A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  I shook my head. “No, the victim’s head would have exhibited puncture wounds had either of those been used, and their knobbed heads are too big.” I paced along the wall. “We’re looking for something smaller, more compact.” My eyes fell on the recess where the smaller pistols and knives were displayed. “Something like this.” I pointed toward a shorter-staffed mace, about the length of my arm from elbow to fingertips. Its smooth egg-shaped knob was studded with a half-dozen short, rounded protrusions.

  Gage stepped forward to lift it down from the wall, the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms straining beneath the fitted fabric of his dark green frock coat. The manner in which he lowered it made it obvious that although the bludgeon was smaller than the other maces, it nonetheless still packed a great deal of heft.

  He turned so that Lord Edward and I could watch as he examined it, studying the metal for any signs of blood or other gore. “If it is the murder weapon, it’s been washed clean.”

  “You didn’t expect otherwise, did you?” I responded. Only an idiot would return the mace to the guardroom with evidence still clinging to it. If this was, in fact, the murder weapon. I glanced around me, looking for any other bludgeons or empty spaces along the walls where a weapon should hang.

  “No,” he admitted. “But there’s always a chance. People do panic in such situations.”

  Lord Edward, who had remained quiet through this exchange, stepped forward then, never removing his gaze from the mace. “Can I see it?”

  Gage studied his grim expression before carefully passing it to him.

  “Here they are! Thank heavens,” a voice exclaimed behind me, and I turned to see my sister and her husband disappear behind the wall from the landing above that spanned the northern length of the guardroom to descend the grand staircase. A few moments later they emerged past the suits of armor, hastening toward us.

  “Jenny and Barnes said the two of you found a dead body,” Alana said, rattling off the names of their maid and valet. As always, the servants were always the first to know. “Is it true?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I murmured as her gaze slid past me to the mace Lord Edward was cradling.

  Her eyes widened. “Is that . . . ?” she began, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to finish the question.

  “Possibly,” Gage answered for me.

  My brother-in-law, Philip, moved a step closer to Lord Edward to stare down at the bludgeon in rapt fascination. “That would not be a pretty way to go.” And then, as if recalling the reason we were examining such an implement, his gaze flicked up toward me as he grimaced in apology.

  I smiled tightly, but decided there was no reason to respond when the answer was obvious.

  Alana pulled the woolen black shawl draped over her shoulders tighter around her against either the chill of the room or the subject of our discussion. “Who was the victim?” Her words were hushed, almost as if she was afraid to speak them louder.

  “We don’t know. But . . .” I glanced at Gage and then Lord Edward. “There’s a possibility he’s Lord Helmswick.”

  This shocked both Alana and Philip into stunned silence.

  “Then . . .” Alana murmured, finding her voice first. A dozen thoughts flitted behind her lapis-lazuli eyes as she seemed to grasp all the implications. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “Oh, my.”

  Philip’s brow furrowed. “I thought Helmswick was in Paris.”

  “That’s where he’s supposed to be,” Gage admitted. “And there’s every possibility he might still be there, beyond immediate contact. But as of yet we haven’t been able to rule him out as the victim, or identify an alternative individual.”

  “Then you’re dispatching missives to his presumed whereabouts and the British Embassy in Paris?”

  Gage exhaled a taut breath and nodded. “As well as his solicitor. Though if you could frank them for me, that might hasten their delivery.” His gaze darted to Lord Edward and back. “I would ask the duke to do it, but I have a suspicion his seal might actually make Helmswick more hesitant to open it.”

  It was telling that the duke’s son did not dispute this.

  “Anderley is also readying himself as we speak to travel to Helmswick’s estate at Haddington to discover if anyone there has been in contact with him.”

  Philip’s head lifted as his back straightened even taller. “Haddington, you say?” Evidently, he’d heard the same reports we had about the spread of cholera there.

  Gage nodded. “I’ve informed him to take every precaution.”

  “I could send one of Bowmont’s grooms with him,” Lord Edward offered. “One who knows all the routes in and out of Haddington.”

  I could see Gage weighing his options. Accepting his offer might mean that Anderley would reach Lord Helmswick’s estate more quickly and safely, avoiding the areas where the cholera had been reported to be the most prevalent, but it also meant saddling his valet with a potential spy working for the duchess’s family. The groom could very well be ordered to report back on Anderley’s movements. Much as I wanted to trust the duchess, I couldn’t. She and her family were too close to this. At the best, they were withholding information. At the worst, they were harboring a murderer in their midst.

  Regardless, Gage made the decision I knew he would, putting his valet’s well-being above all else. “Thank you. That would be helpful.”

  Lord Edward passed the mace back to him. “Give me a moment to have a message sent down to the stables, and then I’ll show you the porter’s lodge.”

  He hurried through a small door to the left of the great hearth inset in the north wall. A fire burned there, though what heat it produced soon vanished into the vaulted roof above.

  The moment the door closed behind him with a click, Alana stepped forward to take my hands. “What can we do, dearest? Is there someone we should talk to? Someone we should send for?”

  “Yes, have the proper authorities been alerted?” Philip added. “Though dashed if I know who they are in this county.” His brow lowered. “Or what county we’re even in. Is this Peeblesshire, or are we in that spur of Selkirkshire that juts to the north?” His use of even a minor curse in my and Alana’s presence spoke to just how unsettled he was.

  “I gather we’re in Selkirkshire, for that’s the county the Mr. Rodgers we met with serves as procurator fiscal,” Gage said.

  Philip tilted his head in consideration. “Rodgers. I can’t say I know the man.”

  “Then count yourself lucky,” he remarked wryly as he lifted the mace up and down with his arm, seeming to test its bulk. The men exchanged a knowing glance, before Gage returned his attention to the weapon. “How heavy would you say this is, Cromarty?”

  Philip took the bludgeon and transferred it to one hand as he considered it. “It would certainly pack a wallop, but I’d say no more than half a stone.”

  He nodded and turned to my sister. “Alana, do you think you could lift such a weight?”

  “And why aren’t you asking me that?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips. I’m not exactly sure why, but I felt mildly affronted.

  His gaze dipped to the rounded swell of my stomach, his eyebrows arching as if that was explanation enough.

  Meanwhile, Alana had accepted the mace gingerly from her husband, and brandished it for us to see.

  “Do you think you could swing it?” Gage asked.

  “Let’s see.” She swung it in front of her.

  “At someone’s head.”

  Alana’s startled gaze met his, but she gamely lifted the weapon so the head was positioned above her shoulder. “Well, yes, I suppose. If I was determined enough.”

  “I’m sure I could swing it at someone’s head,” I declared.

  “Undoubtedly,” Gage replied, never removing his eyes from the mace. “But you couldn’t do so without a great deal of effort?” he asked
her. “It certainly wouldn’t be smooth or well concealed.”

  “N-no.” She lowered the bludgeon to cradle it with her other hand, her composure shaken. “I suppose to be successful, I would have to . . . to hit the person from behind.”

  Philip, who had scowled through much of this exchange, took the weapon from her. “That’s enough, Gage. I should say you’ve ascertained what you wished.”

  “Yes,” he said, accepting the mace. “That it’s not outside the realm of possibility that our murderer could be female, albeit one with strength, determination, and height.”

  Lord Edward returned then, slipping back through the door where earlier he’d exited. “Well, now that that’s squared, why don’t I show you the visitors’ book?”

  I reached out to touch Alana’s hand, drawing her attention back to me. “There is one thing you can do.” My gaze darted to Philip and back, including him in my request as well. “Reassure the other guests.” The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midday, which meant that many of them would just be rising from their beds after the late night of revelry, and hearing from their servants for the first time about the dead body we’d found. “Let them know we don’t believe any of them are in danger, and try to prevent them from making wild speculations. I’m sure the duchess is already attempting to quash the worst of their conjectures, but a dozen more have likely sprung up in their place.”

  “I heard Crawley spouting some rubbish about ritual sacrifice when I passed by the breakfast parlor earlier,” Lord Edward interjected, confirming my worst suspicions.

  At this, Philip actually rolled his eyes, something I would have believed beneath his dignity. “Yes, well, Crawley is an idiot,” he retorted, his voice dripping with scorn, which he tempered as he answered me. “But we will do what we can.”

  Alana opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but then seemed to think better of it, offering me a tight smile instead. Watching her ascend the grand staircase, I puzzled over whether she had been about to issue some motherly words of caution, or if there had been something else she’d wished to share.

  I shook the thought aside as Gage and I crossed the room toward where Lord Edward was waiting for us before the door positioned to the right of the great stone hearth. This door contained a small window, all the better through which to monitor the comings and goings from the castle. After a preemptory knock, Lord Edward opened the door to reveal a room lined with dark bookcases. Many of these were filled with books and ledgers bound with leather, but one portion was dominated by smaller pigeonhole-type compartments, similar to what might be found in a writing desk. This was evidently where the post and missives were sorted and stored before being delivered to each intended recipient.

  Immediately to the right lay another door, which was propped open to allow in sunlight from the next outer room’s windows. Opposite this, another door stood open to allow access deeper into the servants’ domain of the castle. I quickly surmised this must be the way trunks and baggage were carried in and out of the sprawling building from the grand portico. While the guests entered through the vaulted passage from the portico and processed through the guardroom, their servants and belongings were hustled inside via a side door and through the porter’s lodge into the servants’ quarters. In this way, the hall porter was certain never to miss the arrival or departure of someone staying at the castle, be they family or guest. It also allowed the air to circulate, blunting the smells of ink, paper, wood, and stale cigar smoke.

  As for the hall porter himself, he possessed a shock of white hair and perched at the desk positioned against the wall by the door through which we’d entered. The better to capture the most natural light as possible, I supposed, as well as hear the sounds of footsteps passing through the guardroom. Even so, the corners of his eyes were deeply etched with wrinkles from his squinting over the ledger before him with the aid of a candle set nearby. He glanced up in surprise and quickly rose to his feet.

  “Hislop, here, is our hall porter,” Lord Edward declared. “He’s been with us for how long now? Eons?”

  The sprightly older man, who was no taller than me, cast the duke’s son an amused glance before answering in a rich brogue. “Forty years, m’lord.” His features were rather delicate, except for his red, protuberant nose, which showed evidence of his having recently suffered from a cold in the head.

  Lord Edward’s wide mouth twitched. “Mr. and Mrs. Gage need to take a look at the most recent visitors’ book. Going back to when?” He turned to us in query. “The first of December?”

  “That should do,” Gage replied.

  “Can you assist them with that?”

  He eyed us with reserved interest. “Mr. Tait informed me no’ twenty minutes ago that Her Grace has asked us to assist in any way we can, an’ so I shall.”

  “Good. Then I shall leave you to it.” Lord Edward’s gaze dipped to the mace Gage dangled at his side. “Shall I ask Tait to lock that up for safekeeping?”

  Gage’s hand tightened around the handle. “I think I’ll keep it in my possession for the time being.”

  If Lord Edward was insulted by or suspicious of this move, he didn’t show it. He merely shrugged and turned to go. “As you wish.”

  “December first, ye say?” Mr. Hislop murmured, turning to stoop over his desk. “Then that’ll be the current log.” He closed the ledger he’d been studying upon our entrance, and opened the one below it bound in cognac leather. Flipping the pages backward from the marker he’d inserted in the book, he swiftly located the date in question. “Here we are. Please, m’lady. Have a seat.”

  That answered my question whether he knew who I was, for evidently he was aware I still held my late husband’s courtesy title. Those who were not close to me, and those who refused my wishes, still addressed me as Lady Darby by courtesy, if not by right, since my first husband outranked my second. Though I’d heard a rumor that Sir Anthony’s nephew, who had inherited his baronetcy, was now engaged to be married, which would soon make me the Dowager Lady Darby at the ripe age of twenty-six.

  I gratefully accepted his offer to use his chair, allowing him to push it in behind me.

  “Noo, is there somethin’ more specific you was lookin’ for, or merely the date?”

  One glance at his face told us he was already well informed, likely through the other servants, of what our intentions might be. Nonetheless, the question remained—could he be trusted? Even though the Duchess of Bowmont must have communicated something to her staff via Mr. Tait, her butler, we didn’t know precisely what that was. After all, there were levels of cooperation, and although the duchess had promised me she would direct her servants to offer us their full support, that didn’t mean that whatever they chose to confide in us would not still be restrained because of our taint as outsiders.

  Gage leaned one hip against the corner of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, affecting the casual demeanor I’d seen him use often enough when cajoling a witness or possible suspect. “As I’m sure you’ve already heard, the recently deceased body of a gentleman was found in the old abbey’s catacomb last night. We are attempting to ascertain his identity, but as of yet we have had no luck in confirming it. As such we need to know which gentlemen have visited the castle in the past four or five weeks who may be unaccounted for. Excluding the guests of this party,” he clarified. “Any of their deaths would be too recent to be our victim. And in any case, I’ve heard no word of anyone from the Twelfth Night festivities having gone missing.”

  Mr. Hislop reached up to scratch his chin in contemplation. “No. No’ unless ye count Lord Fairhope, but I hear his wife found him in Lady Lindow’s bed.”

  “That accounts for the shrieking I heard when I was leaving the library,” Gage muttered dryly.

  “But as for the rest, the duke and duchess and their children do do a fair amount o’ entertainin’. You’ll have to look
and see if any o’ the names leap oot at ye.”

  “What of Lord Helmswick?”

  “Oh, aye.” He leaned forward, trailing his finger down the lines of the ledger. “He arrived wi’ Lady Eleanor round aboot the sixth o’ December, and left the next day. Aye, see here.” He tapped the entry. “Bound for Paris, I believe.”

  “And his valet and trunks went with him?” Gage clarified.

  Mr. Hislop nodded. “Never even unloaded but the one valise. His trunks stayed strapped to his coach.”

  “And he hasn’t returned since?” I chimed in to ask.

  His gaze lifted to meet mine, his pupils widening with comprehension. “No’ to Sunlaws.” He hesitated. “Least, no’ through the guardroom. But why would he enter any other way?”

  Why, indeed? That was the question, wasn’t it? If the victim was Helmswick, then why would he have chosen to enter through one of the servants’ and tradesmen’s entrances, or even via the abbey ruins, down through its catacombs and that long underground tunnel? It simply didn’t make sense.

  Unless he didn’t want to be seen. But once again, why?

  I frowned, placing my own finger at the top of the ledger and running it down the column of names and dates.

  Mr. Hislop straightened, hooking his thumbs in the straps of his braces, which had been concealed by his coat. “I dinna ken what ye expect to find, for I can assure ye that every visitor in that book both arrived and departed through this guardroom. But yer welcome to look for yerselves.”

  “What of day visitors?” Gage asked, his brow furrowed in thought. “Would they be notated in the log as well?”

  “The castle doesna receive many callers,” he replied, scratching his chin again in consideration.

  I imagined not, being too far away from all but a handful of other noblemen’s residences.

  “But aye, from time to time, and they’d be noted there as well.” When neither of us immediately responded, he backed away. “Well, then, I’ve some messages to see delivered. So I’ll leave ye to it.”