The Anatomist's Wife

by Anna Lee Huber

  I felt a mild stirring of panic pull the air from my lungs.

  Alana squeezed my hand. “Please don’t mistake me. You will always have a home here. But perhaps it’s time you rejoined the world beyond Gairloch’s vistas. Perhaps it’s time you defied those gossiping windbags instead of trying so hard not to overset the applecart.”

  I did not reply immediately. I was too disturbed by the idea of leaving here, of facing the angry masses of London or Edinburgh. The ton would cut me dead, and my husband’s colleagues would eye me with disgust. I couldn’t imagine that my fellow artists would look upon me any more favorably. And then I remembered that none of these worries would matter if I did not find Lady Godwin’s murderer and keep Gage from implicating me.

  “But those concerns are for another day,” Alana declared, not knowing how dark my thoughts had grown. “For now, you have only to join me for tea in the front parlor.”

  That stubborn look was back in her eyes, and I suddenly felt every minute of all of the hours of sleep I had missed the last two nights. “Alana,” I began, barely summoning the strength to argue.

  “No. No protests.” She pulled me to my feet with more force than I expected and tucked her arm through mine to drag me toward the door.

  A sick feeling settled in my stomach. This could not go well.

  • • •

  It would have been comical how quickly the chatter in the drawing room silenced as soon as we stepped through the door if I hadn’t still been so preoccupied with trying to find a way to escape. Alana towed me heedlessly across the room, as if oblivious to the others’ reactions, even though there was no way she could have failed to notice the harsh stillness.

  “Good afternoon,” she announced cheerily.

  Several of the ladies murmured polite replies while the others continued to stare at me in disapproving shock. She ignored them, and my dragging heels, and pulled me toward the gold brocade settee at the center of the room, where Lady Stratford sat the previous evening before dinner. The countess sat by the window this afternoon, watching us with the same curiosity as the others, albeit with far more subtlety than the open appraisal of some of the other women.

  “Is that the sampler you’ve been working on?” my sister asked Miss Darlington as we passed behind her chair.

  She startled and dropped her gaze from where she had been staring at me. “Yes, my lady.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  She shifted in her seat. “Thank you.”

  I wondered if her engagement to Mr. Abingdon had been announced yet. Was she happy with the arrangement? At the moment, she merely looked uncomfortable. Whether that was from worry over her recent conduct in regards to Mr. Abingdon or my presence, I could not tell.

  As if on cue, several maids swept into the parlor, bearing heavily laden tea trays, as soon as Alana and I settled onto the settee. They set the tea services strategically throughout the room and then disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived. I knew my brother-in-law’s staff was loyal and efficient, but I had expected them to be out of practice after so long a period without guests at Gairloch. I was clearly mistaken. Every meal had been perfection, every room cleaned to a shine, and I had overheard no complaints from the guests, despite the added upheaval the murder had caused. I was impressed and proud of my sister’s ability to direct them. I had always known she was a gifted hostess, and this was just added proof.

  Alana returned my tight smile with one more genuine, and slid forward to pour for the group of ladies surrounding the tea table before us. Her movements were graceful and her voice genteel as she asked each woman how she preferred her tea, and I wondered at her ability to remain so calm when there was so much tension in the air around us. It settled across my skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks. I had to clasp my hands together in my lap to keep from fidgeting and soothing the tingling sensation across my skin.

  “Kiera.”

  I took the cup of tea Alana poured for me, already prepared as I liked. She had also set a lemon biscuit on the saucer. “Thank you,” I replied, even though I wasn’t certain I could stomach any of it.

  She smiled encouragingly at me and then turned to pour her own cup.

  I forced the cup to my lips to take a sip and peered over the rim at the others. Some of them had returned to their conversations, though more quietly than before, and although I sensed that some of their attention was still focused on me, they at least made a good show of pretending it wasn’t. Then there were others, like Miss Darlington, who seemed to have great difficulty keeping their eyes off me, even though they knew it was impolite to stare. Miss Darlington’s gaze bounced up and down from the sampler in front of her to me so many times I was worried she would give herself a crick in the neck. I tried to smile at her, but she seemed horrified by my notice of her and lifted the sampler to hide her face.

  Of course, there were also a few who just couldn’t be bothered to hide their disgust of me, namely Lady Westlock and Mrs. Smythe. I ignored their glares and the indignant pitch of their whispers as best as I could.

  “The weather is lovely today after last night’s rain, is it not?” Alana said politely to the company surrounding us.

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which stretched my nerves, and then Philip’s cousin, Caroline, spoke into the gap. “Indeed. I forget how refreshing a Highland rain can be.” She smiled softly at me.

  “Lady Cromarty, I have the most wonderful news,” Lady Darlington crowed from across the room. “Mr. Abingdon and my daughter are to be wed.”

  Well, that answered my earlier question. I wondered if Lady Darlington was aware of the events surrounding her daughter’s precipitous engagement or if Miss Darlington and her brother had decided to keep those details to themselves.

  I watched Caroline and her mother carefully as my sister offered her congratulations, and was relieved to see that Caroline did not appear the least bit upset by the news and, in fact, seemed pleased as she smiled into her teacup. Clearly, the girl had even more good sense than I’d given her credit for. Her mother, Lady Hollingsworth, on the other hand, looked as if she had just swallowed something very bitter. Her lips pursed and her eyes glared accusingly at her daughter. Perhaps for Caroline’s sake, I should encourage Philip to mention something of Mr. Abingdon’s unsavory character to his aunt.

  “Congratulations,” I told Miss Darlington, and tried to sound sincere even though I thought the real congratulations went to Caroline for escaping marriage to the bounder.

  Miss Darlington nodded in acknowledgment and shifted once more in her seat.

  “When do you plan to have the wedding?” my sister innocently asked. “In the spring?”

  Lady Darlington’s gaze darted anxiously toward her daughter. “Oh, Sarah has always dreamed of an autumn wedding,” she lied smoothly. She evidently knew something of her daughter’s conduct. “The colors suit her so well.”

  I glanced at blonde-haired, blue-eyed Miss Darlington and nearly choked on a bite of biscuit. Anyone with a modicum of sense could see that autumn colors were absolutely the worst match for the girl.

  Lady Darlington seemed to realize this and flushed before hurrying on. “So it is rather fortuitous Mr. Abingdon asked for her hand now instead of two months hence. We plan to have the bans called this Sunday, if we are allowed to return home by then.”

  “So a mid-September wedding. You should have lovely weather, as long as the rain holds,” my sister said kindly.

  “But they say rain is actually a good omen for a bride,” I said and then blushed when everyone turned collectively to look at me. I wasn’t entirely certain why I decided to open my mouth.

  “That’s true,” Alana agreed, coming to my rescue. “I had forgotten that old adage.” She turned to smile at Miss Darlington. “So perhaps we should hope for rain.”

>   “As I recall, it did not rain on your wedding day, Lady Darby,” Lady Westlock couldn’t seem to resist commenting.

  I met her gaze levelly. If she had hoped to disconcert me with such a statement, she was to be sorely disappointed. And I did not feel enough loyalty toward my deceased husband to even attempt to deny the truth. “No, it did not.”

  “But it did rain on mine,” Alana declared much too cheerily. “What about you, Lady Westlock? Did it rain on your wedding day?”

  She narrowed her eyes at my sister and clamped her lips together tightly.

  “I remember there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky,” Lady Darlington supplied helpfully, darting a triumphant look at Lady Westlock. “It did, however, rain for mine.” I wondered what had transpired between the two friends to provoke Lady Darlington so.

  Lady Westlock ignored her and focused on me again. “I’m curious whether Mr. Gage has had any luck with his investigation yet. Of course, we all know he is just searching for evidence. It’s quite clear who the killer is.”

  I tightened my grip on my teacup.

  “Really?” Alana said, brushing an imaginary crumb from her lap. She seemed so calm; I imagined I was the only one who could sense the anger behind her restrained movements. It fairly vibrated down the line of her back. “It is not clear to me. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

  Lady Westlock scowled fiercely.

  “No?” My sister’s bright blue eyes dared her to say my name. The others leaned forward in their seats, absorbing every nuance of the silent standoff between the two ladies.

  My stomach churned. I was so tired of these confrontations. So tired of being accused. And so tired of forcing my sister to defend me. I wanted to scream at them all, and I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I might do exactly that.

  Lady Westlock’s eyes dropped to her lap, and Alana laid down the gauntlet. “Then I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. None of us care to hear your nasty assertions.”

  The air rang with the silence that followed. No one dared speak or move until my sister removed her glare from Lady Westlock. She swallowed the remnants of her fury and turned toward Lady Hollingsworth.

  “Her sister has bewitched her. She can’t even see the truth for what it is,” Lady Westlock hissed loudly enough for it to carry across the entire room.

  “That does it!” Alana slammed her cup down on the table, sloshing the liquid over the sides, and rose to her feet. “Pack your bags! You have fifteen minutes to be off my property before . . .”

  “Alana!” I protested, rising to stop her.

  “No! I don’t care what Philip said. I want . . .”

  I gripped her arm and shook her. “Stop!”

  She stared at me goggle-eyed.

  “Now sit down before you say anything else foolish,” I ordered, feeling my blood pumping hard through my veins.

  She blinked at me in shock. I couldn’t blame her. I was almost in shock myself, unable to believe what I was about to do. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let Alana take the blame for anything I did or upset her husband because her temper got the better of her again. I gentled my hold on her upper arm and tried to look reassuring as I pushed her back down into her seat. Then I marshaled all of my courage and turned to stare down the other guests who were waiting in eager silence.

  “See what I mean?” Lady Westlock jeered.

  “You, shut your mouth,” I ordered.

  The others gasped as the baroness’s mouth dropped open and she began to splutter.

  “I’m not about to let you malign my sister. I’ve let you and your conspirators,” I turned my glare on Mrs. Smythe and Lady Darlington, “pour venom in everyone’s ears against me since the day you arrived. But I’m not about to let you speak of my sister in such a way. She is the Countess of Cromarty and your hostess, and above all else, a good woman. A better woman than any of you. And she deserves your respect.”

  I paused, breathing hard as I struggled to control my own St. Mawr temper. Just because I did not often unleash it, did not mean it did not exist. I could be far worse than either of my siblings when a real rage came over me. Sir Anthony’s bedroom in London was proof of that. I left it in shambles after his friends promised to have me arrested for the anatomical sketches my husband forced me to draw.

  The other ladies watched me with varying degrees of horror—eyes wide, bodies still, breaths held so as not to miss a single word I uttered. I scowled at the whole foolish lot of them.

  “I’m well aware how very little the truth matters to you, but I’m going to speak it anyway.” I glanced around the room, pausing to stare into each and every one of their eyes as I continued. “I am not a murderer. Not now, not ever. And when Lady Godwin’s killer is caught, a great many of you shall have to eat your words. I shall enjoy every minute of discomfort you feel in my presence when that happens.”

  Sick of looking at their shocked faces, I turned to my sister to take my leave.

  Unfortunately, Lady Westlock had still not learned her lesson. I supposed it could have been her status that drove her to have the last word—after all, she was a baroness, and before that a marquess’s daughter. However, I suspected it was more likely a fault of her character.

  She sniffed, sticking her nose into the air. “And we shall smile with glee when you are finally carted off to prison or the asylum, as you should have been a year ago.”

  I clenched my hands into fists, struggling with an urge to march across the room and do her physical harm. I fear the only thing that may have stopped me from doing so was the realization that it would not help my case. Regardless, some of those around me sensed my extreme fury, for they shrank back in their seats.

  “You really need to learn to hold your tongue, my lady.” My voice was laced with steel. “Your husband is already facing charges of assault. I should hate for you to make it worse for him by adding slander to his bill.”

  Many of the ladies gasped, swiveling in their seats to look at Lady Westlock, whose eyes now bulged like a fish.

  I did not wait to see what else happened, and instead murmured an excuse to my sister before marching out of the room. “Would you please excuse me, sister dear. I fear I’ve lost my appetite.” I could not stand to be in a room with Lady Westlock another moment longer.

  “Of course,” Alana called after me, but I was already striding through the door.

  “She lies,” Lady Westlock cried.

  I ignored her. In my fit of temper, I’d already revealed more than I was supposed to. I only hoped Lord Westlock was too intimidated by Mr. Gage to expose my part in the events two nights past. If the others knew I was assisting Gage, they might be reluctant to even speak with him, which could jeopardize our entire investigation.

  I turned left toward the back of the castle, hoping to make a clean escape, only to plow straight into someone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Whoa!” Gage’s familiar voice exclaimed as his hands came up to steady me. “Why the rush?”

  “I can’t stay here another minute,” I panted, having trouble controlling my breathing. My anger was still too great, and Gage was much too close. “Please, I need to go.” I pushed against his chest, trying to pull away from the grip he had on my arms.

  He glanced toward the parlor from where I had come and then back at me. “All right,” he said soothingly. “Where to?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, disliking the frantic sound of my voice but unable to stop it. “I . . . I need to think, and I can’t do it here. Not surrounded by all these people. I need some air,” I gasped, seizing on an idea. I pulled against his hold again and broke one arm free and began pulling Gage down the hall after me.

  “All right,” he replied, falling into step with me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 
I opened my mouth to protest, planning to tell him I wanted to be alone. But I realized I didn’t. Alone, my mind would not rest, and I didn’t particularly wish to be set adrift in my thoughts at the moment. If it had been Lord Marsdale or Lord Stratford or some other man in attendance, I might have declined the offer, but Gage was different. I didn’t want to think too closely about why that was. So instead, I reminded myself that no one was supposed to go off by themselves, and I pretended that was the reason I allowed him to accompany me.

  I grabbed my worn but warm pelisse from the cloakroom and we exited through the rear of the castle. I marched Gage through the gardens with long strides and around the orangery until we hit upon the path I often took that circled the property. As we entered the shaded trail leading us into the woods, I slowed my pace, having burned off enough rage and frustration to cool my blood to a simmer.

  I took a deep breath of the forest air, pungent with the scents of rich earth, conifer trees, and wildflowers—bluebells and fuchsias. Birds chirped in the branches above us, serenading us with their woodland song. A squirrel darted across the path and scrambled up an oak tree, pattering up the bark. When we came to a log in the middle of the trail, Gage reached out to help me over it. I allowed it, even though I’d traversed the same log hundreds of times without any assistance.

  He glanced at me as he released my hand on the other side. “So what happened in there?” he asked casually, nodding his head back toward the castle.

  “Lady Westlock,” I replied succinctly.

  “Ahhh.” His voice was knowing and sympathetic and encouraged me to continue.