Lord Gage offered his hand to help her to her seat just two steps away. She lifted her skirts and gracefully arranged herself on the white and gold fainting couch to best advantage. I realized this was her throne, of sorts, from which she charmed and beguiled guests. If not for the honey blond shade of her hair, styled in a simple Grecian knot, I would have likened her to Cleopatra receiving her subjects, or perhaps the Romans. Was that why she’d chosen this room’s outrageous décor?
The corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” she asked, seeming to read my thoughts. She gestured to our surroundings. “My first protector insisted that it be decorated so. And later I discovered that men seem to expect to be entertained in such extravagant surroundings, so I left it.” She glanced up at the large bust of some Egyptian god perched on a shelf behind her. “Someday, when I retire, I look forward to ripping this all out and replacing it with something less . . . preposterous.” Her eyes laughed.
“So . . . you own this house?” I asked in disbelief. I knew few women who owned property. It all went to their husbands, or fathers, or brothers, or sons. All of us, even duchesses, were beholden to the men in our lives for a roof over our heads.
“Yes. It was gifted to me. As were my clothes and jewelry, and any number of other things.” Payment for services rendered. She did not say this aloud, but her eyes did. Services that wives rendered for free, though that wasn’t the way they were supposed to be viewed.
Gage squirmed beside me, likely uncomfortable with the inappropriate direction our conversation had turned.
“But I don’t think you came to speak with me about my property,” Mrs. Dubois proclaimed lightheartedly. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Lord Gage cleared his throat. “I imagine you are aware of Lady Drummond’s recent death?”
Mrs. Dubois effortless cheer faltered appropriately, but also genuinely, I thought. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“And . . .” he cleared his throat again “. . . we have been made aware that Lord Drummond is your current protector.”
“Was,” she declared.
Lord Gage blinked in surprise.
“We ended our arrangement almost two weeks ago.”
I glanced at Gage, who frowned. “But you furtively called on Lady Drummond last Monday.”
At first I thought she would deny it, but then she sighed and shook her head. “I knew that little maid would talk.”
“Actually, someone else saw you.”
She considered the matter, and then nodded. “The stepdaughter.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I hoped she wouldn’t recognize me.”
“So you admit you visited your former protector’s wife in her home?”
“Yes. Though why that should matter to you, I don’t know. Unless . . .” She gasped, seeming to recognize the import of our presence. “You think I killed her?”
Gage eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know she was killed?”
She arched one eyebrow imperiously. “I’m not unobservant. You are three inquiry agents.”
“Then why did you think we were here?” I asked in confusion, ignoring the warm glow I felt at being described on equal terms with Gage and his father.
“I thought Lord Drummond murdered her. That you’d come to ask about him.”
“Why do you think that?” Lord Gage leaned forward to inquire.
“Because . . .” She heaved a sigh. “Well, to start with, the man has a vicious temper. One that he has no qualms about unleashing on women. Not me,” she clarified sharply. “Unlike his wife, I was free to sever our arrangement at any time.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “But why would you think I killed her? She died several days after I called on her.”
“She was poisoned,” Gage explained. “By something slipped into her bedchamber. The room where you visited her.”
Mrs. Dubois’s mouth puckered as if she’d swallowed something unpleasant. “I see.”
“So why did you call on her? And why did you end your relationship with Lord Drummond if not because of his temper?”
Her eyes dropped to the floor, considering the matter. From the looks of the fierce frown on her face, she seemed to be debating something. When finally she looked up, it was to examine each of us closely. “So long as what I have to say does not impact your investigation, may I rely on your discretion?”
Gage, his father, and I all looked at one another in silent communication.
“If it does not impact our investigation, yes,” Lord Gage said, speaking for us all.
Mrs. Dubois did not seem entirely satisfied with this response, but she nodded anyway. I watched curiously as she shifted in her seat, for the first time not looking completely self-assured.
“I went to see Lady Drummond because . . .” her mouth twisted “. . . her husband infected me with clap.”
Her eyes darted between us, trying to see how we had all taken this pronouncement. I did my best to hide my shock.
She swallowed. “I didn’t trust Lord Drummond to tell his wife, and I thought she should know.” Her eyes blazed angrily. “It’s also why I ended our arrangement.”
“A letter . . .” Lord Gage began, his nose wrinkled in unconcealed disgust.
“Can be ripped up or discarded,” she snapped. “I had originally intended to inform her in such a manner, but then I realized that since I’d threatened to do just that, Lord Drummond would be looking for it. I knew I wasn’t obligated to tell her, but . . . it seemed cowardly not to.”
“How do you know Lady Drummond didn’t give it to her husband?” Lord Gage asked.
We all turned to look at him in undisguised skepticism. That was not likely, even if she had taken a lover, as Lady Rachel had intimated.
I turned back to Mrs. Dubois in sudden comprehension. “That’s why you thought he’d killed her. You thought she’d confronted him with the venereal disease he’d given her and he’d flown into a rage.”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“So you haven’t been harboring hopes of becoming the next Lady Drummond.” Gage phrased it as a statement, but the question was still implied.
She actually laughed. “Goodness, no. The man was tedious enough as a lover.”
It was easy now to guess how that particular rumor started. One of the other servants had probably seen Mrs. Dubois in the house, or heard the two maids discussing her visit, and the maid had lied and said Mrs. Dubois had wanted to see the furnishings or some such nonsense. It was impossible to know exactly without the maid admitting to it, but it was a close enough guess.
In any case, now that her visit to Lady Drummond had been explained, Mrs. Dubois was no longer a suspect. She had no motive. And frustratingly, this left us with little to go on.
A list of visitors to the Drummond household in the days leading up to the murder. A mystery lover that Lady Drummond may or may not have taken. And an odd letter she’d written to an unfamiliar physician, which now seemed to be explained. If Lady Drummond had feared her husband had infected her with a venereal disease, she might have sought treatment from Dr. Abercrombie. Though why she didn’t visit her normal physician, Dr. Davis, I didn’t know, especially since the ailment was her husband’s fault. Regardless, none of these clues was substantial. I only hoped that further interviews would turn up something useful, because at that moment, Lady Drummond’s murder looked like it would go unsolved.
CHAPTER 22
I returned home late that afternoon, just as Philip was leaving. He paused at the base of the stairs when he saw me in the entrance hall divesting myself of my outer garments. A wary look crossed his features.
“Good evening, Kiera,” he said politely. “Had a productive day?”
“Yes . . .” I sighed “. . . and no.”
“I’ll take that to mean, many questions were asked, but
none of the answers have moved you closer to solving Lady Drummond’s murder.”
I smiled tightly. “Precisely.”
“Well, I’m off to Rothschild’s for the evening.” He tilted his head down to speak to me conspiratorially. “You’re lucky to miss this one. The man is as dull as a spoon, but we need his vote.”
“Philip,” I said, interrupting his feigned joviality. “Do you have a moment?”
He looked as if he wanted to say no, but good manners prevented it. “Of course.”
We moved down the hall a short distance toward his study, and away from Figgins and the footman standing by the front door.
“What is it?”
I searched my brother-in-law’s face, seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the pale pallor of his skin. “Philip, is everything all right?”
“Of course.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”
He tilted his head as if in fond exasperation. “If you mean last night . . .”
“For a start.”
His brow flexed in annoyance before he smoothed it out. “I apologize if it upset you. I just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all.”
“But why were you drinking?”
This time he didn’t attempt to hide his irritation. “Do I need a reason?”
“When you decide to get so disguised you need to be carried upstairs? Yes.”
“Everything is not a mystery to be solved, Kiera. Sometimes a man simply chooses to enjoy a few glasses of whiskey.” He turned away, dismissing me.
“Yes, but you weren’t enjoying it.”
His steps faltered.
“If I’m not mistaken, you weren’t even tasting it. You frightened me, Philip.” I let him hear the distress in my voice. “You still are.”
He turned back toward me.
“Please, tell me what is wrong.”
He stared at the wall, allowing me to see only his profile as he spoke in a calmer voice. “Nothing is wrong. I’m sorry I frightened you. It won’t happen again.”
And with that, he was gone, striding across the hall and out into the evening.
I trembled as I did my best to swallow back my emotions. They made my stomach ache.
Trudging upstairs, I thought to speak to Alana before changing for dinner, but the children were with her, and I didn’t want to interrupt their limited time with their mother. I could hear their bright voices talking over one another as my sister tried to respond to them all. Greer’s words were half babbles, but Alana seemed to understand her just as well as her two older children.
I paused with my hand on my doorknob, imagining the scene they must make. Was my sister right? Would I have children of my own? Would I one day be surrounded by their excited voices and sticky hugs?
Even as quiet and calm a child as I had been, I still remembered eagerly competing with my older sister and brother for my mother’s attention. She would gather us up on her enormous bed and pull me in close to her sweetly scented body while Alana and Trevor bounced up and down relaying their adventures. I would brush my fingers through her soft, chestnut brown curls, and listen to her tinkling laughter. Until I tired of waiting my turn and jumped into the fray, tugging at her sleeve to hear whatever my accomplishment had been for the day.
I always tired before my sister and brother, and often subsided to lie against my mother’s shoulder. There was many a time when I fell asleep that way and had to be carried to bed by my father or one of the footmen. The next morning I would awake surrounded by her scent and the memory of her arms around me.
There were some nights when I still awoke with the feel of her hair on my fingertips and the smell of her perfume in my nostrils. It always left me feeling disoriented and heartsick.
Would Malcolm, Philipa, and Greer feel that someday remembering these times? Would my own children?
I turned away from my door and descended the stairs, suddenly needing fresh air the same way Philip had needed his whiskey the previous evening.
• • •
As the evening light faded, somehow I found my steps had led me to the town house Lady Bearsden had rented for herself and her great-niece. I knew it was a terribly inappropriate time to call, but I also knew Lady Stratford, being still in mourning, would be at home. So before I could reconsider my actions, I climbed the stairs to her door.
I was ushered into the drawing room, where Lady Stratford jumped up from the settee.
“Is everything all right?” she asked in alarm.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” I stammered, now feeling silly for having given in to the impulse. “I know this is an odd time to call. I just . . .” I grimaced in embarrassment. “Perhaps I should go.”
“Of course not,” she declared. “Please, come sit with me. I’m glad of the company,” she assured me, pulling me down on the settee next to her. “Mourning is tedious. I must tell you, sometimes I feel I shall go mad from the boredom and silence.”
“Where is your aunt?” I asked.
“She’s gone to the theater this evening. She’s a dear, always keeping me company. But there’s no reason she should be made to suffer alongside me.” She leaned closer with a twinkle in her eye. “Besides, I know she’s dying to hear all of the latest on-dits.”
I smiled. “Then she will hate to have missed me.”
“Oh?”
I instantly sobered. “Lady Drummond was murdered. We’ve confirmed it.”
Lady Stratford closed her eyes, clasping her hands tightly to her bosom.
“I’m sorry.”
“I expected it. But I find that isn’t making it any easier to hear.” She exhaled and opened her eyes to look at me. “Poison?”
“Yes. Mixed in her skin cream and perhaps her lavender oil.”
“How dreadful.” She stared off into the distance, as if contemplating the matter. A moment later, she shook herself. “Is this why you came to see me?”
“Maybe.”
She looked at me quizzically and I smiled sheepishly.
“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure how I ended up here. My steps just found their way to your door.”
She reached over to touch my hand. “Then I’m glad they did.”
And I suddenly was, too.
A maid carried in a tray of tea and little cakes, and Lady Stratford set about preparing us each a cup. I glanced around at the comfortable furnishings and muted décor. It was bland, but cozy and inoffensive. The perfect style for a rented home. And the desirable address more than made up for any deficiencies.
In a way, Lady Drummond had been similar. She had not been an exciting woman, but she was kind and lovely. Not strikingly beautiful, as Lady Stratford was, but definitely above average. She was exceptionable enough to be admired, but not envied. And yet someone had murdered her.
“Why?” I muttered.
“Why what?” Lady Stratford asked as she handed me my tea.
“Why would someone want to poison Lady Drummond? She was gentle and well liked, and as far as I know, completely harmless. Why would someone plan so carefully to kill her? What could she possibly have done to drive them to such an action?”
“I take it you’ve ruled out Lord Drummond as the culprit.”
I scowled. “Unfortunately, yes.”
She nodded and took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps they weren’t striking at her, but her husband. Maybe this was someone’s way of hurting Lord Drummond?”
I narrowed my eyes, considering the suggestion. “Except it almost went undetected. If not for my insistence, we would all still believe she died of an apoplexy.”
“Maybe that was an accident.”
“Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “But I still think if someone wanted to send a message to Lord Drummond, they would have done it in a more obvious manner. Poison is a very passive form of mu
rder. Devious and calculated, but far removed. Whoever killed her had no desire to see it happen. It was enough for it to be done. They didn’t need to witness it.”
I looked up as Lady Stratford’s cup clattered against her saucer. Her thoughts seemed troubled. She lifted her eyes, catching me watching her. “There is one possibility I can think of.”
I arched my eyebrows in encouragement.
“Clare and I did not debut together, but I remember her telling me about one particular suitor she had spurned who had been particularly furious when she turned down his proposal. He had even tried to insinuate she was damaged goods by spreading rumors about her.”
“Clearly he didn’t take rejection well.”
She shook her head. “And it was made even worse by the fact that he actually wagered with another gentleman that she would say yes. Clare found out about it when a cousin of hers saw it written in the betting book at one of his clubs.”
I screwed up my face in disgust. Gentlemen and their stupid wagers. “It certainly sounds like he had a reason to despise her then, even though he only had his own foolishness to blame for making such a bet. But that was more than a dozen years ago. Why would he exact his revenge now?” I was skeptical that anyone would do something so drastic for such a silly cause.
“Because my great-aunt told me he’d recently made a new wager. One that Clare’s death would have prevented him from losing.”
I sat straighter, lowering my cup of tea. “He’s here in Edinburgh.”
She nodded.
“What was the wager?”
Her lips puckered in distaste. “That Clare would not take a lover before midsummer’s eve.”
My first impulse was to roll my eyes, but then I remembered what Lady Rachel had told me. If Lady Drummond was considering taking a lover—if she hadn’t already—and her former suitor found out about it, then that could give him a powerful motive to stop it. Though, once again, murder seemed a rather extreme solution.
“Who is this suitor?” I asked.
“Walter Kirkcowan.”
I nearly dropped my tea. “Lord Kirkcowan?”
A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Page 22