CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Alana was asleep when I slipped into the nursery a short while later. She sat in a Windsor rocking chair, cradling a slumbering Greer on her shoulder.

“Aunt Kiera,” Malcolm exclaimed. I shushed him. “Come play with my soldiers,” he whispered in the exaggerated way children do. “I’m going to pretend it’s the Battle of Waterloo.” I crossed the room to peer down at his elaborate setup. “I’ll even let you be Napoleon.”

I couldn’t help but grin at my nephew’s magnanimous spirit. The puckish little boy never wanted to play on the side of France, and well I knew it. “Thank you, but . . .”

“No, Aunt Kiera,” Philipa cried, racing across the room with one of her dolls. “I wanted you to play with me.”

I sighed and glanced at Alana, hoping her older children’s voices had not woken her. “Aren’t you two supposed to be having lessons?”

“Mother gave our governess the day off,” Malcolm replied, smiling happily.

I shook my head at my silly sister. I suspected she dismissed the nursery maids for the day as well. “Your mother and sister are asleep.” I leaned down to tell the children as they began to argue. “We need to play quietly.”

“We can play soldiers quietly.”

I arched an eyebrow. “So none of your cannonballs are going to explode?” He grinned sheepishly. “And your tea parties are not any quieter,” I turned to tell Philipa as she whimpered and tugged on my hand. “Go pick out a book, and I’ll read to you until your mother wakes.”

They scampered off to the corner where two short bookcases stood, bickering over which story to choose. I only hoped it wasn’t “Hansel and Gretel” yet again. I really was in no mood to read about lost children.

Pulling a blanket from one of the children’s beds, I laid it over Alana and Greer, careful not to wake them. My sister looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her complexion seemed paler than normal. I pressed my wrist to her forehead to feel for a fever and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Greer’s pudgy cheeks were red from rubbing, and her breathing sounded a bit congested, but she was sleeping peacefully. I picked up her twisted teething rag from where it had tumbled to the floor. The knot had begun to slip. I tightened it so that the sugar would not fall out and set it on the table.

Philipa crawled into my lap, and Malcolm squeezed in next to me in a large armchair. “This one.” My nephew flipped open the book of the Brothers Grimm’s Children’s and Household Tales to the story of “Rumpelstiltskin” and I breathed a sigh of relief. Philipa snuggled close, and I pressed my cheek against her soft hair as I began to read.

Halfway through the tale, I glanced up to find Alana watching me. A gentle smile curled her lips. She shared my amusement when the children shifted in their seats, squirming with excitement as the queen told the imp his name.

“Can you spin straw into gold?” Philipa asked me as I closed the book.

“No, you ninny,” Malcolm cried as he hopped off the chair.

“Malcolm, don’t call your sister a ninny,” Alana scolded.

“How do you know?” Philipa dashed after him. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Because it’s impossible . . .”

I shook my finger at my sister in mock earnestness as she began to rock her youngest. “You were supposed to stay asleep.”

Alana offered me a weary smile and then shifted Greer from one shoulder to the other. The baby grunted and then settled.

“Do you want me to take her?”

She shook her head and tucked the blanket tighter around the child. “Do I have you to thank for this?” she asked, tugging on the quilt.

“I thought you might be cold. Besides, it gave me an excuse to check you for a fever.” She looked up at me in surprise. “Alana, are you feeling all right?” I asked in a gentler tone.

She sighed in frustration. “I’m fine.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Philip send you up here?”

“No. But he did tell me that you refuse to leave the nursery.”

She brushed her hand over the golden dusting of hair on Greer’s head, avoiding my gaze. I glanced at Malcolm and Philipa, who were engaged in some sort of secret conference, presumably about their plans to spin straw into gold.

“Lady Stratford and her maid have been removed to the bachelor quarters in the carriage house.” Alana’s eyes widened. “Mr. Gage believes they murdered Lady Godwin. And her baby,” I added as an afterthought now that my sister knew about the child.

Alana was silent for a moment, watching me as I worried my hands in my lap. “But you don’t?”

I started, realizing what I had said. “I don’t know,” I admitted hesitantly, disturbed by my inability to wholeheartedly accept Lady Stratford’s guilt.

“Mr. Gage must have good reason to suspect her,” she reasoned. “And I know Philip would not have allowed him to lock Lady Stratford in the carriage house without sufficient proof.”

“I know.”

“Has Lord Stratford been informed?”

I nodded. “He didn’t even put up a fight against it.”

Alana’s rocking slowed. “Well, then, you must have obtained some pretty convincing evidence.”

I leaned against the arm of the chair and cradled my forehead in my hand. “I suppose.” I knew I sounded as sulky as a child, and hated myself for it. Alana did not need to deal with me when she already had three little scamps of her own to worry her.

“So what’s troubling you?”

I looked up at my sister, seeing the dark shadows under her eyes again. “Do you really want to know?”

She stopped rocking to glare at me. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

I glanced at Philipa and Malcolm to be certain they weren’t listening, and then leaned toward her. “The evidence is compelling enough, and all linked to the same person, but I can’t help but notice that they’re also items that could have easily been stolen. They could have been used for the express purpose of throwing blame on Lady Stratford.”

Alana arched an eyebrow doubtfully.

“There are also matters of common sense to consider,” I hastened to add. “Does Lady Stratford really have the height and strength to inflict those wounds? Could she have crossed the garden, slipped into the maze to kill Lady Godwin, and returned to the house, all without being seen? Could she and her maid have moved that rock and dug the baby’s grave?”

“Well?” she asked, knowing me well enough to realize I would have contemplated the answers to these questions before ever bringing them up.

I sighed and sank back in the chair. “Gage believes anger and madness can both give a person more strength than we realize.”

“But you don’t.”

I plucked at the fraying hunter-green upholstery of the chair. “I don’t know. And that’s the problem. I’m forced to admit that it is possible, if not likely, that she could have done all those things. Just as I’m forced to admit that the murder weapon we found could have made those cuts, even though I have serious doubts. I don’t have enough experience with this to assert my opinion strongly.” Not even when it came to the remnants of charred cloth Gage had found in Lady Stratford’s cold hearth, believing the lady and her servant had burned their bloody clothes from the night of the murder.

The rocking chair creaked as Alana shifted and Greer murmured something in her sleep. “Well, you trust Mr. Gage, don’t you?”

I nodded and turned to watch Philipa wrestle one of her dolls out of Malcolm’s hands.

“Then if he thinks there is enough evidence to prove Lady Stratford is the murderer, I think we should believe him.”

I only wished it was so simple. I did trust Gage, but I also had a deep-seated suspicion of people outside my family, particularly men, and that made it difficult not to continually second-guess my feelings and reactions toward him. The fact that I had found myself in Lady Stratford’s position not so very long ago only complicated matters, driving me to find definitive proof rather than trust in the hackneyed legal system that could have so easily failed me.

“So why are you having trouble believing Lady Stratford guilty?” my sister asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. “Is it because she’s a noblewoman? Surely you realize the aristocracy are just as capable of committing murder as the lower classes.”

“Of course.”

“Then what? What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just . . .” I hesitated, trying to put a finger on the reason for my hesitation. “She wants a child so badly. Did you know she was having trouble conceiving?”

“I had my suspicions.”

I pressed a hand against my stomach. “When I confronted her about it, when I asked her about the child . . .” My breath caught. “Alana, you should have seen the look in her eyes. To struggle for seven years to get with child and then discover that your greatest fears have been realized. That you are, in fact, barren.” I shook my head, unable to find the words to express the heartache.

Nevertheless, I could see in my sister’s eyes that she understood. She hugged Greer tighter and pressed a kiss to her downy head.

“Despite the fact that Lord Stratford was the father of Lady Godwin’s baby . . .”

Alana gasped. “Lord Stratford was the father?”

I nodded. “And despite the fact that Lady Godwin, who was supposed to be Lady Stratford’s friend, not only slept with her husband but also proved her to be the one who could not conceive and threw it in her face. I just do not believe Lady Stratford was capable of harming that child. Of removing it from . . .” Remembering my audience, I stopped myself, glancing up to find my sister watching me with horrified eyes. I cleared my throat. “I can imagine her harming Lady Godwin, but not that baby.”

She looked toward the hearth, seeming to consider my words. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the terrible images, the darkness of the last few days. I breathed in deeply the scent of camphor and talcum powder, listening to the soft rocking of Alana’s chair against the heavy rug and the merry chatter of my niece’s and nephew’s voices. The nursery seemed like a cozy little cocoon when compared to the vast echoing corridors of Gairloch Castle. It was no wonder my sister had shut herself up here with her three children.

“Maybe she went mad,” she offered.

I blinked open my eyes to stare at the exposed-timber ceiling. “That’s what Gage suggested.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

I lowered my gaze to find Alana studying me. I suddenly realized that by expressing all of these doubts, I only gave her more reason to remain closeted in the nursery with her children. Pressing my hand to my forehead, I groaned. “I don’t know what I believe, Alana. Mr. Gage is undoubtedly right. I’m probably just jumping at ghosts, remembering when I was accused of those heinous crimes in London.”

“Yes, but Kiera, you were innocent,” she pointed out.

I nodded, biting back the urge to express my worry that Lady Stratford might also be. “So,” I proclaimed, a feeble segue into a different topic. “Are you going to return to sleeping in your own bed tonight? You can’t have gotten much rest here. You look exhausted.”

Unfortunately, my sister knew me only too well. “Kiera,” she scolded gently. “Have you expressed your doubts to Mr. Gage?”

I plucked at the upholstery again. “No.”

“Then perhaps you should.”

“And if he doesn’t listen to me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light. I already suspected he was not going to accept my doubts easily. To his mind, we had caught the real culprit and proved my innocence. What more could I want?

“Then I think you should do whatever it takes to set your mind at ease.” She shook her head at me fondly. “You spend far too much time in your head, dear. And sometimes I worry where it takes you. Especially in this case.”

I gave her a grateful smile, thankful that she supported me, even if she didn’t understand me. Maybe I was being ridiculous. Maybe I should just let it go. But I couldn’t get rid of the terrible feeling in my gut that somehow we got it wrong. I kept seeing Lady Stratford’s eyes—the pain and fear and desperation written there—and I worried it wasn’t feigned. I wanted to be certain that the real murderer had been caught, not just someone to take my place as the sacrificial lamb. I wanted the truth. And if that truth pointed to Lady Stratford, then so be it. But until I had been convinced, I knew I would never be able to rest.

Greer sniffled and reached up to swipe at her nose, rubbing her already raw cheek. She began to fuss, and Alana tipped her forward to croon to her softly.

“Her teething rag was on the floor,” I told her. “Let me clean it off and wet it.”

“Thank you,” she replied absentmindedly as she tried to clear Greer’s nose.

Malcolm and Philipa looked up as their baby sister let out a howl. They were remarkably well behaved today, and I wondered if they sensed their mother’s exhaustion.

I tightened the string holding the sugar inside one end of the rag before handing it to my sister. Greer immediately chomped down on it, lapsing into a whimper as she turned into her mother’s chest for comfort. Sighing in relief, Alana tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

“Alana, are you certain you’re feeling all right?” I asked, worried by the drawn appearance of her face. The last time I had seen her look so poorly was the morning after she nursed Malcolm through his fever. Her haggard countenance scared me.

She must have sensed this, for her head fell sideways toward her shoulder in defeat. “I’m expecting again,” she admitted.

I couldn’t stop my eyes from flaring wide in surprise. “Does Philip know?”

“I think so, though I haven’t told him.”

I nodded, suddenly better understanding the flares of temper between them in the past few days. It had been from anxiety as much as anger. Alana had difficulty during Greer’s birth, much more so than with the other two, and the physician had suggested they seriously reconsider having any more children. From my sister’s tone of voice, I didn’t think they had been trying for another one.

“How far along are you?”

“A month, six weeks. Not long.” Greer sobbed, and Alana adjusted her position.

“Do you want me to take her?”

Alana shook her head, stubborn as always.

“How are you feeling?”

“How do you think?” she snapped. She took a deep breath and rested her head back against the seat again. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s all right,” I told her automatically. Then I broached a topic I knew she was going to dislike even more. “You’re exhausted. Why don’t you leave the children with me and lie down and take a nap.”

“I’m fine,” she replied woodenly.

“Alana.”

“I promise you I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

Her gaze met mine, and I could see the fear holding her in its grip. “I can’t leave the children,” she replied, knowing what I was really hinting at. “I just can’t. Not yet. Maybe when the man from Inverness arrives, but not yet.”

I ached for her. The knowledge of what had happened to Lady Godwin’s unborn child clearly distressed my sister. Especially now knowing she carried another little one inside her—one she probably had not wished for. Her instinctive reaction was to protect her own babies, and the only way she could do that was by keeping them in her sight.

“Would you lie down on one of the children’s beds and take a nap if I took care of the children?” I asked, sensing it would take physical force to pull my sister away from the nursery. Neither Philip nor I wanted to go down that road.

“You have to finish your investigation,” she protested. “Besides, I need you to take my place as hostess at dinner this evening.”

I balked. “Do they really need a hostess? I mean, surely they could get by without one.”

“Kiera, please.”

“I should think Philip’s aunt, Lady Hollingsworth, would do a much better job.”

“Kiera,” she begged. “I need you to do this for me. I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I need you to do it, nonetheless.”

I groaned, hating the way her tone made me feel guilty. This wasn’t a lot to ask of me. I was her sister and she had taken me in sixteen months ago without a single hesitation. “Fine. But only if you do something for me in return.”

Alana’s gaze turned wary.

“I’m going to recall the nursery maid, and when she arrives, I want you to take a nap—right over there on Philipa’s bed.” I pointed toward the pink-frilled bed in the corner. “Will you do that?”

Sensing my determination to be just as stubborn as she could be, she nodded in defeat. I hopped up to pull the tasseled cord that would ring for Molly before she could change her mind. Planting my hands on my hips, I turned back to find my sister watching me with a small smile playing across her lips.

“It’s not often, but once in a while you manage to do something conniving enough to assure me you have our St. Mawr family blood flowing through your veins after all.”

I pursed my lips. “Yes, well as conniving as that was, I’m quite certain you got the better end of the bargain.”

Her smile brightened, and I whirled around to leave the room.

“Enjoy your dinner, dear,” she called after me.