The Anatomist's Wife

by Anna Lee Huber

  I turned away, too tired and disturbed to continue staring him down. I began to move away, back toward the entrance, when he finally replied.

  “Nothing,” he murmured with a sigh. His pale eyes had lightened, and his lips were pressed together in a gesture of momentary defeat.

  I realized then that he had been hoping to find some kind of lead, some clue as to which direction to take the investigation. He was disappointed, and perhaps a bit irritated.

  “Something will turn up,” I declared, carefully avoiding his eyes. I wasn’t certain why I felt the need to offer him such encouragement, but I didn’t like seeing him so frustrated.

  He shifted his feet but did not reply.

  “Are you ready to return to the castle?” Philip asked behind us.

  Gage sighed again. “Yes. I don’t think there’s anything else to find here.”

  “Then if you have no objection, I’ll also have the alcove cleaned and remove my footmen from guarding the entrance to the maze.”

  Gage nodded and fell into step beside Philip. However, I paused and stared at the turn that would take us farther into the maze. Something had caught my eye, something shiny, but I wasn’t certain I had actually seen anything other than the reflection of light off a dewdrop.

  “Kiera?”

  I glanced distractedly at my brother-in-law. “Did you search deeper into the maze?” I asked, feeling some trepidation about moving in that direction now.

  “Yes. Last night.” Philip retraced his steps toward me. “What is it?”

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to move my feet toward the far hedge wall. Either there was something there or there wasn’t. I couldn’t leave without investigating. If I asked one of the men to look and it turned out to be nothing more than a bit of water, I would feel ridiculous.

  My nerves clanged as I approached, and I realized this definitely wasn’t just a drop of dew. Tucked beneath the hedges, so far inside that the leaves almost completely concealed it from our view, lay an object made of some type of metal. It looked as if it had been dipped in red paint. However, I did not need my artist’s eye to realize the crimson liquid was nothing so innocuous.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Gage knelt down beside me as I peered into the hedge trying to figure out exactly what the blood-coated object was. It wasn’t a knife or a letter opener, but it definitely had a sharp point—two of them if my eyes did not deceive me.

  Gage pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to reach underneath the hedge. He carefully extracted the object and held it up between two fingers for us to examine.

  “It’s . . . a pair of embroidery scissors,” I murmured in shock.

  The shears were six to seven inches long and engraved with a finely wrought pattern of vines and flowers. The steel tips were smeared with blood, as well as the round finger holes. It was shocking to see the delicate, woman’s instrument splattered with so much gore, and even more shocking to think of it being used for such a brutal purpose. It seemed impossible.

  “Well done,” Gage told me. He held the object up higher so that Philip could see it over our shoulders.

  “Does this mean a woman committed the crime?” Philip seemed aghast. Clearly such a possibility had never crossed his mind.

  “Not necessarily.” With careful fingers, Gage closed the scissors and wrapped them several times in his handkerchief. “A man could have grabbed them from a sewing basket just as easily as a woman. But it does present some interesting possibilities. I would like to know whose scissors these are, and whether they realize they are missing.” A look of grim determination crossed his features. He reached out his free hand to cup my elbow to help me rise.

  Philip frowned. “I shall ask my wife for a list of all known scissors on the premises of Gairloch. That will tell us whether these were brought with a guest or taken from somewhere in the castle.”

  “Gentlemen, these are embroidery scissors,” I pointed out. They stared blankly back at me. “That narrows our search considerably, especially when you consider that only a lady would own a pair with such exquisite engraving,” I explained. “And I can tell you right now that Alana’s embroidery scissors have figural bird handles, and I do not own a pair. So it is likely that this pair belongs to one of the guests. But that is not our only problem.”

  Gage’s brow puckered in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed, knowing he was not going to like the information I had to share. “There is no way that those scissors were used to slice open Lady Godwin’s throat. The cut was much too clean. Only a very sharp knife could have managed such a task. The scissors are either a secondary weapon or . . .” I paused. “Or they were placed here for us to find.”

  Gage and Philip looked at each other.

  “You’re certain the scissors couldn’t have sliced her neck?” Gage asked me. “They look quite sharp to me.”

  “As positive as I can be, given the circumstances.”

  “Then we definitely have a problem.” He turned away and lifted his free hand to rake it through his golden locks. All the while his eyes stared at the bloody scissors inside his handkerchief.

  I looked at Philip to find him studying me. He smiled tightly, and I wondered what he was thinking. Philip had defended me fiercely, alongside my brother, when the accusations of unnatural tendencies and desecrating the dead had been leveled against me in London, but I don’t know that he ever actually contemplated what exactly I had endured in my late husband’s private examination rooms. Knowing that a person spent time with sliced-open dead bodies is entirely different than being presented with the evidence of such experience.

  “Could the scissors have made the incisions in Lady Godwin’s abdomen?” Gage asked.

  I closed my eyes, thinking back to my examination of the wounds in the cellar last night. “I . . . I believe so. It would have taken considerable effort, but the cuts were ragged, so it seems possible.” I looked at Philip, still addressing Gage. “Does he know about . . .”

  “The baby?” Philip finished, answering my question. “Yes.”

  “Does Alana?” I asked him.

  His brown eyes were troubled. “No. And I would prefer she not,” he added softly.

  I nodded.

  “What do you suppose the killer did with it?” Gage contemplated, pulling my gaze from Philip. “The baby?” he clarified in response to my confused stare.

  I had wondered the very same thing. “Buried it?” I suggested. “Threw it in the loch?” It seemed wrong to discuss the young child’s fate so callously, and to call the baby it, but we had no way of knowing whether it had been a boy or girl, and somehow I didn’t want to. It would make it all that much more personal.

  “If the baby was buried, do you think your wolfhounds could find it?”

  “Yes,” Philip replied. “If a wild animal hasn’t already.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight, not wanting to contemplate such a gruesome occurrence.

  “I’ll take them out to search the grounds immediately,” Philip declared. “Perhaps another murder weapon will also turn up, or a jacket or shirt, something that might give us a clue as to the killer’s identity.”

  Gage nodded. “That would be nice. But so far I haven’t seen any indication that our murderer is going to make it so easy.”

  • • •

  Philip hurried off toward the stables while I struggled to keep up with Gage’s long strides as he crossed the lawn toward the castle. His hands tucked into the pockets of his light brown trousers and his head bowed toward the ground, he seemed lost in thought and completely oblivious to my difficulties.

  “What are you going to do now?” I huffed and lifted my skirts to move faster. I wondered why he wasn’t accompanying my brother-in-law.

  Gage
slowed and allowed me to catch up. “We are going to interview Lady Lydia Perkins and Mr. Tuthill.” My face must have reflected my extreme surprise, for he laughed. “Come now, Lady Darby. Thus far you’ve proven yourself to be an invaluable assistant. After all, you discovered not only that Lady Godwin was enceinte but also the manner in which she received the bruise to her face, as well as a potential murder weapon.”

  “You found the black smudge.” I felt it necessary to point out.

  “True enough. But you were far quicker than I in connecting it to Lady Godwin’s bruise.” His voice was tinged with disgruntlement, and I wondered if he begrudged me this achievement as he’d seemed to do when I discovered that Lady Godwin had been expecting.

  “What about the letter? Did you tell my sister and brother-in-law about it?” I was reluctant to ask, worried such a reminder would change his mind again about my involvement in the investigation, but I needed to know how much Alana and Philip knew.

  “No. I would have told Cromarty, but your sister interrupted us.”

  I nodded and cleared my throat. “I would prefer it if they both remained ignorant for the time being. There’s no need to worry them unnecessarily,” I explained, staring down at the hem of my skirts as they sliced through the grass.

  Gage glanced sideways at me, studying me for several heartbeats before shrugging. “That’s your decision. In any case, neither Lady Lydia nor Mr. Tuthill, nor our murderer, for that matter, will think twice about your presence while I question them, since you arrived on the scene soon after.” His head tilted to the side. “How were you able to get there so swiftly, by the way?”

  “I was just over the hedge inside the maze,” I answered honestly, irritated by his suspicious tone. “I actually didn’t realize anyone was so close until Lady Lydia screamed.” I peered at Gage out of the corner of my eye and decided turnabout was fair play. “And what about you?” He turned to me curiously. “Why did it take you so long to arrive on the scene? You were nearly the last to appear.”

  He pressed his lips tightly together. “I was otherwise engaged.”

  “In the gardens?” I queried innocently. “Were you picking flowers or attempting to climb the split-trunked yew tree? Perhaps to impress some fair lady?”

  His mouth compressed into such a thin line that his lips almost disappeared. He watched me warily, as if uncertain how to respond to such questioning from a genteel female.

  I let him squirm a moment longer before allowing my lips to curl into a satisfied smile, amused by his discomfort. His eyes flared wide in shock before narrowing. I thought he might scold me, but then he surprised me by breaking into a wide, boyish grin. The beauty of that flash of white did more to stifle my mirth than any reprimand ever could have.

  “I suppose I deserved that. I must remember that you are not some shy, retiring maiden,” he jested right back at me. “But a widow who has seen far more than her fair share of the world, and men’s anatomy, than most women of your breeding.”

  I colored at his crude reference to the lower extremities of my husband’s dissection subjects. “I hardly viewed them in such a lewd manner,” I replied crossly.

  “Then how did you view them?” he asked.

  His impertinent grin made me want to stick my tongue out at him like a five-year-old. However, the genuine interest that rang in his voice made me consider my next words carefully. He waited patiently as I sorted through my thoughts and impressions of that difficult time.

  “I . . . I thought of them as subjects of a portrait.”

  Gage turned to me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “It was easier, you see, to think of them as living—just lying there . . . very, very still . . . or asleep,” I tried to explain. “Especially those first few times.” I stared down at my feet as we walked. “Under those circumstances, it wasn’t difficult to find the beauty in the angle of their cheekbones, or the carmine shade of their hearts, or the intricate stretch of the tendons connecting their muscles. They were just showing me more of themselves than my normal clientele. The light and passion and desires that swim in the eyes of the living were gone, but the rest of them was open to me.”

  Gage was very quiet, and I wondered if I had inadvertently just proven myself as crazy as most people thought I was by admitting such a thing. I frowned, angry at myself for sharing something so intimate with a virtual stranger—one who was conducting an investigation in which I was quite possibly considered a suspect.

  We had nearly reached the terrace before he finally spoke, and when he did, it was to make a rather insightful but unexpected statement. “Is that ‘light’ you see in others’ eyes the reason your portraits are so special?” he murmured softly. It was phrased as a question, but I was rather certain I was not supposed to answer. I’m not sure I could have in any case.

  Gage offered me his arm as we approached the terrace steps to the castle, and at first I thought the tingling along my hairline came from his touch. But as a tendril of unease crawled down my spine, I realized that was not the case at all. I hesitantly lifted my eyes to the castle facade, allowing my gaze to sweep over the numerous windows winking in the morning light. A shadow among the drapes on the third floor of the deserted western block made my heart stutter in my chest. My footsteps faltered, and Gage glanced down at me in question.

  “Lady Darby?”

  I blinked up at him. “Did you see that?” My voice sounded breathless.

  “See what?” he asked, following my gaze back up to the window. The shadow was now gone.

  I pressed a hand to my forehead, wondering if I was seeing things. I could have sworn someone had been watching us from that window just a moment ago. Did they notice my interest and step back behind the drapes, or was my lack of sleep, and the strange events of the night and morning, simply getting to me?

  “Lady Darby?” Gage pressed. Lines of worry radiated from his eyes.

  “Oh, nothing,” I replied with false confidence. “Just a trick of the light.” I offered him a reassuring smile, hoping he wouldn’t press further. The last thing I needed to admit to Gage was that I was either imagining things or someone was following our movements. Both would see me removed from this investigation, and I had no intention of stepping aside. Not with so much at stake.

  • • •

  In short order, Mr. Gage, Lady Lydia, Mr. Tuthill, and I were ensconced in a parlor in the family wing sipping tea. It was a small chamber decorated in comfortably worn furniture the shades of new leaves and lemon yellow. On gloomy days, I often read there, for it was bright and cheerful even in the dreariest weather.

  Lady Lydia perched at the edge of a green damask settee admiring Gage out of the corner of her eye. She seemed to believe she was doing this surreptitiously, but each time she snuck a glance, she managed to somehow set the caramel-brown curls surrounding her face to bouncing. It was an annoying little gesture that set my teeth on edge. I would have liked nothing more than to inform her of it, but even I knew such a comment would be terribly impolite.

  Mr. Tuthill, for his part, was also not oblivious to Lady Lydia’s interest in Gage, but he seemed resigned to it. He drank his tea and avoided looking at all of us. I felt a bit sorry for the man. As the second son of a baron, with a moderate income and moderate good looks, he was easy to overlook, and he clearly had developed an interest in the Earl of Yeomouth’s youngest sister. One that I thought Lady Lydia returned, even if she was currently distracted by a bigger and far more attractive fish. However, Mr. Tuthill seemed sensitive to the fact that Gage would never pursue the girl, and so if he could just tolerate this interview, he would likely never have to endure another one.

  “Well,” Gage declared, leaning forward to set his teacup and saucer on the table before him. “I’m certain you all understand the reason I have summoned you here.”

  I wa
nted to raise my eyebrows at his use of the word “all,” but refrained, knowing he expected me to play my part—which included not allowing Lady Lydia and Mr. Tuthill to know I was assisting Gage with his investigation.

  He tapped his finger against the wooden arm of his cream-upholstered Hepplewhite chair. “Mr. Tuthill, Lady Lydia,” he said, nodding at each of them. “You were the first to . . . stumble across Lady Godwin, correct?”

  Lady Lydia nodded, casting her eyes downward demurely and pouting her lips in a manner so pretty I was quite certain she had practiced it to perfection.

  “That is correct,” Mr. Tuthill replied, setting his own teacup aside. He tugged down on his hunter-green waistcoat nervously and stole a glance at Lady Lydia.

  “Can you describe what happened?” Gage prompted, addressing Mr. Tuthill man-to-man.

  Mr. Tuthill and Lady Lydia shared a quick look before he formulated a reply. “Well, we were strolling through the maze, trying to find our way to the center. And . . . well . . . we passed the alcove, and there she was.”

  I wondered whether there was something he was leaving out between the “and” and “well.” Something like a kiss. It would explain the man’s nerves, as well as the harmless impression I received from them.

  “It was horrid!” Lady Lydia cried, really setting her curls to bouncing. “I’ve never seen something so ghastly in all my life!” Her already wide eyes rounded even more as they turned to me, having realized belatedly the implication that could be made from her statement.

  I ignored the girl’s distress, knowing it would only make matters worse to address it, and turned to Gage, waiting for him to lead them on with another question. His gaze met mine briefly, and I thought I saw amusement shining in their depths. Whether that humor was at Lady Lydia, me, or the entire situation, I could not be sure.

  “Did you see anyone else?” he asked Mr. Tuthill. “Did you notice anyone entering the maze before you?”