Gage smiled.
“Well?” I asked, reluctantly curious now that I contemplated it. How did other women manage it without sounding deranged to their gentlemen admirers? I had never been very successful at the art of flirtation. I knew my sister was quite capable, having listened to her and Philip verbally banter with one another daily for over a year. My brother Trevor also seemed competent in that arena, if the number of young ladies in London angling for a marriage proposal from him were any indication. I, on the other hand, seemed to be missing that mysterious skill. Sir Anthony had never flirted with me, nor had any of his assistants. Perhaps it was an acquired talent, one that Mr. Gage had practiced dutifully, like learning a musical instrument, until he became a master. It would explain why so many people, men and women alike, seemed to admire him for it.
“Is a twitter simply a nervous laugh? Or does it require some kind of manipulation of the tongue and throat, like a cat’s purr?”
Gage’s smile widened. “Perhaps you should give it a try?”
I considered his suggestion. “Perhaps. But not now.”
He seemed on the verge of laughing. I tilted my head against the cushions in puzzlement, wondering what I had said to amuse him so. He shook his head, refusing to explain, and cleared his throat.
“So,” he declared, shifting in his seat. “What’s this?” He gestured toward the top of the square mahogany table positioned between our two chairs.
“It’s a puzzle.”
He leaned forward to pick up one of the unfitted pieces scattered across the table surface. “A puzzle? I thought they were a child’s toy, used to teach them their geography?”
“They are. Philip has a friend in Edinburgh who manufactures them, and he has been trying to market them to adults as well, by using pictures instead of maps and dicing them into a greater number of pieces. They haven’t caught on yet, but whenever Philip journeys to Edinburgh, he brings me back some of the prototypes. He has also taken a few substandard paintings to his friend and asked him to cut the images into puzzles especially for me.”
“Is this one of your paintings?” he asked, gesturing to the image of a castle and surrounding countryside beginning to take shape on the table.
“No. I do have a few puzzles made from the more inferior landscapes I’ve produced over the years, but most of them are made from pictures Philip finds in Edinburgh.”
“No portraits?” he teased.
I met his eyes squarely. “None of my portraits are inferior,” I replied, as certain of my talent as Gage was certain of his charm.
He studied me for a moment before nodding. “I’ve seen the portrait of your sister in the parlor, and a few more of your works. They are exquisite.”
“Thank you.” I felt a tingle of warmth at the base of my neck, as I always felt when someone praised my work. Since the scandal, I had not received many such compliments.
Gage’s eyes dropped back to the table. “So you have an interest in puzzles as well?”
I looked down at the wooden pieces, automatically analyzing the segments for the next section to fit. “They pass the time at night when I can’t sleep.”
I felt his eyes studying me again. “You have trouble sleeping?” The query was made lightly, but I sensed his interest.
It seemed harmless to assuage his curiosity. “Sometimes.”
“Have you tried reading?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t make me sleepy. Philip says the puzzles work because they are a mindless activity.”
Gage looked confused. “I would think sorting and fitting together a puzzle would be more stimulating. Does it truly put you to sleep?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “But it soothes me.” I blushed, feeling somehow I had admitted far more than I wanted to. I breathed deeply, knowing a change of topic was necessary before he pushed me further. “Mr. Gage, I truly would like to go to bed. Do you honestly need to stay here with me for an hour? I assure you my mind is steady.” I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair. “I grant you that I may be in danger of passing out, but from fatigue, not physical injury. I promise you I shall wake again in the morning.”
He looked me up and down, as if he could see some sort of physical manifestation of the state of my health.
“If necessary, I shall recite all sorts of tedious information to you if that is what it will require to convince you to leave,” I declared, determined to remove him from my chamber.
His lips quirked at my slip of temper. “I believe you, Lady Darby. You do, indeed, seem sound.”
“Then will you please go?”
His hand lifted to cover his heart. “My fair lady, you wound me. Do you not realize what a novel experience this is for me? I have never had a woman request that I leave her bedchamber before. Normally they are begging me to stay.”
I rolled my eyes, even as my heart gave a traitorous flip at hearing him call me fair. “My abject apologies,” I drawled. “I had no idea your feelings . . .” a soft shush of sound distracted me, drawing my attention toward the door “. . . were so delicate. What was that?” I asked, sitting forward.
“I don’t know.” He frowned and crossed toward the door. Along the way, he bent to pick up a piece of paper lying on the wooden floor, several inches from the door. “It looks like someone left you a note.”
“At this hour?” I reluctantly hoisted myself out of my chair. “Didn’t they see the light under the door? Why didn’t they knock?”
A sudden chill raced down my spine. I looked at Gage, seeing the same alertness in his gaze. His eyes slid back toward the door as he handed me the letter.
I recognized the crisp white stationery as being from the generic stock stashed in every guest room in the castle. However, the bold block letters were not familiar and, in fact, seemed printed in such a uniform fashion as to make the sender’s handwriting indistinguishable. My hands shook as I read the words.
SHAME ON YOU, LADY DARBY. I KNOW WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING.
Gage, who had been reading over my shoulder, threw open the door and darted into the hall, leaving me blinking down at the page. Who would do such a thing? And what did it mean?
Immediately, my mind returned to Lord Westlock and his wife, and all of the other guests who believed me capable of murder. Did they think to frighten me? To intimidate me into doing something stupid, like confessing to a crime I didn’t commit? The edges of the paper crinkled beneath my angry fists.
Gage returned to stand in the doorway, clear frustration marring his brow.
“Who would write this?” I demanded of him.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, closing the door to a gap. “But whoever it was took a pretty big risk by sliding it under your door while there were still candles lit in your room.”
“Do you think it was the Westlocks?”
He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “No. Westlock was intimidated enough when he scurried off to bed. I don’t think he or his wife would have screwed up the courage to do something like this so quickly.”
“Well, then what of the Smythes? Or the Darlingtons?” I asked, rattling off the families who had been most vindictive toward me.
“I don’t know.”
“Or Marsdale,” I declared with some relish. “This sounds like something he would write, the scoundrel. Although,” I added after thinking about it, “I got the impression he didn’t care whether my reputation was true or not. Why would he be spiteful?”
“There is another possibility.”
The hesitance in Gage’s voice made me look up. His posture was rigid, and the wariness in his gaze made me look down at the words again.
“Oh,” I wheezed as the realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. I swallowed around the sudden dryness in my throat. “The
murderer.”
He nodded. “Maybe, like Westlock, they saw us heading to or leaving the chapel.”
“Perhaps you’ll have a letter slid under your door as well.”
“Maybe.”
I wondered why he sounded doubtful.
“But either way, whether the killer or a suspicious guest sent that letter, perhaps your continued involvement in the investigation should be minimal.”
I frowned, not liking the sound of that. However, I didn’t immediately protest. “Maybe,” I murmured, deciding it might be best to hedge my bets. “But I would at least like to examine the place where Lady Godwin was found. In daylight. Tomorrow preferably,” I specified.
Gage stared back at me with no discernible reaction besides a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“I . . . I need to examine the imprint of her body on the bench, to make sure I haven’t missed any injuries.” I swallowed and internally shook myself. There was no need to stammer. Gage did not intimidate me. Besides, if he didn’t give me permission, I would get it from Philip. “The blood should lie in a predictable pattern if Lady Godwin was in fact cut open in that spot. If there is blood elsewhere, then the body was either moved or I failed to locate an additional wound.”
Having given this explanation, I willed myself to be silent and still, waiting for Gage to reply. I did not think I needed to admit how greatly I dreaded having to return to the chapel cellar. If I could confirm my findings in any other manner, then I was determined to do so. And I wasn’t going to let a simple letter warn me off this investigation, especially one with only an implied threat.
Gage continued to look at me as he tapped a hand against his thigh, considering the matter. After the struggle Philip encountered in convincing him to allow me to assist, I expected him to make at least a token resistance to my request. So when he nodded his agreement with nary a warning or a bargaining of conditions, I was flabbergasted. I wondered what such a reaction meant. Maybe he was only bluffing about allowing the letter to scare me off the investigation. Or perhaps my competency in examining Lady Godwin’s body had persuaded him of my value as an assistant. It was more likely he was doing just as I’d proposed, allowing me to prove my findings on Lady Godwin’s wounds without having to make me return to the cellar.
“Lord Cromarty and I will wait for you in the morning,” he told me. His pale blue eyes shifted in the dim light. “Until then, good night.” He turned back as he was leaving. “Oh, and Lady Darby?”
I nodded.
“Lock your door.”
I shivered and moved forward to turn the key. After testing the door was secure, I stepped back to sit on the edge of my bed, trying to decipher the cryptic look I had seen in Gage’s eyes at the last.
I had hoped that he was beginning to believe in my innocence, even after the comments relayed by Lord Westlock, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he believed quite the opposite—after all, I had also discovered Lady Godwin had been expecting—and hoped I would slip up and incriminate myself.
I sighed and pressed my hand to my forehead, too tired to puzzle out such matters at this hour of night. The sun would be rising in less than four hours, and I needed to get some rest before I met Philip and Gage to examine the maze.
Besides, it didn’t matter what Gage believed. I knew that I was innocent, and so did my sister and brother-in-law. All I could do was focus on what I had set out to do in the first place—protect my sister and her family by finding the real killer—and in the process, prove my innocence, perhaps once and for all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I awoke the next morning to find Alana hovering over me, a frown pleating her brow.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she exclaimed. “You’re awake.”
I hadn’t been, but I suspected my sister had been standing there for quite some time and very well knew that.
“How are you feeling, dear?” She reached out to place her hand on my forehead, but then hesitated as if the touch might cause me pain. “Does your head ache?”
I scowled, wishing she would go away. It might be difficult for me to fall asleep, but once I did, I slumbered quite soundly. I was also rather cross upon waking, even in the best of circumstances. And especially when someone took it upon herself to wake me.
I swatted away her hands and pushed myself up carefully on the pillows stacked behind me.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Alana insisted, fluffing and adjusting the bolsters.
I submitted to her ministrations for about half a minute before protesting. “They’re plump enough, Alana.”
She clasped her hands over her abdomen, as if she couldn’t stop them from fussing over me any other way, and stared down at me in worry.
I sighed, knowing my sister meant well, even if her mothering this early in the morning was more than I could stand. “I’m fine. Just a little tender.” I reached back to tentatively probe the lump on the back of my head.
“Mr. Gage said I should check on you,” she admitted, sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed.
I closed my eyes and silently cursed the man. I should have known. Who else would have relayed the news about my injury? I highly doubted Lord Westlock had confessed to bashing me over the head to my sister.
“He shouldn’t have told you,” I snapped, angry that my sister now had something else to fret about.
“Of course he should have,” she protested, her own considerable temper sparking. “You should have awakened me last night and sent for the physician. You could have been seriously injured.”
“I’m fine,” I reiterated sharply. “Waking you would have served no purpose beyond robbing you of sleep. Mr. Gage made certain the wound was not severe. Besides, you know the village physician is useless. He probably would have tried to bleed me.”
“You still should have woken me.” Alana shifted higher on the bed. Her bright blue eyes had darkened almost to violet against the deep purple of her gown. I suspected she had chosen the gown because it would be fitting for a state of half mourning. Lady Godwin was not a relative or royalty, but given the terrible circumstances of her death, and at my sister’s residence of all places, Alana likely felt she should dress in half mourning out of respect for the deceased. I knew I would be expected to follow suit.
Which reminded me how much easier it was to allow my sister to believe she’d gotten her way, whether or not that was true. If I were ever bashed over the head in the middle of the night again, I still didn’t plan on waking her, but she didn’t need to know that.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced at the table next to my bed. “Have you brought me something to eat?” My stomach gurgled and asserted itself, reminding me how I had cast up my accounts all over the floor of the cellar while Mr. Gage looked on. I felt a blush heat my cheeks at the memory.
Alana picked up the tray and settled it over my lap. I could smell the chocolate even before I lifted the lid of the pot. It was accompanied by toast and a crock of sweet strawberry jam, my normal morning repast. I quickly slathered the bread with jam and took a bite.
My sister watched me with a small smile curling her lips. She waited until I had swallowed several bites before saying anything else. “I’m grateful to Mr. Gage for taking care of you,” she said, smoothing out a wrinkle on the skirt of her gown.
I hesitated in taking my next bite, waiting for her to elaborate, for I knew she had more to say.
Her gaze lifted to meet mine. “We’ve underestimated him, haven’t we?”
I studied the deep red of the strawberry preserves. “Perhaps,” I replied with a shrug. Popping the last bite of the first piece of toast into my mouth, I poured the warm chocolate into my cup to avoid my sister’s eyes. I still held my doubts about Gage’s motives, but I didn’t feel it necessary to share them with Alana.
�
�Philip is acquainted with him, you know.”
I looked up at her in question.
“Apparently, they attended school together. They were in the same class at Cambridge. Though Philip says for the first year and a half Mr. Gage had special permission to live off university grounds.”
I was instantly curious as to why, but I kept my interest to myself. “Is that how he came to be invited to your house party?”
Alana shook her head. “No, Mrs. Cline asked me to include him on the guest list.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, and just barely resisted, taking another drink of my rich chocolate. “So Philip didn’t ask Mr. Gage to conduct an investigation just on the basis of his father’s reputation. He actually knows Mr. Gage.”
“And seems to trust him.” She pressed her lips together and watched me take another sip. “Kiera, if Philip trusts him, then I think perhaps we should as well.”
I lowered my cup slowly and nodded. It did speak in Gage’s favor that my brother-in-law had confidence in him. However, I still reserved my judgment. People changed, often for the worse. Just because Gage had been a good man a decade or more ago, it did not mean he was today. Besides, his belief in my innocence was not necessarily tied to how honorable a person he was. He could easily decide I’d duped my sister and brother-in-law into thinking I wasn’t guilty and set out to save them from me. He wouldn’t be the first to set upon such a course.
“What time is it?” I asked, glancing toward the clock on the mantel.
“Half past eight.”
I pushed the tray forward and tentatively sat up all the way. My head still throbbed dully, but nothing like it had the night before.
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