It was a troubling thought. For while none of them had seemed particularly culpable, in all likelihood at least one of them was involved in some way or another. In any case, I knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving. And while none of them had appeared capable of violence, they were all adept at playing the game of deception that was endemic among society.
Then there were the boots. As far as I was aware, no one except the members of the duchess’s family was aware of the existence or importance of those boots and their potential to help identify the victim as Helmswick. Which meant one or more of them had been responsible for stealing them from Gage’s bedchamber.
I deliberated over this as Gage turned to answer the second rap on our sitting room door.
“You sent for me?”
I turned to see Marsdale lounging against the doorframe, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Gage gestured for him to enter, and he sauntered forward, allowing his gaze to trail over the contents of the chamber. Given everyone’s late-night indulgences, and Marsdale’s history of drunkenness and infamous behavior, I hadn’t known what to expect from him. But he was dressed respectably in a fawn-colored coat and walnut trousers, his dark hair artfully tousled, and his jaw clean-shaven. However, the look in his eyes when his gaze fell on me clearly communicated that whatever he was about to say was far from respectable.
“I must say, I was surprised you invited me to your chambers. The last time I proposed just such a thing, I do believe you threatened to do me some sort of violence,” he drawled to Gage, never removing his gaze from mine. “But perhaps your wife’s expectant state has given her unexpected urges.”
A furious blush burned its way up into my cheeks.
“Marsdale, sit down and close your mouth,” Gage snapped. “Or I’ll carry through on that threat of violence I made. Perhaps in triplicate.”
Given the fact I didn’t recall, or perhaps hadn’t heard, this threat of violence, I was at a loss as to what this meant, but I supposed having anything painful done to you three times must be worse than once. At any rate, his threat seemed to restrain Marsdale to some degree, for he sank down onto the sofa opposite and smothered his smile. Or at least attempted to. His teeth no longer flashed at me, though a hint of his amusement still lingered at the corners of his lips.
“Now,” Gage declared, resuming his seat in the chair beside mine. “What is your relationship with the Duke of Bowmont’s family? You seem to be rather familiar with them.”
Far from being intimidated, Marsdale leaned back, crossing one leg over the other as he draped an arm across the back of the watery blue cushions. “What is our relationship? Well, I suppose we’re cousins of some sort. Third or fourth through some great-great-great-grandmother of theirs and some great-great-great-grandfather of mine. As you well know, the entire bloody aristocracy is much the same. Everyone married to everyone else. Keeps the blood as blue as possible.”
Gage glowered at him in weary aggravation. “Don’t be facetious. How do you know the Kerrs?”
Marsdale stared silently back at him for a moment, as if debating how much to try his patience. Then he shrugged. “We played together often as children. Our mothers were good friends. Perfectly natural, really, them both being duchesses. And as the children of dukes, their children were thus deemed to be suitable playmates.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “Of course, that was before the rumors about the Duchess of Bowmont’s infidelities reached Norwich.” His father. “The old duke always did prefer the country. Closeted himself away with his moldy old manuscripts, trying to unravel the code in Charles I’s letters. It was his life’s work, you know,” he murmured, his voice shaded with mockery. “To decrypt the doomed sovereign’s correspondence that was smuggled out of his prison at Carisbrooke Castle during the last months of his life.” Before he’d been executed by the Roundheads in one of the more shocking moments of the English Civil War.
“I’d not realized your father was such a scholar,” I said.
He shrugged one shoulder negligently. “I’m not sure I would call him a scholar, but he has his pet hobbies.”
That he was playing down their significance to the Duke of Norwich and their effect on his own life was obvious. He might try to dismiss it all as a mere hobby, but I could tell by the set of his shoulders and the manner in which he avoided my gaze that they were not a trifle. It also added a new dimension to Marsdale’s disreputable behavior in the past, as well as the more considerate and serious bent in his demeanor I’d witnessed at times in the wake of the duke’s recent illness.
But we were straying from the point.
“Did your father try to prevent your mother from visiting the Duchess of Bowmont?” I queried, shifting so that the pillow I’d placed at my back pressed higher into the arch of my spine.
He laughed humorlessly. “Oh, he forbade it.” His lips curled into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But the duke couldn’t be bothered to stir from his study to enforce such an edict, so my mother ignored him. The same way he ignored her twenty-three and three-quarter hours a day.”
And him. Though he didn’t say the words, I could tell from the bitterness that had crept into his voice that his father had ignored him, too. How much more inviting had the Duchess of Bowmont’s large brood seemed in comparison?
I glanced at Gage out of the corner of my eye, suspecting as a fellow only child, he understood far better than me. After all, I’d had an older sister and brother, and often multiple cousins about to keep me company, even when I didn’t wish for it.
Marsdale turned to the side, staring out the window at a slice of the hazy sky. “Unfortunately, she fell ill a short time later. So her rebellion was short-lived. She never recovered.”
“And so you continued her rebellion for her,” I murmured.
He glanced back at me in mild surprise, clearly having never considered the motivation behind his behavior in such a light. This insight appeared to make him uncomfortable, for he uncrossed his legs and tugged at the intricate draping of his neckcloth. “Yes, well, a good idea should never be dismissed.” Though the comment was flippant, his tone of voice did not quite match.
Gage’s fingers tapped against the arm of his chair, perhaps growing impatient with this turn in the conversation. His annoyance with Marsdale had not abated, despite the similarities in their childhood. Gage’s father had also largely been absent from his and his mother’s lives, though that had not necessarily been by choice. As a captain of the Royal Navy, Lord Gage had been ordered to sea to engage in battle, and man the blockade against Napoleon and France. His mother had also fallen ill and remained so for many years, although unbeknownst to anyone at the time, that had been because her maid was poisoning her. Though Gage’s reaction to all of this upon his mother’s death had been quite different, and perhaps therein lay the cause of his irritation. But Gage often forgot, not everyone was as strong as him, or as honorable to their core.
“You obviously remained friends with the Kerrs, then,” he said, steering us back to steadier ground.
“Yes, well, they’re easy to like. Save Traquair, I suppose. He can be a bit of a drag. Richard would make a better duke. He’s a sobersides, but he never rags the others.” Marsdale crossed his legs in the other direction and tipped his head back against the cushions. “Ah, but I suppose that ship has already sailed.”
I assumed he was referring to Lord Traquair’s son, who was next in line to inherit the dukedom should anything happen to his father. Only the death of both heirs apparent could pave the way for Lord Richard to eventually succeed his father as duke.
“What of Lady Helmswick?” I inquired, deciding it was time to stop beating around the bush. “You seem quite close to her as well.”
He studied my features, seeming to search for something, or perhaps merely delaying his answer. His deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “You have a naughty mind, Lady Darby.”
“Do I?” I replied doubtfully, refusing to be deterred. “Or am I simply observant?” I gentled my voice. “I see the way you look at her. The way your hand brushes the small of her back when she passes.”
His eyes broke contact with mine yet again, and beyond anything he was or wasn’t saying, I found his hesitation to claim a relationship with Lady Helmswick most interesting of all. In the past, Marsdale had never been shy about declaring his assignations with women, be they young or old, married or otherwise. In fact, I would have termed his eagerness in confessing them as vulgar. But Lady Helmswick was evidently different. And I didn’t think his reluctance to share stemmed from the fact her husband might lie dead in the wine cellar below. Or at least, not solely.
When he finally lifted his gaze to meet mine, it was to state but a single fact. “Lady Eleanor is an exceptional woman.”
I didn’t fail to note how he’d not referred to her by her husband’s title.
“How long have you been lovers?” Gage moderated his voice out of deference to the weight Marsdale seemed to give this subject.
A furrow formed between his brows and he reached down to pick at a piece of lint or hair clinging to his trousers. “That is a difficult question to answer.” His tone adopted a harder edge. “And frankly none of your business.”
“I would agree,” Gage responded rationally. “But for the fact that you arrived at Sunlaws Castle on December ninth, two days after Lord Helmswick allegedly departed, and we discovered a corpse in the abbey’s crypt last night which bears a suspicious resemblance to him.”
“But you don’t know for a fact it is him?” he countered.
Gage’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Not yet.”
The two men stared at each other as if testing each other’s resolve.
“Yes, I arrived on the ninth,” Marsdale confirmed. “I’d been invited to spend the holidays here. Surely that is nothing extraordinary? As for Helmswick . . .” He reached up to adjust his neckcloth for the second time in nearly as many minutes. “I haven’t the foggiest idea whether that could be him. He departed before I arrived, and I haven’t seen him since. That is all I can tell you,” he declared, rising suddenly to his feet. “If you have further questions about Helmswick, I suggest you contact his solicitor,” he said over his shoulder as he strode toward the door. “Or even one of his mistresses. Has one in London and Paris. Probably Haddington, too. They’ll know where he is better than any of the rest of us.”
But this was plainly a lie, just as his statement that he hadn’t any idea whether the body could be Helmswick’s had been. And I told Gage so as Marsdale shut the door firmly behind him. “He knows something.”
His expression was as grim as I felt. “Undoubtedly. The question is whether he’s shielding himself or someone else.”
I worried my lower lip, fearing it might be both.
CHAPTER TWELVE
True to Gage’s expectations, we arrived in the antechamber on the servants’ level positioned between the gun room, one of the storerooms, and the staircase that would take us down into the doom, to find not only Trevor, but also Lord Edward, Lord Henry, and Lord John waiting for us. However, there was an unforeseen addition to their party—a burly man with a thick curly red beard. From the smell of fermentation and hops wafting from his rough clothing, I had already deduced his occupation when Lord Henry stepped forward to introduce him.
“This is Mr. Henderson, our brewmaster. He has some information you should hear.”
“I dinna ken if it’ll help ye any,” the ruddy man demurred. “But I’ve a young apprentice who disappeared aboot three weeks ago.”
Gage tilted his head in interest. “What do you mean by ‘disappeared’?”
“Didna show up for his shift one morn, and his mam hasna seen hide nor hair o’ him since.” He scratched at his chin, his nails rasping against the wiry hair of his beard. “I wouldna call Colum Brunton the most responsible o’ lads, but I wouldna expect him to skip oot on his mam like that neither. No’ for three weeks. No’ when she relies on him so.”
Gage and I shared a speaking glance.
“Does he have any friends at the brewery or elsewhere he might have confided in?” he asked.
Mr. Henderson shrugged. “They all say they dinna ken where he is.”
Perhaps. But it was just as likely they were lying to their master, fearful that their having any knowledge of the matter could get them in trouble as well.
Gage asked Mr. Henderson a few more questions about the direction of Colum Brunton’s mother, and the names of his mates, before thanking him and sending him on his way.
“Do you think that’s who the body belongs to?” Lord John asked as the brewmaster’s footsteps receded down the corridor toward the outer door.
Gage shook his head. “The body was dressed in the clothing of a gentleman, and I doubt Colum Brunton had access to such apparel, let alone any reason to wear it.”
“From the manner in which Mr. Henderson spoke of him, Mr. Brunton is also much too young,” I explained. “Not a man close to two score in years, as the corpse is.”
Lord John frowned as he considered this and then nodded. “Then the information is useless.”
“Not necessarily,” Lord Henry ruminated. “Perhaps the lad disappeared for a different reason. Maybe he saw something. Something that made him fear for his life.”
It was my and Gage’s turn to nod, both having thought of the same thing.
Gage pulled his dark woolen greatcoat with three capes tighter around him, buttoning it down the middle. “We need to track him down, whatever his reasons for hiding.”
I heard in his voice the same misgivings I harbored. For if Colum Brunton had disappeared out of fear for his life, what was to say the reason for that fear hadn’t already caught up with him? I could only hope for his sake, and ours, it hadn’t.
“Have we enough lanterns?” he added, pulling me closer to his side. This time I would be venturing into the tunnel not in a nun’s habit, but one of my warmest winter gowns and my forest green fur-lined cloak.
Lord Edward passed each man a lantern while Lord Henry disappeared through the door to the kitchens and returned with a lit spill of wood. After lighting each wick, he blew it out and returned it to where he’d found it, before bringing up the rear of our motley band of explorers as we descended the circular staircase into the doom.
I caught a glimpse of two maids spying on us from a doorway further along the corridor, their eyes wide with curiosity. It would be interesting to know what they were thinking, and who else they might have seen going down these stairs. I could only hope Bree would be able to coax it out of them. She was capable enough. I certainly didn’t doubt her abilities. But Anderley often played her foil, cajoling those maids susceptible to his charms and good looks when her sympathetic ear wasn’t enough, or snubbing them so they would welcome Bree’s overtures of friendship. I knew neither of them enjoyed such calculating maneuvers, but with our inquiries, time was often of the essence, and if a little manipulation helped us catch a murderer faster, then they would do what needed to be done.
Gage lifted his lantern higher as the darkness closed in around us while keeping his other arm tightly linked with mine, lest I stumble on the steps worn smooth and concave with time. The must of earth and stone permeated the chill, stagnant air. We paused at the base as Gage turned to gaze down the passage that Lord Edward had told us during his tour led to the dungeons. The brothers waited for him to speak.
“Did you mean it when you said no one ventures down there?” Gage asked Lord Edward. “Not even you and your brothers?”
He nodded solemnly.
Gage narrowed his eyes as if trying to ascertain his truthfulness.
“I’m not saying we never explored there. What curious lad wouldn’t? But we, none of us, liked it.” He glanced at his brother next to him. “And
after the time we left John there alone—a stupid, childish act of retribution for his wrecking our fort—and received the thrashing of our lives, we never set foot there again.” He nodded toward his youngest brother beyond my shoulder. “Hal’s never even seen the dungeons.”
Lord Henry neither confirmed nor denied this, but Lord John crossed his arms over his chest, either in remembered outrage or fright.
“We can search them if you wish, but I don’t know the layout, and we’ll want to do so in pairs.”
Gage turned to me, clearly torn about what we should do. It seemed unlikely that anything would be found in that part of the doom, but then the people assuring us so were also three of our suspects. I had no great desire to venture into the old dungeons either, but it seemed faulty not to at least give it a precursory exploration.
So I posited a compromise. “Why don’t we search through just a few of the chambers in each direction and then regroup? If no one sees anything of interest, or even notices a pattern of disturbance in the dust and dirt on the floor, then it’s doubtful anyone ventured that way in some time.”
He nodded. “That’s a sound plan. Why don’t you go with Lord Henry,” he suggested, turning to pass me off to the auburn-haired lord. I wasn’t surprised Gage wished to pair us each off with one of the duchess’s sons, or that he’d chosen to send me with the youngest. Lord Henry also seemed to me to be the least culpable suspect. Past experience had shown him to be an honorable man, and his shocked reaction to the discovery of the corpse in the catacombs had appeared quite genuine.
I offered him a tight smile as I accepted his proffered arm.
Gage stepped forward to flank Lord Edward and gestured for Trevor to accompany Lord John.
At this bit of maneuvering, a flash of amusement lit Lord Edward’s eyes. “Am I to take it, I’m the chief suspect, then?”
Gage ignored this comment. “Lead on.”
Lord Edward did just that as Gage lowered his head to sweep the passage with his gaze. At the junction where the corridor branched off in three directions, Lord Edward turned to address us all. “Mr. Gage and I shall take the first two or three chambers to the right. John, why don’t you go straight, and Hal to the left.”
A Stroke of Malice Page 14
