CHAPTER TWO

The remainder of the evening was subdued, as was to be expected. Most of the guests chose to assemble in one of my sister’s two parlors to rehash the details of what happened in the garden and share their “expert” knowledge. Lady Lydia recovered quickly upon returning to the castle and was even now holding court in the front parlor, describing her ordeal in excruciating detail.

I decided to make myself scarce, checking on my nieces and nephew in the nursery before slipping into the library to sit silently in my favorite spot. It was there that Alana found me just before midnight.

“I am getting too old to keep climbing these stairs,” she declared, dropping her skirts into place as she reached the top step. “Why can’t you hide in normal places? Like your bedchamber or your art studio?”

I smiled tightly. “Because then people would find me.”

Alana sighed and sank into the sofa next to me. “Did you not wish for me to find you, dear?”

I leaned my head on her shoulder. “No. You’re fine.”

She rested her head on top of mine.

We sat that way for several minutes, staring past the wooden banister, out at the ceiling of the library. A large mural depicting the life of Saint Andrew, patron saint of Scotland, covered the entire space from one wall to another. Though it was certainly not the work of Michelangelo, it had a charming rustic quality I found soothing. None of the colors were deep or the lines sharp, but the muted shades and blurred lines were somehow appropriate to its location in the far north of the Highlands.

Alana had asked me once why I liked the library loft so much, but I hadn’t been able to explain it to her. Perhaps there was some sense of peace being so high above it all, with the saint on the ceiling my closest neighbor. All I knew was that I always felt better, that my thoughts were always clearer, when I was curled up in the little space below the eaves.

“Philip sent me to find you,” Alana said. “He wishes to speak to all of the guests in the front parlor.” She paused, and I knew her thoughts had returned to the scene in the garden. “I’m sorry you had to hear those accusations again. I would send Lady Westlock and Mrs. Smythe away except for the lateness of the hour and our distance from any decent lodging.”

I nodded and reached back to squeeze her hand where it lay over my shoulder. Alana knew I had come here to hide from just such a thing, but I did not blame her for this evening’s outburst.

Alana and Philip had not invited guests to Gairloch Castle since my arrival nearly sixteen months ago. When they asked my permission to throw this house party, I felt like the veriest ogre that they felt the need to do so. After all, they were the ones who sheltered me, supported me, and though they never complained, I knew the burden I brought with me. The sales of my artwork, done under an assumed name, of course, provided me with some funds, but Philip refused to take even a penny of it. He encouraged me to save it, to invest it, and he was more than happy to assist me in that regard. However, he would not take payment for my food and lodging.

“I suppose Philip has sent for the local coroner,” I said, fidgeting with the lace trim of my gown. “And they will want to question me.”

“Yes and no.”

Hearing the hesitation in Alana’s voice, I looked up. Her deep blue eyes, so like my own, were clouded with worry.

“I think we’d better hear what Philip has to say. Come on.” She groaned like a woman closer to sixty than thirty as she pushed up from the sofa.

I allowed her to take my hand and lead me down the steep spiral staircase, as if we were still young children. Sometimes I still felt like one—hiding away in my older sister’s castle, following her instructions, as I’d done most of my life. When living with Alana, I learned long ago it was much easier to simply comply with her wishes than to argue over every last detail. Especially when the outcome of the dispute hardly mattered to me. For almost the entire past year I had obeyed her requests without question, not caring what clothes I wore or food I ate. The only part of my life in which my sister had no say was my artwork, and she knew better than to offer her opinion on that.

The front parlor was located off the great hall near the main entrance to the castle, overlooking the circular drive and the loch beyond. It was monstrous in proportion. Philip’s grandmother had decided the former drawing room was too small, so she had removed the wall between it and the parlor to create one cavernous chamber. The shades of Cromarty livery, scarlet and ebony, adorned the room, intermixed with neutrals and a liberal sprinkling of gilding and mirrors. It was the showpiece of Gairloch Castle, and, having been redecorated during the time of Georgian overindulgence, hideous. I always felt that I had wandered into some monstrosity of French rococo excess. Alana agreed but had yet to work up the nerve to tackle the daunting space.

The buzz of agitated voices increased as we stepped through the door. I had done my best to stand in Alana’s shadow, hovering behind her as she stepped to the side just within the doorway, but apparently my efforts to go unnoticed had been in vain. Some of the guests’ eyes narrowed into suspicious glares as they leaned toward one another, whispering about me. Though I could not hear their words, the skin at the back of my neck prickled, for I knew the accusations being bandied about me. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach.

Most of the guests seemed to be present, but not all. I noticed Lady Stratford was missing, though her wayward husband, the Earl of Stratford, stood near the sideboard with several other gentlemen, including the Marquess of Marsdale, drinking my brother-in-law’s fine whiskey. Philip’s cousin, Caroline, was also absent, as well as many of the other young, unwed females.

Lord Westlock and the other gentlemen Philip had invited specifically to discuss business matters were gathered near the hearth, while their wives sat on the arrangement of furniture before them, gossiping and sending me spiteful glances.

I shifted uncomfortably, wondering how long we would have to wait for Philip to address us. I considered going to search for him, but then he entered the room through the second doorway. He glanced briefly around the room at those assembled, before nodding to Alana and me.

As he moved forward to address the group, I noticed for the first time the man lurking behind him, though why I should be surprised I didn’t know. Of course, Mr. Gage would be eager to hover about Philip. He wasn’t one to miss being at the center of attention.

I felt a pulse of annoyance, of dislike for the popular rogue, and wondered what he and Philip had been discussing that had so delayed them. Was Philip allowing Mr. Gage to conduct an investigation? I hoped Philip realized that just because Mr. Gage’s father was skilled in such matters, it did not mean his son knew how to conduct a proper inquiry.

“If I could have your attention, please.” Philip raised his voice to be heard over the rumble of voices. “This has been a long and unpleasant evening, and I’m sure you would all like to retire to your chambers, so I will make this as brief as possible.”

Their attention caught, the room fell silent.

“First of all, I know you are all concerned with the tragedy that befell Lady Godwin this evening, and I want to assure you that everything possible is being done to apprehend the culprit.” Philip’s gaze swept calmly over everyone as he spoke, as reassuring as any of his words. “Lady Godwin’s body has been secured, and a pair of riders has been dispatched to collect the appropriate authorities from Inverness.”

“Inverness?” Lord Westlock snapped, clearly voicing what was on the minds of everyone else as they turned to whisper to one another in horror. Even I was taken aback by the news. “But that’s at least two days’ hard ride to the southeast,” the silver-haired baron protested.

Philip lifted his hands to calm the excited murmurs. “I’m well aware. But, unfortunately, we have no other choice. The closest procurator fiscals are located in Fort William and Inverness, and both are several days’ journey from here.”

“But aren’t you the local magistrate? Can’t you adjudicate?”

“I’m afraid not,” Philip replied with a sad shake of his head. “The crime happened on my property. If it were theft, or even the demise of a servant, perhaps I could handle matters. But with Lady Godwin being a viscountess and her husband in India, I cannot adjudicate over this unfortunate event. My only recourse was to send for the procurator fiscal at Inverness.”

“But that means . . .” Mr. Fitzpatrick’s eyes darted nervously between Philip and the other guests. ”He won’t arrive for another four days.”

Philip seemed reluctant to admit this, but he really had no choice. “Yes.”

The other guests all began talking at once, arguing with one another about the absurdity of living so far from civilization. The pitch of their voices increased with their panic.

“But, see here,” one gentleman demanded. “This has no effect on us. My wife and I are leaving at first light.”

Several others chimed in with their agreement.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Philip interrupted.

“What do you mean?” someone asked.

I watched as Philip visibly steeled himself. “Until the procurator fiscal arrives, and is able to investigate the murder and interview any potential witnesses, none of you will be allowed to leave.”

“But why?” Lady Darlington asked. “I haven’t witnessed anything.”

Philip turned to look at her. “You may not realize you have until you are questioned.”

“But how could we?” Lord Marsdale argued with a flippant smirk. “Surely the murderer isn’t one of us.”

The guests turned to stare at one another, wide-eyed, as if realizing for the first time the other unspoken reason that Philip could not let any of them leave. Alana reached over to grip my hand.

“This is ridiculous,” another gentleman declared. “I’m no murderer. And I won’t be treated like one.”

And that statement set everyone off arguing again.

“Please.” Philip’s countenance was growing more and more haggard with each pronouncement. “Everyone, let’s remain calm. No one is accusing anyone of any crime yet. But I must take steps to secure the witnesses, and yes, possible suspects, until the authorities reach us.” He looked directly at the ladies. “Now, I realize that you are understandably apprehensive. That is why I ask that you do not go off alone. Keep in pairs, though groups of three or four would be best. And instruct your servants to do the same.”

I shivered, thinking of the number of times I had taken to the countryside alone, especially in the last few days since the house-party guests had arrived.

“In the meantime . . .” He glanced back at Mr. Gage, and I felt something inside of me clench with dread. “I’ve asked Mr. Gage to conduct an inquiry of his own into the matter. So I must ask all of you to cooperate with him fully.”

“I can tell you right now who’s responsible, no need for an inquiry,” Lady Westlock muttered under her breath, loud enough for most to hear. Her spiteful gaze bored into me.

Alana stiffened beside me. “Come,” she told me with a nudge toward the door. “It’s time for us to leave. We’ll wait for Philip in his study.”

Feeling his eyes on me, I glanced up to find Mr. Gage watching me intently as we exited the room. I wanted to snap back, to defend myself, but I knew now was not the time, and that few, if any of them, would listen to me. So I followed my sister sullenly from the room, angry to find myself once again in such a defensive position.

Philip’s study was in a room nestled between the library and the family parlor at the back of the castle. It was not particularly large, especially when compared to the chambers adjoining it, but it was cozy and comfortable. I had spent more than one cold winter night curled up with a book in one of the two red wingback chairs while my sister claimed the other and Philip worked at his desk. The large stone fireplace and low plastered ceilings enabled the room to hold much more heat than any of the places we normally spent our evenings.

Alana sank into one of the chairs while I slowly paced the perimeter of the room. I was too rattled to relax while waiting for Philip to appear. Would the guests’ accusations make my brother-in-law begin to doubt my innocence? Would he finally tire of sheltering me? I knew he was a good man—and did not believe me mad so much as eccentric—but he and his family had suffered a great deal of ridicule on my behalf. I would not blame him if he suddenly decided I was too much trouble.

I sighed, looking up at the walls to study the tapestries woven with ancient Highland battle scenes in rich greens, browns, and reds. The cloth was mottled and faded with the dust and the patina of time, but it still spoke of the weaver’s talent. When I first came here, still raw from the inquiries after my husband’s death, I tried painting a landscape to match. Philip hung it over the fireplace, delighted with the depiction of his Highland home, even though I knew it wasn’t representative of my best work. The portrait of Alana hanging in the front parlor and the wedding portrait in their bedchamber were far more skillfully wrought. People captured my eye, my brush—not forests or rivers or castles. And if the person somehow managed to touch my heart, it was all the better—like my sister’s portrait, or the study I made of our nursery maid, Betsy, or the sketch of Frederick Oliver.

I shook my head, not wanting to the think about the man. Not after what happened tonight.

I was grateful when I heard Philip approach, interrupting my morose musings, but not so much so when I turned around.

“Well, the guests certainly did not all take our news well,” Philip declared, reaching down to lift Alana’s hand and kiss it. “I thought we might never escape the parlor.”

Mr. Gage appeared just behind my brother-in-law’s shoulder, and his gaze immediately searched out mine. I resisted the urge to scowl at him, knowing my displeasure would only fuel his obvious suspicion.

“Kiera, why dinna you take a seat,” Philip suggested, pulling my eyes away from Mr. Gage’s pale blue ones. Philip’s brogue had deepened, as I’d noticed it often did when he was tired. Like most aristocratic Scots, his accent had been educated out of him, until he sounded like any upper-class Englishman. But on nights like the one when Alana had nursed their son, Malcolm, through a dangerous fever while Philip and I sat up waiting for news, by morning his accent was as thick as any Highlander’s.

I thought about arguing, but seeing my brother-in-law’s obvious fatigue and the warm regard with which he looked upon me, I decided to obey. Things could not be so bad if he still viewed me in such a manner. Philip might have a seat in the House of Lords, but he could never be duplicitous. Unlike Mr. Gage. From all I’d witnessed, deceit and charm seemed the hallmarks of his trade.

“In any case, whether they like it or not, I’ve delivered my instructions.” Philip propped one leg up on the corner of his desk and scraped a hand down his face, bristling over the stubble beginning to show there. “Now let’s hope they can remain calm and keep their heads about them until the procurator fiscal from Inverness arrives.” He sounded doubtful that was possible.

“Speaking of which, do you know where Lady Godwin’s family lives?” he asked his wife. “I dinna think I’ve ever heard the lady speak of her kin. I sent a letter to be posted to Lord Godwin with the servants riding for Inverness, but who knows how long it’ll take to reach him in India.”

She tilted her head in thought. “She asked me to send a footman to meet the mail coach in Drumchork this morning with a letter for her sister.”

I glanced at Alana in curious surprise. Lady Godwin must have been quite eager for that letter to reach her sister if she’d asked Alana to send a footman especially to meet the mail coach.

“I believe the girl lives in . . . Shropshire?” She shook her head in frustration. “Perhaps the footman will remember the letter’s exact direction.”

“’Tis no matter.” Philip shrugged. “I’m sure one of the other guests will know if the footman can’t recall. Mr. Gage can ask them about it.”

“Ah, yes, I heard you say you’ve asked Mr. Gage to begin an inquiry of his own into the matter.” Alana examined the man before us with the same curiosity I felt. “Have you conducted many inquiries, Mr. Gage?” Her tone was laced with light curiosity, but I knew my sister nursed the same skepticism I did.

I pressed my hands against my thighs, rumpling the fine Parisian-blue muslin between my fingers, grateful she had voiced the same question I had been struggling not to ask.

Mr. Gage, meanwhile, appeared perfectly at ease in his dark evening clothes, leaning against the wall near the window, his arms crossed over his chest. “I have assisted my father many times.”

Alana glanced at me. We both knew what that meant.

Mr. Gage’s face twisted subtly in irritation before smoothing out. “I assure you, I am more than capable of handling this investigation. You ladies have nothing to worry about.”

I was not fast enough to suppress my snort and was forced to raise my hand to my mouth and cough to try to cover it. Mr. Gage was not fooled, for his brow darkened.

“Are you all right?” Philip asked, raising a single eyebrow in chastisement.

“Of course,” I replied, glancing at Alana, who was studying the red and white floral pattern on her goldenrod skirts intensely. I suspected she was trying not to laugh.

“Good. Because I have a favor to ask of you.”

My eyes jumped back to my brother-in-law. My back stiffened when I saw his troubled frown. Whatever the favor was, Philip did not like asking it.

I swallowed carefully before nodding for him to continue.

“I’ve asked Mr. Gage to conduct the investigation, but I would like you to assist him.”

My eyes widened.

“What?” Mr. Gage exclaimed, straightening from his practiced slouch.

Alana reacted no better. “Are you daft?”

“Now wait.” Philip raised his hands. “Hear me out.”

I kept my lips firmly shut, trying to suppress the quaking I felt in my stomach as I waited for his next expected words. Alana’s mouth was also taut, but more from anger than fear.

Philip sighed. “No matter how tragic the circumstances, Kiera does have experience with this sort of thing.”

“Philip!” Alana scolded.

“I’m not forcing her to do it, Alana. I’m simply askin’,” he argued. “The local surgeon passed less than a month ago, and they’ve yet to replace him. Otherwise, I would’ve sent word for him to come. While Gage has often assisted his father, he has little experience with murder.” He gestured absently toward the man, who scowled. “If we’re gonna be trapped here for four days or more with all o’ these guests, and likely our murderer, I’d like to make every effort to catch him in case there’s a chance he intends to strike again.”

I suppressed a shiver, straining to keep my reaction from the others’ notice. Would the killer attack someone else? I blinked slowly, remembering the gruesome sight of Lady Godwin’s body. What kind of madman did we have on our hands?

Alana pressed her palms to her stomach and shook her head in bewilderment. “I . . . I hadn’t thought of that. I heard you say as much to the others, but . . .” Her troubled gaze lifted to her husband. “Are the children safe?” She suddenly looked frantic. Nothing could disturb my sister so except concern for her children.

“Darlin’, they’re fine,” he said, bending closer to look into my sister’s face. “I promise you they’re safe, Alana. I placed two footmen outside the nursery door and instructed them and the nursemaids that no one outside of our family is allowed near them without my express permission.”

Alana nodded, still looking shaken.

I reached over to take her hand. “I saw them just a little over two hours ago,” I tried to reassure her. “They were being put to bed, and they all appeared to be fine.”

“I . . . I should have checked on them,” she stammered. “I was just so overwhelmed by the guests . . . and their questions.” She shook her head. “I should have looked in on them.”

“Stop that!” Philip took her face between his hands and stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Our guests drove me to distraction just in the space o’ the ten minutes it took to deliver my instructions. You’ve been dealin’ with them for over three hours. O’ course, you were overwhelmed.”

“Yes, but Kiera thought to check on the children,” she said.

I squeezed her hand and smiled sadly. “Because I was hiding.” Alana knew I would never willingly associate with the guests, especially after the accusations flung at me in the garden and again in the parlor, so I didn’t bother to apologize for not assisting her. Perhaps I failed her in that regard, but my sister knew my shortcomings, and understood them.

She squeezed my hand in return before taking a deep breath.

“All right?” Philip asked, staring lovingly into Alana’s eyes. She nodded, and he leaned forward to drop a kiss on the top of her head.

I glanced up at Mr. Gage. He was leaning against the wall once again, albeit less casually than before. His jaw was dusted with stubble, but the hairs were so light I could barely see them. I imagined they were as blond as the hairs on his head. He was an attractive man—my artist’s eye had to give him that—but the way he presented himself, his smug certainty that he was the most handsome man in the room, rankled me more than I wanted to admit. I had met good-looking men before, and most of them had been as aware of it as Mr. Gage, but they had always amused me more than irritated me.

“Now,” Philip said, bringing us back to the matter at hand. “Kiera, I was askin’ if you would assist Mr. Gage.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob, and I knew he was forcing out the next words. “Particularly with examining the body.”

I stared at him silently, uncertain how I was going to, or whether I even should, honor his request. I had been finished with dissections and corpses the moment Sir Anthony died, and been grateful for it.

“Forgive me,” Mr. Gage interjected with polite severity. “But I fail to comprehend this request.” He gestured to me. “Why on earth would you want your sister-in-law to help me with such a matter?”

I studied him warily. Did he truly not know?

Philip seemed just as taken aback, for it took him a moment to reply. “Gage, what do you know about Lady Darby?”

Mr. Gage glanced at me, almost in puzzlement. “Not much. I inferred there was some sort of scandal following her husband’s death. Some of the guests seem quite mistrustful of her. I gather many of them actually believe she should be our prime suspect.”

His gaze bored into mine, but I refused to be intimidated. He had told me nothing I didn’t already know, didn’t already suspect. I stared back at him and gave him nothing. Not anger or shock or fear. I understood inquiry agents and their games, and I was not interested in playing.

Philip cleared his throat, and I finally broke eye contact to look at him. He was asking my permission to speak. I shrugged. Gage could hear the facts, but I doubted he would decide to believe me innocent unless it served him.

“Lady Darby is the wife of the late Sir Anthony Darby, a great anatomist and surgeon in his day. He even attended to the health of the royal family.”

Mr. Gage took in this information with a nod.

“At the time of Sir Anthony’s death, he was working on a human anatomy textbook, a sort of . . . definitive reference for fellow surgeons and medical students. When he embarked upon the project some three years earlier, he realized he would need an illustrator, an artist to depict the images.” Philip glanced up at me nervously, but I did not move my eyes from the stone in the hearth I was staring at. “Sir Anthony was rather frugal with his money.”

“He was a miser,” Alana stated angrily.

“Yes, well, he decided he would rather not pay an illustrator for his work if he did not have to. So he married one.”

I did not look up to see how Mr. Gage had taken this bit of information.

“My sister and our father were not made aware of his plans prior to the wedding,” Alana told him. “I think if Papa had known what Sir Anthony was about, he would have shot him in a rather crucial part of his anatomy.”

Philip coughed. “When Sir Anthony died, and one of his colleagues uncovered the finished pages of the book, the man raised an outcry against it. Apparently, many of Sir Anthony’s fellow surgeons and physicians knew he rather famously couldn’t sketch, especially not with the amount of skill the anatomical drawings showed. It didn’t take long for them to figure out who actually created them. Lady Darby is quite well-known for her portraits.”

I could feel all of their eyes on me, and it took everything in me not to clutch my stomach where it roiled. I would never forget the looks of disgust on Sir Anthony’s friends’ and colleagues’ faces as they accused me of unnatural tendencies and dragged me before a magistrate. Or the horrible names and epithets hurled at me in public and in the papers. The butcher’s wife. The sawbones’ siren. The people were still frantic over the recent trial of Burke and Hare in Edinburgh, and terrified that grave robbers turned murderers were also working in London, smothering their prey and delivering them to local surgeons for dissection. I was all too easy a target for their pent-up fears. High society had been particularly vicious, revealing their own fright over the resurrectionists, as well as their horror at discovering a gentlewoman involved in such grisly work as dissections. No one had understood. No one had even tried. Without Philip’s and my own brother’s intervention, I was certain I would be locked away in Bethlem Royal Hospital or worse.

“I assure you, the magistrate cleared Kiera of all wrongdoing,” Philip told Mr. Gage.

The room fell silent as Mr. Gage digested this information. I was simply thankful for another moment to collect myself. It did not matter that it happened over a year ago, it still rattled me to recall any of it. Alana reached out to take my hand, and I squeezed hers in return, to reassure her, but I still did not move otherwise.

“So Lady Darby witnessed numerous dissections years ago,” Mr. Gage remarked as if he were restating someone’s testimony. “And sketched them. How do you know that she even understands them? Perhaps she was just drawing what she saw. How do you know she can even contribute anything to an autopsy?”

I laughed inside, bitterly. As if I could ever forget.

I looked straight into Mr. Gage’s eyes. “I have never held a knife, but I can tell you where to make the cuts, how the intestines turn, what color the liver should be—in my sleep.”

Mr. Gage did not flinch from the rawness of my words, but held my gaze steadily. He blinked only once and seemed to come to some understanding, for he nodded slowly, just a single bob of his head. I felt some of the tension drain out of me.

“Will you do it?” Philip asked.

I looked at my sister. Alana was always so strong, so competent, so sure of herself. And she protected me like a fierce warrior maiden. Like one of her children.

She tried to look strong now, but I could see the fear in her eyes. I knew she would never ask this of me, would never expect it of me, but I had to do it. For her. For Malcolm, and Philipa, and little baby Greer. A murderer had invaded my sister’s home, and I wasn’t about to let him harm my sister’s family any more than he already had.

“I’ll do it,” I said softly.

My sister squeezed my hand again where she held it. A silent tear slid down her cheek, and I knew I had said the right thing.

I glanced past Alana to the man standing beyond her. I knew Mr. Gage had witnessed our silent exchange, but I didn’t care. I loved my sister. If that made me seem weak to this man, so be it. And so help me God, if he tried to use that against me, I would hurt him far worse than this murderer ever could. Just because I had never held a knife did not mean I didn’t know how to use one.

If only I had known then how greatly such an assertion would be tested.