A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4)

by Anna Lee Huber

  CHAPTER 7

  I was still contemplating the matter when I followed Johnny carrying Lady Drummond’s unfinished portrait into the town house on Charlotte Square. “Up to my studio, please,” I directed as I stripped off my gloves to hand them to Figgins.

  “My lady.”

  Hearing the note of tension in his voice, I glanced up.

  “Dr. Fenwick is with Lady Cromarty.”

  He hadn’t finished the words before I was hurrying toward the stairs.

  “My lady, your cloak,” Figgins called after me.

  I pulled it off and thrust it at him before dashing up the steps. Johnny pressed himself to the wall as best he could, carrying the canvas, while I squeezed past.

  Dr. Fenwick was not scheduled to visit Alana today. I would have known, for I sat in on every visit now that her lying-in was so close. So if he was here now, that could only mean something was wrong. Something urgent enough for the physician accoucheur to rush here, for I’d been gone for less than an hour.

  I rapped on Alana’s door only out of courtesy before opening it. She was propped up against her pillows, her face drawn in pain, as Dr. Fenwick gently prodded her abdomen. Her lady’s maid, Jenny, stood silently next to the bed, waiting for instructions. I closed the door softly behind me and crossed to where Philip was wearing a hole in the rug pacing back and forth in front of the window, his hat still in his hands from riding to fetch the physician. He spun the brim round and round between his fingers.

  “What’s happened?” I whispered to him.

  He did not reply, but glanced at his wife lying on the bed. She suddenly seemed so fragile. His silence unsettled me, but I didn’t press him for answers. The physician would provide them soon enough.

  Dr. Fenwick leaned over to speak to Alana, who nodded. Then he poured something into a glass of water and passed it to Jenny for her to help my sister drink.

  Philip stopped pacing and eagerly turned toward the physician as he approached us.

  “There’s no way to be certain,” Dr. Fenwick began to explain in a low voice. “But I suspect that the placenta is separatin’ from Lady Cromarty’s uterus. It would explain the pain she’s feelin’ and her bleedin’.”

  My stomach dropped sharply. “That sounds serious,” I murmured.

  “It is.” His eyes were earnest behind his spectacles. “But the bleedin’ was relatively minor and has stopped for the time bein’. I’ve given Lady Cromarty some laudanum to help wi’ the pain, and explained to her that she must remain in bed for the remainder of her confinement. Too much movement could tear the placenta irreparably.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” The question had to be asked, though Philip stiffened beside me.

  “She could hemorrhage.”

  Which would almost certainly result in her death and perhaps that of the infant.

  I nodded, glancing at Alana where she lay with her eyes closed. Her face looked dreadfully pale against the plum counterpane.

  Dr. Fenwick followed my gaze. “Should she begin to bleed again, send for me immediately, but beyond that I’m afraid all that can be done is to keep her still, and calm, and comfortable. If so, the placenta may reattach itself.”

  “Thank you,” Philip said, finally speaking up. His voice was tight with strain.

  The physician gathered up his things, placing them in his satchel. I turned to look at Philip, but his gaze remained fixed on his wife’s prone form. I thought maybe he would go to her, but his feet remained rooted to the spot.

  “If there are no more questions . . .” Dr. Fenwick glanced at each of us.

  Philip surged toward the door to Alana’s room. “I’ll show you out.”

  I frowned after him in confusion. It was not like my brother-in-law to abandon my sister when she needed him most. He had always stood steadfastly beside her, in sickness and in grief. He was the shining example of constancy and dependability. So why now did he always seem so eager to escape her presence?

  I knew he had a seat in Parliament and estate matters to attend to, but more and more often of late that had been the dismal excuse for his absence, either closeting himself in his study or attending dinners about Edinburgh. In the past Alana had accompanied him, but since she had been restricted to the house, she no longer could. I wondered if Philip truly needed to be present at all of those events or if they were just another pretext for avoiding his wife’s company.

  I caught Jenny’s eye, recognizing the same uneasiness furrowing her brow that I felt. Pushing it aside for the moment, I drew a chair up to Alana’s bedside and reached out to clasp her hand in mine. She squeezed it lightly, letting me know she was aware I was there.

  “Go to sleep, dearest,” I crooned. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

  • • •

  I moaned as I sank down on the seat in front of my dressing table later that evening. My temples throbbed with worry for my sister and my neck ached from when I’d fallen asleep in an awkward position in the chair in her room earlier. I reached up to rub the spot where it still twinged every time I turned my head to the left.

  “Here, m’lady.”

  I opened my eyes and sighed in relief. “Oh, Bree, you’re a gem.” I took the cup of willow bark tea my maid held out to me and drank it. I was in so much pain I almost didn’t mind the musty aroma, though the bitter aftertaste left something to be desired.

  I watched her smile to herself in the reflection of the mirror as she folded my discarded shawl. “Nay. Just good at tellin’ when someone’s head is fit to split open. Canna blame ye wi’ all yer worries this week, what wi’ Lady Drummond dyin’ in front o’ ye like that, and then Lady Cromarty’s scare this morn.”

  She was right. It had been a troubling few days.

  “Do ye still plan to attend the ball at Inverleith House tomorrow evenin’?”

  I stifled a curse. In all the upheaval, I’d completely forgotten about it. “I was supposed to visit Madame Avignon’s shop today for my final fitting.”

  “I sent a letter roond earlier to tell her what happened. She said she’s happy to send her assistant by on the morrow.”

  I spun around to face her. “Did I call you a gem? I should have declared you a saint.” I sighed. “Thank you, Bree.”

  She brushed my grateful words aside and gestured for me to turn back around so she could start on the buttons up the back of my dress.

  I considered her in the reflection of the mirror, still somewhat amazed at how easily we’d adapted to each other. I had never been completely comfortable with my previous lady’s maids. The first had been too much under my late husband’s thumb, whether out of fear or reverence, and I’d never trusted nor liked her. If I’d been allowed, I would have replaced her almost immediately. While Lucy, an upstairs maid from Philip’s household at Gairloch Castle, had proved untrustworthy and far too naïve.

  Bree, on the other hand, was perhaps more worldly-wise than even I was. I knew she had seen and experienced things she’d only hinted at, and I had to admire her resiliency and determined good cheer. And, of course, there was also the fact that she wasn’t afraid of me and my scandalous reputation, no matter how unfairly it had been earned. I suspected not many maids would consider themselves lucky to be employed by me.

  I wondered what would happen to Lady Drummond’s maid now. Would she remain in the household, perhaps passed down to the stepdaughter, Imogen, as she came of age, or would she be forced to look for employment elsewhere? And if so, how long would Lord Drummond wait before he gave her a reference and sent her on her way? I suspected it depended on how much the girl had seen.

  I wished I could have spoken to her. She could probably tell me more than any of the other servants combined. After all, she helped the baroness dress and bathe, took up her breakfast tray, attended her when she was ill, and a hundred other tiny, intimate tasks. She would know if Lady Drummond had h
idden any bruises or if she had been feeling poorly of late. She might have also been witness to an altercation or two between Lord and Lady Drummond. And most important, she had been with Lady Drummond immediately before she suddenly became sick, collapsed, and died. She could tell me how the morning had proceeded, what the baroness had eaten, and who had visited her employer recently.

  I felt an almost urgent need to talk to the girl before it was too late. The poisoner could begin to wonder, like me, if she had seen too much. Or Lord Drummond could send her away, whether he was the killer or not, because he worried what she might report if someone did start asking questions.

  I supposed there was also the possibility she had been the murderer’s accomplice, since she was so intimate with Lady Drummond and could easily slip her the poison, but I didn’t think so. My instincts told me she was not involved. Her grief and upset at the baroness’s passing were too genuine, and I had seen no fear or contention in the maid’s eyes when she looked at Lady Drummond during the days leading up to her death.

  If only there was a way I could interview the lady’s maid and all of the Drummond staff without Lord Drummond knowing. I glanced again at Bree, who was now pulling pins out of my barely tamed hair. Her auburn curls were still neatly arranged after a fourteen-hour day of work.

  “Bree, do you ever get an opportunity to converse with the lady’s maids from other households?” I mused.

  “I chat wi’ some o’ the maids in the houses next door oot in the mews from time to time. And if by chance we meet on our day off or oot runnin’ errands.” She glanced up from extracting a pin from a snarl in my hair, a curious look in her eye. She was smart enough to know I had not asked my question out of idle curiosity.

  “So it’s possible you could encounter a maid from another street or square, even maybe Hanover Street.”

  Her mouth curled in amusement at my obvious hinting. “It is.”

  “Is that something you would be willing to attempt if I asked?” I kept my tone neutral, not wanting to force Bree into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with.

  She tilted her head to the side and began pulling a brush through my hair. “I’ve been thinkin’ that Lady Drummond’s maid could surely use a shoulder to cry on, poor lass.” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine in the glass. They twinkled with understanding. “What would ye like me to ask her?”

  • • •

  I lay in bed that night with my cat, Earl Grey, curled up at my feet, replaying my conversation with Bree. I simultaneously fretted that I’d both forgotten to tell her something to ask Lady Drummond’s maid and just done something monumentally stupid by enlisting Bree’s help. But I had no choice. The maid needed to be questioned. She potentially possessed far too much information that could help us make sense of her employer’s death.

  I’d almost drifted into sleep when I suddenly heard a loud thump and a muffled curse coming from the bedchamber next door. I guessed Philip must have stumbled into something in the dark, but then I realized the sound had come from the guest room at the back of the town house. What was someone doing in there? Had my brother, Trevor, come to visit? If Philip had thought to write to him after the scare over Alana’s condition this morning, he might have just arrived from his home in the Borders region, but only if both he and the messenger had nearly crippled their horses.

  I frowned, doubting anyone could ride that fast on the muddy March roads.

  I grabbed my dressing gown from the bottom of the bed, tugging it out from underneath the bulk of my cat, who grumbled before settling back into sleep. I pulled it on and tied the belt as I opened my door. The light of a single candle gleamed through the open door to the guest room. I crossed the hall on soft tread, careful not to disturb Alana in the chamber at the front of the house. I hoped I wasn’t about to embarrass myself unnecessarily in front of a stranger.

  Barnes, Philip’s normally gregarious valet, came bustling through the doorway. He stopped short at the sight of me and his eyes slid to the side. I wondered why.

  “M’lady,” he pronounced, bowing once before he hurried off.

  I stared after him before turning to face Philip, who now stood in the doorway. He looked harried and exhausted, a state I’d seen him in more and more often of late. His dark hair had even begun to turn silver at the temples, something I would have expected Alana to lovingly tease him about, but she had yet to mention it in my presence.

  “Is there something you need, Kiera?” His cravat was askew, as if he’d begun to take it off.

  “I heard a crash.”

  He nodded. “That was me. I apologize. I’m not used to the arrangement of the furniture.”

  “You’re sleeping in the guest chamber?”

  He glanced to the side. “Alana needs her rest. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think Dr. Fenwick meant you couldn’t share the room with her.”

  “Maybe,” he replied, still not meeting my eyes. “But I don’t want to take any chances.”

  I frowned in confusion, not understanding why his answers did not feel so kind and considerate. “What did Alana say when you told her?” I couldn’t believe she had taken his decision well. She always found comfort in her husband’s presence, even if they were also prone to argue.

  “I haven’t.”

  The unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at me since my return to Edinburgh bit a little deeper. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

  He sighed wearily. “If you don’t mind, Kiera, I’d like to go to bed. Perhaps we can talk in the morning.”

  I nodded, though I knew we wouldn’t. He would be too busy with one thing or another—work on the new reform bill several members of Parliament were currently drafting, a leak in the roof at the London town house, a new horse he wanted to take a look at for his stables. Chances were that he would be gone before I even came downstairs the next morning.

  “Good night,” he said with a tight smile before closing the door.

  I gazed at the hard wood a moment longer before turning toward Alana’s door a dozen feet away. The space between them suddenly seemed much farther, and it was growing wider every day.

  CHAPTER 8

  I spent the next morning scouring the shelves of Philip’s study for information on poisons and any other medical knowledge that might be pertinent to Lady Drummond’s death. Unfortunately, Philip’s collection of books in his Edinburgh home was not as extensive as his vast library at Gairloch Castle. I suspected I would have to make a visit to Dr. Renshaw at the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh to uncover the information I sought. Dr. Renshaw had been my late husband’s apprentice during the early months of our marriage, and had assisted Gage and me during an inquiry we conducted late the previous year. I hoped he would be willing to help me again, or at least grant me access to the Royal College’s library so that I might find the answers I sought myself.

  I decided it would be best if I approached the Royal College with a letter of introduction from Philip, in case I had difficulty gaining admittance to speak with Dr. Renshaw. I’d learned to be wary of medical men’s reactions to me. Thanks to my famous and infamous late anatomist husband, most of them knew my name, and some, like Dr. Davis, did not respond kindly. Others, like Dr. Fenwick, bore me no grudge. I’d discovered there was no way of predicting how each physician or surgeon would react, but a letter of introduction from an earl always helped.

  If only Philip were here to provide one.

  As anticipated, he was absent this morning. I swallowed my worry and annoyance and jotted off a message to request the letter I needed, and left it on his desk for him to find when he returned.

  Alana was asleep, so I decided it would be a good time to call on Lady Rachel Radcliffe. I hoped she might have some useful information for me, but if nothing else, the lively widow was sure to distract me from my other concerns.

 
And I needed distraction. Gage was out questioning chemists, while Bree, whom I’d ostensibly given the morning off, would be doing her best to arrange a chance encounter with Lady Drummond’s maid. Between my fear over my sister’s health, Philip’s distant demeanor, and my anxieties over the investigation, it was no surprise I felt tense. Add to that the fact that I’d promised to attend the Inverleith Ball with Gage that night, when I dreaded most society events, and it was a wonder I hadn’t retreated to my art studio and refused to come out.

  I realized I was calling at an hour that was earlier than etiquette allowed, but Lady Rachel graciously agreed to receive me anyway, having her majordomo lead me up to the intimate parlor attached to her bedchamber. The room was decorated in shades of emerald green, ivory, and gold, from the gilded mirror over the hearth to the chintz upholstery on the furniture. With its rich fabrics and plush pillows, it was the perfect balance of cozy and sumptuous.

  Lady Rachel rose from her fainting couch, still draped in a lavender blue dressing gown with a high collar and exquisite embroidery. Her hair was half-dressed, with dark ringlets pinned around her crown and falling down her back. I could appreciate the effort she was making to appear her normal elegant self, even though her eyes were puffy and rimmed in bright red and her skin was ashen and swollen from extensive crying.

  “Lady Darby! How good of you to call on me.” She took my hand, guiding me to sit beside her.

  “Thank you for seeing me at such an early hour.”

  “But, of course.” She turned to her servant. “Monahan, some tea, please.”

  The man nodded solemnly before backing out.

  “Now, tell me what you’ve uncovered,” she said.

  “I’m afraid nothing yet,” I told her, knowing there was no use in prevaricating about the reason for my visit. But that didn’t mean I needed to admit all. “I’m hoping you might be in possession of some information that could be helpful to us.”