The Anatomist's Wife (16 page)

I watched Caroline and her mother carefully as my sister offered her congratulations,
and was relieved to see that Caroline did not appear the least bit upset by the news
and, in fact, seemed pleased as she smiled into her teacup. Clearly, the girl had
even more good sense than I’d given her credit for. Her mother, Lady Hollingsworth,
on the other hand, looked as if she had just swallowed something very bitter. Her
lips pursed and her eyes glared accusingly at her daughter. Perhaps for Caroline’s
sake, I should encourage Philip to mention something of Mr. Abingdon’s unsavory character
to his aunt.

“Congratulations,” I told Miss Darlington, and tried to sound sincere even though
I thought the real congratulations went to Caroline for escaping marriage to the bounder.

Miss Darlington nodded in acknowledgment and shifted once more in her seat.

“When do you plan to have the wedding?” my sister innocently asked. “In the spring?”

Lady Darlington’s gaze darted anxiously toward her daughter. “Oh, Sarah has always
dreamed of an autumn wedding,” she lied smoothly. She evidently knew something of
her daughter’s conduct. “The colors suit her so well.”

I glanced at blonde-haired, blue-eyed Miss Darlington and nearly choked on a bite
of biscuit. Anyone with a modicum of sense could see that autumn colors were absolutely
the worst match for the girl.

Lady Darlington seemed to realize this and flushed before hurrying on. “So it is rather
fortuitous Mr. Abingdon asked for her hand now instead of two months hence. We plan
to have the bans called this Sunday, if we are allowed to return home by then.”

“So a mid-September wedding. You should have lovely weather, as long as the rain holds,”
my sister said kindly.

“But they say rain is actually a good omen for a bride,” I said and then blushed when
everyone turned collectively to look at me. I wasn’t entirely certain why I decided
to open my mouth.

“That’s true,” Alana agreed, coming to my rescue. “I had forgotten that old adage.”
She turned to smile at Miss Darlington. “So perhaps we
should
hope for rain.”

“As I recall, it did not rain on your wedding day, Lady Darby,” Lady Westlock couldn’t
seem to resist commenting.

I met her gaze levelly. If she had hoped to disconcert me with such a statement, she
was to be sorely disappointed. And I did not feel enough loyalty toward my deceased
husband to even attempt to deny the truth. “No, it did not.”

“But it did rain on mine,” Alana declared much too cheerily. “What about you, Lady
Westlock? Did it rain on your wedding day?”

She narrowed her eyes at my sister and clamped her lips together tightly.

“I remember there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky,” Lady Darlington supplied helpfully,
darting a triumphant look at Lady Westlock. “It did, however, rain for mine.” I wondered
what had transpired between the two friends to provoke Lady Darlington so.

Lady Westlock ignored her and focused on me again. “I’m curious whether Mr. Gage has
had any luck with his investigation yet. Of course, we all know he is just searching
for evidence. It’s quite clear who the killer is.”

I tightened my grip on my teacup.

“Really?” Alana said, brushing an imaginary crumb from her lap. She seemed so calm;
I imagined I was the only one who could sense the anger behind her restrained movements.
It fairly vibrated down the line of her back. “It is not clear to me. Perhaps you
could enlighten me?”

Lady Westlock scowled fiercely.

“No?” My sister’s bright blue eyes dared her to say my name. The others leaned forward
in their seats, absorbing every nuance of the silent standoff between the two ladies.

My stomach churned. I was so tired of these confrontations. So tired of being accused.
And so tired of forcing my sister to defend me. I wanted to scream at them all, and
I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I might do exactly that.

Lady Westlock’s eyes dropped to her lap, and Alana laid down the gauntlet. “Then I
suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. None of us care to hear your nasty assertions.”

The air rang with the silence that followed. No one dared speak or move until my sister
removed her glare from Lady Westlock. She swallowed the remnants of her fury and turned
toward Lady Hollingsworth.

“Her sister has bewitched her. She can’t even see the truth for what it is,” Lady
Westlock hissed loudly enough for it to carry across the entire room.

“That does it!” Alana slammed her cup down on the table, sloshing the liquid over
the sides, and rose to her feet. “Pack your bags! You have fifteen minutes to be off
my property before . . .”

“Alana!” I protested, rising to stop her.

“No! I don’t care what Philip said. I want . . .”

I gripped her arm and shook her. “Stop!”

She stared at me goggle-eyed.

“Now sit down before you say anything else foolish,” I ordered, feeling my blood pumping
hard through my veins.

She blinked at me in shock. I couldn’t blame her. I was almost in shock myself, unable
to believe what I was about to do. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let Alana
take the blame for anything I did or upset her husband because her temper got the
better of her again. I gentled my hold on her upper arm and tried to look reassuring
as I pushed her back down into her seat. Then I marshaled all of my courage and turned
to stare down the other guests who were waiting in eager silence.

“See what I mean?” Lady Westlock jeered.

“You, shut your mouth,” I ordered.

The others gasped as the baroness’s mouth dropped open and she began to splutter.

“I’m not about to let you malign my sister. I’ve let you and your conspirators,” I
turned my glare on Mrs. Smythe and Lady Darlington, “pour venom in everyone’s ears
against me since the day you arrived. But I’m not about to let you speak of my sister
in such a way. She is the Countess of Cromarty and your hostess, and above all else,
a good woman. A better woman than any of you. And she deserves your respect.”

I paused, breathing hard as I struggled to control my own St. Mawr temper. Just because
I did not often unleash it, did not mean it did not exist. I could be far worse than
either of my siblings when a real rage came over me. Sir Anthony’s bedroom in London
was proof of that. I left it in shambles after his friends promised to have me arrested
for the anatomical sketches my husband forced me to draw.

The other ladies watched me with varying degrees of horror—eyes wide, bodies still,
breaths held so as not to miss a single word I uttered. I scowled at the whole foolish
lot of them.

“I’m well aware how very little the truth matters to you, but I’m going to speak it
anyway.” I glanced around the room, pausing to stare into each and every one of their
eyes as I continued. “I am not a murderer. Not now, not ever. And when Lady Godwin’s
killer is caught, a great many of you shall have to eat your words. I shall enjoy
every minute of discomfort you feel in my presence when that happens.”

Sick of looking at their shocked faces, I turned to my sister to take my leave.

Unfortunately, Lady Westlock had still not learned her lesson. I supposed it could
have been her status that drove her to have the last word—after all, she was a baroness,
and before that a marquess’s daughter. However, I suspected it was more likely a fault
of her character.

She sniffed, sticking her nose into the air. “And we shall smile with glee when you
are finally carted off to prison or the asylum, as you should have been a year ago.”

I clenched my hands into fists, struggling with an urge to march across the room and
do her physical harm. I fear the only thing that may have stopped me from doing so
was the realization that it would not help my case. Regardless, some of those around
me sensed my extreme fury, for they shrank back in their seats.

“You really need to learn to hold your tongue, my lady.” My voice was laced with steel.
“Your husband is already facing charges of assault. I should hate for you to make
it worse for him by adding slander to his bill.”

Many of the ladies gasped, swiveling in their seats to look at Lady Westlock, whose
eyes now bulged like a fish.

I did not wait to see what else happened, and instead murmured an excuse to my sister
before marching out of the room. “Would you please excuse me, sister dear. I fear
I’ve lost my appetite.” I could not stand to be in a room with Lady Westlock another
moment longer.

“Of course,” Alana called after me, but I was already striding through the door.

“She lies,” Lady Westlock cried.

I ignored her. In my fit of temper, I’d already revealed more than I was supposed
to. I only hoped Lord Westlock was too intimidated by Mr. Gage to expose my part in
the events two nights past. If the others knew I was assisting Gage, they might be
reluctant to even speak with him, which could jeopardize our entire investigation.

I turned left toward the back of the castle, hoping to make a clean escape, only to
plow straight into someone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“W
hoa!” Gage’s familiar voice exclaimed as his hands came up to steady me. “Why the
rush?”

“I can’t stay here another minute,” I panted, having trouble controlling my breathing.
My anger was still too great, and Gage was much too close. “Please, I need to go.”
I pushed against his chest, trying to pull away from the grip he had on my arms.

He glanced toward the parlor from where I had come and then back at me. “All right,”
he said soothingly. “Where to?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, disliking the frantic sound of my voice but unable to
stop it. “I . . . I need to think, and I can’t do it here. Not surrounded by all these
people. I need some air,” I gasped, seizing on an idea. I pulled against his hold
again and broke one arm free and began pulling Gage down the hall after me.

“All right,” he replied, falling into step with me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I opened my mouth to protest, planning to tell him I wanted to be alone. But I realized
I didn’t. Alone, my mind would not rest, and I didn’t particularly wish to be set
adrift in my thoughts at the moment. If it had been Lord Marsdale or Lord Stratford
or some other man in attendance, I might have declined the offer, but Gage was different.
I didn’t want to think too closely about why that was. So instead, I reminded myself
that no one was supposed to go off by themselves, and I pretended that was the reason
I allowed him to accompany me.

I grabbed my worn but warm pelisse from the cloakroom and we exited through the rear
of the castle. I marched Gage through the gardens with long strides and around the
orangery until we hit upon the path I often took that circled the property. As we
entered the shaded trail leading us into the woods, I slowed my pace, having burned
off enough rage and frustration to cool my blood to a simmer.

I took a deep breath of the forest air, pungent with the scents of rich earth, conifer
trees, and wildflowers—bluebells and fuchsias. Birds chirped in the branches above
us, serenading us with their woodland song. A squirrel darted across the path and
scrambled up an oak tree, pattering up the bark. When we came to a log in the middle
of the trail, Gage reached out to help me over it. I allowed it, even though I’d traversed
the same log hundreds of times without any assistance.

He glanced at me as he released my hand on the other side. “So what happened in there?”
he asked casually, nodding his head back toward the castle.

“Lady Westlock,” I replied succinctly.

“
Ahhh
.” His voice was knowing and sympathetic and encouraged me to continue.

“I’m tired enough of her snide comments and bold insinuations. I may be fair game,
but my sister is not,” my voice rang with finality. “I vow if she says anything else
against Alana or Philip or one of the children, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Gage was silent beside me as we passed through a patch of raspberry bushes. I could
see the children had already picked the ones closest to the path, but there were plenty
more growing in the tiny glen. They looked ripe and lush. I carefully picked one and
popped it into my mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness.

Gage reached out to pick a few more that had been beyond the children’s reach and
then followed me down the trail. “Why are you fair game?” he asked suddenly, harking
back to my earlier words.

“Well . . .” I stumbled for words to explain myself. “You know that I am. I’m the
one who picked the sorry husband, not Alana.”

“But did you choose him?”

I glanced up at Gage as he popped a raspberry into his mouth, and he lifted his eyebrows
in query. “No. But I was the one who asked Father to find me a husband of his choosing,
so, in a way, I still chose him.”

“No. You depended on your father to select an honorable and suitable man. You trusted
his judgment, and it happened to be wrong.”

I frowned, not liking his excessively reasonable tone, or his disparagement of my
father. But I did not refute his words, for I could not. And I knew that was what
bothered me most. It felt traitorous to harbor such thoughts against my father, to
be angry that he had not selected a better man for me. I had relied on him to see
to my future care, and he had failed me. It was somehow easier to blame myself for
not taking on the responsibility of finding my own spouse and bemoan my inability
to stand up to Sir Anthony than to fault my father, who was not even alive to defend
himself.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about my father and my mixed emotions when
it came to him.

“Maybe I’m not fair game,” I reluctantly assented. “But Lady Westlock and the others
are not going to stop maligning me regardless.” Feeling the rising tide of frustration,
I clenched my hands into fists. “I don’t understand how she can be so cruel.”

“She’s afraid.”

I scoffed. “I know. But a lot of us are afraid. That doesn’t give her the right to
lash out at me.”

“
Are
you afraid, Lady Darby?”

“What kind of question is that?” I said with a scowl. “Of course, I’m afraid. I’m
not a fool. Just two days ago someone murdered Lady Godwin, cut her open, and . . .”
I swallowed the rest, unwilling to speak the words.

“I only asked because you don’t act like you’re frightened,” he remarked evenly.

I crossed my arms over my chest, protecting the ache I felt there. “Just because someone
doesn’t show fear, does not mean they don’t feel it.” I saw him glance at me out of
the corner of my eye, but I refused to look at him. “I learned some time ago that
displaying fear only makes you weak. Children might be comforted, and young ladies
coddled, but no one reassures a grown woman except herself.” I pressed harder against
the hollow throbbing. “We all must deal with our shadows the best we can. No one can
conquer them for us.”

Gage did not reply, and in fact seemed lost in thought as the path turned northeast.
It angled along a rippling creek, swelled from the summer rains, toward the back of
Philip’s property. I glanced at the man beside me once or twice, wondering if I had
revealed too much about my life with Sir Anthony. Gage seemed content to allow the
conversation to lie. I wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful for this. If he was
contemplating my past, I thought I might have liked to set him straight rather than
have him inferring meaning from my words. But then I would have to explain more about
Sir Anthony’s death and the accusations and trial, and I did not relish such a turn
in the discussion. So I kept silent.

The water in the creek tumbled over rocks and swirled in tiny pools, accompanying
the sound of our footsteps with its tinkling music. We passed by the spot where on
hot summer days I would lean against an ancient ash and dangle my feet in the stream
while I sketched. It was a lovely little nook, large enough for two, but I decided
not to share such an intimate setting with Gage. The image of us seated side by side
under the tree’s boughs made something twist inside me. Besides, he would probably
only show Mrs. Cline the location, and the thought of them there together would ruin
it for me forever.

“I spoke with Mr. Calvin.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him as we slowly wound our way through a narrow part
of the path snaking between the trees and the creek. I forgot he had been questioning
Lady Godwin’s other former lover while my sister was forcing me to brave the inquisition
in the parlor. “And?”

“I don’t think he did it.”

I paused and waited for him to fall in step with me when the trail widened. “He didn’t
sleep with her?”

“Oh, he admitted to that . . . after a good ten minutes of bluster.”

I smiled, imagining the priggish man trying to talk his way out of revealing he’d
committed such a sin.

Gage grinned when he saw my humor. “Says it only happened once and he was terribly
foxed. I believe he meant to imply that Lady Godwin had taken advantage of him.”

“When did this happen?”

He sighed heavily, already telling me what I needed to know. “May or June. He couldn’t
remember the particulars. Either way, it’s too recent for him to be the father of
Lady Godwin’s child.”

“But . . .” I hesitated, still sorting out the ramifications of my thought. “It would
give him motive if she threatened to reveal their tryst.”

“I can see how he would want to keep it quiet, particularly from his wife and friends,
but I do not think he would resort to murder.”

I could not argue with him, for I agreed. Mr. Calvin was pompous and annoying when
he pontificated, but he seemed otherwise harmless.

We turned east with the stream and approached the edge of the forest where the trees
thinned out to reveal a wide moor filled with heather. The land south of the path
sloped upward to a little hillock, affording a beautiful view of the land beyond.
It was my second-favorite place to sit and sketch. In fact, I had painted several
rather mediocre landscapes from that vantage point. I glanced up the small hill, about
to suggest to Gage that he might like to see the view, when something caught my eye.
I slowed to a stop, staring up the rise.

The earth here was bare, for too much water drained over the hill from the forest
to allow plants to take root. Several large rocks were perched haphazardly across
the summit. I sat on the largest of the stones when I made my sketches, so I was quite
familiar with their landscape.

A chill crept down my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Lady Darby? Is something wrong?”

I swallowed against the lump of dread caught at the back of my throat. “I . . . I
think we should get Philip.”

“Why?”

I looked up into his puzzled face and gathered my courage. “Because one of those rocks
has been moved, and I honestly don’t think it was the rain that did it.”

•   •   •

A
n hour later, we were back on the hill with Philip and a pair of Cromarty footmen,
along with a few shovels and lanterns. I pulled my pelisse tighter around me as the
shadows began to lengthen and watched the four men take turns with the shovels. Neither
Philip nor Gage had wanted me to tag along, and I had seriously considered listening
to them, but in our rush to gather reinforcements, I had not shown Gage which rock
had been moved. I knew the hill best. I knew where each stone should rest and how
deep they had each settled into the earth. The others did not, not even Philip. So
in the end, there had been no choice except for me to join them.

Perched on my sketching rock, I pulled my knees up to my chest as the men tossed shovelfuls
of dirt up out of the three-foot-deep hole they had dug in the earth. The head-sized
stone that had covered the spot had been returned to its original position a few feet
away so that they could excavate the earth underneath. It was all rather eerie, as
if the killer had begun a cairn on the little hillock. That is, if I was correct about
what lay underneath.

I dug my fingers into my upper arms and pulled my gaze away from the growing hole.
I was sick with dread over what we might find buried there. Fear and revulsion crawled
across my skin and underneath my clothing like an insect. Shuddering, I lifted my
face to the wind for a breath of fresh air not permeated with the scent of freshly
turned earth.

Philip handed his shovel off to Gage and climbed out of the hole. Moving toward me,
he swiped the sweat from his brow with the rolled sleeve of his shirt. The men had
abandoned their jackets long ago. “This killer is far too intelligent,” he declared,
propping his hands on his hips. His face screwed up in frustration. “To bury something
in a spot where the soil is so often turned by the runoff from the rain, and place
a fresh animal carcass nearby. When the dogs dragged me up here, I thought they smelled
the raccoon’s blood.
All
of this dirt looked as if it had been disturbed recently.” He shook his head. “I should
have noticed the rock had been moved.”

“Stop berating yourself,” I told him. “As you said, the murderer was clever. And it
looks like he did his best to keep any animals from being able to dig it up.”

“Yes, buried deep and placed a rock over it.”

None of us spoke of what “it” was, but I could tell Gage and Philip suspected the
same thing. Our collective sense of horror weighted the air. The footmen may not have
known exactly what we were looking for, but they took their cues from Philip and Gage
and dug carefully and quietly.

It looked as if another foot or so of dirt had been cleared away when Gage halted
the footman beside him and bent down to look at something. I shared a look of mutual
dread with Philip before he inched toward the hole.

“There’s something here,” Gage murmured, reaching into the ground.

He slowly lifted the object from the earth, affording me only a brief glimpse of ivory
cloth before it was blocked by Philip’s kneeling form. My brother-in-law had ordered
me to stay out of the way if something was found. A command that had turned out to
be wholly unnecessary, for I didn’t think my legs would have supported me anyway had
I tried to approach. I wrapped my arms tighter around my knees. My heart stuck in
my throat as I watched their hunched forms.

“This is no ordinary cloth,” Gage murmured. “Look at the pale pink roses embroidered
around the edges.”

“It seems to be a lady’s shawl,” Philip said.

Gage’s voice tightened. “And here is a second one.”

The men fell silent, their bodies so still that all the hairs rose on the back of
my neck. I knew without their saying anything what they had found. A fierce surge
of emotion burned the back of my eyes at the thought of the tiny, helpless infant.
I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip in an effort to withhold the sob building at the
back of my throat.

I could barely see through the tears pouring down my cheeks as Gage shifted. “She
should be placed in the chapel cellar with her mother,” he said quietly.