An Artless Demise

by Anna Lee Huber

  There was a knock on the door, and Bree peered through the gap. “There’s a Mr. Goddard here to see you.”

  “Well, he answered my summons rather promptly,” Gage stated, rising to his feet. “Will you be joining us?”

  “Yes. Just give me twenty minutes.”

  He nodded, already moving toward the door. “I’ll have Jeffers show him into the breakfast room.”

  * * *

  • • •

  By the time I appeared, both men were enjoying heaping plates of sausages, eggs, plumb cake, and hot rolls with butter. But I insisted on my normal repast—an egg, toast, jam, and a cup of warm chocolate. Having already lost my stomach once that morning, I thought it best not to indulge in anything too rich.

  Upon my arrival, Mr. Goddard rose swiftly from his chair, still chewing a bite of his meal. “Good morning, my lady,” he said after swallowing his food.

  “Good morning, Mr. Goddard.” I settled into my seat, making polite small talk while Jeffers brought me my breakfast.

  Once our butler had assured himself we had everything we desired, he signaled for the footman to follow him from the room, anticipating our wish for privacy.

  Gage lifted his gaze to meet mine. “I’ve already informed Mr. Goddard of the unpleasant gifts left for us this morning.”

  I set the triangle of toast I’d just taken a bite of back on my plate, grateful we would not need to discuss such a gruesome discovery.

  “I’m sorry it came to that, my lady. That’s not pleasant, to be sure,” Mr. Goddard told me solemnly.

  I dipped my head.

  “But it does tell us these blackmailers are quite serious.” Gage tapped his finger on the table. “They must be found and quickly.”

  Goddard sat back, setting his serviette beside his plate. “And I think I have some information that may help.”

  Gage and I both perked up at this pronouncement.

  “I was skulking at the back of the Rockingham Arms south of the river yesterday evening, keeping an eye on a pair of snatchers I liked for the crime, when in walks a gentleman. He glances about the place before going up to the barman to ask a question, who nods toward the snatchers. Then the gent approaches them to have a chat.”

  Gage and I cast each other a speaking look but didn’t interrupt the Runner.

  “I can tell it’s not a pleasant discussion. The gent seems upset, the snatchers smug, but in the end the gent passes them something and storms out. One of the snatchers pockets the item and then nods to his cohort, who hurries out after the fellow.”

  “Did you happen to recognize the gentleman?” Gage asked.

  “That’s the most interesting part.” He leaned forward. “’Twas George Penrose.”

  I stiffened. “The Earl of Redditch’s son.”

  He nodded, and then narrowed his eyes, scratching his chin. “Now why would an earl’s son need to be consortin’ with bodysnatchers?” His eyes gleamed as if he was a hound catching the scent of a fox. “When did your first blackmail letter arrive? After Lord Feckenham was murdered, right?”

  Gage scowled. “Yes. Three days later.”

  “But Mr. Penrose left the city the morning after his brother was killed,” I pointed out.

  “Are we certain of that?” He arched his eyebrows. “Maybe he made contact with those bodysnatchers before he went to collect his sisters.”

  It was possible. I couldn’t refute that. But still I balked at the possibility that Mr. Penrose was behind the blackmail scheme. He hardly seemed the type to do such a thing.

  However, I’d learned long ago that just because someone was likable did not mean they weren’t capable of terrible things.

  “You can’t deny you’ve been distracted from your investigations by this nonsense. Maybe that was his intent.” Goddard’s gaze flicked back and forth between us. “Didn’t you like him almost from the start for the murder of his brother?”

  Gage nodded. “He seemed to have the best motive. And he admitted to confronting his brother not ten minutes before the crime was committed.”

  “Then the murders of Newbury and Acklen were also meant to be distractions?” I countered skeptically and then shook my head. “I don’t believe it. Maybe one of them. But not both.”

  “Perhaps he worried we were on to him. Perhaps he thought another murder would confuse the matter further,” Gage proposed, though I could hear in his voice he wasn’t confident of that, even if he was advancing the theory.

  “How would you like me to proceed?” Goddard asked, pulling us from our ruminations.

  Gage looked at me. “I think you and I should pay a visit to Mr. Penrose and see if he can explain his contact with those resurrectionists.” His eyes darted to Goddard. “In the meantime, can you keep track of these bodysnatchers’ movements?”

  “Already bein’ done.” He frowned. “Though it appears they might have slipped past their watchers this morning. I’ll have to have a word with my men.”

  “Who are these bodysnatchers?”

  Goddard’s expression darkened. “A man who most often goes by the name of John Shearing, and his brother Thomas. They work with a few other lifters—Robert Tighe, Boney Dunkley, and George Long. A vile group of characters, to say the least. Better than the Spitalfields Gang, but not by much.”

  “Is the Rockingham Arms their normal meeting place?”

  “’Twas the Fortune of War, but most snatchers have steered clear of there since the arrests.”

  Gage’s lips curled cynically in comprehension. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch as soon as we speak to Penrose.”

  Goddard dipped his head. “Oh, and there’s one more mystery I might be able to clear up for ye. A constable at Great Marlborough Street admitted he followed your maid the other day. He thought she might have somethin’ to do with the murders when he saw her hangin’ about the stable yard where the one happened. Wasn’t ’til later, when he learned who her employer was, that the green lad realized he’d made a mistake. I hope the young miss wasn’t alarmed.”

  I supposed this, then, was Bree’s furtive follower. “He followed her just once?” I asked, wondering if there could be more than one man.

  He gave a huff of dry laughter. “Only admitted to the once. But the lad genuinely thought he’d uncovered something, so it may have been more. He means well. He’s just raw.”

  I nodded. “My maid will be relieved.”

  A spark of laughter lit Gage’s eyes, knowing as well as I did how amused Bree would be to discover who had been trailing after her. In any case, I was relieved to know she wasn’t being stalked by the killer.

  Goddard took his leave of us and I finished my breakfast before we went in search of Mr. Penrose. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home, and the Earl of Redditch’s butler did not know when he would return. I tried not to feel uneasy about this, but no matter what I tried to distract myself with, it still preyed at the back of my mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Given the horrid events of that morning, I’d been tempted to send our regrets to the hostess of the dinner party we were to attend that night. But I knew Lord Gage would also be in attendance, and I was anxious to hear whether he’d made any headway in acquiring the journals Dr. Mayer possessed.

  Truth be told, the only reason we’d been invited in the first place was because of our relationship to Lord Gage. Lady Cordelia Verwood was a widow and a sparkling political hostess. One who had taken a decided interest in Gage’s father. If he did wish to remarry, she would be an excellent choice. Lovely, respectable, and able to tolerate me with civility, even if the look in her eyes said she wished she could have rescinded her invitation for this evening.

  The party was long and tedious, my presence barely tolerated by half the guests. Worse, we were never able to find a few moments to step aside alone with Lord Gage. Lady Cordelia seemed determined to hind
er such efforts, which sadly did not endear her to my father-in-law. And it was sad, for when she allowed herself to forget my reputation for a moment, she was quite conversant on art and music, both subjects I enjoyed.

  When the hour had drawn late, and Gage noticed me drooping in a chair, he abandoned the effort and brought me forward to take our leave of our hostess. While donning our cloaks and gloves, Lord Gage finally contrived to slip out after us. He gestured imperiously for the footman assisting us to step away.

  “I’ve been attempting to tell you all night that Mayer is as stubborn as a mule, and twice as vindictive.”

  Gage’s hands tightened on the plum velvet of my cloak as he draped it around my shoulders. “He’s not giving up the journals?”

  “Not without a fight. Not even facing royal pressure. He and his publisher are determined to publish.”

  I sagged, stumbling back a step, and Gage reached out to steady me. “So that’s it?” I murmured faintly, my heart clenching with dread. “They’re going to be printed?”

  “Oh, I haven’t exhausted all my options. Not yet.” Lord Gage’s eyes blazed with indignation. “This smug little sawbones is going to rue the day he tangled with me.”

  Staring into my father-in-law’s sneering face, I well believed him. I was merely glad to have him on my side for once.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Kiera!”

  I faltered as a pair of frilled sleeves reached out to embrace me, nearly tumbling to the ground and pulling the owner of said sleeves with me. I’d been so consumed by my own thoughts while the Duchess of Bowmont’s butler showed me into the parlor where she sat for her portrait that I’d failed to notice Lorna barreling toward me until it was too late.

  Once we’d righted ourselves, Lorna pulled back to grin at me. “I’d hoped to surprise you, but not knock you flat,” she jested. I’d rarely seen her so merry.

  “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”

  “Apparently.” She reached up to rub a finger between my eyes. “And if this little crease is any indication, it wasn’t about anything pleasant.”

  The Duchess of Bowmont rose from her perch on the blue velvet sofa. “Don’t tease her, darling. She’s had a distressing few weeks. Thank goodness they’ve finally set the date for the burkers trial for Friday. At least, that will be over soon.”

  “But will it?” I murmured before I could stop myself.

  She glanced at me inquiringly.

  I sighed, wishing I’d minded my tongue. Crossing the room to the table set aside for my use, I plunked down my valise filled with supplies.

  “What do you mean, dear?” the duchess asked in the most maternal tone I’d yet heard her use. Perhaps that was what convinced me to speak when normally I would have remained silent. It also could have been Lorna’s soothing presence. Or maybe I was simply too weary of pretending all was well, that none of it could affect me.

  Whatever the case, I suddenly found myself divulging my worries. “More and more reports of missing people and attempted burkings keep pouring into the newspapers.” I pulled my paints from the bag, smacking them down on the table one by one. “Everyone is looking around them, wondering if there will be more killings. Wondering if they’re next.” I gestured with my roll of specialty brushes. “Even here in Mayfair.”

  “And then, in turn, they look to you,” the duchess stated, finishing my unspoken thought.

  I lifted my gaze to hers but saw no condemnation there. “Yes.”

  “Oh, Kiera. No one could blame you . . .” Lorna began, hastening forward.

  “Of course they could,” the duchess interjected, cutting off her goddaughter’s words. “Don’t tell her lies, pet. It’s unkind. And most unhelpful.” She smiled ruefully. “Believe me.”

  I searched her face, curious what had etched such sorrow in the fine lines there. What had she been blamed for unfairly?

  “The duke,” she explained, turning toward the long mirror that had been brought into the room the week before. “When he turned to other women after barely a fortnight of marriage, naturally I must be to blame.”

  Anyone would have thought by the blithe tone of her voice that this did not bother her, but I sensed the brittleness beneath the façade. I saw the pain buried in her eyes as she leaned toward her reflection, dabbing at the skin along her cheekbones.

  “What they couldn’t understand was that Bowmont finds fidelity tedious. I was forced to accept that long ago.” She swiveled to the side, brushing her hand over the silver braid on the side of her bodice. “But fortunately, he’s no hypocrite.” She flashed us a smile. “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

  “Yes, but if honesty is what you want, Selina, you forget . . .” Lorna swept her hand up and down her godmother’s form. “You are a duchess.”

  “The implication being that I can brazen my way through more than other gentlewomen. Yes, that’s true.” She lifted her perfectly arched eyebrows. “But I still had to demand it. Had I let them, they would have snubbed and cut me all over Mayfair. But a duchess does not stand for such treatment.” Her gaze swung to pin me where I stood. “And neither should you.”

  I stared at her, too stunned to speak.

  “If you want their respect, if you want it for your husband and your children, then you have to demand it. So you have a difficult past.” She shrugged one shoulder. “You are not the only one, pet.”

  I nodded, acknowledging this as I glanced at Lorna, whose difficult past I was already aware of, and then back to the duchess, whose pain I’d only begun to guess at.

  “You have embraced all the scandalous things your first husband taught you and put them to good use, have you not? Then be done with it, and embrace your scandalous reputation, too.” She flicked her wrist as if to shoo away a gnat. “Those who would snub you are not worth your time or your delightful husband’s. And the rest will soon stop quibbling once you show them you don’t care what they think.”

  Gage had said something similar, but hearing it from the duchess was quite different. She could have rolled her eyes and dismissed my distress as trifling. Instead, she’d risked revealing some of her own wounds to show me I needn’t be ashamed of the things that were out of my control. And I needn’t let others try to make me feel less of myself because of them.

  Lorna stepped forward to take my hand. “All you need to be is yourself, Kiera. Those of us who’ve been allowed to see even a glimpse of your truth already love you for it.” She wrinkled her nose impishly. “Just think if we were allowed to see it all.”

  I offered her a small smile, touched by her regard. Especially since I thought so much of her in turn.

  “Now, then,” the duchess proclaimed, gliding toward the long stool where she posed for her portrait. “Shall we begin?”

  My smile widened. “Yes. Just let me prepare my palette.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I returned home to find Gage seated behind his desk, glaring down at a piece of correspondence.

  “I take it your discussion with Mr. Penrose did not go well this morning?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and rubbing my hands up and down against the chill of the study.

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “Again?”

  He grunted in affirmation. “I reminded Hotchkins to have Mr. Penrose send me a note the moment he returned. But I’m not holding out much hope of that,” he growled under his breath.

  It was certainly suspicious that he’d absented himself from Redditch House the past two days—particularly given what we’d learned about his meeting with known resurrectionists—but it was not obstructive. Yet.

  “What are you reading?” I asked, moving to stand behind him, closer to the fire.

  “A letter from Henry Warburton to some of his fellow MPs that fell into my father’s hands, and he for
warded to me. He proposes to reintroduce another Anatomy Bill at the next session.”

  “Then I’m sure Philip is aware of it as well.”

  I’d discovered several months earlier that my brother-in-law was working with other members of both houses of Parliament to put together a second attempt at a bill which would make the bodies of the unclaimed poor at workhouses legally available to surgeons. The first bill had passed in the Commons but failed in the Lords.

  “Yes, well, this letter as good as states that he intends to use the current court trial and the threat of London burkers to gain support for the measure.”

  I tilted my head. “I suppose he would be foolish not to.”

  Gage turned to frown at me.

  I shrugged. “It’s politics. Did you expect anything different?”

  “No, but I’m not fond of others using fear and naiveté to manipulate matters.”

  “Neither am I.” I sighed heavily. “But something must be done. The bodysnatching trade cannot go on, and still our future surgeons must be trained.” I crouched to stoke the fire, shaking my head. “There is no happy solution to the problem. Not while people are so revolted by the idea of dissection. And sadly, once again, it is the poor who will suffer to ease the peace of mind of the populace.”

  Recognizing I was close to shivering, he stood to take the poker from me, stirring the embers before adding more fuel.

  “I suspect if the bill ever has a chance of passing, now is the time. While the dangers of burking are still fresh in the minds of the upper class.” And much of that was thanks to the murders in Mayfair. I watched the fire as it licked along the log in varying shades of flickering flame, my mind turning over the issue. “You know, if anyone is benefiting from these murders, I would say it’s the reformers.”

  Gage lifted his head to look at me, his arm still draped across the mantel. “Because it will sway votes in their favor?”

  I nodded. “Though I find it hard to credit they would be so cold and heartless in the pursuit of such a measure.”