CHAPTER SIX

Mr. Gage’s smile, and the carefully constructed veneer of indifference he projected, instantly set me on edge, though I knew better than to show it. I was certain Gage thought his intense interest in my answer was well hidden, but the width and whiteness of his smile, rather like a wolf staring at its next meal, coupled with the gleam in his eyes, set the alarm bells ringing in my already pounding skull. Perhaps it was my survival instinct, sharpened and honed from my encounters with inquiry agents and Bow Street Runners a year before, or my natural wariness of the motivation of strangers—all I knew was that I would be foolish to share anything of a sensitive nature with this man.

Struggling to keep the clamor of my nerves from registering on my face, I frowned and lifted my eyes to the ceiling. I hoped he would attribute my expression to the mild twinge of discomfort my head still caused me. “My life is only interesting to those who have not lived it,” I replied mildly.

“Come now,” he cajoled, still wearing that smile. “You can’t tell me you found your existence so dull.”

I closed my eyes, deciding it would be easier to hide the irritation and ever-present fear such questioning caused me. “I never said my life had been dull, only uninteresting. They’re not the same thing.”

“True. But I still find it difficult to believe that spending any amount of time as an anatomist’s assistant could be uninteresting. You must have seen some quite appalling things.” His voice was pitched low and sympathetic, like a barrister commiserating with a victim on the witness stand. He was not overtly sly, and I realized it might not even be evident to anyone else, but it vibrated through me like a wrong chord struck by a pianist. He was good, very good. I wondered if he used the same tone on the women he wished to coax into his bed.

“Do you know what I find interesting?” I blinked open my eyes, angry he was trying to wheedle me like the witless society ladies. “How all of the ladies find you so charming. I’m afraid I do not see it.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You noticed the women find me charming?”

“How could I not?” I scoffed. “They twitter like magpies whenever you so much as bow over their hands. It rather puts me off my appetite.”

“So you didn’t twitter when I bowed over your hand?” The question was phrased as a jest, but I could see the disbelief in his eyes. The arrogant man simply couldn’t believe that a female could be unaffected by him.

I lifted my eyebrows. “You never bowed over my hand, Mr. Gage.”

A puzzled look entered his eyes. “Of course I have,” he protested, even as doubt softened his voice and insistence.

I started to shake my head, but then remembered my injury. “I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure,” I drawled sarcastically. “But I assure you that if I had, I never would have twittered.”

My words succeeded in wiping the smile from his face, replacing it with a look of curious contemplation. “I suppose you’re not the type of female who would twitter.”

I smiled tightly, surprised by how it hurt to be reminded yet again of how different I was from others. It was an absurd reaction considering the fact that I had been the one to point out I would never twitter in the first place, nor did I actually want to be like all the vapid ladies populating polite society, but it hollowed me out inside all the same. “No,” I finally replied before making an attempt to lighten the conversation. “How exactly does one twitter?”

Gage smiled.

“Well?” I asked, reluctantly curious now that I contemplated it. How did other women manage it without sounding deranged to their gentlemen admirers? I had never been very successful at the art of flirtation. I knew my sister was quite capable, having listened to her and Philip verbally banter with one another daily for over a year. My brother Trevor also seemed competent in that arena, if the number of young ladies in London angling for a marriage proposal from him were any indication. I, on the other hand, seemed to be missing that mysterious skill. Sir Anthony had never flirted with me, nor had any of his assistants. Perhaps it was an acquired talent, one that Mr. Gage had practiced dutifully, like learning a musical instrument, until he became a master. It would explain why so many people, men and women alike, seemed to admire him for it.

“Is a twitter simply a nervous laugh? Or does it require some kind of manipulation of the tongue and throat, like a cat’s purr?”

Gage’s smile widened. “Perhaps you should give it a try?”

I considered his suggestion. “Perhaps. But not now.”

He seemed on the verge of laughing. I tilted my head against the cushions in puzzlement, wondering what I had said to amuse him so. He shook his head, refusing to explain, and cleared his throat.

“So,” he declared, shifting in his seat. “What’s this?” He gestured toward the top of the square mahogany table positioned between our two chairs.

“It’s a puzzle.”

He leaned forward to pick up one of the unfitted pieces scattered across the table surface. “A puzzle? I thought they were a child’s toy, used to teach them their geography?”

“They are. Philip has a friend in Edinburgh who manufactures them, and he has been trying to market them to adults as well, by using pictures instead of maps and dicing them into a greater number of pieces. They haven’t caught on yet, but whenever Philip journeys to Edinburgh, he brings me back some of the prototypes. He has also taken a few substandard paintings to his friend and asked him to cut the images into puzzles especially for me.”

“Is this one of your paintings?” he asked, gesturing to the image of a castle and surrounding countryside beginning to take shape on the table.

“No. I do have a few puzzles made from the more inferior landscapes I’ve produced over the years, but most of them are made from pictures Philip finds in Edinburgh.”

“No portraits?” he teased.

I met his eyes squarely. “None of my portraits are inferior,” I replied, as certain of my talent as Gage was certain of his charm.

He studied me for a moment before nodding. “I’ve seen the portrait of your sister in the parlor, and a few more of your works. They are exquisite.”

“Thank you.” I felt a tingle of warmth at the base of my neck, as I always felt when someone praised my work. Since the scandal, I had not received many such compliments.

Gage’s eyes dropped back to the table. “So you have an interest in puzzles as well?”

I looked down at the wooden pieces, automatically analyzing the segments for the next section to fit. “They pass the time at night when I can’t sleep.”

I felt his eyes studying me again. “You have trouble sleeping?” The query was made lightly, but I sensed his interest.

It seemed harmless to assuage his curiosity. “Sometimes.”

“Have you tried reading?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t make me sleepy. Philip says the puzzles work because they are a mindless activity.”

Gage looked confused. “I would think sorting and fitting together a puzzle would be more stimulating. Does it truly put you to sleep?”

“Well, no,” I admitted. “But it soothes me.” I blushed, feeling somehow I had admitted far more than I wanted to. I breathed deeply, knowing a change of topic was necessary before he pushed me further. “Mr. Gage, I truly would like to go to bed. Do you honestly need to stay here with me for an hour? I assure you my mind is steady.” I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair. “I grant you that I may be in danger of passing out, but from fatigue, not physical injury. I promise you I shall wake again in the morning.”

He looked me up and down, as if he could see some sort of physical manifestation of the state of my health.

“If necessary, I shall recite all sorts of tedious information to you if that is what it will require to convince you to leave,” I declared, determined to remove him from my chamber.

His lips quirked at my slip of temper. “I believe you, Lady Darby. You do, indeed, seem sound.”

“Then will you please go?”

His hand lifted to cover his heart. “My fair lady, you wound me. Do you not realize what a novel experience this is for me? I have never had a woman request that I leave her bedchamber before. Normally they are begging me to stay.”

I rolled my eyes, even as my heart gave a traitorous flip at hearing him call me fair. “My abject apologies,” I drawled. “I had no idea your feelings . . .” a soft shush of sound distracted me, drawing my attention toward the door “. . . were so delicate. What was that?” I asked, sitting forward.

“I don’t know.” He frowned and crossed toward the door. Along the way, he bent to pick up a piece of paper lying on the wooden floor, several inches from the door. “It looks like someone left you a note.”

“At this hour?” I reluctantly hoisted myself out of my chair. “Didn’t they see the light under the door? Why didn’t they knock?”

A sudden chill raced down my spine. I looked at Gage, seeing the same alertness in his gaze. His eyes slid back toward the door as he handed me the letter.

I recognized the crisp white stationery as being from the generic stock stashed in every guest room in the castle. However, the bold block letters were not familiar and, in fact, seemed printed in such a uniform fashion as to make the sender’s handwriting indistinguishable. My hands shook as I read the words.

SHAME ON YOU, LADY DARBY. I KNOW WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING.

Gage, who had been reading over my shoulder, threw open the door and darted into the hall, leaving me blinking down at the page. Who would do such a thing? And what did it mean?

Immediately, my mind returned to Lord Westlock and his wife, and all of the other guests who believed me capable of murder. Did they think to frighten me? To intimidate me into doing something stupid, like confessing to a crime I didn’t commit? The edges of the paper crinkled beneath my angry fists.

Gage returned to stand in the doorway, clear frustration marring his brow.

“Who would write this?” I demanded of him.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, closing the door to a gap. “But whoever it was took a pretty big risk by sliding it under your door while there were still candles lit in your room.”

“Do you think it was the Westlocks?”

He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “No. Westlock was intimidated enough when he scurried off to bed. I don’t think he or his wife would have screwed up the courage to do something like this so quickly.”

“Well, then what of the Smythes? Or the Darlingtons?” I asked, rattling off the families who had been most vindictive toward me.

“I don’t know.”

“Or Marsdale,” I declared with some relish. “This sounds like something he would write, the scoundrel. Although,” I added after thinking about it, “I got the impression he didn’t care whether my reputation was true or not. Why would he be spiteful?”

“There is another possibility.”

The hesitance in Gage’s voice made me look up. His posture was rigid, and the wariness in his gaze made me look down at the words again.

“Oh,” I wheezed as the realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. I swallowed around the sudden dryness in my throat. “The murderer.”

He nodded. “Maybe, like Westlock, they saw us heading to or leaving the chapel.”

“Perhaps you’ll have a letter slid under your door as well.”

“Maybe.”

I wondered why he sounded doubtful.

“But either way, whether the killer or a suspicious guest sent that letter, perhaps your continued involvement in the investigation should be minimal.”

I frowned, not liking the sound of that. However, I didn’t immediately protest. “Maybe,” I murmured, deciding it might be best to hedge my bets. “But I would at least like to examine the place where Lady Godwin was found. In daylight. Tomorrow preferably,” I specified.

Gage stared back at me with no discernible reaction besides a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“I . . . I need to examine the imprint of her body on the bench, to make sure I haven’t missed any injuries.” I swallowed and internally shook myself. There was no need to stammer. Gage did not intimidate me. Besides, if he didn’t give me permission, I would get it from Philip. “The blood should lie in a predictable pattern if Lady Godwin was in fact cut open in that spot. If there is blood elsewhere, then the body was either moved or I failed to locate an additional wound.”

Having given this explanation, I willed myself to be silent and still, waiting for Gage to reply. I did not think I needed to admit how greatly I dreaded having to return to the chapel cellar. If I could confirm my findings in any other manner, then I was determined to do so. And I wasn’t going to let a simple letter warn me off this investigation, especially one with only an implied threat.

Gage continued to look at me as he tapped a hand against his thigh, considering the matter. After the struggle Philip encountered in convincing him to allow me to assist, I expected him to make at least a token resistance to my request. So when he nodded his agreement with nary a warning or a bargaining of conditions, I was flabbergasted. I wondered what such a reaction meant. Maybe he was only bluffing about allowing the letter to scare me off the investigation. Or perhaps my competency in examining Lady Godwin’s body had persuaded him of my value as an assistant. It was more likely he was doing just as I’d proposed, allowing me to prove my findings on Lady Godwin’s wounds without having to make me return to the cellar.

“Lord Cromarty and I will wait for you in the morning,” he told me. His pale blue eyes shifted in the dim light. “Until then, good night.” He turned back as he was leaving. “Oh, and Lady Darby?”

I nodded.

“Lock your door.”

I shivered and moved forward to turn the key. After testing the door was secure, I stepped back to sit on the edge of my bed, trying to decipher the cryptic look I had seen in Gage’s eyes at the last.

I had hoped that he was beginning to believe in my innocence, even after the comments relayed by Lord Westlock, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he believed quite the opposite—after all, I had also discovered Lady Godwin had been expecting—and hoped I would slip up and incriminate myself.

I sighed and pressed my hand to my forehead, too tired to puzzle out such matters at this hour of night. The sun would be rising in less than four hours, and I needed to get some rest before I met Philip and Gage to examine the maze.

Besides, it didn’t matter what Gage believed. I knew that I was innocent, and so did my sister and brother-in-law. All I could do was focus on what I had set out to do in the first place—protect my sister and her family by finding the real killer—and in the process, prove my innocence, perhaps once and for all.