An Artless Demise

by Anna Lee Huber

  His gaze softened. “Understandable, what with all those people intent on speaking to you.”

  It had been no more than two dozen, but that was still more friendly acquaintances than I could have claimed a year prior.

  “Yes, I was heartened by it,” I admitted.

  He draped his arm around my waist. “And surprised. I could tell. You’re very humble in your expectations of others.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No. But I think you underestimate your own charm. And I’m not speaking of magnetism or attractiveness,” he added, forestalling my protest. “Though you know I find you maddeningly irresistible.”

  A soft rap on the door prevented him from kissing me as I knew he intended to.

  Anderley’s dark head poked itself through the door. “You sent for me, sir?”

  “Yes,” he replied, releasing me. “Is Miss McEvoy with you?”

  “Samuel is searching for her.”

  “Good. Have a seat. Let’s not stand on ceremony.”

  This was not the first time we had met with our personal servants to discuss an inquiry, so I had no trouble in deducing the reason Gage had requested Anderley and Bree both attend us here. As such, I sank into the apple green upholstered chair near the hearth, where a merry fire crackled away. Anderley took the chair opposite me, near the Queen Anne walnut escritoire where I penned most of my letters.

  His normally handsome countenance appeared somewhat haggard and worn, making him less the dark foil to Gage’s golden good looks I was accustomed to. Even his bronzed complexion was looking a bit sallow. Seeing him in such a state, the mischievous twinkle missing from his eyes, I couldn’t help but comment on it.

  “Anderley, are you feeling well?” I murmured softly, sliding forward on my chair to be nearer to him.

  His eyes lifted, and I could see the surprise in their brown depths. Perhaps a normal gentlewoman would have referred such a concern to her husband instead of addressing his valet directly, but given our past inquiries, Anderley and I were more familiar than that. I wasn’t about to ignore his evident unhappiness.

  “If you should need a few days off, you need only say the word.”

  “No,” he replied, finally driven into speech. “I thank you, my lady. I am well.”

  Gage stared over his valet’s shoulder at his profile, though he did not speak, and I sensed he saw, or knew, more than either of them was saying. It was not my place to force an unwanted confidence, so I merely nodded.

  “Well, if you should need anything, I hope you know you only need to ask. I’ll do everything in my power to help.”

  “I do, my lady. Thank you.”

  I wasn’t certain I would ever know the true depths of my husband and his valet’s relationship. I knew they had traveled the continent, taken part in the Greek War for Independence, and undertaken countless inquiries together, some quite dangerous. Anyone who had seen them stand shoulder-to-shoulder as they threatened or interrogated a suspect recognized their bond was a deeply forged one. I sometimes wondered whether Gage trusted me or Anderley more, but then I understood trust could take many forms, just as love could.

  Bree entered the room then, pushing a stray strawberry blond curl behind her ear as she dipped a curtsy. “Ye wished to see me?”

  Gage ushered her inside, where she perched on the edge of the settee next to Anderley’s chair, her hands tucked in her lap. Her eyes met his briefly before turning back to my husband, who was addressing her.

  “Have you been kept informed of the current police inquiry occurring in Covent Garden?”

  “About that poor Italian Boy?” she replied in her Scottish brogue. “Aye. I’ve read the newspapers doon in the servants’ hall.”

  “Sometimes before they reach the breakfast parlor,” Anderley muttered under his breath, though some of his usual devilry sparkled in his eyes.

  Bree wrinkled her nose pertly at him.

  Gage ignored this, sitting down on the other end of the settee to form a square between us all. “The New Police are, of course, handling the matter. However, Lord Melbourne has requested that Lord Gage monitor the situation. And he has asked for our assistance.”

  His eyes met mine briefly before sliding toward Anderley to gauge his reaction. Why he should be so intent on doing so, I didn’t know, but I observed the pair of them with interest.

  “What does he wish us to do?” I asked, not altogether surprised by Lord Gage’s request given the intensity of their conversation at the theater, but somewhat puzzled by what he wanted from us.

  “To listen. To the members of society, and the servants belowstairs.” He dipped his head to Bree. “To the shopkeepers and tradesmen, and passersby on the street. He wants to know what the general mood of the metropolis is. Is there resentment, fear, signs of malcontent?”

  “They’re trying to prevent a riot,” I realized with some alarm.

  Gage nodded guardedly. “That is one of their concerns. Apparently, two of the defendants, Bishop and May, are well known to traffic in anatomical subjects. If that’s the case, then who knows how often they might have resorted to burking to turn a profit, though they both swear the body was dead when they took possession of it. May claims the body was stuffed in a trunk in Bishop’s washhouse in Bethnal Green the first time he laid eyes on it.”

  “But I thought the coroners said the body had never been buried?” Anderley asked in some confusion.

  “Yes, but I’ve been speaking with some men, and apparently exhumation isn’t the only way bodysnatchers procure bodies. They also pose as the family members of unclaimed paupers or steal corpses from the bone house and undertaker’s premises. That’s why the freshness of the body didn’t at first raise any suspicions, but the fact that they’d tried to make it appear as if it had been buried when it obviously had not raised doubts.”

  I tapped my fingers against the arm of my chair trying to decide if the names Bishop or May were familiar to me in any way. Just because I had avoided learning about Sir Anthony’s interactions with resurrectionists didn’t mean I might not have overheard him mention their names. “What of the other two men? Are they not associated with the bodysnatching trade?”

  “Williams is the son-in-law of Bishop, and new to the profession, if I’m interpreting matters correctly. Whatever happened, he’s in it as deep as Bishop, no matter how innocent he appears.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “They all have prior arrests. They’ve all spent time in one prison or another. But the fourth man, Shields, is undoubtedly innocent of murder, at least. He’s a frightened old man who makes his living by carrying heavy loads. His only crime is that he allowed himself to get roped in with the resurrectionists, hiring himself out to carry the bodies. He didn’t even enter the story until the morning of the fifth, long after the surgeons agree the boy was killed.”

  “Then why don’t the magistrates release him?”

  “They’re hopeful that the other men will let something slip and he’ll turn King’s evidence.”

  “He’d be a fool not to,” Bree surmised.

  Gage’s expression was grim. “Yes, well, as of now it sounds like the police have precious little proof the defendants actually killed the boy. There seems little doubt the lad was, in fact, murdered. But as they’ve yet to establish identity, it’s difficult to definitively assign blame. That’s something else we may be able to help with.”

  He swiveled to face Anderley directly. “The coroner’s inquest continues today, and I’d like you to attend. Try to blend in with the general crowd. Listen to what they have to say. Maybe question a few of the witnesses who came forward with information about a missing Italian Boy.”

  Anderley nodded eagerly and departed.

  “Miss McEvoy, I suppose you know your part?” Gage remarked with a small smile.

  “Aye. Listen and sympathize. Tenderhearted, I am,” she
added, clutching her chest. Then she flashed us an impish grin. “Perhaps you’ve a few errands ye wish me to run?” she prodded me.

  “Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “Maybe a new ribbon to match my cornflower silk gown. And I’m sure you’ll find the clasp on my pearl bracelet is loose.”

  Her lips twitched. “If I may, your jar o’ rose hips ointment is also low, so I’ll visit the apothecary.”

  This, at least, was true.

  “Then I won’t expect to see you until I need to dress for dinner.”

  She curtseyed and hurried off to undertake her commissions. I shook my head at her departing figure. She was deriving too much delight from such subterfuge.

  I turned back to my husband and arched my chin. “And what, pray tell, do you wish of me?” When he didn’t reply, the amused curl of my mouth flattened. “Unless you think I should stay away from this one?”

  The faint lines at the corners of his eyes creased in chagrin. “Actually, I was just thinking that for once I wished Sir Anthony had shared more with you.”

  “About his involvement with bodysnatchers?”

  He nodded, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “How irrational is that?”

  I moved over to the settee to sit beside him. “You wish to understand them better?”

  “Among other things.”

  I bit my lip, hesitant to speak. “I am acquainted with several surgeons, and most of them have used resurrectionists at one time or another.” I brushed a hand over the lace insets of my Pomona green skirt. “Not all of them are hostile toward me. If I selected carefully, I’m sure I could convince one of them to speak with you.”

  Rather than answer me, he asked a question of his own. “How many of them are like Sir Anthony? Ruthless in their pursuit of knowledge and renown,” he clarified.

  I blanched. “I can’t possibly answer that. But . . .” I pressed a hand to my abdomen. “I could tell you stories about some of them that would shock you. Perhaps even make your stomach turn.”

  I did not want to recount these stories. Even thinking of them now made my insides quaver. And I didn’t see how they would help with the investigation. But I would tell him, if he wished me to.

  Comprehending the distress this caused me, he brushed it aside for now. “Let’s wait to consult another surgeon for the moment. It may not be necessary.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no desire to reinsert myself into London’s medical community. Edinburgh had been different. Most of the surgeons and physicians there had had nothing to do with Sir Anthony or the charges brought against me. But London’s close-minded ranks—centered on the Royal College of Surgeons—were a different story, even if journals like the Lancet and anatomists like the late Edmund Grainger were attempting to challenge that. It was why we’d already made plans to return north before my confinement. I preferred to give birth in Edinburgh or with the eminently qualified midwife in Elwick, Northumberland—my childhood home.

  There was a rap on the morning room door, and Jeffers entered in response to our summons. “My lady, Lady Stratford and Lady Tavistock are here to see you. They insisted they need not wait on ceremony.”

  At this, he was practically pushed aside as Charlotte and Lorna brushed past him into the room in a flurry of lavender-scented silk and satin.

  “Oh, Kiera, we just heard the news last night,” Charlotte exclaimed. “Of all the utter nonsense!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “How can they possibly be so stupid as to draw a connection between you and that poor Italian Boy?” Lorna sneered, flopping down into one of the chairs.

  “And that insipid Lady Morley has been telling anyone who will listen how she’s canceled her portrait commission with you.” Charlotte settled her skirts with a furious flourish. “I told her she was an absolute fool.”

  “Charlotte, you didn’t?” I gasped, having difficulty imagining the perfectly proper Dowager Countess of Stratford uttering such words.

  Someone had once said I would have a terrible influence on her. It appeared they were right.

  When we’d first met, she’d been renowned for her icy reserve, though that had been more the fault of her circumstances than her natural disposition. Regardless, she had stringently disapproved of me. That is, until I saved her from death and false imprisonment. Since then we’d discovered we were more alike than we’d realized, and our friendship had blossomed.

  “Of course I did.” She scoffed. “As if it’s a blessing for anyone to paint her beak of a nose.” She dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Good riddance, I say.”

  Gage’s mouth creased into a smile. “I believe that’s my cue to take my leave. I know I can rely on you two ladies to bolster my wife.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek before bowing to each of my friends and striding from the room.

  Jeffers still hovered near the door, and I nodded to him. “Tea, please.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  The door shut behind him, and I sank deeper into the sofa with a scowl. “Unfortunately, Lady Morley is not the only canceled commission.”

  “Fustian!” Charlotte declared, tossing her reticule down on the tea table. Her soft gray eyes flashed with fire. “They cannot be so foolish as to think you had any part in this Italian Boy’s death.”

  “No, but I’m learning that society does not like to be reminded of anything unpleasant,” Lorna replied, twirling a rose silk ribbon on her dress around her finger. From the distracted look in her eyes, I could tell she wasn’t thinking only of my reputation but also her illegitimacy. Her father might be a lord, and he might have been in love with her mother until the day she died, but they had not been wed. Lorna’s marriage to a viscount smoothed over some of those improprieties, though it was fortunate the scandalous details surrounding that wedding were not widely known.

  In truth, I was heartened by how well she seemed to be adjusting to her new life. She had maintained an independent existence, one riddled by rumors of witchcraft, herbalism, and unnatural behavior—rumors that were not so very different from those that swirled around me. However, unlike me, the gossip about her had largely been isolated to Devon, so most of London had never been privy to those choice bits of tittle-tattle.

  “She’s right,” I said. “So long as one’s . . . indiscretion is not recent or thrust in their faces, there are many who are content to ignore it.”

  “I’ll take that as a hint that perhaps I should be delivered of this child in Devon rather than London, if there is any hope of convincing polite society he or she has been born prematurely,” she muttered wryly, rubbing her hand over the swell of her stomach, which showed she was further along than the three months she had been wed.

  Charlotte’s mouth tightened briefly in what I thought might have been jealousy, and my heart went out to her. Here Lorna and I sat, growing round with child, when Charlotte wished more than anything for such a blessing. It was a cruel twist of fate that she could not conceive.

  So I hastened to change the subject. “This inquest on the Italian Boy, and the manner in which he is suspected of being killed, has only served to remind everyone of my shocking past. And for many, that is unforgivable.”

  “But it’s not your fault,” Lorna protested, sitting forward.

  “Yes, but if you haven’t noticed, society has no problem blaming wives, or daughters . . .” Charlotte dipped her head to Lorna “. . . for the sins of their husbands and fathers. We’re guilty by association, no matter how little power we had in the situation.” She spoke calmly, but I knew she was thinking of her vile deceased husband.

  I wasn’t certain Lorna was aware of Charlotte’s past, having only arrived in London a little over a fortnight ago, but it appeared she’d heard something of the matter, for her face creased with sympathy. “Are you thinking of what that odious woman with the double chins said? Because someone should have taken h
er out to the depths of Dartmoor and left her there long ago.”

  I looked to Charlotte, who grimaced. “Lady Westlock informed me recently that if I’d only seen fit to produce an heir for Lord Stratford, nothing that had followed would have ever happened.”

  My hands tightened into fists at the mention of the woman who had poured no small amount of scorn over my head during my and Gage’s first inquiry. “That woman is a harridan! I hope you paid her no heed.”

  “Not the least,” she replied, fluffing the fashionably puffed sleeves of her jonquil gown. I could tell by the tight lines between her eyes she was lying.

  I turned to gaze out through the French doors at the dreary garden beyond, breathing deeply to settle my temper. Once I felt I could speak evenly, I turned back to examine my two dearest friends other than my sister. Both were beauties, though Charlotte outshone us with her pale blond hair and porcelain skin. She had been the Incomparable the year of her debut. However, Lorna’s green eyes flashed with a brilliance and intelligence I wasn’t certain either of us could match.

  Both should have been adored and eagerly courted members of society, not only for their beauty and wit but their warmth and graciousness. But both had been wounded, threatened, and snubbed. That was how they’d found their way into my life. While I would not have traded their friendship for anything, I did wish the world was a little more kind. Or rather, the people in it.

  I reached up to rub my forehead, fighting off the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve stopped trying to understand the fickleness and foolishness of society. But regrettably, one has to live among it. At least for the sake of one’s loved ones.”

  Not so long ago, I’d considered turning my back on it once and for all. I did not regret my decision to relinquish that notion and wed Gage. But I could not deny that, at times, I felt I’d chosen the infinitely harder path, despite its ample compensations.

  Jeffers entered with the tea tray laden with a mountain of the cook’s scrumptious little cakes. I stifled a giggle. Apparently, my staff believed two women in the family way could consume the same amount of food as a horse.