CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I rapped twice on the parlor door to the Stratfords’ suite, and when no one answered, rapped twice more. There was only silence inside the chamber. Celeste was sequestered in the housekeeper’s quarters, and though I wasn’t certain where Lord Stratford and his valet were, I strongly suspected Lady Stratford was alone in the suite. At least, I hoped so. It would make all of this easier.

Twisting my hands in my skirts, I glanced up and down the corridor before cautiously opening the door and peering inside. The sun-filled chamber sat empty, save for the furnishings, but still I hesitated at the threshold, troubled by what I might discover within. Afraid I might find that a monster can lurk behind even the most fragile facade.

It seemed absurd that I was not relieved by the information Celeste had given us. After all, this was what I had wanted—to catch the murderer and remove suspicion once and for all from myself—but I simply couldn’t feel pleased with such a result. Not knowing that a woman like Lady Stratford could be so evil. It sent spiders crawling up and down my spine.

I don’t know what I had been expecting. Someone murdered Lady Godwin and her child, and though no one at the house party had struck me as a probable suspect, from the beginning, I had been well aware that the likely culprit was a fellow guest. But Lady Stratford? Especially knowing what I did about her health. That was almost beyond my comprehension. It was certainly beyond my understanding.

I shook my head, saddened and confused, and sickened by the knowledge of what I must do. Glancing behind me once more, I stepped into the room and closed it softly behind me. I wished Gage was with me. No matter what he said about Lady Stratford being more comfortable speaking with a woman, I would be more comfortable with him by my side. I felt certain he would be better at coaxing her to talk than I, but he insisted that I interrogate her on the matter of the chasteberry tonic while he retrieved the embroidered shawl from the chapel cellar and located Philip and Lord Stratford. I knew the only alternative was for me to revisit the cellar and collect the shawl, and I had absolutely no intention of ever returning to that foul, makeshift crypt. So in the end, my only option was to confront Lady Stratford alone.

I wasn’t afraid that the countess would harm me, and, in any case, Gage and the others would be joining us shortly. However, I was still distressed by the task set before me. My hands shook as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I surveyed the parlor. Lady Stratford’s embroidery hoop lay discarded on the blue settee where she had let it drop when she stormed out earlier. It sat with her work, face up, and I realized, with a jolt, that she was stitching a picture of a rocking horse. For whom? Lady Godwin’s baby? Celeste told us Lady Stratford had arranged for the adoption of Lady Godwin’s child and planned to visit the little girl. Would a woman do such a thing if she planned to murder the mother and child?

I shook my head and strode across the room. There was no indication that the murder had been premeditated. Perhaps Lady Godwin had changed her mind about the adoption or threatened to take up with Lady Stratford’s husband again, upsetting Lady Stratford. Who knew what a person was capable of in a moment of rage or despair?

I knocked once on the dressing-room door before entering, having already expected to find the countess in her bedchamber through the door on the other side. Beautiful gowns lined the walls, and delicate slippers were arranged side by side across the floor. A simple cot stood in one corner. Perhaps Celeste hadn’t lied about sleeping in here, or at least she’d done so on one of the subsequent nights following Lady Godwin’s murder.

“Lady Stratford,” I called, tapping on the bedroom door. No one answered, but I was quite certain the countess was listening. “Lady Stratford, I need to speak with you.” There was still no reply. I sighed and leaned my head against the wood, knowing I was going to have to say something far more ruthless to convince her to emerge. “If you do not speak with me now, I’m afraid you will find it far more difficult to do so when Mr. Gage and Lord Cromarty arrive. Such delicate matters really aren’t meant for gentlemen’s ears.”

There was a moment of silence when I began to worry that even those words would not coax her to come out. Then I heard a faint rustling and the whisper of skirts gliding across the floor. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Lady Stratford’s irritated face.

“What do you want?” she snapped, her mouth twisting in anger.

I was so accustomed to seeing her immaculately coiffed that the sight of her wrinkled skirts and crooked fichu momentarily stunned me. I found myself wishing she did not suddenly appear so young and vulnerable. Her harsh perfection would have been much easier to confront, under the circumstances.

The reason for my shock must have been evident, for her scowl deepened and she reached up to re-pin a pale strand of hair that had fallen from her chignon.

Recovering myself, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Gage has a few more questions he would like you to answer. Perhaps we should return to your parlor.” Without giving her time to reply, I turned and made my way back across the dressing room, forcing her to either follow me or wait to discuss matters with Mr. Gage. I trusted she knew exactly what “delicate matters” I had been referring to, and their implications, and she would soon join me.

“What if I refuse to answer any further questions?” she challenged, trailing me through the door to the parlor.

I sat on the brocade settee across the tea table from her pale blue one and spread my skirts out. “That is, of course, your choice. However, I believe it is in your best interest that you do. Remaining silent will only make you look more suspicious.”

Her frown deepened, and I could see the thoughts flickering across her gray eyes like clouds across the silvery surface of the loch. She seemed nonplussed and uncertain what to do. I wasn’t sure whether that was because she genuinely didn’t know what was happening or if she had just realized we suspected her of something.

She carefully lowered herself to the cushions and moved her embroidery aside. Her movements were strained and stiff. I could only compare them to the way she behaved two days prior, when she had been agitated by my presence, but not forced in her movements like she was now. I wondered what that meant. Would Lady Stratford turn violent when cornered, as her role as murderess suggested, or would she crumble from within? I perched cautiously on the edge of my seat, not willing to take a chance.

“Have you spoken with my husband?” she surprised me by asking.

“Not yet.”

“I told you he could answer these questions far better than I. Why do you continue to pester me in this manner?” She fisted her hands in her lap and lifted her chin. “I can assure you he will be most displeased when he learns how I have been mistreated.”

I wasn’t entirely certain of that. In fact, Lord Stratford seemed remarkably indifferent to his wife’s welfare. I suspected Lady Stratford was keenly aware of this, if her husband’s treatment of her at dinner two nights past was any indication of the state of their marriage. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to pretend otherwise, particularly in a situation like this. I thought I would have lied as well.

“You know we are only doing our best to uncover Lady Godwin’s murderer.” I struggled to keep my voice calm, even as my heart pounded in my chest. “Can you blame us for being suspicious when we discovered you lied to us about Lord Stratford being one of Lady Godwin’s lovers?”

“I told you, that is a vicious rumor,” she snapped.

“One we have confirmed. And one we have confirmed you knew about.”

Lady Stratford’s mouth tightened into a white line.

“We have also confirmed that you knew your husband was the father of Lady Godwin’s baby. And that you convinced Lady Godwin to give the baby to a couple living near your great-aunt, so that you might visit the child from time to time.”

She stared back at me boldly, but I could see the edges of her composure beginning to fray. Her chest rose and fell with each agitated breath. “You can’t have confirmed it. Not if you haven’t spoken to Lord Stratford.”

I answered evenly, refusing to rise to her bait. “And when we talk to him? What do you think he’s going to tell us?”

She blinked like an animal that realizes it has walked into a trap.

“Let’s cease with the denials,” I told her more sharply. “They will do you no good. I’m afraid you have much more serious implications to contend with than simply the effect all of this will have on your reputation.”

Lady Stratford looked startled by this proclamation. I wondered whether she was one of those ladies who believed reputation was everything or if she truly was naive enough to think that was the only thing at risk in this situation.

“Why did you convince Lady Godwin to give the baby up for adoption to a couple near Glasgow?” I asked.

“Because she didn’t want the child,” she blurted, as if such a thing was unfathomable to her. “She planned to pass it off to the housekeeper at one of her husband’s properties to raise. She didn’t care what became of the babe.”

I could understand Lady Stratford’s distress over such a proclamation. “And this couple actually wanted the child?”

“Yes. They have been desperate for a baby. The wife birthed a stillborn babe not long ago and almost died herself. The midwife told her she would never be able to have another child, so adoption was their only chance to be parents.” I heard the fervency in the countess’s voice, the desperate need to help this nameless couple from Glasgow. It tugged at my own heart.

“The couple lives close to your great-aunt? Did you plan to assist the child?”

She hesitated, perhaps thinking I might disapprove of her interest in a bastard child that was not even her own. “I thought I might look in on them from time to time, just to make certain the child was well cared for.”

I knew she was understating the matter, but I did not press her. I was well aware that a less sympathetic gentlewoman would find her intentions untenable. “You must have been furious with Lady Godwin,” I remarked, trying to make the comment sound as if it was not leading. “First for bedding your husband, and then for expecting his child.”

Lady Stratford was not completely foiled by my nonchalance, but she answered me nonetheless, shifting awkwardly in her seat. “Yes. Yes, I was,” she answered quietly.

“How unfair it must have seemed for such a lady to be blessed with a baby when there are so many other women who are more worthy.”

Lady Stratford stared down at her lap, twirling a diamond-and-ruby ring round and round her finger.

“I’m quite certain that couple who were going to adopt Lady Godwin’s little girl would have been much more deserving of . . .”

Lady Stratford’s head snapped up. “It was a little girl?” she gasped. Raw longing shimmered in her gaze.

“Yes,” I replied, suddenly wary.

Lady Stratford lowered her head, sniffing as tears overflowed her eyes. If she had killed Lady Godwin and taken the child from the womb, then she would know it was a little girl. Was she feigning this emotion, or had she truly not known? Either possibility soured my stomach.

I weighed my next words carefully. It was a terrible thing to know you wielded the power to harm someone just with the knowledge of what rested on your tongue. I did not like it. It gave me new respect for the manner in which Gage conducted his interrogations. The charm he exerted was used as much for personal protection as for softening the blow of his questions. I didn’t have that charm. All I had was an innate sensitivity to this subject and the wisdom to cushion the blow.

Leaning toward Lady Stratford, I clutched my hands together and gentled my voice. “You are having difficulty conceiving.” I didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was in essence one, nonetheless. Lady Stratford glanced up at me, more in confirmation than surprise, as more tears filled her eyes. “The chasteberry tonic, the red-raspberry-leaf tea, even your garnet necklace.” I gestured toward the amulet dangling over her décolletage. “They are all supposed to cure barrenness.”

The countess pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes but still she did not respond.

“You have been married to the earl for nearly seven years,” I pressed, hating the necessity of doing so. “And still you have not given him a child. He must be anxious for an heir.”

Her mouth thinned into a line of annoyance. “Is that all anyone ever thinks of? My husband’s need of an heir? What about me?” she demanded, pressing her palm to her chest. “All I’ve ever wanted from this marriage was children. I watch as my sisters and friends fill their homes with babies they don’t even want, and yet I remain childless. I have suffered my husband’s attentions, and his odd remedies and methods for conception, and still no baby grows in me. I am reminded time and time again of how I have failed in my duties as a wife.” She sniffed. “Of all people, Lady Darby, I thought you might understand.”

I sat back, realizing what she meant. “I don’t know whether I have difficulty conceiving,” I admitted. “Sir Anthony visited me so rarely, I don’t think it is possible to know.” Lady Stratford almost seemed more shocked by this revelation than anything else, and I wondered what that said about both my attractiveness and the earl’s sexual proclivities. “But I understood that conceiving an heir would one day become central in his thoughts, and I would be expected to deliver on the implied promise noblemen believe we have made when we agree to marry them.”

“All we are is broodmares,” she agreed angrily. “And when we can’t deliver . . .” Her words trailed away, and she shook her head as more tears filled her eyes. “I wanted to deliver. I want a child, Lady Darby.”

“And so you promised to care for Lady Godwin’s?”

She nodded.

“Even though the baby’s father is your husband.”

She dropped her eyes and nodded.

Her despair tugged unwillingly at my heart. “You must have been devastated when you discovered Lady Godwin, your friend, was carrying your husband’s child. It would have taken away any doubt as to who was to blame for his childless state.”

“She threw it in my face,” the countess choked out. “She knew how much I wanted to have a child, how much Lord Stratford and I fought about it, and she waved her conception in front of my face like a prize.” Her words were harsh and crisp, strangled with hurt and frustration. “She didn’t even want the baby! She slept with my husband, conceived his child, and proved me to be barren, and she didn’t even want the baby!” Her shoulders shook, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to withhold her sobs.

“Did you kill her for it, Lady Stratford?” I asked, unable to withhold the question.

The countess shook her head and swallowed audibly. “No. I wanted her dead,” she admitted. “I wanted her dead. But I didn’t kill her.”

I sank back into the cushions, wanting to believe her. Wanting to believe that this woman who so longed for a child of her own would not dare to harm another’s. But the evidence said otherwise.

Gage suggested she went mad. That she murdered Lady Godwin, thinking to save the child from her duplicitous, uncaring mother. Was that why the baby had been removed? Someone who is insane might overlook the fact that a baby so young cannot survive outside the womb. A shiver ran down my spine.

I could not withhold a sigh of relief when I heard the knock on the parlor door. Lady Stratford glanced at me curiously as I sat forward.

“That should be Mr. Gage,” I told her, crossing the room.

True to form, Gage stood on the other side of the door, gazing at me solemnly in question. I gave him an almost imperceptible nod to let him know Lady Stratford confirmed my suspicions about her infertility. His frown deepened, and the intensity in his eyes sharpened. I stepped back to allow him to enter, nodding quietly to Philip and Lord Stratford as they followed.

Lady Stratford sat up straighter and patted at her eyes with her handkerchief. “What is going on?”

Her dazed expression sought me out, and I suddenly felt guilty for forcing her to face these men when she was still so vulnerable. I backed up to stand in the shadow of the drapes, wrapping myself in the heat they had collected from the sun.

“I’m afraid we have a few more questions to ask you, Lady Stratford,” Gage answered for me. “Questions that we felt it would be best for Lord Stratford to be present for.”

Lady Stratford blinked and glanced at her husband. “I don’t understand. I’ve just spoken with Lady Darby. I thought I answered all of her questions.” She looked at me again.

“These queries are different, and I’m afraid quite serious.” Gage was trying to be gentle with her, but I could hear the repressed anger creeping into his voice.

The countess shifted in her seat. “And I have to answer them?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lord Stratford barked, marching across the room to stand over his wife. “Just ask the damn questions, Gage.” He glared down at her, his hands on his hips. “I’ll see to it that my wife cooperates.”

I glanced over to where Philip leaned against the wall across the room from me, content to merely observe the proceedings as I was. He looked grim and tired and, at the moment, decidedly displeased with Lord Stratford. If Gage had attempted to interrogate my sister in such a manner, Philip never would have stood for it, no matter what evidence Gage presented him with. Philip was as bloody-minded as one of his wolfhounds with a bone when it came to protecting his wife.

Gage set the box he borrowed from my studio on the back of the leather chair and studied the now-scowling Lady Stratford. She clearly disliked her husband’s proclamation. I couldn’t blame her. I disliked it as well.

“You told us that on the night of Lady Godwin’s murder you immediately went to bed with a megrim after dinner, and that your maid, Celeste, attended you. That you stayed in bed all night and did not hear about the murder until the next morning. Would you like to make any amendments to those statements?”

“No. That is the truth,” she replied sharply.

“Did your maid remain with you the entire night?”

Lady Stratford’s brow lowered. “She slept on a cot in the dressing room. So, I suppose, I cannot say for certain that she remained there the entire night, but she was there every time I called for her.”

“So she conceivably could have slipped from the room sometime that evening after you had fallen asleep to, say, meet a beau?” Gage asked offhandedly.

Lady Stratford shook her head. “Celeste doesn’t have a beau. And, besides, she could not have departed before midnight. She stayed with me, alternating hot and cold compresses until I fell asleep.”

I held my breath, unable to believe Lady Stratford had just allowed the teeth of Gage’s trap to snap down on her. By providing herself with such a seal-tight alibi, placing her in the presence of her maid the entire evening, she had also lost her chance to blame the entire murder on Celeste. The procurator fiscal might have allowed the Stratfords to convince him the maid was responsible, but not now. Not after Lady Stratford had so baldly stated she was with her the entire evening. I glanced at Lord Stratford, wondering if he was just as oblivious to Gage’s stratagem.

“So if I accused you of murdering Lady Godwin, you would tell me that was impossible because you were in your bedchamber with your maid the entire time?” Gage asked silkily.

Lady Stratford stiffened, and her eyes widened. Whether in shock or fear, I could not tell.

“Now, just hold on, Gage,” her husband suddenly interjected. “What are you hinting at?”

Gage ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on Lady Stratford. “What if I told you that your maid’s apron was found covered in blood?”

The countess’s face paled. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she mumbled in a thready voice, glancing up at her husband in supplication.

Lord Stratford’s face darkened. “If that’s all the evidence with which you have to threaten my wife, by Jove, Gage, I’ll . . .”

“There’s more.” Gage glared at him to close his mouth.

Lord Stratford huffed a breath and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ve been told you embroider, my lady,” Gage said, addressing the countess again, who seemed more bewildered than ever.

“Yes?”

“That you’re quite good.”

She did not respond to this, just watched him warily, as if waiting for the hatchet to drop.

“Are you, by chance, missing a pair of embroidery scissors?”

She glanced down at the basket at her feet. “I . . . I don’t know.” She sounded genuinely befuddled and frightened. “When I arrived here at Gairloch, I was missing my normal pair of shears, but I thought I must have left them at home. I always carry a second pair.” She leaned over to pick up the scissors sticking up out of the basket to show them to us. “So I never thought much of it.”

Her explanation sounded credible; however, even the most foolish of criminals could have concocted such an excuse.

“Are these your scissors?” Gage asked, once again pulling the shears from his pocket.

Lady Stratford leaned forward to take them from Gage, but her husband snatched them out of his grasp before she could reach them. He flipped them over in his hands before handing them to her with a scowl. I could tell the earl wanted to say something, but he held his counsel, waiting to see what else Gage revealed.

“I . . .” Lady Stratford stammered. Her hands shook as she examined the scissors. “They look like mine.”

The breath in my chest tightened.

Gage’s eyes hardened. “We found them in the maze, near the place where Lady Godwin was butchered.” I jerked at his gruesome choice of words. “They were coated with her blood.”

Lady Stratford flung the scissors to the ground, cringing away from them. “But . . . but . . . that can’t be.” Her face was ghastly white. “Someone must have stolen them. I swear to you, I did not . . . could not . . .” She seemed to choke on the words.

Gage reached into the box and extracted the shawl. He unfolded it and held it up for all of us to see. “My lady, is this your shawl?”

Lady Stratford gasped and covered her face with shaking hands. “Yes,” she admitted between shallow, quick breaths. “But . . . that . . . I didn’t . . . I don’t know how that blood got on it.”

“We found it wrapped around Lady Godwin’s child and buried in a grave by the stream at the far north end of Cromarty’s property,” Gage said harshly, speaking more to Lord Stratford than his wife.

“Her child?” Lady Stratford gasped. “But Lady Godwin wasn’t due for another four months?” Her eyes flew around the room, as if looking for answers from one of us. “I don’t understand. Did she begin her labor early?”

“No, Lady Stratford,” Gage answered coldly, clearly not taken in by this display. For myself, I was not so sure she was faking. I had seen my fair share of theatrics at the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court in London, and the hysteria shining in Lady Stratford’s eyes was far too real for my comfort.

The implications of Gage’s words must have finally penetrated her mind, for she keeled forward and began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, no! Oh, that poor child. That poor little girl.”

Gage perked up at her words.

“I told her it was a girl,” I explained before he could assume otherwise.

He glanced back at me and nodded.

“What will happen to my wife?” Lord Stratford asked in a hard voice, drawing our attention away from the weeping woman.

Gage gestured toward Philip. “Cromarty says there is a set of bachelor quarters at the back of the carriage house. They’re being cleaned as we speak. For her own safety and those of the other guests, we think it might be best if she and her maid were removed to there until the procurator fiscal from Inverness arrives.”

“She should be perfectly comfortable,” Philip added in a tight voice.

Lord Stratford nodded stiffly.

“My God,” Lady Stratford gasped. “You all actually believe I did it. You truly believe I . . . murdered Helena.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. “I didn’t do it! I swear to you, I . . . I never touched her. I couldn’t have.”

“Why couldn’t you have?” Gage demanded, giving her no leniency, even in her outpouring of emotion.

“Because . . .” Her eyes met mine desperately. “Because of the baby.” She shook her head wildly. “I could never have hurt that child. No matter what Helena did.”

The men were all silent, and I wondered how they could remain so stoic in the face of her pleas. Emotion burned the back of my eyes and my throat. It took considerable effort not to let the tears fall.

Lady Stratford glanced wildly up at her husband, whose warm chocolate eyes had gone cold. “Please, Derek!” she whispered brokenly. “You must believe me. I did not kill Lady Godwin.”

“That will be for the official from Inverness to decide,” he replied and turned away from her.

I could almost feel the blow that Lord Stratford’s words caused his wife. They ricocheted through her frame like an icy blast from the North Sea. She cowered from him like a whipped dog, seeming to crumple into herself.

I turned away from them, unable to face either of the Stratfords. The earl angered me with his callous treatment and his swift abandonment of his wife, and Lady Stratford’s desperate tears and shuddering frame unnerved me. Her emotion seemed all too genuine, and I was suddenly having a very difficult time believing she was the murderer. Either her acting skills were so great that they rivaled even the most celebrated actresses of the stage, or we had just made a serious mistake.

If only I knew for certain which she was—fiend or innocent. For if Lady Stratford was wrongly accused, it placed her in a situation with which I was all too familiar. The thought burned a hole in my stomach.