Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery)

by Huber, AnnaLee

  “But?”

  “But I would not. Not knowing I didn’t at least try to help Will.” I turned to meet his gaze, letting him know I was serious. “I’m through with being a coward, Philip.”

  He searched my eyes, as if looking for some sign of weakness. When he found none, he sighed. “And what am I supposed to tell Alana? You know she’s going to worry about you.”

  “She’ll understand,” I assured him, hoping it was true. I knew I couldn’t stop my sister from fretting, but I thought I could at least put my decision into perspective for her.

  He frowned at the trees standing between Dalmay House and us. The colors of the leaves were brilliant in the early morning light, a feast for my artistic palate. The earthy scent of them only whetted my appetite more. It had been a long time since I’d painted someone against an autumnal backdrop, and I suddenly itched for my oils and a canvas. Perhaps I could convince Miss Remmington to pose for me here. As little as I cared for her troublemaking, her pale features would benefit greatly from such a colorful backdrop.

  Philip turned to me, his features tight with frustration. For a moment I thought he knew how far my attention had wandered from the matter at hand, but then I realized that was unlikely. I waited for him to speak.

  “All right,” he said. “I will allow you to stay here.”

  I bristled at his choice of words, but knew better than to say anything if I was getting what I wanted.

  “On one condition.”

  I lifted my eyebrows, wondering what it could be.

  “You must promise me that you will not visit William Dalmay without Mr. Gage accompanying you.”

  I scowled at him fiercely. “No!”

  “Then you will be journeying to Edinburgh with us if I have to drag you bodily into the carriage myself,” he declared as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.

  “Why can’t it be Michael or one of Will’s caretakers?”

  “Because I don’t trust them to have your best interests at heart.”

  “You don’t trust Michael?”

  “No,” he stated decisively, surprising me with his forcefulness. “He has already shown he is willing to lie for his brother’s benefit, heedless of the effect those lies have on the welfare of others. Think of how Caroline must feel. She clearly cares for Michael, and was ecstatic to be marrying him, and yet now she faces a broken engagement as well as the knowledge that her fiancé lied to her when his first consideration should have been for her above everyone else.”

  His argument silenced me, but only for a moment. “Then what about Lord Keswick?”

  “Gage is the only one I trust to see to your safety, Kiera.”

  I clenched my fists at my sides. “But he does not want me to even speak with Will. He will keep me away from him, and then how am I supposed to help him or prove him harmless?”

  “I will tell Gage that he must allow you to meet with Dalmay. However, you will have to yield to Gage’s judgment as to whether he is in a calm state of mind.” Seeing my livid expression, he shook his head against the other arguments forming in my mind. “I will not budge on this. If you wish to remain at Dalmay House, you will have to accept Gage’s escort.”

  I ground my teeth in frustration and paced away from him to consider the matter. I was furious that Philip was playing me so easily into Gage’s hand. How was I supposed to do Will any good with that infuriating man hanging over my shoulder? For all I knew, Gage would interfere with any attempts I made to meaningfully engage with Will.

  No, that wasn’t fair. Gage was not unreasonable. His presence would make my interactions with Will awkward, but not impossible. Gage might even have something useful to contribute; if he could set aside his ridiculous notions that Will was out to hurt me.

  I huffed and returned my gaze to Philip, who waited for me to speak. I knew my brother-in-law was just looking out for me in the best way he thought he could. He couldn’t know the history between Gage and me, how the man tied me in knots. Although he must realize that things had not ended happily between us at Gairloch. After all, he was there the morning I confronted Gage before he departed with the dawn mist. Being in such close proximity to Gage was going to be uncomfortable at best, particularly as he seemed determined to prove that Will was dangerous.

  But then again, I suspected there was more to Gage’s presence here than a simple visit to a friend, and I had a sinking feeling it had something to do with Will. How was I to uncover what that was if I avoided his company?

  “Agreed,” I bit out.

  Philip looked as if he might want to press me on the issue but held back. I had never given him reason to doubt my word. Forcing the point would be insulting, and he clearly realized this. He gave me a single, decisive nod, and the matter was finished.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Philip and I returned to the house via a path that wove through the woods south of Dalmay House to meet up with the drive several hundred feet from the manor. We passed through the main door we had entered upon our arrival the day before and into the grand entrance hall with its portraits and sweeping staircase. But before we could begin our ascent toward our assigned bedchambers, the butler intercepted us.

  “My lord, my lady,” he pronounced in solemn tones, “Mr. Dalmay wished to see you upon your return from your constitutional. May I have your things sent up to your rooms?”

  Philip and I glanced at each other. Clearly the majordomo took his job seriously. He wasn’t going to allow us to escape without following his master’s wishes. I stifled a grin and permitted the man to help me out of my pelisse, and then handed him my gloves and bonnet.

  “Very good. This way, please.”

  He led us through a set of doors and down a hallway carpeted in the same plush crimson as the stairs. Marble-topped tables stood between each doorway, each holding a vase of fresh flowers or the bust of some ancient Greek or Roman. On the walls above the flowers hung mirrors, reflecting the light spilling through the tall window at the end of the hall, while various uninspired landscapes graced the spaces behind the busts. At the second-to-last door on the right, the butler rapped twice before pushing it open.

  We stepped into what appeared to be Michael’s study, a rather masculine affair swathed in seal brown, coffee, and tan. Three of the walls were covered in dark oak paneling with recessed bookcases. A small fire crackled in the fireplace fashioned from the same wood on my left, but the majority of the light came spilling through the windows spanning the length of the wall across from me. The creamy tan brocade curtains had been thrown open to show the view across the sloping lawn all the way down to the firth. I wondered if the room’s occupants had been able to see Philip and me traversing the path that skirted its shoreline just a short while ago, but from the looks of their expressions, I doubted they would have even taken notice.

  Michael appeared to have been halted in the midst of pacing and stood awkwardly at the corner of his cluttered desk. Whatever he had been saying to Gage, who was seated in one of the Queen Anne–style chairs with cabriole legs clustered around the hearth, had not been agreeable. Gage’s brow was pleated, his mouth tight with displeasure.

  “Cromarty, Kiera, there you are.” Michael strode toward us, a strange mixture of anxiety and relief stretching his features. “I trust you enjoyed your walk.”

  “Ah, yes, we did. Your grounds are lovely.” I spoke up when Philip made no effort to reply. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying his friend. There was a suspicious gleam in his eye. One that Michael did not fail to notice.

  “Excellent.” The tone of his voice belied the wariness I saw creep over his features. “That will be all, Tomson.”

  The door clicked shut, and then Michael extended a hand toward the fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  I passed between the two men, hoping to break the tension that seemed to tether them like a taut cord.
My ploy did not work, for the air remained heavy with their strained silence, but at least I heard their muffled footsteps follow me across the rug. Reaching up to finger the amethyst pendant I almost always wore, I selected the chair across the low table from Gage and farthest from the hearth. I found the atmosphere in the room cloying enough without the heat of the fire on my skin.

  I glanced up to find Gage watching me, a wry smile twisting his lips. He looked at Philip and then back to me, and I understood what he was saying. I lifted my chin, determined not to feel defensive about speaking to my brother-in-law before he did this morning, for all the good it had done me. I was just glad Gage did not yet know he had gotten his way without even trying, for if he did, I knew his smirk would be insufferable.

  Michael cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His gaze darted back and forth between Philip and me before finally settling on the floor between our feet. “I . . . haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

  His eyes lifted briefly to see how we had taken this revelation and I had to struggle to keep my sense of foreboding from showing on my face. A quick survey of the others told me they had not taken the news any easier. Philip’s countenance was dark, and Gage’s brow was puckered again, but I couldn’t say that either man appeared shocked.

  “I told you that my brother never leaves the house without an escort. Well, that’s not strictly true.” The knuckles of his hands turned white where he gripped the arms of his chair. “He’s escaped before. Twice.”

  “I thought you said he was secure,” Philip said in a hard voice.

  “I did,” Michael admitted and then hastened to explain. “And he should be. That lock on the door at the end of the corridor is a recent addition, and he’s yet to escape through it.”

  I swallowed the sour, acidic taste at the back of my mouth, hating to hear William spoken of in such terms. The man wasn’t a criminal or a raving lunatic. At least, I didn’t believe so. I glanced up at Michael through the screen of my eyelashes. But if he had lied about this, what else had he failed to disclose?

  I suddenly wished I were seated closer to the fire.

  “Where did he go?” Philip asked.

  “I don’t know. But both times he was found a short while later down by the firth, staring out at the water as if he’d simply gone for a stroll.” Michael shrugged as if this baffled him.

  “Was his appearance altered in any way?”

  I did not fail to note that it was Gage who asked this question, but I did not react, wanting to know the answer myself.

  Michael narrowed his eyes at him. “There were no signs of a struggle, if that’s what you’re hinting at. No, he actually looked peaceful, happy, if you can believe it.” He tilted his head in thought. “I attributed it to his love of the water. You know, we thought he would join the Royal Navy. But in the end he surprised us all by following the family tradition of soldiering with the cavalry.” A small but proud smile curled his lips. “The first ancestor of ours to do so was a Sir Roger Dalmay, a knight who went off to fight in the Crusades. Legend says his faithful dog kicked up such a fuss when Sir Roger tried to leave him behind, howling and crying, that he was forced to take the hound with him to the Holy Land. However one night, months after they’d gone, the residents at the old castle swore they heard the dog howling again, so loudly as to wake the dead. Not long after, they discovered Sir Roger had been slain about the same time. Tradition says the dog’s howling is a portent of death to the lairds of Banbogle.”

  I shivered at the thought of a ghostly dog presaging my death, but Michael seemed to relish the tale.

  Philip was not so easily distracted. “Then what of this missing girl? Is it true that William is not acquainted with anyone from Cramond, or was that also a lie?”

  Michael frowned and looked as if he would like to protest his friend’s harsh words, but he must have accepted that the question was justified. “As far as I know, he is unacquainted with the people of Cramond, and I have no reason to suspect otherwise. William did not move here with the rest of us when Dalmay House was completed in 1817, choosing instead to remain at Swinton Lodge. And he seemed to have no memory of the building when I brought him here from Larkspur Retreat nine months ago.”

  “He could have met the girl during one of these escapes,” Philip pointed out, somewhat needlessly, I felt.

  “Yes. Yes, he could have,” Michael admitted. Worry crinkled his brow.

  “Now, just wait a minute,” I interjected, surprised by their willingness to jump to conclusions. I glared at all three of them in turn. “There is no evidence to suggest that William has done anything wrong. So he escaped. I would think all of us would chafe under the confines placed around him, no matter how necessary or well-intentioned they are.” Michael shifted guiltily in his seat. “You are making wild suppositions to suggest he sought out this girl and did some kind of harm to her before . . .” I waved my hands, trying to find the right words “. . . disposing of her body. Or do you think he’s keeping her locked away somewhere, since no one can even say for certain that she is dead?” I added scornfully.

  Gage arched his eyebrows at my tone, telling me just how little he was impressed by my scolding, and Philip seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. Only Michael appeared the least bit contrite, staring forlornly down at his feet.

  I scowled at the gleaming wooden surface of the tea table, furious with each of the men before me. Why had Michael decided to lie? I could understand his desire to protect his brother, but all of this deception . . . it only compounded the problem. How could any of us know now whether he could be trusted? I had been counting on his support, his dependability, as I tried to help his brother, but how was I to trust that another of his half-truths wouldn’t turn around and bite me?

  And then there was Philip and his protective measures. Could he not see how unjustified his stance was? A year and a half earlier, had he and my brother made half the assumptions about me that they were making about Will, based on hearsay and conjecture, they would have gone along with Sir Anthony’s friends and the rest of London’s fickle mob and seen me hanged. If Philip was going to condemn Will, he should do it with fact, not fear and speculation.

  As far as Gage was concerned, I simply wished he would stop interfering. He had walked away two months before without looking back, but now he wanted a say in how I conducted myself? He had sacrificed that right, if indeed he’d ever had it, when he climbed into his carriage and drove away from Gairloch. There had been no promises made between us, no intentions made clear, only the camaraderie of our investigation and the brief flare of attraction. He refused to share himself with me, and yet he continued to force his protection on me. Did he not realize how frustrating that was, how inappropriate? How it continued to tie me to him in a way I could not understand?

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” Gage said, breaking the silent standoff.

  I followed his penetrating gaze to Michael, who sat hunched forward in his chair. He was eyeing Gage warily out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s another reason you felt you should bring this to our attention. Lady Darby’s right.” He nodded to me. “You would not have doubted your brother’s innocence with evidence as flimsy as this.”

  Philip sat forward, plainly believing Gage had a point.

  I studied Michael’s haggard face. It was obvious he had gotten as little sleep as Philip and I that night, maybe less, and I began to suspect he’d had many such nights. His complexion was wan, his features drawn, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He’d appeared healthy enough the previous evening, but another night of disturbed slumber had reclaimed its toll on his appearance. If I felt the weight of my own sleeplessness dragging at me, how much more so did it pull at Michael?

  He shifted in his chair again, his leg twitching in time to his thoughts. “I’m simply wo
rried for my brother. Lady Hollingsworth’s words last night rattled me.”

  “As did Lady Darby’s interaction with William?”

  Michael’s gaze, wide with panic and uncertainty, darted to Gage.

  “It was clear to all of us how much it affected you,” Gage elaborated. His voice was calm and unhurried, as one would speak to a sobbing child or a riled animal. “But was there something more to it?”

  I watched him, wondering what he was hinting at. For whatever it was seemed to be disturbing Michael greatly. He jumped up from his chair and moved toward the fireplace, leaning over the flames with his hand pressed against the mantel.

  I watched as Gage and Philip shared a look of grim anticipation. It stretched my already taut nerves past my endurance. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t be so awful,” I told our host. “What could William possibly have done that has you so rattled?”

  Gage’s eyes were solemn, and I frowned at him in confusion.

  “I’m not certain he did anything,” Michael said to the fire. He heaved a sigh and pushed away from the hearth. “In fact . . .” he scraped a hand back through his hair “. . . I don’t know why I’m giving Dr. Sloane’s words any credence at all.”

  “The man who controls the lunatic asylum?” I asked in surprise.

  He nodded. “He told me something when I returned with my petition signed by the local magistrate to collect William. Something I never believed, something I still don’t believe. But . . .” His words trailed away.

  “This girl’s disappearance is making you doubt him,” Gage guessed.

  Michael nodded wretchedly, sinking back into his chair.

  “What did Dr. Sloane say?” Philip prompted.

  “He said . . .” He swallowed and tried again. “He said that William had . . .” he choked on the words “. . . raped and murdered a girl, a fellow inmate in the asylum.”