it was done at the time of death or just before or after, but I shall ask her anyway. It can’t rule him out, but it could urge the matter toward confirmation.”

  “What is the staff saying belowstairs?” he asked our servants.

  Bree and Anderley exchanged a speaking glance across the expanse of the counterpane, their first that was not filled with tension, but rather weary resignation.

  “They don’t say much,” Anderley said. “Not around us and the other guests’ servants. But I overheard two of the footmen talking about how no one goes down to the cellars. Did you know they call it the doom?” he interjected in disbelief.

  We nodded.

  “Well, they said no one goes down there except the coal heavers.” He paused. “And the duke’s sons.”

  “Yes, I gather it was a great lark when they were boys, as it would be for any rowdy, inquisitive group of young lads.” Gage glanced up from his food. “Or were they implying they spend time down there even now?”

  Anderley shrugged his shoulders. “The footmen ended their conversation rather swiftly when Tait entered the room, so I can’t say.”

  “Then what was that look the two of you shared just now?” I gestured between them with my free hand as I took a sip of tea. “What else are they saying?”

  They shared another glance, but Bree was the one to answer. “Some think it’s the ghost o’ that monk.”

  “Friar Thatch?”

  She nodded.

  This time it was Gage and I who shared a speaking look, rife with cynicism.

  “They think he killed the man and left his body in the crypt as some sort o’ sacrifice or offerin’.”

  “In that case, it would have made much more sense for the good friar to have left him on the remains of the altar in the ruins of the abbey,” Gage muttered dryly.

  Bree frowned. “I’m only repeatin’ what the maids were whisperin’. I didna say it made sense.”

  “We know,” I assured her. Bree might be more superstitious than some, but she would never seriously consider something so nonsensical. “Is there any reason for them to suspect such an outlandish thing? After all, even the wildest tales usually originate from something—a morbid piece of history, a strange feature in the landscape, an unexplained disappearance.” If our time on the mysterious moors of Dartmoor this past summer had taught me anything, it was that myths and folklore had power. And that they often took on a life of their own, either aided by the ill intentions of humans or despite them.

  “I think I ken what you mean,” Bree ruminated thoughtfully, as I knew she would. “In this instance, I dinna ken. At least, no’ noo. But I can find out.”

  I nodded. “Do that.”

  “I did have one thought,” Anderley ventured as a lull settled over our conversation, and we all turned to him in interest. “If that body truly is Lord Helmswick, how is it that no one has reported him missing?” He glanced to each of us in question. “Even if he was supposed to go to Paris, surely someone would have noticed. His valet, for instance. If his employer has been lying dead in the crypt below this castle, then where is he?”

  “That’s a good question.” Gage tilted his head quizzically. “Are you acquainted with Helmswick’s valet?”

  “Slightly,” he replied with a lift of one shoulder. This wasn’t surprising. Many of the upper classes’ personal servants seemed to be acquainted with one another, and Anderley had been valeting long enough for Gage to have encountered most of them.

  “Was he loyal to Helmswick?”

  “I wouldn’t say Warren was so much loyal to Helmswick, as aware that if he ever tried to seek other employment, the earl would blacken his character.” His expression left no doubt what he thought of Helmswick as an employer. “Warren was browbeaten by Helmswick, who would make him scramble to complete the most trivial of tasks.”

  “Then if he was sent ahead to Paris to await his employer’s arrival, might he have remained silent when he did not appear?”

  “Perhaps for a time, and I can’t blame him. It would have been a welcome respite. For a few days,” he emphasized. “But you said Helmswick departed from here four weeks ago.” He shook his head. “Warren would never have remained silent for that long.”

  Gage took one last drink from his cup of coffee before setting it down with finality. “Then, if this body proves to be Helmswick’s, or it proves we cannot rule him out, then you should be prepared to set out for his estate. Perhaps someone there will have the answers we seek. It’s not far from here, I believe,” he added, turning toward me.

  “Haddington,” I supplied, setting down my own half-eaten piece of toast, unable to stomach another bite as the last one turned to ash.

  Gage opened his mouth to say more, but I spoke over him.

  “If it comes to that, you will need to be very careful, Anderley.”

  He looked at me with an intent gleam in his eyes, having heard the concern in my voice.

  “The cholera has spread to that town.” I flicked a glance at my husband. “That’s why Lady Helmswick and her children have been staying here. They were fearful of just such a thing.”

  Anderley’s gaze dipped vaguely toward my rounded belly before refocusing on my face.

  “Yes,” I answered to his unspoken query. “But I am also worried for you.”

  A weighted silence fell over the room, one none of us was comfortable with, as evidenced by the manner in which we all fidgeted. It was Gage who finally broke it.

  “Well then, the day is already advancing, and I suggest we not try our luck further than we already have.” He turned toward me, his expression grave. “Are you ready?”

  I inhaled a shallow breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He nodded tightly. I knew that if he could take this task from me, he would. But I was the one with the medical knowledge and experience, and I had realized some time ago that it was better I put it to good use than waste it. Let the pain I had endured be turned to something worthy. Unmasking murderers, and providing peace and justice to their loved ones, certainly fit that description.

  He slid from the bed and followed Anderley into the sitting room connecting our bedchambers to dress. Bree stepped forward as the door shut behind them, her face rigid with suppressed emotion. By the manner in which she surveyed the food left on my tray, registering how little I’d eaten, I knew part of her worry was for me. For once, she did not scold me. Perhaps she realized the same thing I did. In regard to the commission I was about to undertake, a full stomach would not be an asset.

  However, I also suspected I was not the only reason for her disquiet. My mention of the cholera had also unsettled her. I had seen how white her face had grown. But what I couldn’t decide was whether it was the disease itself that upset her, or the fear that Anderley might be exposed to it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  An hour later, I s
tood with my arms submerged to the elbows in a basin of cold water. I watched the icy liquid turn pink as I scrubbed the evidence of my recent efforts from my hands. Despite the gloves I wore, blood and other fluids always seemed to seep through to my skin.

  During my time sketching my late husband’s dissections, I had rarely touched the cadavers he lectured to me over. But during the course of our investigations, I did not have the dubious luxury of allowing someone else to prod and manipulate the limbs. At first this had caused me great distress, but I had grown steadily more comfortable with the duties of our calling. Now the sight and touch of dead flesh did not revolt me as before.

  But the odor of decay still threatened to overpower me, particularly with the heightened sense of smell that my being heavy with child brought with it. I paused in my ministrations, swallowing against an intense swell of nausea.

  Having decided my hands were as clean as they were ever going to get, I reached for a fresh towel, clutching it close to my body with my stiff, reddened fingers. Then I stepped from the antechamber where the body had been stored into the larger wine cellar. The dim room was lined with wooden shelves and covered in bottles of various liquors, from whisky to brandy and Madeira. In one corner stood kegs of ale and even beer, most made at the castle’s own brewery. The must and dust of the castle walls and the sweet aroma of the wood filled my nostrils, replacing the stench from the other room, and I breathed deeply, taking it eagerly into my lungs.

  The apron I had worn over the woolen black nun’s habit had caught the gore from such a close examination of the body, but I still wouldn’t wager on its cleanliness. So when Gage joined me from the other room, shutting the antechamber up tight, I urged him to unfasten the garment at the back of my neck. He set the lantern he was holding down on a small table which held a lamp and the boots that had belonged to the victim.

  I had found little of significance during my study of the corpse. Much of the evidence I’d hoped to find was already gone—either devoured by scavengers or sullied by decomposition. I could not tell if there had been a struggle. The tissue that might have revealed defensive wounds was missing. However, I did confirm that the cause of death was from blunt force trauma to the head, just as we’d initially suspected, so he might have been struck from behind without ever knowing the attack was coming. It was also evident, from the wear on the heel of the boot which had remained on the corpse, as well as from the torn stocking and ragged heel of the other foot, that he had been dragged to his final resting place.

  As for the chipped tooth, it appeared to be recently damaged, for the edges were jagged and not worn. I told Gage as much, as he rolled the habit upward as I’d directed, trapping whatever splatter it might have accumulated inside its folds, and then lifted it over my head.

  “We’ll still need to ask Lady Helmswick about the tooth,” he remarked as I pointed toward the burlap sack Bree had located.

  “Of course, but at least we’ll be able to anticipate her answer.”

  “Anything else of note?” he asked, diverting his gaze as he stuffed the habit in the sack.

  Knowing him as well as I did, I could tell he felt ashamed that he’d had to step away from the table and allow me to finish my examination alone. The putrid smells rising from the corpse had made him gag and nearly cast up his accounts. A fact which would have made me lose the limited contents of my stomach as well, since I was already struggling. To his credit, he had not left the room but had turned his attention to the boots and other pieces of clothing we had removed from the body. Most of those items had been replaced in the canvas sack we’d found the corpse tucked inside of within the crypt so that my examination of the body would be less noticeable should Mr. Rodgers insist on viewing the corpse. Then we closed up the canvas as best we could before cleaning ourselves.

  “Perhaps,” I hedged as I wrapped my arms around myself. The capped sleeves of my blue-green dress had been practical for this morning’s purposes, but they were not very warm.

  Gage glanced at me in interest.

  “The chest and abdomen showed the very beginnings of what I believe to be spider angiomas,” I replied hesitantly, having been uncertain whether to mention it since the markings were so faint, and I had only ever seen them once before on a body my late husband was dissecting. “Vascular lesions which form under the skin. And I was able to note on a few of the more intact fingers that his nails showed signs of clubbing—bulging out at the top rather than dipping in as on most people. Both are signs of a disease of the liver. Had I been able to examine the liver directly, I suspect I would have detected cirrhosis. Something that, according to the French physician Laennec, would not be uncommon to find in a person who was a heavy drinker. Was Helmswick?”

  “I don’t know.” He drew me closer, rubbing his callused hands up and down my arms. “Some people hide it better than others.”

  I took that to mean Helmswick wasn’t a notorious tippler, but perhaps Lady Helmswick would be able to tell us if he overindulged privately.

  I dipped my head toward the boots. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “They’re Hobys.”

  London’s most fashionable bootmaker, and as such, certainly the shop a man like the Earl of Helmswick would patronize.

  “Were there any markings, as you suspected?”

  His brow furrowed. “No.”

  My shoulders sank.

  “But that doesn’t mean they’re not pertinent. After all, Lord Edward seemed to recognize them.”

  I glanced at the calfskin boots, and their distinctive stitched edge along the back of the calf. “I wonder if Lady Helmswick will recognize them as well.”

  “We shall soon see.” His hands tightened around my upper arms. “Now, let’s get you out of here before your teeth begin to chatter.”

  He picked up the boots, cradling them in the same hand as the burlap sack containing the habit, and then opened the door to peer out into the corridor beyond. Unfortunately, the wine cellar was tucked behind a blind corner in the far reaches of the servants’ quarters. No sooner had he ushered me out, before closing and locking the door, than the sound of footsteps could be heard advancing from the direction of the kitchens.

  My eyes widened, and I glanced about me, curious how we would brazen this out should the person approaching prove to be unfriendly. Then I spied a narrow doorway at the far end of the corridor and scurried toward it, concealing myself on the other side of the stone frame. Once inside, I could tell that it was a servants’ staircase fashioned of bare stone. One that I hoped was not the intended destination of the owner of those footsteps, for in my current state I could not hope to outpace them.

  I soon had my answer when Gage hailed, “Anderley, what news?”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief and retraced my steps toward where both men were watching me.

  “The procurator fiscal. He’s arrived,” he explained.

  Gage removed his watch from his pocket. “And an hour sooner than I anticipated.”

  Anderley’s lip curled upward at one corner. “From the looks of him, it would have been better had he taken that extra hour.”

  Gage glanced at me. “His temper must be foul then.”

  “As foul as he risks it being in front of the duke.” Anderley’s gaze flicked toward me. “His Grace is requesting that both of you join them in his study.”

  “His Grace?” I asked pointedly.

  A glint of humor flashed in his eyes. “Their Graces.”

  I nodded. Then the duchess had informed the duke of our discussion, and of her request that Gage and I investigate. It appeared, at least for the moment, that he was indulging her. Or perhaps he shared her low opinion of this Mr. Rodgers.

  Gage passed his valet the boots and burlap sack. “What of the other guests?”

  “Most of them are only beginning to stir.”

  Then in this insta
nce the party and everyone’s general state of drunkenness had worked in our favor. For the servants couldn’t spread gossip to their employers if they were still asleep or unconscious.

  Gage nodded. “Secure the boots in my chamber, and tell Miss McEvoy to . . .” He faltered, glancing at me.

  “Tell Bree to have the garment laundered,” I instructed Anderley. Given the amount of vomit I suspected the laundresses would be scrubbing from the clothes of other guests, I hoped they would believe the same of my habit.

  Our trio hurried down the corridor, where Anderley closed the door leading into the hustle and bustle of the kitchens to allow me to pass unseen. Even through the thick wood I could hear the cook hollering something at her maids over the clatter of pans and crockery. Gage and I quickly mounted the stairs to the second floor, while Anderley continued upward, but there I paused outside the entrance to the long library.

  I brushed a hand over my hair to straighten any stray strands fallen from my simple chignon and pivoted toward my husband, whose gaze swept over my form, scrutinizing the fabric. “Am I presentable?”

  He reached out to rub a smudge of something from my chin, and I arched my neck toward him, trusting him to remove the stain. His pale blue eyes shifted to meet mine, and a gentle smile curled his lips. And just like that, though no words were exchanged, he steadied me. The frazzled sensation tightening my nerves began to loosen, and my lungs inhaled a deeper breath than the ones before.

  Somehow, his very presence had that effect on me—soothing and strengthening. One tender glance or touch, one whiff of the scent that seemed to be all his own, and my frantic pulse and straitened breaths evened out. And yet, another glance or touch from him could send my heart racing and my skin prickling with desire and anticipation. I didn’t know that I would ever understand why he alone caused such reactions within me, but then I supposed it didn’t matter if I did.

  I pressed my fingertips to his freshly shaven jaw, answering his smile with a grateful one of my own.

  “Ready?” he asked simply, and I nodded, brushing my hand over the deep green superfine of his coat.