I did as I was told, hovering at the end of the bed near the door as Gage thundered down the steps. It seemed a decade before the valet appeared wide-eyed, but truly must have been only a matter of minutes. “Gage has gone after a girl who ran into the garden.” Before I’d finished getting the words out, he was following after him, leaving me to stand there uncertainly in my wrapper, staring through the doorway.
I hoped the girl wasn’t simply one of the Priory servants returning from a tryst. I frowned. No, if that were true, she would not have taken the route she did. The servants’ quarters in this home were in a separate wing on the opposite end of the house near the stable and barns. It would have been far easier to sneak through the shadows at the end of the carriage yard.
I had just begun to cross the landing when Bree appeared in one of the doorways to the right which must have led to a hidden servants’ stair. “M’lady?” she asked in question.
Ignoring her query for the moment, I moved toward the doors across from my and Gage’s. “Do you know which of these rooms has the best view of the gardens?”
She blinked in confusion and I stepped forward to open one of the doors in impatience. “No’ that one,” she replied, hurrying to join me. “A tree blocks part o’ the windows. The other one.”
I hurried into the next chamber, ignoring the blurry shapes of the furniture draped in sheets as I crossed toward the windows. But before I could even lift the drape aside, we heard the crack of a gunshot.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt the sickening sensation of dread creep over me. I couldn’t remember whether Gage had taken his pistol. I thought not. Or Anderley. So who had fired that bullet, and at whom?
Ignoring the windows, I urged Bree from the room. “Wake whatever staff you need. Get some water boiling and find me some clean cloths.”
She did not need further instructions, but hurried off in the direction of the servants’ stairs while I scurried down the front steps and into the parlor. I swept the room with my eyes, looking for the best spot to lay a gunshot victim. Though depending on the wound, the dining table might be best. I whirled around, undecided, and ultimately elected to wait and see.
Perhaps no one had been hit. Perhaps the shot had gone wide. But in my mind I kept seeing Mr. Scully lying in the back of that wagon, his lower leg a bloody mess. Except my imagination persisted in superimposing Gage’s body in his place.
When finally I heard a door at the back of the passage open, I half expected to see a body being carried in. Instead, I saw the ashen complexion of Dempsey, the Priory’s butler, trailed by Anderley and the sullen face of a young woman, whose upper arm was being gripped by Gage. I exhaled in relief, seeing no visible injuries.
That is, until Gage came fully into view. As he propelled the woman toward the parlor behind the other men, I could see that the other sleeve of his shirt was soaked with blood.
“Your arm,” I gasped, rushing forward. But he would not let me look at it until he’d pushed the girl into the room after the man, where Anderley could keep an eye on them both.
“It’s only a graze,” Gage assured me in a tight voice. “Though they can still bleed like the devil.”
“And become infected,” I retorted. “We heard the gunshot. Bree is having water boiled.”
He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Later.”
“No. Now. You can question them while I clean the wound if it’s truly so minor,” I challenged and then glanced toward the occupants of the room. “Who shot you?”
“The woman.”
I narrowed my eyes on her, but she turned away with a sulking twist of her head. “Who is she? I don’t recognize her.”
“I do.” He did not elaborate, instead charging into the room with a restrained ferocity that had Dempsey quaking in his rumpled livery and seemed to have at least unnerved the girl. I had to admit, Gage did appear rather menacing, especially with half his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his rather impressive physique underneath and the blood covering his left arm.
He glared between them while Anderley stood to the side with his arms crossed. I had the distinct impression this wasn’t the first time these two men had found themselves in such a situation.
“Now, which one of you would like to explain why Miss . . .” Gage arched his eyebrows at her, demanding her name. She kept her mouth defiantly shut.
“Hogan,” Dempsey supplied, and she threw a venomous look his way.
“Who would like to tell me why she’s been sneaking about the Priory gardens?” His eyes hardened to chips of ice. “And why she decided to shoot me tonight rather than explain herself?”
The girl turned away again, staring at the wall, but Dempsey squirmed in his seat. He was clearly the one who was going to talk, not her. In the hopes of saving his position, if nothing else.
Bree entered the room then with the items I’d requested as well as a cup of willow bark tea, and I was partially distracted while we set the items out on the sideboard behind Gage.
“Miss Hogan an’ I’ve been . . .” Dempsey cleared his throat “. . . courtin’. And sometimes she’ll come to visit me in the evenings, when she can get away.”
“From Eden Park.”
I looked up at Gage’s pronouncement, dropping the cloth I’d been wringing out back into the water with a splash.
“Isn’t that right, Miss Hogan? You work for Mr. LaTouche.”
Her eyes were worried now, but she still didn’t speak.
Gage turned back to the butler. “Tell me, when did this . . . courting begin?”
He flushed. “’Tis recent.”
“Since we arrived?”
“Well . . .” he cast a look of confusion at the girl “. . . yes.”
“I see. I imagine she’s been gratifyingly inquisitive about your work.” Gage hissed in a breath as I pressed the warm cloth to his arm, dabbing away the blood so that I could see the wound. Other than that small sound, he continued on heedless, “How you manage the staff, what sort of hours you’ve had to keep, what your latest visitors discuss.”
The butler’s red face and sudden silence were answer enough.
Gage released him from his gaze, shifting his displeasure squarely to the real perpetrator. “Miss Hogan has been doing a bit of spying for Mr. LaTouche,” he declared with finality, not bothering to ask her a question she wouldn’t answer. “I recognize her from the dinner party the other night. Mr. LaTouche seemed to pay particular attention to her.”
This time it was Miss Hogan’s turn to blush, though whether it was from actual embarrassment or anger that she’d been found out, I didn’t know.
“Would you like to speak now, Miss Hogan? Or shall I send for a constable?”
Her eyes widened, as if such a thought had never occurred to her.
“Surely . . .” the butler began to defend her, despite her duplicity.
But Gage cut him off. “She shot me. Perhaps the spying bit was not her idea, but Mr. LaTouche cannot be held accountable for her pulling the trigger.”
“But I tot ye was gonna strap me, sure I did,” she gasped in a thick Irish brogue.
“I should hope you were afraid,” he replied without sympathy. “You were on someone else’s property, where you had no right to be, skulking about in the middle of the night with a pistol. How else was I to view you but as an intruder with malicious intent?”
This silenced her again, but her belligerent glare told me she didn’t exactly agree.
Now that much of the blood had been washed away, I could see that Gage was right. The bullet had merely grazed him, leaving a nasty-looking gash. The shirt was already ruined, so I tore the remainder of the sleeve off so that I could clean the wound properly.
He glanced down at me distractedly, speaking to the girl. “If you tell us what you know, I’ll reconsider sending my man . . .” he nodded at Anderle
y “. . . after the authorities.”
“Reconsider?” she asked suspiciously.
Gage studied her. “If I believe you are being honest with us about what you know, then I will not call for a constable. Is that fair?”
“But I don’t know nothin’, I don’t,” she argued.
“Just try.”
She sighed, lifting her eyes toward the ceiling, and then gave a jerky nod. “’Tis how ye said.” She glanced at Dempsey. “Mr. LaTouche asked me to cozy up to someone here an’ be findin’ oot what I could about ye. ’Twasn’t much.” She pouted. “’Least Mr. LaTouche wasn’t happy wit what I could tell him. Kept tellin’ me to be findin’ oot more, but how could I?” She glanced at Anderley. “Tried to cozy up to dat’n, but he’d no’ have it.”
Deciding the wound was as clean as I could make it, I began to bind it with one of the clean strips of cloth.
“Did Mr. LaTouche explain why he wanted you to spy on us?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, sure I don’t. But . . .” She hesitated. “He and Master Colin, they been talkin’ ’bout the abbey. ’Bout a girl there.”
Gage’s eyes met mine in understanding. Mr. LaTouche was either guilty, or bound and determined to make himself look so.
He nodded to Dempsey. “Show Miss Hogan out. Though I do believe we’ll be keeping her pistol.” But he stopped the man with a hand to his shoulder as he passed. “I trust in the future you’ll be a bit more circumspect.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t have to learn my lessons twice.”
“Good.”
I thrust the cup of willow bark tea into Gage’s hands and watched as the pair slipped through the door. “Drink it.”
He didn’t argue, though I knew the drink was far from tasty. His wound must have hurt him more than he wanted to admit.
“Do you think it was wise to let her go? She’s bound to tell LaTouche that we caught her.”
He gritted his teeth, forcing down the last swallow as he passed me back the cup. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if she does, I don’t think LaTouche will do anything drastic. After all, his sending her to spy on us doesn’t prove anything other than that he’s mistrustful. If he chooses to panic and run, he would actually be doing us a favor, for nothing would prove his guilt more.”
“And if that maid turns up dead?”
He turned to me in some surprise. “She won’t. That would sign his death warrant. He’s impulsive, but not an idiot.”
I hoped he was right. As sullen and foolhardy as the girl had been—shooting Gage and refusing to speak, even to save her own skin—I wanted no harm to come to her.
“No. LaTouche might lose a night’s sleep, but he won’t run. In fact, if I’ve read his character correctly, I expect he’ll come to us.” He scowled. “Which is all to my liking. The sooner we can uncover the truth and get out of this senseless mess, the better.”
• • •
The Orange Day Parade was scheduled to begin sometime around midmorning, so we made certain to arrive long before that, positioning ourselves at the corner of the constabulary as planned. The officers of the constabulary forces had already taken up posts throughout the village, some on horseback and others on foot, including Chief Constable Corcoran, who tipped his hat to us, before returning his focus to a pair of his men. We’d noticed Constable Casey on our drive into the village, standing with another man in front of the Yellow House. Between the dark green of their uniforms, the green ribbons of the Ribbonmen, and the bright orange sashes and pins worn by those celebrating Orange Day, the gathering crowd became a rather colorful sight.
There was a great deal of shouting, and some minor scuffles and skirmishes, easily broken up, but nothing noteworthy to attend to. However, you could feel the throng’s growing tension. It swelled along with their voices, making even the constables’ well-trained horses whicker and shuffle in agitation.
I remained firmly at Gage’s side, scanning the people who stood before the businesses lining either side of the road. Some of them, men and women alike, stood back against the shop windows with brooms and rakes. I wondered if this was how they intended to defend their property should it become necessary.
I recognized a few people shuffling among the crowd, though I imagined Gage and Anderley recognized more. A couple of the more soft-spoken men from Mr. LaTouche’s dinner were present, conferring with each other a few yards away. As were a number of the servants from the Priory, including Homer Baugh, who stood solemnly across the street, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. I was surprised to see Mrs. Scully hovering not far to his left, her face drawn and weary. I wondered if Davy or one of the sisters was sitting with her husband. Marsdale sidled up to join us at one point, his usual sardonic manner on display in his garish orange and clover green striped waistcoat.
I stared at it in reluctant amusement. “Where on earth did you get that? Please don’t tell me your valet packed it for you.”
He preened. “Had it specially made, just for the occasion. I think the seamstress I hired thought I was a bit mad.”
“She was right,” I declared with aplomb while Gage merely shook his head.
The first discordant notes of a small band of musicians beginning to tune their instruments floated down the street, saving me from hearing Marsdale’s response. I inhaled deeply, settling my nerves, almost relieved it was nearly time. Let it begin. Let it be over.
“Lady Darby, Mr. Gage, Lord Marsdale. How fortuitous to find ye here.”
I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised by LaTouche’s approach. After all, Gage had predicted he would seek us out. But to see him and his son strolling toward us, LaTouche’s mouth curled upward at the corners in a sheepish grin like a schoolboy caught in a naughty prank, was more disconcerting than I was prepared for. Especially given our surroundings.
“I imagine I owe ye an apology.”
“You imagine right,” Gage replied in a hard voice as we turned as one to face them, his arm still looped through mine.
LaTouche laughed as if Gage had made a jest. This made Colin glance at his father askance, seeming just as perturbed as I was by his rather careless demeanor. Meanwhile, Marsdale observed our exchange with piqued interest.
“Yes, well. Ye must see it was harmless,” LaTouche declared, adjusting the fit of one of his gloves.
“Harmless for who? The butler with whom she trifled, who I gathered was rather fond of her? Or for Miss Hogan herself, whom I almost sent for the constables to arrest?”
LaTouche’s jaw twitched in annoyance. “Now, was tha’ really necessary?”
Gage continued on, ignoring his comment. “Had she known how to aim that pistol she was carrying, she would have put a bullet in my skull rather than merely winging me.”
This startled him and his son, whose eyes widened to saucers. Even Marsdale’s face creased into a scowl.
“Now, see here. I didn’t tell the lass to be takin’ a gun with her. She was just supposed to be findin’ out what ye knew.”
“Why?”
He blinked at the clipped tone of Gage’s voice.
“Why did you so desperately need to know that you sent a young woman—who as your servant you are to protect, by the way, not corrupt—to spy on us?”
“She wasn’t spying.”
“I see. And what would you call it?”
“She was simply speakin’ to yer servant, an’ happened to be curious about ye and what ye were doin’.”
Gage’s expression was clearly unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter what convoluted explanation you use, I still want to know why you did it.”
A few members of the crowd clustered around us sent glances our way, but most of them ignored us in favor of the more exciting argument between two men who were shouting at each other across the street. A pair of constables jostled Colin in the back as they pushed past, hurrying across
the lane to intercede.
LaTouche lifted his chin. “I wanted to be sure ye were doin’ an adequate job with yer inquiry, o’ course.”
I frowned at this ridiculous fiction. Did he think we were stupid?
“Let’s cut through this nonsense. You wanted to know what we suspected about you and your son.” Gage nodded at Colin. “Who, I noticed, you conveniently forgot to mention was engaged once to Miss Lennox.”
Marsdale jolted as if someone had stuck a knife between his ribs, and I offered him a tight smile of apology that we’d not delivered this news in a better way. His eyes cut to the young man, scrutinizing him closely as LaTouche snapped his explanation.
“Only because I knew ye would leap to the wrong conclusion. Just as yer wife did yesterday when she came chargin’ in, demandin’ to speak to my son.”
I arched a single eyebrow at this description of my composed and courteous visit.
“That’s not how it happened, Father,” Colin objected, speaking up for the first time.
“Shut yer gob,” LaTouche barked at him. “I’ll not be takin’ the blame for this, or lettin’ you do so simply because you’ve been an eejit not to keep the truth to yerself.”
“You do realize that the very fact that you’ve attempted to thwart us at every turn from finding out the truth has made you an even bigger suspect than you ever would have been,” Gage pointed out in irritation. “If you’d explained your relation to Miss Lennox and your interactions with her and Mother Mary Fidelis at the very beginning, we would not have paid those facts as much heed.”
“Mother Mary Fidelis?” For a moment I thought he was actually going to attempt to deny he’d spoken with her, but he grunted in annoyance instead. “I s’pose dat gardener boy told ye he saw us.” He scoffed, dismissing him. “Well, dat was the evenin’ before she was killed. I wasn’t anywhere nearby when it happened.”
“Why did you meet with her?” I asked, having wondered at this since we learned of it.
“She wanted to ask me if I’d seen anyone that mornin’ I met wit Miss Lennox, the same day she died. But I told her like I told you, dat I didn’t meet wit Miss Lennox dat day.”
As Death Draws Near Page 32