CHAPTER NINE

Gage knelt down beside me as I peered into the hedge trying to figure out exactly what the blood-coated object was. It wasn’t a knife or a letter opener, but it definitely had a sharp point—two of them if my eyes did not deceive me.

Gage pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to reach underneath the hedge. He carefully extracted the object and held it up between two fingers for us to examine.

“It’s . . . a pair of embroidery scissors,” I murmured in shock.

The shears were six to seven inches long and engraved with a finely wrought pattern of vines and flowers. The steel tips were smeared with blood, as well as the round finger holes. It was shocking to see the delicate, woman’s instrument splattered with so much gore, and even more shocking to think of it being used for such a brutal purpose. It seemed impossible.

“Well done,” Gage told me. He held the object up higher so that Philip could see it over our shoulders.

“Does this mean a woman committed the crime?” Philip seemed aghast. Clearly such a possibility had never crossed his mind.

“Not necessarily.” With careful fingers, Gage closed the scissors and wrapped them several times in his handkerchief. “A man could have grabbed them from a sewing basket just as easily as a woman. But it does present some interesting possibilities. I would like to know whose scissors these are, and whether they realize they are missing.” A look of grim determination crossed his features. He reached out his free hand to cup my elbow to help me rise.

Philip frowned. “I shall ask my wife for a list of all known scissors on the premises of Gairloch. That will tell us whether these were brought with a guest or taken from somewhere in the castle.”

“Gentlemen, these are embroidery scissors,” I pointed out. They stared blankly back at me. “That narrows our search considerably, especially when you consider that only a lady would own a pair with such exquisite engraving,” I explained. “And I can tell you right now that Alana’s embroidery scissors have figural bird handles, and I do not own a pair. So it is likely that this pair belongs to one of the guests. But that is not our only problem.”

Gage’s brow puckered in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I sighed, knowing he was not going to like the information I had to share. “There is no way that those scissors were used to slice open Lady Godwin’s throat. The cut was much too clean. Only a very sharp knife could have managed such a task. The scissors are either a secondary weapon or . . .” I paused. “Or they were placed here for us to find.”

Gage and Philip looked at each other.

“You’re certain the scissors couldn’t have sliced her neck?” Gage asked me. “They look quite sharp to me.”

“As positive as I can be, given the circumstances.”

“Then we definitely have a problem.” He turned away and lifted his free hand to rake it through his golden locks. All the while his eyes stared at the bloody scissors inside his handkerchief.

I looked at Philip to find him studying me. He smiled tightly, and I wondered what he was thinking. Philip had defended me fiercely, alongside my brother, when the accusations of unnatural tendencies and desecrating the dead had been leveled against me in London, but I don’t know that he ever actually contemplated what exactly I had endured in my late husband’s private examination rooms. Knowing that a person spent time with sliced-open dead bodies is entirely different than being presented with the evidence of such experience.

“Could the scissors have made the incisions in Lady Godwin’s abdomen?” Gage asked.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to my examination of the wounds in the cellar last night. “I . . . I believe so. It would have taken considerable effort, but the cuts were ragged, so it seems possible.” I looked at Philip, still addressing Gage. “Does he know about . . .”

“The baby?” Philip finished, answering my question. “Yes.”

“Does Alana?” I asked him.

His brown eyes were troubled. “No. And I would prefer she not,” he added softly.

I nodded.

“What do you suppose the killer did with it?” Gage contemplated, pulling my gaze from Philip. “The baby?” he clarified in response to my confused stare.

I had wondered the very same thing. “Buried it?” I suggested. “Threw it in the loch?” It seemed wrong to discuss the young child’s fate so callously, and to call the baby it, but we had no way of knowing whether it had been a boy or girl, and somehow I didn’t want to. It would make it all that much more personal.

“If the baby was buried, do you think your wolfhounds could find it?”

“Yes,” Philip replied. “If a wild animal hasn’t already.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, not wanting to contemplate such a gruesome occurrence.

“I’ll take them out to search the grounds immediately,” Philip declared. “Perhaps another murder weapon will also turn up, or a jacket or shirt, something that might give us a clue as to the killer’s identity.”

Gage nodded. “That would be nice. But so far I haven’t seen any indication that our murderer is going to make it so easy.”

•   •   •

Philip hurried off toward the stables while I struggled to keep up with Gage’s long strides as he crossed the lawn toward the castle. His hands tucked into the pockets of his light brown trousers and his head bowed toward the ground, he seemed lost in thought and completely oblivious to my difficulties.

“What are you going to do now?” I huffed and lifted my skirts to move faster. I wondered why he wasn’t accompanying my brother-in-law.

Gage slowed and allowed me to catch up. “We are going to interview Lady Lydia Perkins and Mr. Tuthill.” My face must have reflected my extreme surprise, for he laughed. “Come now, Lady Darby. Thus far you’ve proven yourself to be an invaluable assistant. After all, you discovered not only that Lady Godwin was enceinte but also the manner in which she received the bruise to her face, as well as a potential murder weapon.”

“You found the black smudge.” I felt it necessary to point out.

“True enough. But you were far quicker than I in connecting it to Lady Godwin’s bruise.” His voice was tinged with disgruntlement, and I wondered if he begrudged me this achievement as he’d seemed to do when I discovered that Lady Godwin had been expecting.

“What about the letter? Did you tell my sister and brother-in-law about it?” I was reluctant to ask, worried such a reminder would change his mind again about my involvement in the investigation, but I needed to know how much Alana and Philip knew.

“No. I would have told Cromarty, but your sister interrupted us.”

I nodded and cleared my throat. “I would prefer it if they both remained ignorant for the time being. There’s no need to worry them unnecessarily,” I explained, staring down at the hem of my skirts as they sliced through the grass.

Gage glanced sideways at me, studying me for several heartbeats before shrugging. “That’s your decision. In any case, neither Lady Lydia nor Mr. Tuthill, nor our murderer, for that matter, will think twice about your presence while I question them, since you arrived on the scene soon after.” His head tilted to the side. “How were you able to get there so swiftly, by the way?”

“I was just over the hedge inside the maze,” I answered honestly, irritated by his suspicious tone. “I actually didn’t realize anyone was so close until Lady Lydia screamed.” I peered at Gage out of the corner of my eye and decided turnabout was fair play. “And what about you?” He turned to me curiously. “Why did it take you so long to arrive on the scene? You were nearly the last to appear.”

He pressed his lips tightly together. “I was otherwise engaged.”

“In the gardens?” I queried innocently. “Were you picking flowers or attempting to climb the split-trunked yew tree? Perhaps to impress some fair lady?”

His mouth compressed into such a thin line that his lips almost disappeared. He watched me warily, as if uncertain how to respond to such questioning from a genteel female.

I let him squirm a moment longer before allowing my lips to curl into a satisfied smile, amused by his discomfort. His eyes flared wide in shock before narrowing. I thought he might scold me, but then he surprised me by breaking into a wide, boyish grin. The beauty of that flash of white did more to stifle my mirth than any reprimand ever could have.

“I suppose I deserved that. I must remember that you are not some shy, retiring maiden,” he jested right back at me. “But a widow who has seen far more than her fair share of the world, and men’s anatomy, than most women of your breeding.”

I colored at his crude reference to the lower extremities of my husband’s dissection subjects. “I hardly viewed them in such a lewd manner,” I replied crossly.

“Then how did you view them?” he asked.

His impertinent grin made me want to stick my tongue out at him like a five-year-old. However, the genuine interest that rang in his voice made me consider my next words carefully. He waited patiently as I sorted through my thoughts and impressions of that difficult time.

“I . . . I thought of them as subjects of a portrait.”

Gage turned to me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher.

“It was easier, you see, to think of them as living—just lying there . . . very, very still . . . or asleep,” I tried to explain. “Especially those first few times.” I stared down at my feet as we walked. “Under those circumstances, it wasn’t difficult to find the beauty in the angle of their cheekbones, or the carmine shade of their hearts, or the intricate stretch of the tendons connecting their muscles. They were just showing me more of themselves than my normal clientele. The light and passion and desires that swim in the eyes of the living were gone, but the rest of them was open to me.”

Gage was very quiet, and I wondered if I had inadvertently just proven myself as crazy as most people thought I was by admitting such a thing. I frowned, angry at myself for sharing something so intimate with a virtual stranger—one who was conducting an investigation in which I was quite possibly considered a suspect.

We had nearly reached the terrace before he finally spoke, and when he did, it was to make a rather insightful but unexpected statement. “Is that ‘light’ you see in others’ eyes the reason your portraits are so special?” he murmured softly. It was phrased as a question, but I was rather certain I was not supposed to answer. I’m not sure I could have in any case.

Gage offered me his arm as we approached the terrace steps to the castle, and at first I thought the tingling along my hairline came from his touch. But as a tendril of unease crawled down my spine, I realized that was not the case at all. I hesitantly lifted my eyes to the castle facade, allowing my gaze to sweep over the numerous windows winking in the morning light. A shadow among the drapes on the third floor of the deserted western block made my heart stutter in my chest. My footsteps faltered, and Gage glanced down at me in question.

“Lady Darby?”

I blinked up at him. “Did you see that?” My voice sounded breathless.

“See what?” he asked, following my gaze back up to the window. The shadow was now gone.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, wondering if I was seeing things. I could have sworn someone had been watching us from that window just a moment ago. Did they notice my interest and step back behind the drapes, or was my lack of sleep, and the strange events of the night and morning, simply getting to me?

“Lady Darby?” Gage pressed. Lines of worry radiated from his eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied with false confidence. “Just a trick of the light.” I offered him a reassuring smile, hoping he wouldn’t press further. The last thing I needed to admit to Gage was that I was either imagining things or someone was following our movements. Both would see me removed from this investigation, and I had no intention of stepping aside. Not with so much at stake.

•   •   •

In short order, Mr. Gage, Lady Lydia, Mr. Tuthill, and I were ensconced in a parlor in the family wing sipping tea. It was a small chamber decorated in comfortably worn furniture the shades of new leaves and lemon yellow. On gloomy days, I often read there, for it was bright and cheerful even in the dreariest weather.

Lady Lydia perched at the edge of a green damask settee admiring Gage out of the corner of her eye. She seemed to believe she was doing this surreptitiously, but each time she snuck a glance, she managed to somehow set the caramel-brown curls surrounding her face to bouncing. It was an annoying little gesture that set my teeth on edge. I would have liked nothing more than to inform her of it, but even I knew such a comment would be terribly impolite.

Mr. Tuthill, for his part, was also not oblivious to Lady Lydia’s interest in Gage, but he seemed resigned to it. He drank his tea and avoided looking at all of us. I felt a bit sorry for the man. As the second son of a baron, with a moderate income and moderate good looks, he was easy to overlook, and he clearly had developed an interest in the Earl of Yeomouth’s youngest sister. One that I thought Lady Lydia returned, even if she was currently distracted by a bigger and far more attractive fish. However, Mr. Tuthill seemed sensitive to the fact that Gage would never pursue the girl, and so if he could just tolerate this interview, he would likely never have to endure another one.

“Well,” Gage declared, leaning forward to set his teacup and saucer on the table before him. “I’m certain you all understand the reason I have summoned you here.”

I wanted to raise my eyebrows at his use of the word “all,” but refrained, knowing he expected me to play my part—which included not allowing Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill to know I was assisting Gage with his investigation.

He tapped his finger against the wooden arm of his cream-upholstered Hepplewhite chair. “Mr. Tuthill, Lady Lydia,” he said, nodding at each of them. “You were the first to . . . stumble across Lady Godwin, correct?”

Lady Lydia nodded, casting her eyes downward demurely and pouting her lips in a manner so pretty I was quite certain she had practiced it to perfection.

“That is correct,” Mr. Tuthill replied, setting his own teacup aside. He tugged down on his hunter-green waistcoat nervously and stole a glance at Lady Lydia.

“Can you describe what happened?” Gage prompted, addressing Mr. Tuthill man-to-man.

Mr. Tuthill and Lady Lydia shared a quick look before he formulated a reply. “Well, we were strolling through the maze, trying to find our way to the center. And . . . well . . . we passed the alcove, and there she was.”

I wondered whether there was something he was leaving out between the “and” and “well.” Something like a kiss. It would explain the man’s nerves, as well as the harmless impression I received from them.

“It was horrid!” Lady Lydia cried, really setting her curls to bouncing. “I’ve never seen something so ghastly in all my life!” Her already wide eyes rounded even more as they turned to me, having realized belatedly the implication that could be made from her statement.

I ignored the girl’s distress, knowing it would only make matters worse to address it, and turned to Gage, waiting for him to lead them on with another question. His gaze met mine briefly, and I thought I saw amusement shining in their depths. Whether that humor was at Lady Lydia, me, or the entire situation, I could not be sure.

“Did you see anyone else?” he asked Mr. Tuthill. “Did you notice anyone entering the maze before you?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you hear any suspicious noises?”

Mr. Tuthill’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling in thought before returning to Gage. “No, sir. I don’t believe so.”

“What of you, Lady Lydia? Did you hear or see anything?”

She shook her head, and the curls bounced.

Gage frowned, tapping his lip with an index finger. “So when you saw Lady Godwin and the state she was in, you screamed?”

“Yes.” She nodded. Bounce. Bounce.

“And I believe I shouted,” Mr. Tuthill added.

Gage flicked a glance at him before returning his focus to Lady Lydia. “And you kept screaming?”

Nod. Bounce. Bounce.

“Even after Lady Darby arrived?”

“It was just such a frightening sight,” she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. “You’re ever so brave for investigating such a gruesome matter,” she added breathlessly. Bounce.

“Yes, well.” Gage seemed unimpressed by her adoration. “Mr. Tuthill acquitted himself quite admirably, catching you when you swooned and carrying you back to the castle.” He nodded at the baron’s second son, whose chest seemed to expand with pride.

“Oh, yes,” Lady Lydia agreed, turning toward Mr. Tuthill. “He did, indeed.”

Gage shared another humored look with me while the two young lovers stared into each other’s eyes.

“How long would you say it was until Lady Darby arrived?”

Mr. Tuthill blinked, re-collecting himself. “Only the matter of a few seconds.”

Gage’s attention swung to me, to play out this last little part of our charade. “Did you see Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill enter the maze?”

“No. And I saw no one else enter before or after me.”

He nodded. “Do you know the maze well?”

“I do,” I replied, feeling the other witnesses’ eyes on me. I suddenly had the horrible urge to giggle, and had to fight to suppress it. Gage did not help matters with his eyes twinkling at me. “I can walk straight to the center without a wrong turn. I imagine if Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill made enough errors trying to find the correct path . . .” or stopped to kiss often enough “. . . I could have easily caught up with them.”

Gage and I turned to look at them.

Mr. Tuthill cleared his throat. “We did, indeed, take several wrong turns.”

Lady Lydia’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“How long did it take until others arrived?” Gage queried.

I glanced at Mr. Tuthill. “But a few minutes?” He nodded in agreement. “We could hear their shouts and curses as they tried to find us in the maze.”

Lady Lydia blushed brighter. “I passed out before then.”

Gage tapped a finger on the chair arm again as he thought. “Did you notice if anyone acted strangely or suspiciously?”

I furrowed my brow, trying to remember, but all I could recall was that I’d looked away from their faces. I’d been too worried about my own presence being noticed to pay much attention to anyone else. “I don’t know,” I replied haltingly. “I don’t really remember.”

Mr. Tuthill shook his head. “My attention was focused on Lady Lydia.”

Gage nodded, watching me closely. “Are you aware of anything else I should know?” he continued, focusing on Mr. Tuthill and Lady Lydia again. “Connections Lady Godwin had with the other guests? Disputes she may have had with anyone?”

Mr. Tuthill flushed faintly, and his gaze flicked to Lady Lydia. I suspected he had caught the meaning of “connections” Gage intended. “Er . . . I will think on it and get back to you,” he replied. Talk of extramarital affairs was not polite conversation for young, unwed women.

“I know Lord Godwin is out of the country,” Lady Lydia chimed in. “And Lady Stratford and she were close friends.”

Gage’s eyes flared slightly at this tidbit of knowledge. “Then she would be a good person with whom to speak. Thank you, Lady Lydia.”

She beamed. And her curls bounced.

“Well,” Mr. Tuthill proclaimed, rising to his feet. “If there is nothing more?” Apparently, he’d taken all the fawning over Gage he could handle.

Gage stood with him. “That’s all for now. Should you think of anything else, please let me know.”

“We will.” Mr. Tuthill shook his hand and then offered Lady Lydia his arm.

She allowed him to escort her from the room, even though she was gazing over her shoulder at Gage until they vanished from sight.

“When would you like to interview Lady Stratford?” I asked, avoiding his gaze while I smoothed down the skirts of my dress as I rose.

“Hold on. Before we come to that.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “Do you truly not remember how the others reacted to Lady Godwin’s murder?”

“I . . . I looked away from their faces,” I admitted.

He seemed stunned.

“Well, I didn’t know I was going to be assisting in an investigation into the matter,” I replied crossly. “I was shocked. I . . . I may have seen corpses, but I’d never seen someone who was so obviously murdered.” I worried my hands together and risked another glance at his face.

“Of course,” Gage replied consolingly. He reached out to touch my arm, and I let him, needing the contact of another person.

I swallowed. “So before or after luncheon?” I asked, harking back to my question about Lady Stratford and hoping he wouldn’t try to discourage me from joining him.

“After. I have some things I need to do first.”

I nodded.

His arm fell to his side as he stepped away, and I felt the loss of his touch more acutely than I expected.

“Until then,” he said, a faint frown marring his brow, and then quit the room.

I reached up to cradle the spot where the warmth from his hand still lingered on my gray walking dress. My skin underneath seemed to tingle a bit, and I closed my eyes to better appreciate it.

When I realized what I was doing, I jerked my hand from my arm and opened my eyes. What ridiculousness! I glanced at the settee where Lady Lydia had sat, and shook my head. I was not some silly girl with romantic notions in her head. I didn’t want to be.

And with that firm reminder, I escaped to the familiar solitude of my art studio.