A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  “Are they all accounted for?” I asked.

  “Let’s see,” he ruminated as he began to pull them out. “There used to be four.” He draped each over his arm, counting to three, but there wasn’t a fourth. He lifted aside a dark blanket at the bottom of the trunk and then turned to survey the room. However, the fourth monk’s robe was nowhere to be found.

  “Perhaps it was removed or misplaced long ago. One of my brothers might have used it for a costume.” But I could tell from his expression he was no more convinced of that than I was.

  That fourth frock could have been worn by the murderer when he confronted Renton, and later destroyed to conceal the fact it was stained with blood. In truth, I’d hoped to find it here with the evidence of its wearer’s gruesome attack still apparent. The killer had been too smart for that. Just as Henry had pointed out, the robe’s absence was not proof of its use; it was merely suggestive.

  I stifled a grunt of vexation. It was past time we tracked down Lord John and demanded some answers. With any luck, Gage and Trevor had returned so we could seek him out together.

  I thanked Henry and turned to go, but he stopped me by pressing his hand gently to my arm below my injured shoulder.

  His eyes darted toward Bree and then back to me, clearly wishing we had some privacy. “You won’t tell Gage what we discussed, will you?”

  I stared up at him, uncertain what to do. The thought of keeping such a secret from my husband seemed like compounding betrayal upon betrayal. My chest grew tight at the very thought of it. But then, it also wasn’t my secret to tell. “I can’t keep it from him forever,” I murmured in an agonized voice. “But perhaps you’d like the chance to do so first?”

  His eyes filled with a mixture of alarm and doubt.

  “It wouldn’t be breaking a promise. Not when he’s about to be told anyway.”

  He swallowed and nodded. “But not now. Not until this is over.”

  I agreed, hoping I wouldn’t later regret it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I clung tightly to Bree’s arm as we climbed the stairs toward my chambers, leaning close, lest I be overheard. “Had any of the staff seen Lord John?”

  “Nay. Least none who’d admit to it.”

  I blinked at her in surprise. “Then did they hear anyone?”

  She shook her head.

  This was unfortunate news. “Do you think they’re lying?”

  “I couldna say for sure. None o’ ’em seemed to be purposely deceitful. And I did discover there’s another passage off that corridor which leads to the butler’s rooms and beyond, as well as a servants’ stair tucked into the corner.”

  “Oh yes. I’d forgotten about that.” It was where I’d hidden when Gage and I were leaving the wine cellar after examining the body and we’d heard footsteps approaching, not realizing at first that they belonged to Anderley. “So he may have scurried in one of those two directions.”

  I frowned. Had he heard us following him? Was that what had made him flee? Or had it been the words his sister had yelled at him?

  We gained the second floor just as Gage and Trevor appeared in the doorway to the library. One look at their faces told me their visit to The Sheep’s Heid had not been fruitful. But Gage brandished a letter, shaking his head before I could ask if it was from Anderley, wary of eavesdroppers. My heart leapt in anticipation of its contents as Gage took Bree’s place at my side, guiding me up the last flight of stairs.

  Once we were safely ensconced in our sitting room, with the door shut firmly behind us, I couldn’t remain silent a moment longer. “Is that from Anderley?”

  “Yes,” he replied, breaking the seal. “Where were you and Miss McEvoy coming from?”

  I was not fooled by his indifference when he asked the question, but I had little patience to explain it all now. Particularly with Anderley’s letter in his hands and the uneasy knowledge I was keeping Henry’s secret from him. “Later. What does it say?” I demanded as I sank down in one of the Foliot armchairs.

  He glanced back at the unfolded letter. “Let’s see. He sends his greetings, and he’s still in fine health,” he summarized, skimming down to what he’d uncovered in the village of Bolton.

  As to this Patrick Renton, he has not been seen about the village in some weeks. His neighbor, who seems to have looked after him rather like a son, told me that he sometimes flits off to Edinburgh for a fortnight or two, particularly after paying a visit to Helmswick’s manor.

  She also informed me that the kept woman in the cottage who died was Mr. Renton’s sister, and that she did indeed have some sort of clandestine relationship with the earl. Several of the other villagers confirmed this, letting their disapproval be known. I gather Miss Renton did not receive many visitors. What a lonely way to live. But perhaps she preferred it that way.

  As for Lord Helmswick, the villagers were fairly closemouthed about their opinions of him. I gather he is not well liked, but they’re all too afraid of him to say so aloud.

  I don’t know what further information can be gotten here. I’ll wait to receive your next letter, and if nothing pertinent is raised, I’ll return to Sunlaws.

  My shoulders slumped. “Then he has nothing new to add that we haven’t already uncovered.”

  But Gage suddenly straightened as he turned over the letter. “Wait. There’s a postscript. And it’s been hastily scrawled.”

  Renton’s neighbor just came to call on me. Apparently, she’s no fool. She recognizes something is amiss. She claims that Renton told her that if anything ever happened to him, it would be Lord Helmswick’s doing. That he would be silencing him from revealing the fact that his sister is not simply Helmswick’s mistress, but his wife. That their marriage occurred years before he wed the current countess. I don’t know whether any of this is to be believed, but I’m off to search the parish church records at first light.

  I pressed my left hand to my mouth at the rightness of such a revelation. So much of what had made little sense before now fell into place. The reason Lord Helmswick was willing to receive Renton and apparently continue to pay his blackmail. Helmswick’s insistence on Renton’s sister ridding herself of her child and his hastening home for her funeral—to ensure there were no loose ends, as it were, or other claimants for the place as his rightful heir. The secret Lady Helmswick had claimed to possess that would force her husband to allow her to live apart from him. She must have known! Even the odd words Lord Helmswick had spoken to Charlotte—“Now, you will make a suitable bride for a man such as me. Yes, a much better countess.”

  And particularly Lord John’s fury upon learning the truth from Renton. Henry had said he was protective of their sister. If someone had threatened to reveal such a secret, one that would render Helmswick’s second marriage as invalid and disinherit the son Eleanor had bore him, then what would Lord John be willing to do to silence the man? How far would he go?

  Trevor sank down on the settee opposite with a low whistle. “Do you think it’s true? Is Helmswick a bigamist?”

  “Yes,” I stated with such certainty that it seemed to startle the others. “Yes,” I repeated, perching on the edge of my seat. “And we need to find Lord John before he does something drastic.”

  I briefly explained the outburst we’d heard from Lady Helmswick, and how Lord John had fled. I could read from Gage’s expression that he was not pleased I’d gone to speak with Marsdale without him, but we didn’t have time to address that now.

  He seemed to agree, though the look he cast my way told me he would not forget it. “Trevor, begin a search of the upper floors. Try the bachelors’ tower first. Maybe Lord John has simply retreated to his bedchamber.”

  My brother leapt to his feet. “On my way.”

  Gage’s gaze flicked to Bree where she stood quietly near the window. “Miss McEvoy, organize what servants you can, and spread out through the ground floor, w
orking your way upward. Be as vague as possible, but convince them of the urgency that Lord John be found. Invoke my name for authority, if need be.”

  She nodded, hastening off to do as he bid.

  He reached for my hand, helping me to my feet and threading my arm through his. “You and I are going to pay another visit to Lady Helmswick.” His face was stern. “Perhaps if we confront her with what we now know, she’ll finally agree to reveal what she knows instead of hedging and demurring.” His arm flexed beneath mine. “And if Marsdale should attempt to impede us, he shall find my charm and wits are not the only skills I have to boast of as an inquiry agent.”

  Minutes later, we knocked on both Lady Helmswick and Lord Marsdale’s chamber doors. When neither answered, we even went so far as to barge inside, startling her ladyship’s maid, but neither the countess nor the marquess were in their rooms. The astonished maid thrust an undergarment she had been mending the lace on behind her back, and protested she had no idea where her employer had gone. But I’d already seen what she did not wish me to see. I left Gage to continue interrogating her if he so wished, and retreated to the landing to contemplate this new discovery.

  Lady Helmswick was with child. I’d briefly considered the possibility over the past few days, given her luminous skin, the slight shift in her posture, and her reversion to the unfashionably high-waisted style of gowns from a decade prior. Now I knew, for those stays the maid had tried to conceal were specially structured to accommodate such a condition, or to conceal it for as long as possible. I knew because I wore such a garment myself, though I’d never tightened it enough to flatten my abdomen as it began to swell.

  This led to one important question. Who was the father? Considering her desire to hide her condition, I could only assume it was Marsdale. If so, I wondered how Helmswick would react. Or did she intend to try to brazen her way through this and convince him it was his? If such a thing was even possible.

  I stared up at the landscape painting on the wall opposite—at the row of pretty yellow stone cottages glistening in the summer sun. The leaves of the trees were flush with life, and the dirt on the road shone almost quartz-like in the brilliance of the afternoon as it wound its way toward a small stone bridge in the background. Lost in my contemplation of the countess’s conundrum, I almost turned away from it as I had done several times before, but something about it captured my eye, some faint familiarity.

  I stilled in recognition, realizing this picture had been painted on the estate. If the vantage shifted but three or four steps closer, the castle would be seen looming in the distance, beyond the bridge. These cottages were inhabited by some of the staff, and they lined the road leading to Traquair village. I found myself moving closer, almost as if I could peer through the tiny painted windows to what lay inside them.

  That was how Gage found me examining the subtle brushstrokes. “Kiera, is this really the time . . .” he began, having become accustomed to my absorption in studying the techniques of other artists, but he broke off as I turned to him with wide eyes.

  “I know where Colum Brunton is hiding.”

  His gaze trailed from me to the painting, scrutinizing it as I had done. I saw the moment comprehension dawned. “Of course!”

  If any part of the castle could be termed its nose, it would be the grand portico, which jutted from its eastern face, and directly overlooked the cottages.

  Gage glanced down at the kid-leather half boots on my feet and then stepped back into Lady Helmswick’s sitting room, emerging with the sable brown cloak lined with ermine I’d seen thrown over the back of one of the chairs. Evidently, he’d decided I should borrow it. “Come,” he declared, pulling my arm through his while he continued to clutch the cape in his other hand.

  We hurried down the steps and across the castle to a door leading out onto the gun terrace. Here, he stopped to drape the cloak over my shoulders, fastening the clasp himself and adjusting the hood. I arched my eyebrows in gentle amusement at his cosseting.

  “Are you to catch your death of cold, then?” I asked pointedly, given his lack of a greatcoat.

  “I’m plenty warm,” he protested, though his breath immediately fogged the air before his face as he guided me outside.

  We rounded the terrace, dotted with three old canons, to a pair of steps I had not seen before, which trailed down the short incline which led up to the castle, paralleling the drive. Once at the bottom, we stuck to the verge of the lane, avoiding the icy puddles that pockmarked the surface in places. Before I knew it, we had reached the line of picturesque cottages, with their peaked roofs and stone fireplaces. There were eight in total, but I had already deduced which one we should try first.

  I led Gage to the next to last one, with tartan-striped curtains hanging in the window. “Don’t knock,” I whispered. That would only give Colum time to escape out the back. If he wasn’t inside and we scared some unsuspecting resident, we’d simply apologize. In this circumstance, it would be better to risk offense and repent later.

  The dirt and stones would crunch under our feet even at a slow pace, and alert Colum to the attempted stealth of our approach. So we strolled straight up to the door unchecked. Gage thrust it open, sending a young man staggering back from the position he’d just taken up by the window. He turned to run, but my husband was too quick for him, collaring him and swinging him back against the wall, which trembled with the force.

  “Colum Brunton, we have some questions for you,” he stated, just as the boy lashed out with a punch. It appeared to glance off Gage’s upper arm as he twisted, but must have connected with sufficient force to hurt, for he uttered a low curse.

  “I dinna ken nothin’,” Colum gasped as he tried to flee again.

  Gage shoved him back against the wall, leaning into him as he pressed his upper arm against his breastbone just below his neck. If he raised his arm but another inch, he could choke the lad. “We’re not here to hurt you. And we’re certainly not here on Helmswick’s behalf.”

  “So ye say,” he grunted. “But what o’ the other?”

  I could see that Gage’s eyes reflected the same confusion mine did. “What other? Renton?”

  Colum momentarily stilled, searching my husband’s face. But he soon renewed his struggle. “I dinna ken anything!”

  “Listen. Listen!” Gage shouted as he pushed harder. “Do you think I’d bring my expectant wife with me if I intended to kill you?”

  He nodded toward me, and Colum turned his head to look at me for the first time, his eyes wide with fear.

  “We truly don’t intend to harm you,” I coaxed. “But Mr. Renton is dead, and we think you might know something that could help us figure out who killed him.”

  His gaze dipped to my bright blue sling, revealed by the part in my cloak, before searching my face. I tried to appear as earnest as possible. It must have been enough, for he abruptly relented, sagging against the wall. However, Gage continued to hold tight to him, in case it was a trick.

  “Will you talk to us?” I asked, advancing a step closer.

  He nodded in defeat.

  I turned to close the door while Gage grabbed hold of his shoulders and marched him over to a raggedy armchair in the corner. He told him to sit, and then stood glaring down at him. I elected to perch on the edge of a ladder-back chair several feet away.

  Pushing the hood back from my face, I glanced surreptitiously around the room. It was neat and tidy, save for a pile of walnut shells beneath the chair where Colum slumped, and decorated in faded chintz and rose-printed fabrics. “Whose cottage is this?” I asked.

  “Daisy. One o’ the dairymaids up at the estate farm,” he mumbled, apparently having no compunction about getting the girl in trouble for harboring him.

  “Is she your sweetheart?”

  He shrugged.

  I fought a frown, not finding his behavior thus far to be in any way commendabl
e.

  “We know you took a bribe from Lord Helmswick.” Gage’s voice held a hard edge. Evidently he hadn’t appreciated the lad’s lack of chivalry either. “To spy on his wife.”

  “Aye. So what of it?” Now that he’d been caught, he had lapsed into a belligerent sulk. One I would have liked to slap him out of.

  “And what did you report to him?”

  The vee between his brows deepened. “Well, nothin’. I took the blunt, I admit. But then I . . . I had second thoughts.”

  He’d had second thoughts or he’d spent all the money without doing the deed for which he’d been paid?

  “So you hid?” Gage surmised.

  “Well, no. No’ because o’ that.”

  Gage glanced at me, but I kept my eyes trained on Colum. “Then why?”

  “Well, I met that other fellow ye mentioned—Renton—up at The Sheep’s Heid. We got to talkin’ aboot Lord Helmswick. I didna ken what a rotten varlet his lordship was.”

  I would have thought his asking a stranger to spy on his wife would have alerted him to such, but I must have higher standards.

  “Did ye ken he made Renton’s sister into a harlot, forced her, and then ne’er honored his promises to her? Practically killed her wi’ his own hands in the end.” He scowled, crossing his arms in front of him when this failed to inspire a reaction from us. “But maybe ye dinna care when it’s no’ yer own kind.”

  So Renton hadn’t told Colum that Helmswick had married his sister. Did that mean it wasn’t true? Or had Renton realized that the moment he blabbered the truth, he lost his ability to blackmail Helmswick?

  “We already know how Mr. Renton’s sister died, and we know the part Lord Helmswick played in it,” Gage replied in an exasperated voice. “And we’re no more impressed than you are. Is that why you went into hiding?”