A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  I can’t help but wonder precisely what Lord Helmswick’s association with this man was, and whether Renton followed him to Sunlaws Castle. I plan to pay a visit to the gentleman tomorrow at his home in Bolton. I’ll also ask about the village to ascertain this Mr. Renton’s character and that of the earl, and inquire into the identity of this mistress in the cottage. I shall write again as soon as I know more.

  It was dated the day prior, so at least we could be relieved that the Royal Mail moved swiftly between here and Haddington.

  “Well, it appears any missive from me asking for information about Mr. Renton will be unnecessary,” Gage remarked, before informing Bree and Trevor about our discovery of the man’s visit to Sunlaws.

  “But what does that mean?” Trevor asked, slapping his riding gloves repeatedly into the palm of his opposite hand. “Do you think this Renton fellow killed Helmswick?”

  Gage sighed, scraping his hand back through his golden curls. “That’s one possibility. Except the timing of Helmswick’s departure and Renton’s visit do not align. And there is the matter of the body being found in the catacombs. I suppose it’s possible Renton found them on his own, but I doubt it. It’s far more likely that if he was involved, then he was directed there.”

  “But by who? Helmswick?”

  Gage shook his head in bewilderment.

  “Maybe one o’ the servants told him,” Bree chimed in to say. I turned to look up at her where she stood behind the sofa, her gaze still trained over Gage’s shoulder on the letter he continued to hold in his hand. “On an estate this size, there’s plenty who dinna actually live at the castle. He mighta hung aboot the village pub, bought a drink or two for an odd-job man, mole catcher, gameskeeper, or a coal hauler. Doesna matter the post. I’m sure any number o’ the duke’s staff is aware o’ the crypt and the tunnel connectin’ it to the castle.”

  Gage tipped his head. “I hadn’t considered that.” His expression turned grim. “I suppose I shall be making another visit to The Sheep’s Heid tomorrow as well.”

  “I can do that, if you like,” Trevor offered. “It would be good to be put to use somehow.”

  He nodded his thanks and then sighed. “I suppose only one thing is clear. Helmswick’s whereabouts are still unknown. And as such, he can’t be ruled out as the identity of our corpse.”

  “There is one other thing,” I murmured, having ruminated silently on the matter. “I’ve heard of this woman in the cottage before.”

  They all turned to me in interest.

  “What do you mean?” Gage said.

  “During our conversation yesterday, Lady Helmswick mentioned that a few months ago her husband had returned to Haddington rather unexpectedly, a week before he was scheduled to do so, and solely for the purpose of attending the funeral of a local woman.”

  Bree gave a little gasp at the implication.

  “Now, she didn’t know for certain. Or didn’t admit to it anyway. But she suspected that woman had been his mistress. She told me she found the entire matter to be decidedly odd. Particularly when you consider the fact that the earl was not known for his sensibility or courtesy.”

  “And yet he interrupted his travels and pleasures to hasten back to his dead mistress’s graveside.” Gage’s voice thrummed with the same skepticism I felt.

  “I suppose it’s possible he loved her,” I argued for the sake of fairness.

  “But if so, why did Helmswick keep mistresses in London, Paris, and who else knows where?” Trevor replied. “A wife would be one thing, supposing the mistress was of lowly birth and so not of sufficient rank for a man of such consequence as the Earl of Helmswick to marry.” We were all aware of the expectations and snobbery of our class. “But to keep other mistresses besides?” He scowled. “That doesn’t sound like a man in love.”

  “Whatever the case, I’m beginning to suspect Lord John failed to share everything that Mr. Renton told him on his visit to Sunlaws,” Gage declared, his scowl aimed at Anderley’s letter.

  “Indeed,” I said. “Why would Lord Helmswick continue to receive a belligerent Mr. Renton if his only purpose in visiting him was to hound him for the money he owed him?”

  His gaze met mine. “Perhaps we need to have another conversation with the duchess’s fourth son.” He flinched as a bugle blast suddenly rent the air. “After dinner, that is.”

  Trevor surged to his feet. “That’s our cue to dress for dinner, is it not? I’d best be off so I have time to wash this dust off me, or else Shep will finally follow through on his threats to resign. Just let me know what else I can do,” he called over his shoulder.

  I smiled fondly at my brother’s back. Trevor’s valet might feel his talents were wasted on my brother, who could care less what was fashionable and what was not, but he was undeniably loyal, and his threats so much blather.

  Rising myself, I led Bree into my bedchamber. I sank down on the dressing stool, removing the sling cradling my right arm while she pulled my pale blue gown with white lace overlay at the center of the skirt and around the hem from the wardrobe. I hadn’t the slightest preference for which frock I would wear that night. I supposed in terms of sartorial sense, Trevor and I were much alike.

  Moving to stand behind me, she began to remove the pins from my coiffure, which per usual, was already threatening to unravel. Though her gaze remained trained on my unruly tresses, I could see the concern tightening the corners of her mouth, and feel her apprehension in the sharpness of her movements.

  “You’re worried about Anderley, aren’t you?” I asked softly, my own anxiety bubbling up in my breast over the news he’d shared about the cholera outbreak.

  Her gaze lifted briefly to meet mine in the reflection of the mirror, but it was several moments before she spoke. “I do hope he’ll take care, m’ lady.”

  I released a tight breath. “I do, too, Bree. I do, too.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dinner was served in the less ostentatious family dining room, where we’d gathered just four days prior to slice the Twelfth Night cake and crown the Lord of Misrule and his Lady. In some ways it was a shock to realize such a short time had elapsed, but in others not. Given all that had happened, I still felt like we were only beginning to uncover the truth. Yet there was a sense that a clock was ticking down, that we were running out of time. And not just to the formal inquest, which Rodgers could not delay much longer. But to some other unforeseen event for which I felt unprepared. And that was probably the most unnerving of all.

  The duke and duchess’s entire family was gathered—save the second son, Lord Richard, and his wife—as well as the duke and duchess’s lovers, and Marsdale, Trevor, Gage, and me. Most of the guests from the Twelfth Night Ball had decamped, but there were still fifteen of us at the table. Though festive was not how I would have termed the atmosphere, despite the glistening light cast by the crystal chandeliers and the gilded fretwork. Some, like Lady Helmswick and Mrs. Blanchard, appeared tense, while others emulated the duchess’s sons, adopting a reserved politeness. Then there was the duke, who appeared all but unruffled by the troubles beneath his roof.

  The duke ate heartily, laughed jovially, and peppered me and Gage with questions. I contemplated whether it was all a show, but then I realized it was genuine. He truly did not fear the consequences of our investigation. This seemed at best foolish, and at the worst an indication of a complete lack of remorse or empathy. Until I grasped the fact that as a man who had always done whatever he pleased with few, if any, consequences, because of the significance of his rank, he had never needed to feel dread over what might come next. As such, he expected the same results from this.

  Not for the first time, I felt the sour taste of disenchantment and mistrust flood the back of my mouth. For all that Gage and I were striving to uncover the truth, I was highly conscious that justice might still not be done. If one of the duke’s fami
ly proved to be the culprit, I knew better than to expect His Grace to hand him or her over willingly for trial. There would be an attempt to quiet us, or worse, to call into question our results and besmirch our names. Then a more expendable culprit would be named—someone like Helmswick’s valet—in order to tie everything up with a neat bow.

  “Mr. Gage, I hear you received a letter from your manservant,” the duke declared at about the midpoint of the meal, settling back in his chair with his glass of wine as he waited for the latest course to be cleared. “Tell us. Did he locate Helmswick in Haddington?”

  Neither Gage nor I were surprised he’d learned of the letter, for the butler would undoubtedly have informed him of its arrival.

  “I’m afraid not, Your Grace. And they had not received word from him since his departure in early December either.”

  The duke’s brow furrowed briefly at this statement, at how peculiar it was. For even he must be in contact with most of his varied estates and properties on a regular basis, if not directly, then through the correspondence he dictated to his various secretaries and stewards. “And what else does he say?”

  But I knew Gage was not about to be intimidated into revealing anything about Mr. Renton or any other matters pertinent to our inquiry until he was ready to do so. So he deliberately misunderstood. “Apparently the cholera outbreak there has spread at an alarming rate.” He turned toward Lady Helmswick, whose eyes had widened. “It is a good thing you chose to depart when you did, my lady. Though your housekeeper appears to be a sensible woman, and she’s having the staff take appropriate precautions.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Coble is a very attentive woman,” she replied quietly before returning her gaze to her plate.

  I couldn’t help but notice how subdued she was that evening. Or the way she kept sneaking glances at her brothers. Her peaches and cream complexion was very pale, and appeared even starker against the violet shade of her gown and the azure silk gracing the walls behind her. Had something else happened, or was she merely beginning to accept that her husband might be dead, and that someone she cared for had rendered him such?

  “Your Grace, what is your opinion of these new steam locomotives?” Trevor asked, saving us from further questions regarding Anderley’s letter by reverting to his new private passion. He’d recently become fascinated by the contraptions, and could happily occupy the conversation with such a topic for hours if need be.

  Though I was not as enamored by them, I was nonetheless grateful to him for introducing the subject, and cast him a private smile of thanks when his gaze chanced to meet mine across the table. He winked in return.

  However, his efforts proved to be in vain. For no sooner had the duke launched into a lengthy answer than the door to the dining room opened to admit the butler followed by a man I knew almost immediately to be the duke’s second son. The resemblance was striking, leaving no doubt who his father was.

  The family gasped in pleasure as Lord Richard strode into the room. He moved around the long table as beckoned, greeting his mother, grandmother, and sister with a kiss on their cheeks, and shaking hands with those brothers he passed, while the footmen swiftly set a place for him. He seemed to be a generally stoic man, and while pleased by his family’s reception, from the color riding high on his cheeks, he also appeared slightly embarrassed by it. His dark hair was just beginning to show gray at the temples, much like his older brother, but where Lord Traquair’s was thinning, Lord Richard’s was thick and almost unruly.

  Questions were asked regarding the health of his wife and children, who I came to understand resided at one of the duke’s smaller estates in the north that he’d given over to Lord Richard to manage. I gathered his wife had delivered a new child a few months prior, and so had elected not to journey to Sunlaws for the winter holidays. Lord Richard was on his way back to them after completing his business on the continent.

  The duchess introduced him to me, Gage, and Trevor, as he was already acquainted with the others at the table. As the commotion caused by his arrival began to settle, he expressed his surprise as he spread his serviette in his lap. “I must say, I expected the castle to still be packed to the rafters with your Twelfth Night guests.”

  “Yes, well, there was a development,” the duchess demurred.

  “What sort of development?”

  “A dead body in the abbey crypt,” Lord Edward drawled.

  A vee formed between Lord Richard’s eyes as he turned to glare into his younger brother’s amused expression. “There have always been dead bodies in the crypt.”

  “Yes, but this one was recent. Only three or four weeks expired,” he declared with relish. “And murdered, too.”

  At this comment, Lord Richard abandoned his efforts to eat the salmon set before him. “You’re jesting?”

  “I’m afraid he’s not,” Lord Traquair replied in a pained voice.

  Lord Richard glanced at his mother, who nodded. Then his gaze swiveled toward me and Gage. “I suppose that explains your continued presence here.” It was stated with resignation rather than disapproval, but I still got the impression he was not pleased. Though I suppose I couldn’t fault him for that. Who wants to return home to discover someone has been murdered?

  “Ned decided it was a brilliant idea to lead a ghost tour down into the doom,” Lord John stated derisively, his face tight with suppressed ire.

  Lord Edward frowned. “I was simply doing my duty as Lord of Misrule.”

  “A duty that didn’t need to be performed.”

  Ignoring his brothers’ squabbling, Lord Richard picked up his fork. “Who’s the victim?”

  “Too damaged to know for sure,” Lord Edward replied, causing his brother to lower his utensil yet again. “But what evidence there is points to lucky Helmswick.”

  Lord Richard’s glower turned to shock. “But that can’t be. I saw Helmswick alive in Paris, not a week past.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I sat forward in surprise.

  “You’re certain?” Gage demanded.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “You saw him, but didn’t speak to him?”

  “No, but I’m certain it was him. He was exiting a theater with some do—” He broke off with a swift glance at his sister.

  Her expression tightened. “You can say it. It’s not as if it’s any surprise. He had some doxy on his arm.” Her voice lowered to a mumble as she moved her peas about her plate. “He always does.”

  A charged silence settled over the table, an acknowledgment of the fact that the duke and his current mistress were seated there, not to mention the duchess’s lover as well as Lady Helmswick’s.

  Lord Richard cleared his throat and addressed Gage. “Helmswick’s and my eyes even met. Not that he cared that I’d seen him.”

  Gage turned to me, but I didn’t know what to say. If Lord Richard was speaking the truth, if he hadn’t been convinced by his family to lie, then whose body was lying in the wine cellar?

  “What does this mean?” Lady Traquair gasped in confusion.

  “It means that Mr. and Mrs. Gage have bungled the matter,” her husband accused angrily.

  Gage’s brow lowered in answering fury. “No, it means someone deliberately muddled the matter, placing Helmswick’s boots on the corpse and removing or destroying all other identifying markers and features.”

  “But why would someone wish to make us believe it was Helmswick?” Lord Henry asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gage snapped, and then modulated his voice. “All of the evidence will have to be reexamined. As well as the lists and ledgers of visiting gentlemen from December. Someone must be missing.”

  “I still think it could be one of those tramps or walkers,” the duchess asserted, though no one truly paid her any heed.

  “It couldn’t be a villager or a member of the staff?” Lord Richard posited, unaware of earl
ier developments.

  “Not unless he was dressed in clothes so fine they could belong to an earl,” Gage replied.

  He nodded in understanding.

  “What if they were the earl’s clothing?” I said as a notion formed in my mind.

  The others looked to me to explain.

  “What if they were his castoffs?” My gaze met Gage’s. “Don’t most valets wear some handed-down clothing from their employers, the same as lady’s maids?” After all, they weren’t called a gentleman’s gentleman for nothing, and they certainly dressed the part.

  Gage turned to Lord Richard, but the duke’s son shook his head.

  “I only saw Lord Helmswick, not his valet.”

  And we hadn’t asked specifically whether the staff had seen the earl’s valet leaving the castle on the morning of December seventh. We’d been focused on the earl, assuming if he and his luggage had departed, then his valet must have as well.

  Gage’s gaze then swung toward Lady Helmswick. “My lady, surely you’re acquainted with Mr. Warren.”

  She seemed to shake herself out of some sort of brown study, and who could blame her, as she’d just discovered her odious husband was probably still alive. “Of course.”

  “Can you describe him for us? What does he look like?”

  “Well, he’s of about average height, I should say. Rather unassuming looking really. He could fade into the woodwork if not . . .” She broke off, her lips tightening into a remorseful line. “If not for his copper hair.”

  I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Then the body couldn’t be his, for the corpse’s hair had most definitely been a shade of sandy brown.