The Anatomist's Wife
Read The Anatomist's Wife Online
Authors: Anna Lee Huber
Tags: #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective
UNSTAINED HANDS
“Lady Darby is in there!”
I stiffened as a gasp ran through the crowd behind the hedge. It appeared my efforts
to go unnoticed had failed.
“Did they finally catch her in the act?” the woman asked.
“The butcher’s wife,” another one muttered.
I tightened my arms around my body, swallowing the fear and anger that gathered at
the back of my throat at hearing the old refrain.
“You know that is absolute nonsense!” my sister exclaimed, joining the group behind
the hedgerow.
“Not this time,” Lady Westlock declared with decided relish. “She’s been caught red-handed.
First one at the scene, wasn’t she?”
“That is enough!” My sister, Alana, burst through the men blocking her access to the
alcove. She marched to my side and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I will not
listen to any more of this ridiculousness.”
“You cannot protect her forever,” Mrs. Smythe snapped as we passed. “She must answer
for her actions.”
Angry that once again I was to be subjected to more gossip, ridicule, and vicious
name-calling, I lifted my hands and blinked innocently. “Look, my lady. No red.”
She spluttered, and several of the other ladies gasped in indignation, fanning their
faces as if they might swoon. A few of the men chuckled nervously.
My sister pulled me harder through the crowd, wrenching my shoulder in her rush to
distance us from the mob while they were all distracted. She shook her head. “You
just couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Sorry,” I murmured, even though we both knew that I wasn’t.
THE
A
NATOMIST’S
W
IFE
A Lady Darby Novel
ANNA LEE HUBER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3,
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0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South
Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2012 by Anna Aycock.
Cover art by Larry Rostant.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy
of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized
editions.
BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are registered trademarks of Penguin Group (USA)
Inc.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition / November 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Huber, Anna Lee.
The anatomist’s wife : a Lady Darby novel / Anna Lee Huber.—Berkley trade paperback
ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-425-25328-1 (alk. paper)
1. Widows—Fiction. 2. Anatomists—Fiction. 3. Murder—Fiction. 4. Scotland—History—19th
century—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.U238A85 2012
813'.6—dc23
2012026983
For my husband, Shanon.
With love, always and forever.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people I wish to thank for making this book possible. A multitude
of thanks go to . . .
My agent, Kevan Lyon, and editor, Michelle Vega, for your enthusiasm and confidence
in me as a writer, and for your tireless efforts to make this book even better.
The staff at Berkley Publishing for all of your expertise and care in the creation
of this book.
My cousin Jackie Musser, and my friend Stacie Roth Miller—writing-group partners,
beta readers, and cheerleaders extraordinaire. I owe so much of this book’s creation
to your care and guidance, and your never-ending belief in me as a writer. You shared
my triumphs and my tears, rejoicing with me or bolstering me when I needed it.
My parents, Rich and Judy Huber, for your steadfast love and guidance. Without the
confidence you instilled in me, I would never have found the courage to spread my
wings and fly.
My siblings—Adam, Christopher, Jeffery, Matthew, and Elizabeth—for helping to foster
my imagination from the earliest days of childhood. I couldn’t have wished for better
playmates.
All my friends and family for all of your support and enthusiasm.
My husband, and my brother Adam, both gifted artists, for answering the many and varied
questions I put to you about oil painting. Any errors in this book are wholly my own.
The Surgeons’ Hall Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons at Edinburgh, for their
fascinating displays, including those on Burke and Hare, and the people of the UK,
for welcoming my husband and me with open arms as I did my research.
The staff at my local Starbucks for your support and well wishes, and for keeping
me well supplied with chai tea lattes on those days when I simply could not concentrate
at home.
My troublemaking tabby cat, Pita, for keeping me company through the long days and
nights of writing and editing. And for forcing me to take a break to pet you just
when you knew I needed it most.
And, finally, to my husband, Shanon, for everything. For loving me and supporting
me. For giving me the strength and courage when I had no more left. For kissing away
the tears of my disappointments and twirling me around in your arms when I succeeded.
For never giving up on me. And for showing me what true love is.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Be sure to live your life, because you are a long time dead.
—SCOTTISH PROVERB
AUGUST 1830
SCOTLAND
T
he scream froze me in my tracks, but the shout that followed propelled me out of my
indecision and around the hedge line of the maze. Lady Lydia Perkins continued to
shriek at ear-piercing levels while her escort, Mr. Tuthill, stared wide-eyed at the
alcove across the path. Alarmed by the pallor of his face and the hysterical edge
to Lady Lydia’s cries, I wondered if perhaps I should have turned back to search for
help instead of rushing blindly toward them. I shuffled closer to see what had so
disturbed them, and what I saw there sucked the breath from my lungs.
Lady Godwin lay draped across a stone bench set into the alcove. Her eyes stared sightlessly
into the night sky, and her mouth seemed frozen open on a scream. Blood coated her
neck and lower face and spread down across her chest, obscuring her delicate skin
and soaking the golden bodice of her gown.
I stumbled back a step and clasped a hand over my mouth. Death was not unfamiliar
to me. I had seen more than my fair share of corpses in my lifetime, and I had been
quite happy to escape them for the last sixteen months. So I hardly relished the appearance
of yet another one, and in my sister’s garden, no less. I shivered, feeling the fear
and shadows stir inside me I had worked so hard to lay to rest since my husband’s
death.
Lady Lydia’s screams, which had transformed into a buzzing in my head, ended abruptly
as she collapsed into Mr. Tuthill’s embrace. I tore my gaze away from the corpse to
watch him struggle with the girl’s unconscious form. Lady Lydia was not exactly a
small girl, but he managed to heft the earl’s sister into his arms nonetheless. Juggling
her bulk, he cast a rather desperate look my way, and I wondered whether it was a
plea for help or if he was worried I might also faint.
Before I could reassure him of my fortitude, reinforcements arrived. Footsteps pounded
over the earth, accompanied by several curses, as they struggled to locate the correct
path through the maze. Lord Stratford was the first of my sister’s guests to appear
around the bend in the hedges, followed closely by Mr. Fitzpatrick and Sir David.
They skidded to a halt before us and exchanged glances before edging closer to peer
into the leafy recess where I pointed. Sir David sucked in a breath so harshly I worried
he might have swallowed his tongue.
My eyes dropped from their horrified faces, unable to deal with the sight of their
emotions when mine were still so raw. I studied the misaligned buttons of Lord Stratford’s
coat and the mud splattered across Mr. Fitzpatrick’s trousers—anything to keep my
gaze from meeting theirs.
More and more people rounded the hedge of the maze, demanding to know what the clamor
was all about. They pushed closer, horrified fascination glittering in their eyes
as they jostled each other for a better view. Several ladies shrieked in alarm as
word of Lady Godwin’s murder traveled back through the crowd, and I heard the resulting
tumult from at least one gentlewoman passing out.
I shrank back into the hedges, wishing there was someplace I could hide from their
prying eyes. If only the leafy walls would open and allow me inside. My heart raced
in panic, as it had so many times during that last month I spent in London.
“Here, now. Let’s all remain calm.”
A sigh of relief trembled through me at the sound of my brother-in-law’s voice. Philip,
the Earl of Cromarty, pushed his way to the front of the mob and ordered several of
the men to move everyone back, ignoring all of the protests. He spotted me, and his
handsome face creased in worry.
“Are you all right, Kiera?” he murmured, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded hesitantly, wanting to convince him I was well and yet knowing it would do
no good to force a brave face. Philip would realize how far away I wished myself.
No one had forgotten my past—not him, not the other guests, and especially not me.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment before turning to the sight in the alcove. I listened
absently to his hushed conversation with the other men, wondering when I could leave
and whether anyone would say anything if I slipped past Mr. Tuthill deeper into the
maze. I wrapped my arms around myself and studied my route of escape out of the corner
of my eye. Perhaps if I were cautious, no one would notice.
“Let me pass,” a pretentious voice in the crowd demanded. I pondered which obnoxious
male thought he deserved access to the scene, and had just decided it must be Lord
Marsdale, the Duke of Norwich’s heir, when Mr. Gage slid into view.
Of course. The
estimable
Mr. Sebastian Gage, son of the newly minted Captain Lord Gage, war hero and London’s
gentleman inquiry agent.
I scowled. What made this golden lothario think he should be there? His father was
the one with the investigation skills and reputation to back them up. As far as I
could tell, Mr. Gage’s only talents seemed to be charming his way into house-party
invitations and underneath ladies’ skirts.
He tugged his black silk waistcoat into place and brushed his tousled blond hair back
from his forehead. I narrowed my eyes, wondering just what he had been doing when
Lady Lydia started screaming, and with whom. I vaguely recalled him flirting with
Mrs. Cline at dinner.
Before I had long to contemplate the matter, a strident voice called out from the
crowd.
“Lady Darby is in there!”
I stiffened as a gasp ran through the crowd behind the hedge. It appeared my efforts
to go unnoticed had failed.
“Did they finally catch her in the act?” the woman asked.
“The butcher’s wife,” another one muttered.
I tightened my arms around my body, swallowing the fear and anger that gathered at
the back of my throat at hearing the old refrain.
“You know that is absolute nonsense!” my sister exclaimed, joining the group behind
the hedgerow.
“Not this time,” Lady Westlock declared with decided relish. “She’s been caught red-handed.
First one at the scene, wasn’t she?”
I glanced sideways at Mr. Gage, who was now watching me with solemn interest.
“Actually,” Mr. Tuthill spoke up meekly, still cradling the earl’s daughter. He looked
like he was struggling to keep her aloft. “Lady Lydia and I came upon Lady Godwin
first.”
That silenced Lady Westlock, but only for a moment. “That still doesn’t make Lady
Darby innocent.”
“That is enough!” My sister, Alana, burst through the men blocking her access to the
alcove. She marched to my side and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I will not
listen to any more of this ridiculousness. I suggest that anyone who is not assisting
Lord Cromarty return to the castle.” She gestured for Sir David to assist Mr. Tuthill
with Lady Lydia before tugging me toward the exit, leaving the matter of Lady Godwin’s
body to Philip.
“You cannot protect her forever,” Mrs. Smythe snapped as we passed. “She must answer
for her actions.”
“When they are
her
actions to answer for,” Alana replied without breaking her stride. She had always
been a force to be reckoned with when she chose to be, and I was once again reminded
how grateful I was she was my older sister.
The guests slowly began to trickle back through the maze as Alana shooed them along
ahead of us. Lady Westlock glared at me and huffed, jiggling her double chin.
Angry that once again I was to be subjected to more gossip, ridicule, and vicious
name-calling, I lifted my hands and blinked innocently. “Look, my lady. No red.”
She spluttered, and several of the other ladies gasped in indignation, fanning their
faces as if they might swoon. A few of the men chuckled nervously.
My sister pulled me harder through the crowd, wrenching my shoulder in her rush to
distance us from the mob while they were all distracted. She shook her head. “You
just couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Sorry,” I murmured, even though we both knew that I wasn’t.
Alana sighed.
