As Death Draws Near

by Anna Lee Huber

  I forced myself to inhale past the vine of thorns constricting my airway, reminding myself not to jump to conclusions. I had not been wrong. Bree was different from Lucy. Confident when that girl had been perpetually anxious. Adaptable when she had been flummoxed by change. World-wise when she had been so naïve. At the least, Bree deserved a fair hearing before I assumed the worst.

  I watched as she impassionedly argued something, gesturing with her hands and hissing sharply up at Casey. She certainly didn’t seem enamored of him, though I still couldn’t understand why she would be out in the garden speaking to him. Had she merely stumbled into him prowling about as she came to search for me?

  No, there was something in their manner toward each other that spoke of some familiarity, and Bree didn’t look the least afraid or alarmed by his presence. I wished I could move closer so that I could hear what they were saying, but to do so would reveal my presence. I considered surprising them both, but then decided that could turn an angry situation into something far more volatile if Casey panicked. Besides, I wanted to hear what Bree had to say without him looking on. I figured I owed her that.

  Then suddenly the discussion was over. Bree snapped the words “Go now” loud enough for me to hear, and pointed in the direction behind him. He glared at her a moment longer and then stomped off with a grunt. She stared after him, her posture defiant, until I heard the sound of a gate click shut. Her shoulders sagged and her head bowed. Then she reached her hands up to smooth her hair behind her ears and turned her steps in my direction.

  As she moved into line with the hedges, she looked up from her contemplation of the ground and jolted at the sight of me watching her from the shadows. For a moment, we both stood still, studying each other. I could almost hear the thoughts spinning in her head, wondering what I’d heard, how much I’d guessed. I didn’t speak, wanting her to be the one to break the silence, to tell me how she intended to play this. Whether she would be defiant or rueful, deceitful or honest. I should have known Bree would cut to the heart of the matter.

  “He’s my brother.”

  I stiffened in shock.

  “Well, my half brother.” Her voice was resigned. “We have different fathers.”

  “Thus your different last names,” I murmured, still trying to absorb this new information. I knew her last name was McEvoy, and that by the rules of decorum I should be calling her that, but when I met her, she had still been an upstairs maid known by her first name, and so I’d never switched when she officially became my lady’s maid.

  “Aye.” Her voice tightened with remorse. “I wanted to tell ye. But when I saw him that first time, ootside the constabulary, he shook his head at me, makin’ it clear he didna want me to say anythin’. So I decided to keep my mouth shut, least until I could find out why.”

  That was why she’d looked as if she’d seen a ghost, because, in a way, she had.

  “So you didn’t know he was here in Rathfarnham?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. Nor that he was a constable. What I told ye afore was the truth. I’d no’ heard from him in years.”

  “Did you recognize him among the riders last night as well?” I pressed, having realized while I watched them argue why one of our midnight visitors looked familiar.

  She frowned. “Aye. And if I coulda, I woulda skinned him alive then and there. He’s always had a way o’ findin’ trouble, and draggin’ me into it. ’Tis why I didna ken if I wanted to write to him before I realized he was already here.”

  “You could have said something when I asked you if you could identify any of them.”

  “Aye. But then I wouldna had a chance to find oot what he’s up to.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Did you?”

  Her feet shuffled the loose earth. “Nay. Though I do ken whatever it is, they’re anxious for you no’ to find oot aboot it. And I dinna think it’s only aboot the murders.”

  “The tithe protest,” I sighed.

  She nodded. “I asked him aboot it, and he got verra angry. Told me to let it be.”

  I scowled. It seemed to keep coming back to that. Though the tithe protest was supposed to be peaceful, so why all the violent opposition to us finding out?

  “There’s more,” she admitted somewhat hesitantly. “He asked me to put poison in your and Mr. Gage’s tea.”

  I gasped in outrage.

  “No’ enough to kill ye,” she hastened to add. “Just enough to make ye ill.”

  “How kind,” I replied drolly.

  “I refused, but someone else may no’.”

  I looked up into her eyes, grasping the implication. What were we to do? Hire someone to taste our food before we ate it? I pressed a hand to my brow at the worrisome thought.

  “I’m sorry, m’lady,” she pleaded. “I ken I shoulda told you sooner, but . . . he’s my brother.”

  In words it sounded like the feeblest excuse possible, but in reality I knew how complicated the ties to our family could be. Even those you hadn’t seen in years. Even those who were nothing but trouble.

  “I told him that whatever it is he’s involved in, you and Mr. Gage will figure it oot. I begged him to come clean afore it’s too late. But I dinna think he will listen.”

  I searched her eyes, wanting to believe her, wanting to think it was that simple, but the memory of past betrayals reared its head, making it all so much more complicated. “That’s all you told him?”

  Her forehead furrowed in confusion.

  “You didn’t tell him anything about me, or my past, or the investigation . . .”

  “Nay.” She spoke quickly. “O’ course not. I would ne’er do that.”

  Her indignation seemed genuine, so I nodded even though my stomach swirled with uncertainty. My eyes slid to the side to stare up toward the house, where I could now see candles burning in two of the windows, showing me which direction to walk. “I won’t need you tonight,” I said carefully. “I need some time to think.”

  She clasped her hands before her, her voice heavy. “O’ course, m’lady.”

  “I shall see you in the morning,” I murmured, setting off toward the lights without looking back.

  • • •

  Gage was waiting for me when I strode through our bedchamber door, propped up in bed in his burgundy dressing gown, a piece of paper dangling from his fingertips. “I was just considering whether I should dress and come find you,” he remarked lightly, and nodded to the potted violet in my arms. “I see you were still in the gardens.”

  I frowned down at the plant and then absently set it on the corner of the dressing table. “Yes. I . . . I got distracted by the sight of Bree speaking with Constable Casey.” I whipped my shawl off my shoulders and turned to see his reaction.

  “Where?” He leaned forward. “Here? In the garden?”

  “Yes.”

  Gage’s mouth flattened. “So much for our cadets.”

  I tugged at the fingers of my gloves, feeling aggravated he was more concerned about what this meant in terms of how effective our guards were than how Bree had possibly betrayed us. “He’s her half brother.”

  “Really?” I could hear the speculation in his voice. “What were they discussing?”

  “I couldn’t hear. But she appeared to give me an honest accounting of it when I confronted her.” I thrust my gloves at the dressing table, laying them on top of the shawl. “I’m afraid I was too cross with her to see her again tonight, so you shall have to play lady’s maid.” I turned my back to him, waiting for him to rise from the bed and cross the room. I heard him set the letter he’d been reading down on the table by the bed. “What was that?”

  “I finally received a response from Miss Lennox’s family, who have absolutely nothing useful to add. In fact, I would rather not have read their careless, scornful words.” He sighed. “But the less said about that, the better. Now, B
ree. What did she say?”

  While his long fingers fumbled with some of the tiny buttons, I recounted what she had told me, including Casey’s request to her. “Can you believe he wished to poison us?” I snapped in indignation as my dress gaped open in the back. “That he still might attempt it?”

  He reached inside to undo the fastenings of my corset. “We’ll just have to be careful what we eat and drink,” he replied almost absently. His voice had deepened.

  “And what of the staff here? Do you think they can be trusted not to accept a bribe or work in concert with him?”

  “Yes. When I tell them we’re aware of his intentions, and that we want them to be vigilant. If they realize we know, none of them will take the risk.” His hands slid up my bare back as he bent his head to press his lips to the place where my neck met my shoulder.

  “And what of this matter he’s so desperate to conceal from us? Do you think it has to do with the tithe protest?” I shivered as his mouth skimmed up my neck to the spot behind my ear which he knew was sensitive.

  “Likely. Kiera, can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

  “No.” I squirmed around to face him. “It cannot.” I pointed toward the bed. “Over there. I’ve more to tell you. Tonight.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched upward, but he complied, crossing the room to relax back against the pillows as I pulled my arms from the sleeves of my gown. He gestured to me as a courtier might do to the king. “Pray continue.”

  I raised a single eyebrow at his teasing before draping my gown over the back of a chair. “Bree was not the only one I spoke with in the garden.”

  “Oh?”

  I ignored his overawed tone, turning to face the mirror as I began to remove the pins from my hair, and explained who Homer Baugh was and what he’d informed me. Though it became increasingly difficult to overlook his half-lidded eyes staring at me in the reflection. Regardless, I could tell the information about the tunnels interested him.

  “I suppose that’s how Casey disappeared after eavesdropping on our conversation with Chief Constable Corcoran.”

  I swiveled around to face him. “I’d forgotten about that. He must have darted through the tunnel at the old church. To warn the others?”

  He shifted position in bed. “Most likely.”

  I considered the matter as I combed my fingers through my hair, searching for pins I’d missed. “Did I tell you Mr. Baugh said part of the Rathfarnham Castle estate had been used as a dairy farm a short time ago?”

  His eyebrows arched, but I knew only half his attention was on the inquiry. “Did it now?”

  I dropped my arms. “Sebastian, stop looking at me like that.”

  His eyes lifted to my face. “Like what?”

  “Like that.”

  “My dear, what do you expect me to do when you’re standing there in only your shift with your hands in your hair?”

  I glanced in the mirror behind me, noticing for the first time how fine the lawn of my shift was. I flushed, wrapping an arm across my chest. “Oh.”

  “No reason for embarrassment,” he replied in gentle amusement. “You are my wife, after all. But I think you can grasp how distracting you are.”

  “Yes, I see.” I stood stiffly, uncertain what to do. If I removed my shift to put on my nightgown, would that not be even more distracting? Should I reach for my dressing gown?

  Gage chuckled, clearly divining my internal struggle. “Come here,” he murmured, staring steadily into my eyes. “Kiera.” He reached out his hand to me.

  Had he dropped his gaze for even a second, I think I might have faltered, but he did not. Not even after he took hold of my hand and pulled me down to sit on the bed with him. The pale blue of his irises had deepened to that smoky color I’d become quite familiar with in the past two and a half months.

  His hand slid upward to caress my cheek. “You are so beautiful.”

  My skin warmed with pleasure and my breath began to quicken, but before I could surrender to him, I still had to ask. “What about Constable Casey and the tunnels?”

  “I think that will all keep until tomorrow,” he replied, brushing his callused fingers over my skin. “Unless you propose we go stumbling through these pitch-black passageways now?”

  I smiled. “No.”

  “Then I suspect we can also give Constable Casey at least that long to come to his senses and seek us out to share what he knows.”

  I nodded.

  “Now, is there anything more you wished to tell me tonight, so I can avoid another rebuke? Though I have to say, I rather enjoyed you ordering me about.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  His eyes gleamed in challenge. “Try it.”

  “Kiss me,” I demanded.

  And he did.

  • • •

  Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. Something had woken me, though at first I didn’t know what. Until a cramp tightened my lower abdomen and I realized it was my courses. I rose to find the necessary supplies I knew Bree had packed, careful not to wake Gage, and checked the bedding. Then unwilling to lie back down, I went to peer out the window up at the bright moonlight shining down on the carriage yard.

  It was true, the cramps still twisted inside me. I could ring for Bree and ask her to fix me a remedy. But that was not what had unsettled me, or caused this oddly hollow ache in the center of my chest. One I didn’t want to examine, didn’t want to analyze, and yet it couldn’t be ignored.

  I wished Bree had never said anything. That she’d never raised the prospect. Before our conversation, I’d not truly considered the possibility that I might be expecting. My courses were never a reliable distance apart, so I’d anticipated them to arrive any day within the next week. But her words had made me face something I had not yet been ready for, I’d not yet wanted to stir up inside me.

  We were wed, and Gage was attentive. I knew it was only a matter of time. But somehow the thought of my having a child made it difficult to catch my breath. By all accounts I should have been relieved to see my courses had begun. But I wasn’t. I didn’t understand that. How could I be panicked by the prospect of having a child one moment, and then unaccountably sad that I wasn’t the next?

  I wished my sister Alana were there to talk to, but she was hundreds of miles away in Scotland. I could write to her, but it would take days if not weeks for my letter to reach her and then just as long for her response to return to me. Besides, I wasn’t certain I wanted to commit this all to paper. It was too thorny, too difficult.

  I sighed, lifting my hand to feel the cool glass of the window, the shock of its chill against my warm palm somehow bracing and comforting all at once.

  That’s when I saw her.

  It was the woman from the garden. The one I’d followed, but been unable to catch. I was almost certain of it, though I’d never seen her face, and still couldn’t do so from this vantage. I realized now how young she seemed. She stood at the edge of the carriage yard, staring up at the house almost wistfully, though I didn’t know how I could tell that. I wondered if she could see me, and what she was doing there.

  Memories from last night’s disturbance flooded me and I turned to wake Gage. But something made me hesitate, and when I looked back, she was gone.

  I stared at the spot where she had been standing. Had I imagined her? Perhaps she had been a mere trick of the shadows.

  I shook my head. No, someone had been there. Just as someone had been in the gardens. But who? And why was she watching this house?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  At breakfast the next morning I asked Dempsey if one of the maids might have been out in the gardens or the carriage yard the previous night.

  He straightened as if he’d been slapped. “I should hope not,” he replied almost in affront. “Did ye see one o’ dem?”

  Gage set down his utensils as
I described the woman I’d seen to him as well.

  The butler gathered up a plate to be removed from the table, making a credible effort to appear unconcerned, but the pleated furrows of his brow gave him away. “Ah, now. ’Tis likely just Miss Gertrude.”

  “Miss . . .” I blinked. “You mean the girl who fell from the window?”

  “That’s her. She’s buried in her da’s favorite spot in the garden.”

  “I’ve seen her grave,” I admitted.

  “She likes to hang about the place. Shows herself to those who be sad or lonely, like her.”

  I stared after him in some amazement. I didn’t completely discount the existence of ghosts—I was half Scottish, after all—but I found this claim to be a bit difficult to swallow.

  I turned back to find Gage watching me, his eyes warm with consideration. He didn’t speak, waiting for me to say something first. What there was to say, I didn’t precisely know, so I offered him as reassuring a smile as I could manage and returned to my breakfast.

  • • •

  The Catholic Chapel was a rather unassuming building which stood a few hundred feet from the Yellow House, downstream of the Owendoher River. Compared to the Anglican Church next to the constabulary, it was almost severely plain and austere. Something I found surprising given the fact that it was the Roman Catholics who had built and worshiped in most of the great cathedrals of Europe, and certainly in Britain—Canterbury, Salisbury, York. That is, until Henry VIII stripped those cathedrals and much of the rest of their property away from the Catholics and made them part of the Church of England. Even so, I couldn’t help but remark on its simplicity to Father Begley when he came forward to greet us.

  “Ah, now, but yer forgettin’ the penal laws o’ the last century. Catholic mass was outlawed, and so those who kept the faith were forced to worship in secret in makeshift mass houses. Some o’ which were naught more dan tents. There was one here in Rathfarnham, close to dis very spot, but nearer to the river. Once the laws were repealed, the people built dis chapel, but could not be affordin’ to construct anything more ornate. Nor would they be inclined to do so. Not when it could be taken from dem again.”