The Anatomist's Wife (15 page)

She blinked wide eyes at me and then Gage. “You are zee man who investigates?” she
queried in an accent too lilting to be feigned.

“Yes.”

She glanced at me again and then reluctantly nodded her agreement to speak with us.

I sat carefully on the end of her bunk, not wanting to threaten or crowd the skittish
maid, who sat up and pulled her knees into her chest. Gage leaned against the wall
and crossed his arms and ankles, affecting a casual pose.

“First, allow me to offer my condolences.” Faye’s eyes widened even further as she
peered at me over the hills of her knees. “Lady Godwin was your employer and perhaps
your friend. I’m sure you feel the loss.”

Her eyes saddened once again, drooping at the corners. She nodded.

“How long have you been Lady Godwin’s lady’s maid?”

“
Mmmm . . .
four years,” she hummed.

“Was she your first employer?”

“In England?
Oui
.”

I nodded. “Was she fair?”

“Yes,” she replied, and then elaborated timidly. “My lady was demanding. She wants
to be most beautiful and . . .
très chic
. But she was fair.”

“We’ve been told she took a number of lovers after her husband left for India.” I
hoped that by leading into my next question the maid would not become hesitant to
speak to us, worrying she was betraying her ladyship. “Do you know this to be true?”

She studied me for a moment, clearly debating whether to reply. Her shoulders drooped,
and she sighed. “Yes.” Then her back stiffened. “Do you zink one of her amours kill
her?”

“We don’t know,” I replied truthfully, exchanging a glance with Gage. “But we think
it’s a very real possibility.”

Faye released her death grip on her knees and leaned her head back against the wall.
A fierce frown lowered the corners of her lips. “I tell her such indiscretion not
good, but she only laugh at me. A Frenchwoman would never be so careless with her
liaisons.”

“Faye,” I began, trying to decide the most delicate way to phrase what I needed to
ask next. “Did Lady Godwin experience an . . . unexpected result from all these encounters?”
The maid turned watchful, and I took her silence as encouragement. “Was she enceinte?”
I asked bluntly.

She lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Do you know how long?”

“
Mmmm . . .
five months. Physician say to expect
enfant
in early December.”

Which meant that if Lord Marsdale had been honest with us, and he had slept with Lady
Godwin around mid-February, he could not be the father. We were looking for someone
else.

“Did Lady Godwin know who the father was?”

“Yes, but she not tell me. Only say she was pleased.”

I looked at Gage. He looked just as puzzled as I was. I would have assumed Lady Godwin
would be panicked at the realization she was expecting and that her husband had been
hundreds of miles away at the time of conception. There was no way of fooling the
man into believing it was his.

“Was she afraid of how her husband would react?”

Faye shrugged. “Not zat I see. His lordship is . . . how do you say,
indulgent
, and generally ignore his wife.”

I doubted Lord Godwin would have been so indulgent when it came to his wife having
another man’s child.

“How many people knew she was expecting?”

The maid tilted her head in thought. “Me, her physician,
mmm . . .
I zink she tell her friend Lady Stratford.” She paused. “And maybe her sister. But
no one else zat I know.”

She must have told someone else. Or Lady Stratford had. I glanced at Faye. Or . . .

“Did you tell anyone? Did the other servants know?”

Faye shook her head as if offended. “I tell no one. The other servants, zay not speak
to me, so I not speak to zem.”

That must be a lonely existence. No wonder the woman mourned the loss of her employer.
But such was the life of ladies’ maids and valets—too lowly for their employers, too
high for the other servants of the household. I wondered if she’d made friends with
any other ladies’ maids.

Gage shifted behind me, and I realized I had been gathering wool for too long.

I cleared my throat. “Did Lady Godwin have any enemies that you are aware of?”

“
Oui
,” Faye said adamantly. “She tell me all zee other ladies jealous of her beauty and
wanting to be her.” She shook her head angrily. “Zay not like her.”

I exchanged another glance with Gage. Was the maid truly that blind? Surely she’d
seen the other ladies, and certainly Lady Stratford, who was a swan to Lady Godwin’s,
or anyone else’s for that matter, duck. I supposed she was only repeating her employer’s
words, but I had a hard time accepting that she actually believed them.

“One more question,” I said. “Did Lady Godwin embroider?”

Faye seemed taken aback by the question. “No,” she replied in confusion.

“But did she own any embroidery supplies? Thread, needles, scissors?”

The maid shook her head. “No. She hate stitching.” She said it as if Lady Godwin equated
it to the plague.

I hid a smile and rose from the end of the bed. “Thank you for answering our questions.
For the time being, please keep our conversation to yourself, and if you should remember
anything that you think might help us, let Mrs. MacLean know and she will send for
one of us.”

“Of course,” Faye replied. “You will catch him, won’t you? Zee person who did zis?”
The maid’s expression was fierce, and I could see tears gathering at the corners of
her eyes again. Whether or not anyone else truly cared about Lady Godwin, this maid
had.

I smiled consolingly, thinking of how much I had weighing on the outcome of this as
well. “We hope so. We definitely hope so,” I added softly. I felt Gage’s eyes on me
but ignored him. “Faye, what is going to happen to you? Do you have a ride back to
London?” I asked, concerned that the maid had been forgotten in all the fervor.

She brushed tears away from the corners of her eyes. “I travel back to London with
her ladyship’s body and belongings. Lady Stratford say she make sure I taken care
of until I find another position.”

I thought it spoke well of the countess that she had remembered the maid. Or perhaps
it was her lady’s maid who had. I recognized the titian-haired girl who entered the
room as the same maid who had let us into Lady Stratford’s apartments and served us
tea.

“Pardon me,” she said as Gage held the door for her when we left and allowed her to
slip inside. I peered through the crack in the door as it closed and watched the maid
approach Faye’s bed. The Frenchwoman dissolved into tears again upon seeing the woman,
who reached out to hug her as the door latched.

“So her maid knew she was expecting,” Gage commented as we descended the tiny set
of stairs leading to the servants’ quarters at the very top of the castle.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to warm them against the chill of the stairwell
and sighed. “Which is not really surprising. A lady’s maid would often be the first
to discover such a thing.”

“Even before the husband?” Gage attempted to jest.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Depending on the marriage and the husband. I somehow doubt
Lord Godwin was familiar enough with his wife’s body that he would have noticed such
a thing, even if he were in England.”

Gage nodded. “But he eventually would have.”

“Yes. And likely soon, if he hadn’t already. She would have started putting on weight
rapidly at this point.” I sighed. “Well, now we know the embroidery scissors aren’t
Lady Godwin’s. So whose are they?”

Gage reached out to open the door at the base of the steps for me. “That’s a good
question.”

“Why didn’t you ask Lady Stratford about them?” I asked as we moved down the hall
toward the main staircase.

“I was still waiting to hear from Lord Cromarty. Your sister and Mrs. MacLean were
asked to check the household inventory to make certain they were not part of it. I
also had no reason to suspect Lady Stratford had any part in Lady Godwin’s murder.”

I paused at the top of the stairs and turned to lean against the banister. “That doesn’t
mean the killer didn’t take the scissors from her or another lady’s embroidery basket,”
I challenged.

“I realize that, but once we bring out those shears and begin asking everyone whether
they recognize them, it will be easier for the owner, and possibly the murderer, to
hide the fact that they were missing in the first place. Servants can be bribed, replacements
made. It would be easier to catch the culprit unaware. Are you coming downstairs?”

I supposed his reasoning made sense. But eventually, suspect or no, he was going to
have to reveal the discovery of those scissors.

“No,” I replied, pushing away from the railing. “I think I’ll visit the children in
the nursery.”

Gage’s smile was teasing. “Hiding again, Lady Darby?”

I lifted my chin to stare down my nose at him. “Just trying to make it more of a challenge
for you to find me later,” I replied flippantly and strode down the hall so I didn’t
have to see the look in Gage’s eyes that told me he knew I was lying.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
peered through the open doorway of the master suite’s private parlor, glad to find
my sister alone. We had not spoken privately since the previous morning, and I was
curious how she was holding up under the strain of the past few days. She was seated
at the end of a settee upholstered in cream-and-oatmeal-striped silk, her arm draped
across the back of the seat and her face turned to the sun shining through the window.
I paused, smiling at the pretty picture she made. Her hair, which was two shades lighter
than my dark chestnut tresses, appeared tipped in a shade of caramel in the afternoon
sunlight. She seemed peaceful, as I had not seen her in weeks since preparations for
the house party began. I wondered if perhaps I should not interrupt her, and began
to back out of the room.

But at that moment she turned and opened her eyes. A soft smile lit her face at the
sight of me, and she reached out a hand. Unable to resist the pull of the affection
in her gaze, I crossed the room and sat down next to her in front of the window.

“And where have you been all day?” she asked me. “When I went to your room this morning,
you were already gone.”

“Mr. Gage took me with him to speak with Lord Marsdale.”

“Ah,” she breathed knowingly. She reached around to the back of my head to adjust
my hair, pulling several pins out and replacing them. “Are you any closer to finding
the killer?” she asked in a deceptively casual tone.

“I’m afraid not,” I told her. “But we have two and a half days left before the procurator
fiscal from Inverness arrives, and I’m going to do everything in my power to catch
the culprit before then,” I declared, determination ringing in my voice.

Alana smiled in gentle amusement. “That would be nice, dear. Believe me, I would like
to know that my children are safe again and send all of these people on their way
so that I can have my home back. But even if you haven’t caught him by then, I’m sure
the procurator fiscal will be grateful for the work you and Mr. Gage have done.”

I feigned an interest in the pile of color swatches my sister had laid across the
back of the settee. I didn’t have the heart to tell her my suspicions about where
the blame would fall should we fail to expose the murderer soon. Perhaps tomorrow
I would, or the day after, just before the procurator fiscal arrived so that she was
prepared, but not now. Not while she was so serene.

“What are these for?” I asked, changing the subject.

She sighed. “The children need new clothes for autumn. But I’m having difficulty choosing
colors for Philipa.” Her lips quirked wryly. “Especially since she has informed me
she now despises pink and yellow.”

I smiled. That certainly sounded like my niece. Next year pink and yellow would be
her favorite colors. “The cinnamon red and bottle green,” I told Alana, tapping the
swatches in question.

“Really?” She reached across me for the stack. “I thought perhaps the cinnamon was
too dark for her complexion.”

It tickled me that Alana was already so concerned with her five-year-old daughter’s
wardrobe. “No. It will look lovely with her brown eyes.”

“All right,” she conceded as she tossed the swatches onto the table. “Well, since
that is decided, you can join me for tea.” She stood and shook out her skirts. I stared
up at her in confusion. “Well, come on then.”

“Aren’t we taking tea here?”

“Of course not. We shall join the other ladies in the drawing room.”

I nearly groaned. I knew that tone of voice. I knew it, and I hated it. It was the
voice of the centuries of obstinate, crusading Scotsmen whose blood flowed through
our veins. And it had been my great misfortune to be too often the supposed beneficiary
of Alana’s own brand of stubborn valor.

When I was six, she boosted me onto the back of our father’s newest gelding in an
effort to convince our sire I was ready to ride a horse like my older siblings instead
of a pony. Her plan only succeeded in giving me a sore bottom; first from being thrown
from the gelding, and later from the thrashing I received from Father for the stunt.

At fourteen, when I still felt gawky and uncomfortable with the changes to my body,
Alana dressed me in one of her gowns and dragged me to the May Day fair in Kelso.
She was determined to prove to our neighbors that I was not unattractive or strange.
It seemed to work, until a baron’s son tried to kiss me and I sneezed in his face.
Apparently, no one else thought he smelled too strongly of his cologne, and my protestations
that it had tickled my nose fell on deaf ears.

At eighteen, it was a handful of gentlemen mocking my first private art exhibition
at our family’s London residence. At twenty-one, a debutante who felt she should be
allowed to purchase the blue dress I had chosen for my wedding gown because she claimed
it made my eyes look possessed. At twenty-four, a mere month after Sir Anthony’s death
and the accusations that followed, it was the lords and ladies who strolled in front
of the shops on Bond Street, whispering about my crimes and unnatural tendencies as
Alana and I purchased a few last-minute items in preparation for our journey to Gairloch.
None of those situations had worked out well for me when Alana stepped in. The gentlemen
had begun wagers in the betting books at the gentlemen’s clubs that no one would marry
me for three years—they won, just barely. The wedding gown was spitefully ripped by
the debutante, and I was still shunned and whispered about by the lords and ladies.

And now Alana wanted us to confront a drawing room filled with gossiping harpies who
believed me capable of murder.

As much as I loved my sister and appreciated her righteous indignation on my behalf,
there were times when I wished she would simply leave well enough alone.

“I would prefer to have tea here,” I told her, prepared to argue my point.

“I’m sure you would. And I can hardly blame you. However . . .” She adopted her lady-of-the-manor
voice, the one she had been practicing since the age of seven, somehow knowing she
would be a countess someday. “I am not going to let my guests dictate who sits in
my
drawing room and who does not. This is your home, too, Kiera. And if I want to drink
tea with you, I can do so anywhere I please.”

“Alana,” I pleaded.

“No. My mind is firm on this. If Lady Westlock and her fellow harpies are not pleased
by your presence, they can eat their biscuits in the dungeons for all I care.”

“Please, Alana.” I clasped my hands together to beg. “Now is not the time”

“If not now, then when?” My sister perched on the edge of the settee next to me and
took hold of my hands. “It will not stop. It never will, unless we do something about
it. Now.” She raised and lowered our joined hands in emphasis. “I’m tired of watching
you fade into the shadows. You were always quiet and reserved around company, but
you never ran away and hid. Not until you married Sir Anthony.”

I glanced away from her, not wanting to be reminded of the way I was before corpses
became such central figures in my life. It had been so long now that sometimes I wasn’t
sure if I had ever lived without their specters hanging over my head.

“At the time, it seemed for the best, but sometimes . . .” Alana sighed. “Sometimes
I wonder if we did the right thing by allowing you to hide away here at Gairloch.”

I looked into Alana’s saddened eyes, worrying again that I had caused my sister and
her family irreparable harm by staying here.

She smiled sadly. “The reason I haven’t mentioned this before was for purely selfish
motives. I wanted you here. I had more trouble recovering after Greer was born than
I had with the others, and I was floundering a bit.” She sucked in a deep breath,
blinking her eyes to hold back the wetness shining there. She often got this way when
she thought about that difficult time. I had to swallow back my answering emotion.
“It was so good to have you here with me. And every time I contemplate your leaving,
it feels like someone is cutting out a part of me.” She breathed in and exhaled sharply.
“However, that time is coming.”

I felt a mild stirring of panic pull the air from my lungs.

Alana squeezed my hand. “Please don’t mistake me. You will always have a home here.
But perhaps it’s time you rejoined the world beyond Gairloch’s vistas. Perhaps it’s
time you defied those gossiping windbags instead of trying so hard not to overset
the applecart.”

I did not reply immediately. I was too disturbed by the idea of leaving here, of facing
the angry masses of London or Edinburgh. The ton would cut me dead, and my husband’s
colleagues would eye me with disgust. I couldn’t imagine that my fellow artists would
look upon me any more favorably. And then I remembered that none of these worries
would matter if I did not find Lady Godwin’s murderer and keep Gage from implicating
me.

“But those concerns are for another day,” Alana declared, not knowing how dark my
thoughts had grown. “For now, you have only to join me for tea in the front parlor.”

That stubborn look was back in her eyes, and I suddenly felt every minute of all of
the hours of sleep I had missed the last two nights. “Alana,” I began, barely summoning
the strength to argue.

“No. No protests.” She pulled me to my feet with more force than I expected and tucked
her arm through mine to drag me toward the door.

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. This could not go well.

•   •   •

I
t would have been comical how quickly the chatter in the drawing room silenced as
soon as we stepped through the door if I hadn’t still been so preoccupied with trying
to find a way to escape. Alana towed me heedlessly across the room, as if oblivious
to the others’ reactions, even though there was no way she could have failed to notice
the harsh stillness.

“Good afternoon,” she announced cheerily.

Several of the ladies murmured polite replies while the others continued to stare
at me in disapproving shock. She ignored them, and my dragging heels, and pulled me
toward the gold brocade settee at the center of the room, where Lady Stratford sat
the previous evening before dinner. The countess sat by the window this afternoon,
watching us with the same curiosity as the others, albeit with far more subtlety than
the open appraisal of some of the other women.

“Is that the sampler you’ve been working on?” my sister asked Miss Darlington as we
passed behind her chair.

She startled and dropped her gaze from where she had been staring at me. “Yes, my
lady.”

“It’s lovely.”

She shifted in her seat. “Thank you.”

I wondered if her engagement to Mr. Abingdon had been announced yet. Was she happy
with the arrangement? At the moment, she merely looked uncomfortable. Whether that
was from worry over her recent conduct in regards to Mr. Abingdon or my presence,
I could not tell.

As if on cue, several maids swept into the parlor, bearing heavily laden tea trays,
as soon as Alana and I settled onto the settee. They set the tea services strategically
throughout the room and then disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived. I knew
my brother-in-law’s staff was loyal and efficient, but I had expected them to be out
of practice after so long a period without guests at Gairloch. I was clearly mistaken.
Every meal had been perfection, every room cleaned to a shine, and I had overheard
no complaints from the guests, despite the added upheaval the murder had caused. I
was impressed and proud of my sister’s ability to direct them. I had always known
she was a gifted hostess, and this was just added proof.

Alana returned my tight smile with one more genuine, and slid forward to pour for
the group of ladies surrounding the tea table before us. Her movements were graceful
and her voice genteel as she asked each woman how she preferred her tea, and I wondered
at her ability to remain so calm when there was so much tension in the air around
us. It settled across my skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks. I had to clasp my hands
together in my lap to keep from fidgeting and soothing the tingling sensation across
my skin.

“Kiera.”

I took the cup of tea Alana poured for me, already prepared as I liked. She had also
set a lemon biscuit on the saucer. “Thank you,” I replied, even though I wasn’t certain
I could stomach any of it.

She smiled encouragingly at me and then turned to pour her own cup.

I forced the cup to my lips to take a sip and peered over the rim at the others. Some
of them had returned to their conversations, though more quietly than before, and
although I sensed that some of their attention was still focused on me, they at least
made a good show of pretending it wasn’t. Then there were others, like Miss Darlington,
who seemed to have great difficulty keeping their eyes off me, even though they knew
it was impolite to stare. Miss Darlington’s gaze bounced up and down from the sampler
in front of her to me so many times I was worried she would give herself a crick in
the neck. I tried to smile at her, but she seemed horrified by my notice of her and
lifted the sampler to hide her face.

Of course, there were also a few who just couldn’t be bothered to hide their disgust
of me, namely Lady Westlock and Mrs. Smythe. I ignored their glares and the indignant
pitch of their whispers as best as I could.

“The weather is lovely today after last night’s rain, is it not?” Alana said politely
to the company surrounding us.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which stretched my nerves, and then Philip’s
cousin, Caroline, spoke into the gap. “Indeed. I forget how refreshing a Highland
rain can be.” She smiled softly at me.

“Lady Cromarty, I have the most wonderful news,” Lady Darlington crowed from across
the room. “Mr. Abingdon and my daughter are to be wed.”

Well, that answered my earlier question. I wondered if Lady Darlington was aware of
the events surrounding her daughter’s precipitous engagement or if Miss Darlington
and her brother had decided to keep those details to themselves.