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

by Anna Lee Huber

  He shrugged, drinking more of his whiskey.

  My insides quavered seeing him behave in such a manner. This was Philip. Strong and steady and dependable. Even during that long, awful night when we had both feared losing Alana while she struggled to deliver Greer, he had never wavered. The slovenly, thoughtless, reckless man before me was not my brother-in-law.

  “What if Alana should go into labor?” My voice rose shrilly. “What if she should go into distress? She’ll need you.”

  His face, which had been flushed red with drink, visibly paled, but instead of speaking, he tipped back his glass and drained it.

  My hand flexed around the bottle. I wanted to throw it at the wall over Philip’s head. Maybe that would knock some sense into him.

  His arm fell back into his lap, heedless of the cup tipping sideways and spilling the last drops of whiskey on his trousers. “Go away,” he moaned, covering his eyes with his other hand. The mournful note of his voice cut at something deep inside me, making my anger drain away, and replacing it with dread.

  “Philip, what is going on?” I pleaded in a calmer voice.

  He shook his head.

  I moved around the puddle to the settee, perching on the edge beside his still shod feet. “Philip, talk to me. I . . . I want to help. I want to understand. Please.”

  I waited for him to respond, but he lay still and silent, and I felt the distance between us growing ever wider.

  Until a soft snore issued from between his lips.

  My shoulders dropped. It appeared he’d found the oblivion he was seeking. I lifted the bottle, considering drinking the last two inches myself. I grimaced and thunked it down on the sideboard behind me instead.

  I rang for Philip’s valet, Barnes, and stood over Philip with my arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as I waited. The problem between Philip and Alana appeared not to be lack of feeling, but perhaps the opposite. For it had not escaped my notice that the night my brother-in-law had decided to dip too deep was also the night his wife had suffered sharp pains. For all of his warmth, Philip was generally quite a stoic, but this hardship might have proved too much for his enduring nature. How could I make him talk to me? How could I make him understand? Before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning I climbed into Gage’s carriage only to find Lord Gage glaring down his nose at me. I turned to Gage, who was settling into the seat beside me, in surprise.

  He grimaced in response. “Father was with me when your message arrived last night.”

  I had jotted off a quick note, letting Gage know that Lord Drummond had agreed to let us proceed with our investigation as we saw fit. I had suggested we start by questioning Lord Drummond’s servants this morning. When Gage arrived to collect me, I thought his unhappy look was because I’d gone behind his back and visited Lord Drummond on my own. I’d been prepared for an admonishment once we were alone in his carriage, but it appeared I was wrong, or at least in part.

  I would wager that some of Gage’s displeasure was directed at his father. And that Lord Gage was going to scold me just as much, if not more, than his son was.

  “Is this how a lady behaves?” Lord Gage demanded to know. “Disobeying orders, accosting gentlemen in their homes. Alone,” he emphasized.

  I rolled my eyes. As if he was truly worried about my reputation.

  But he wasn’t finished. “Making demands.” His eyebrows arched. “Associating with criminals.”

  I glanced at Gage. Apparently, he’d told his father about the Chemist and possibly Bonnie Brock.

  Gage merely shrugged.

  “I’m sure it’s not how London debutantes are taught to behave,” I replied. “But it’s how a lady investigating a murder does.”

  Gage spluttered and began to cough.

  Lord Gage’s eyes darted to him in irritation before returning to me. “What did you do? Show up on Lord Drummond’s doorstep and demand entrance?” His gaze flicked back toward his son. “Or did you just barge in as you did the other night?”

  “No. I simply delivered Lady Drummond’s finished portrait,” I answered calmly, with my hands crossed demurely in my lap.

  My answer seemed to surprise Lord Gage, for he fell silent. Gage, meanwhile, was not fooled. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him looking at me. He knew there was more to my visit to Lord Drummond than that, but he didn’t ask me to elaborate in front of his father.

  Lord Gage narrowed his eyes, not ready to admit defeat. “And Lord Drummond just happened to give you his blessing to investigate?”

  I smiled at him sweetly. “Yes.”

  He glowered at me a moment longer, and then harrumphed and turned aside.

  When we arrived at Drummond House, Jeffers directed us straight into Lord Drummond’s study. But before I could follow his father inside, Gage pulled me aside.

  “You are magnificent. I’ve never seen my father routed so soundly.” He leaned toward me, almost touching our foreheads together. “I wish we were alone. Then I could properly express my admiration.”

  My breath caught at the gravelly tone of his voice, but I was not going to allow flattery to distract me from the fact that there was still much unresolved between us. “Remember that later,” I told him, before tossing him a cheeky grin and whirling away.

  He caught my arm, pulling me back against his hard chest. “I will.” His words blew warm against my ear.

  I pulled away before all my resolve dissolved into a puddle.

  Lord Drummond reclined on a sofa with a hand covering his eyes, much as Philip had looked the night before. The sight brought me up short and made my chest tighten in remembrance. I’d tossed and turned much of the night in worry, arguing with myself about what I should do. Part of me wanted to share my anxiety with Gage, while the other part cringed at revealing such an embarrassing episode. Philip was a private man, and I knew he would hate for me to share his foibles with others, even if it was only Gage. But for the moment my decision had been made for me as Lord Gage’s presence had left no opportunity for such a private discussion.

  Though disconcerting, Lord Drummond’s pose was not surprising, as I’d seen how much whiskey he had already drunk when I arrived, and suspected he had imbibed more after I left. Lord Gage’s stance, however, was somewhat of a shock.

  He stood in the middle of the Aubusson rug seemingly transfixed by Lady Drummond’s portrait above the fireplace. I crossed the room toward him, wondering what had so captivated his attention, but I hesitated to speak when I saw his expression. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but his skin, which was rough and perpetually bronzed from his years at sea, now appeared quite pallid, and the firm line of his jaw almost sagged, as if weighed down. Meanwhile, his eyes scoured the image, as if absorbing every detail.

  When he caught me observing him, he scowled blackly.

  “Did you know Lady Drummond?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Of course,” he replied gruffly, turning away.

  “Stood up wi’ me at our wedding,” Lord Drummond mumbled.

  I glanced at Lord Gage again, whose back was still to me, and then his son. “We’d like to question your staff. Perhaps we could begin with the maids.”

  Lord Drummond waved his hand. “Do as ye please.”

  Lord Gage suddenly pivoted in a precise turn. “Now, don’t be so hasty,” he urged his friend. His eyes narrowed on me. “Lady Darby might take you at your word. Sebastian and I will begin questioning the servants. Perhaps Lady Darby can sit here and sketch you.”

  My hands tightened into fists.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Father,” Gage argued. “Lady Darby has every right to join us. In any case, she will probably be able to get more information from them than we will. They know her. They trust her. And I don’t intend to waste my morning talking to a bunch of stammering maids too fr
ightened to string their words together properly. They’ll be far more comfortable with another woman present.”

  My heart lifted at his defense, but Lord Gage was not so pleased. His face hardened in anger—mostly, I was sure, because he knew his son was right. Gage might have exaggerated, but the Drummond staff was at least accustomed to me, if nothing else. I had been a visitor here almost every morning for weeks.

  Maybe it wasn’t very noble of me, but I quite enjoyed Lord Gage’s silent rage at being foiled, and from the manner in which his eyes twitched, I could tell he knew it.

  I sank down to perch on the edge of a chair. “Before we begin, I do have one question for you, Lord Drummond.”

  He parted his fingers, to stare between them at me. “Just one?” he drawled sarcastically.

  “Which you don’t have to answer,” Lord Gage had to say.

  I arched my eyebrows at him, wondering if he was this intent on spiting me, or if he truly didn’t want us to solve Lady Drummond’s murder.

  “The letter Lady Drummond received. The one you waved in front of her face that day during her portrait session,” I clarified, not bothering to bite back my disapproving tone. “Who was it from?”

  He didn’t immediately answer me, though I could tell he understood. His body had tensed, I hoped in remembrance of his reprehensible behavior. Lord Gage remained silent for once, I assumed because he’d known nothing about this note.

  “It was from a physician,” Lord Drummond finally replied. “A Dr. Abercrombie.”

  I sat taller. “What did it say?”

  “She’d asked to meet wi’ him at his office, and he was informin’ her of an acceptable time.”

  I wished he would lower his hand so that I could see his face. If I questioned the clandestineness of such an appointment—away from her own home with an unfamiliar physician—then I knew he had, and I wanted to gauge his reaction. “Did you speak with her about it later?” I held my breath in anticipation of his answer.

  “Yes.” He swallowed. “I accused her o’ bein’ unfaithful. I assumed that was the only reason for her secrecy.”

  My stomach twisted. I did not regret speaking up to stop his angry tirade during that last portrait session, but I had wondered whether it had done her any good. Hearing Lord Drummond now, I suspected not. I gripped my hands together in my lap to keep from leaping across the space and slapping him. “And what did she say?”

  “She denied it. But when I demanded to know why she had asked for a meeting wi’ the man, she refused to tell me. She insisted she couldna.”

  I wondered if Lady Drummond had lied to her husband, or if she truly had been harboring some other secret. One she’d been determined to keep, even facing her husband’s wrath. But what could it have been?

  Perhaps there was some clue in the note itself.

  “Do you still have the letter? May I see it?”

  His lips flattened. “I burned it.”

  I sighed. Of course he had.

  “If there’s nothing more,” Lord Drummond said, swinging his legs off the sofa, “I’d like to retire to my chamber.” His face, when I finally saw it, looked like it had aged ten years in one night. None of us tried to stop him as he hobbled out.

  We decided the study would be the ideal place to question the staff, one by one, positioning them so that whenever they looked up, they would see Lady Drummond’s portrait. Perhaps it would work on their conscience, if need be. Unfortunately, none of the servants informed us of anything new. Several of them voiced their hesitant suspicions about one person or another, but none of them had good reasons why. I suspected the murder had become popular conversation in the servants’ hall and each of them wanted to be the person who had stumbled upon the real culprit first—because of a feeling a particular lady had given them, or a look a tradesman had sent their way. It was tedious and obstructive.

  Thanks to Jeffers, who had a prodigious memory, we were able to compile a complete list of guests Lady Drummond had received both in her bedchamber and in the drawing room in the weeks prior to the murder. There were also a few of Lord Drummond’s guests to contend with, and, of course, any number of servants had passed in and out of the rooms. In the course of describing her usual weekly schedule, Jeffers also told us that Lady Drummond had taken tea in her chamber with her stepdaughter, Imogen, several mornings each week, and the governess every Friday.

  All in all, we were left with a list of almost thirty names. Lady Drummond had many friends, which spoke well of her, but not of our ability to wrap up this inquiry quickly.

  When our interviews with the house staff were finished, we opted to climb the stairs to the attics to speak with Aileen before venturing out to speak to the coachman and stable lads, in their quarters above the carriage house. I was pleased to see she was seated upright, leaning back against her pillows with a book in her lap. Her eyes widened at the sight of us, and I held up a restraining hand before the men could follow me inside the tiny room. Gage and his father remained in the hall while I sat on the edge of the ladder-back wooden chair wedged next to her bed.

  “You look much improved,” I told her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Well, my lady,” she murmured softly. Her accent was English, and I guessed she had come to Edinburgh with Lady Drummond upon her marriage. “Thank you for asking. And thank you for saving my life.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that I did that much. But I’m glad I was here to help.”

  She nodded. Her eyes were wide and serious.

  “Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?”

  She glanced toward the door anxiously. “I suppose.” Her voice was hesitant, and I realized that she was worried she was in some sort of trouble.

  I offered her a reassuring smile. “We don’t care that you borrowed her ladyship’s beauty creams. I’m sure Lady Drummond would have liked for you to have them rather than them being thrown in the rubbish bin. But I’m sure you understand now that the jar of Hinkley’s cream was poisoned.”

  Her large brown eyes blinked back tears. “That’s what killed her?”

  “Yes, at least partly.” I looked to Gage, who watched from the doorway. “We’re trying to figure out who did it. But we need your help. Do you know how that jar of cream found its way into Lady Drummond’s bedchamber?”

  “I unpacked a jar of cream the store had delivered a few weeks ago.”

  “Did Lady Drummond open a new jar the morning she died?”

  “No, my lady. She had been using the same one since it was delivered. It wasn’t even half gone.”

  I tilted my head. “Was the jar you used filled about the same?”

  She nodded.

  So the cream had not been delivered tainted, but swapped at some point.

  “Tell me about that morning. The morning Lady Drummond died.”

  She crossed her hands over her lap. “Her ladyship woke up at nine, like she always does . . . did.” Her face tightened in pain. “An . . . and I took up her breakfast.”

  “What did she eat?”

  “Tea, eggs, toast, and kippers. Like every morning.”

  “Really? An Englishwoman who liked kippers for breakfast?”

  Aileen scrunched up her face in revulsion. “I never knew how she could eat them. They’re so slimy. And they smell horrid.”

  I bit back a smile. “What next?”

  “I readied her clothes for the day and drew her bath.”

  “Sometimes I like to scent my baths with rosewater. Did Lady Drummond ever ask you to put anything in hers?”

  She nodded. “She used rosewater, too. And if her wrist or hip was bothering her, I would pour in a bit of lavender oil.”

  I frowned. “Did she injure herself?”

  Her expression went blank. “She fell once,” she replied vaguely.

  I bit my tongue, knowing exactl
y what that meant.

  “Did you put anything in her bath that morning?”

  “Yes. The lavender oil.”

  I began to turn to Gage, but then stopped and looked at Aileen’s table instead. “Is it still in her room?”

  Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “It should be.”

  “On my way,” Gage said, already anticipating my request.

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  “She bathed and slathered on her cream, and then I helped her dress.” Her face paled. “I was gathering up the linens to take them belowstairs when I heard her retching.”

  “Did she show any signs of illness before that?”

  “She did look a bit flushed, but I thought it was from the bath.” Her eyes widened. “And she kept scratching her skin, especially her hands. She actually rubbed some more cream into them.” She fell silent, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t know.”

  “You couldn’t have,” I assured her. “It’s winter. The air is dry. You had no reason to believe her skin itched because she was rubbing poison into it.”

  She nodded, but I was sure my assertions meant nothing. She blamed herself, and would go on doing so for some time no matter what I said.

  I glanced toward the door, wishing Lord Gage were not hovering there at this moment. “I have a somewhat delicate question to ask you,” I began.

  Aileen’s gaze lifted to meet mine, but there was no hint in her eyes that she knew what I implied.

  “Was Lady Drummond expecting?”

  Her brow furrowed. “A child?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t think so. And I should have noticed if she was. I was the first to suspect it with Master Freddy, and I knew within a week with Miss Victoria.”

  I believed her. It was a lady’s maid’s job to notice even the most subtle changes in her mistress, and to make whatever alterations were necessary to keep her looking her best. They often knew when their mistress was ill, or increasing, or low in spirits long before their husbands.

  “One more question. And I’m sorry to be impertinent. I assure you I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Did Lady Drummond have a lover?”