A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  Gage thanked him while my attention was already absorbed in the ledger.

  Lady Helmswick and Lord John had spoken the truth. When she arrived with her children on December sixth, only four other people were in residence—Lord Edward, Lord Henry, Luc Fitzkerr, and Lord John himself. Lord Helmswick had remained one night before departing in the early morning hours on the seventh.

  Or so the book claimed. Could it be a lie—either intentional or not? After all, Mr. Hislop couldn’t sit at his post at all hours of the day and night. There must be times when he would take the word of others regarding the comings and goings of the castle’s guests. If Helmswick’s valise and his manservant had departed the premises, along with his carriage, then might Mr. Hislop simply have assumed the earl had left with them?

  It was something to consider.

  I was about to voice this speculation to Gage when a name entered on December ninth made me stiffen in surprise.

  He leaned closer, reading the word next to my finger. “Marsdale.” He scowled. “What the devil was he doing here then?”

  His exclamation echoed my thoughts exactly. Except, I very much feared I knew what he was doing here. After all, I’d witnessed his brief interaction with Lady Helmswick outside the ballroom—the curl of her lips, the manner in which his hand brushed the small of her back.

  A sinking feeling settled in my gut, for if my suspicions were correct, it might also explain why Helmswick would sneak into the castle through another entrance.

  I glanced up at Gage. “I think we need to speak with him.”

  The look in his eyes was grim with concern. “Let us hope, for once, he doesn’t prove to be the inveterate rogue he’s always purported himself to be.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  My misgivings continued to grow as we searched the remainder of the entries in the visitors’ book. True to Mr. Hislop’s assurances, every guest entered in the book was notated to have both arrived and departed, save for those currently in attendance for the Twelfth Night Ball. For the sake of thoroughness, Gage and I even read through each of those names, and between the two of us could account for every partygoer’s whereabouts, at least in regard to their location the previous evening.

  There were three gentlemen other than Helmswick who had visited Sunlaws Castle at some point following December first, but who had not taken part in the Twelfth Night festivities. So we noted their names and direction, but I was not hopeful that one of them would prove to be our victim. Two of them I recalled as being too old, and Gage believed the third possessed wheat-blond hair. But it wouldn’t do to leave any stone unturned.

  That being said, I needed a brief reprieve from turning over one particularly troublesome rock. So Gage escorted me to our chambers, where I asked Bree to bring me my luncheon, feeling unable to face a barrage of questions from the guests.

  Despite the reservations I harbored about Marsdale and our pending interview with him, I discovered they did not affect my appetite. It was undoubtedly due to the fact I’d eaten very little that morning, and that the growing babe inside me seemed to demand I fill my stomach at least every three hours. Regardless, I was soon stuffing my mouth with gusto.

  Ignoring Bree’s knowing grin, I urged her to sit. “I have another task for you,” I muttered between bites of roasted chicken.

  She perched on the edge of the chair opposite mine at the round table positioned before the wide bay of windows overlooking the vale beyond. The castle had been strategically positioned on a low hill within a peninsula formed by three streams. From my room’s vantage toward the northwest, I could see the nearest burn trickle past beneath two of the stone bridges leading away from the property. On the far side stood the buildings devoted to the castle’s brewery and distillery.

  Further west, the stream forked, forging one ribbon of water between the green and brown gorse-laden braes rising on both sides. Snow dusted the lower slopes of the southern face, contrasting starkly with the dark rock beneath. The other fork swept away to the south, forming a small pool near the base of one of the hills before carrying onward. The sky overhead was heavy with clouds, so that the lowest seemed to brush the tips of the braes with their wispy fingers.

  I felt a pulse of concern for Anderley, wondering if he’d set off for Haddington yet. There seemed little doubt that snow would fall before nightfall. I could only hope it would not hinder his and the groom’s progress eastward.

  Swallowing a drink of warm, spicy cider, I leaned toward Bree as I set the cup on the table. “I need you to find out which servants witnessed Lord Helmswick and his valet, Mr. Warren, leaving the castle. Who actually physically saw them depart?”

  She seemed to grasp the implications immediately. “Aye, I can do that.” She nibbled her lower lip for a moment, contemplating the matter. “Do ye ken when he was supposed to have left? Was it the middle o’ the night?”

  “Early morning—about half past four—on December seventh.” I tilted my head, chewing the bite of turnips with rosemary sauce in the corner of my mouth. “At least, if the visitors’ book is to be believed.”

  She nodded, her gaze straying toward the window.

  “What of the origin of the maid’s superstitions? Were you able to uncover anything about that?”

  It took her a moment to answer, but I didn’t think it was because she hadn’t formed one, but rather that she was distracted by other concerns. “No’ yet. One o’ the maids claimed she’d seen the monk’s ghost once herself, ootside the gun room.” Which stood near the staircase leading down into the doom. Her gaze shifted to meet mine. “Or at least a man in a monk’s robe. She never saw his face.”

  I sank back in my chair. “Interesting.”

  If the maid was to be believed, why would someone be lurking about the castle wearing a monk’s robe? But before I could give the question more than a precursory thought, Gage entered the room, followed by Anderley. At the sight of them, Bree pushed to her feet.

  “I thought you would have left by now,” I remarked, taking note of his riding clothes.

  “I did, too.” He cast a dour glance at Gage. “But there’s been a development.”

  Gage’s expression was no less forbidding. “Someone has taken the boots.”

  I dropped my fork on my plate with a clatter, splattering sauce. “You mean they crept into your chamber and took them?”

  “It appears so.”

  Bree joined the others in scowling, but I could only blink in incomprehension.

  I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe a servant mistook them for a pair of your boots that needed polishing.” Even as I said it, I knew that made little sense. The only person who would do such a thing would be Anderley himself, Gage’s valet, not some random member of the duke’s staff.

  “I already considered that,” Anderley replied, I supposed proving it wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “But no one has admitted to taking them.”

  “What of the footman Gage entrusted to carry the boot we showed Lady Helmswick back to his chamber? He must know something about it.”

  Gage reached down to steal a slice of stewed apple from my plate. “Anderley had him waiting for me just now when I returned to my chamber, and he swears not. Claims he set the boot next to its match by the writing desk, just as I’d instructed him, and then departed. That he has no idea what might have happened after that.”

  “Do you believe him?” I pressed as he took a bite, licking the sweet sauce from his fingers.

  A deep furrow formed in his brow as he chewed. “I do.” His gaze slid toward Anderley, who stood with his arms crossed.

  He glowered for one second longer and then sighed, his shoulders sinking. “I do, too.”

  “So we have no idea who took them,” I extrapolated. “Except for the obvious suspicion that it must be someone who wants to remove all evidence that the body in the cellar could
be Helmswick.” Another thought occurred to me. “What of the mace?”

  Gage swallowed the food in his mouth. “I’ve locked it in my traveling trunk.”

  I nodded, not surprised he’d refused to let the duke’s staff cart it away to storage as most guests would do. He often had items he wished to keep concealed from prying eyes, be they sensitive papers or the pistols and knives he sometimes carried on his person.

  “I should have done the same with the boots,” Anderley grumbled, pushing a strand of dark hair back from his forehead.

  Gage shook his head. “It’s no more your fault than it is mine. After all, if I’d kept possession of the boot I entrusted to the footman, then at least we would have one of them.”

  “Well, what’s done is done,” I declared, rising from my chair. “We’ll just have to figure out who took them and why.” I turned to Anderley. “In any case, you need to be on your way.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the view outside my window. “It’s going to begin snowing at any moment, and you do not want to be caught out on the roads in the dark and the blowing snow.”

  I was glad now that Gage had accepted Lord Edward’s offer to send a groom with him. If only I could be certain he could be trusted.

  “Mrs. Gage is right.” Gage stepped forward to grasp his valet’s shoulder briefly, staring intently into his eyes. “Watch your back. We don’t yet know who can be trusted.”

  He nodded.

  “And keep your scarf pulled up around your face if you’re not certain of the health of the company you’re in,” I hastened to add. “Sir Anthony ruminated often enough about the effects of bad air. I don’t know if it’s true, but given the circumstances, it’s best to be cautious.” I trusted the fact enough that I’d deigned to even mention my late husband’s name to convince Anderley of how earnest I was.

  “I will.” His dark eyes warmed with assurance. They flickered toward Bree, who stood quietly to the side, her hands clasped before her tightly.

  “I asked the kitchen maids to put together a sack o’ food for ye,” she stated flatly. “I set it in the sitting room. I’ll show ye.”

  Anderley’s eyes widened for a second, as if stunned by this simple kindness, but he bowed to me and Gage and then followed her stiff-backed figure from the room.

  Gage’s gaze met mine, and I arched my eyebrows in query, wondering if he had gotten any better explanation from his valet for their strange behavior the night before than I did from Bree. But he merely shook his head and reached down to use my fork to take another bite of stewed apple from my plate.

  I waited until the door had closed behind our personal servants before pressing him. “Is that a ‘No, Anderley didn’t tell me anything,’ or a ‘No, you don’t want to know’?”

  The corner of his lip quirked at the challenge in my voice. “That’s an ‘I don’t want to know.’” He ate another bite, chewing slowly as his eyes slid sideways toward the door. “I’ve learned it’s best not to pry into our servants’ personal lives. Unless it becomes problematic.”

  I ruminated over his words, tempted to argue, but then I recognized the wisdom in them. After all, for all the affection I might feel toward them, and the comradery sometimes fostered by our time spent investigating crimes, Bree and Anderley were still our servants. They were employed to do as we bade. While I didn’t see myself and Gage as harsh, unfeeling employers, only intent on satisfying our own desires and whims, they were still beholden to our demands and wishes. As a consequence, our relationship could never truly be as equals, and without that, whatever friendliness might lie between us was also inherently uneven.

  As such, was it really fair to expect Bree to confide every joy or pain? It should be enough for her to know I was sympathetic, and that if she ever wished to divulge some matter—large or small—I would listen.

  I exhaled a long breath. “I suppose we should speak with Marsdale, then.” The conversation would not get any easier by postponing it further.

  Gage dabbed his lips with the serviette I’d discarded on the table. “I sent that footman to find him with a note asking him to join us in our sitting room. I thought that might be more . . . prudent.”

  Given the fact that the last time we’d interrogated him for murder he’d not only admitted us to his chamber half dressed, but then proceeded to propose I paint him in the nude, I had to agree. At least by inviting him to our rooms instead, he was likely to be fully clothed. However, when a knock sounded on the external door to our private sitting room, Gage opened it to reveal not the irreverent marquess, but my brother.

  “Good heavens,” Trevor gasped, staggering inside. “I must have completed four laps of this infernal castle simply trying to locate your room.” He sank down on the sofa and rested his head back against the watery blue silk cushions, covering his eyes with his hand. The same watery blue shade covered the walls, and tinted the birds which soared with open wings over gold drapes.

  If anyone was suffering the effects from last night’s overindulgence, it was Trevor. His face was haggard and pale, his forehead shiny with sweat, and his eyes—when he lifted his hand long enough for me to see them—bloodshot.

  “You should be in bed,” I stated pitilessly.

  “Yes, well, I would be, only I have this sister who persists in tripping over dead bodies.”

  I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. “It is partially what Gage and I do—investigate crimes. Sometimes murder. In any case, you’re not responsible for me anymore, he is.” I flicked a hand at my husband, who stood gazing down at us in forbearance. “And we aren’t in any sort of danger.”

  Trevor parted his fingers to peer at me through them, his voice dripping with scorn. “When have you investigated a murder that hasn’t resulted in one of you finding yourself in danger?”

  I scowled. “That is not the point.”

  “How is it not the point?!”

  “I believe we’re straying from the matter at hand.” Gage raised his voice to intercede, sinking into the Foliot armchair opposite the one I’d chosen. “St. Mawr, you’ve now ascertained your sister is unharmed.” He paused a moment, allowing those calming words to sink in, before raising his eyebrows in expectation. “Is that the sole reason you sought us out, or do you have something more to tell us?”

  Trevor turned his glare on my husband, perhaps hearing the same bite underlying his tone that I did. Being an only child, Gage might be tolerant of, and even sometimes amused by, my squabbles with my brother and sister, but one thing he would not tolerate was anyone questioning his care and protection of me.

  “Quit being a muttonhead,” I told Trevor. “It’s not our fault you dipped too deep last night. Go sleep it off if you can’t be civil.”

  His jaw flexed as if biting back his words, and then it relaxed. “Have you spoken to Alana?”

  “About an hour and a half ago. Why?”

  His hand dropped to his side. “I was accosted by several guests on my way to find you through this labyrinth of a house, and a number of them seem intent on departing.”

  Given the fact Alana and Philip had left their children in the care of the governess and nursemaids some forty miles distant at Blakelaw House—our childhood home, which now belonged to Trevor—while we ventured to this house party, I could read between the lines.

  “They didn’t mention wanting to leave.” My gaze flicked toward Gage. “But we were rather preoccupied.”

  Gage clearly sensed the guilt suffusing my thoughts, for he strove to reassure me. “Had they wished to leave, they would have said something.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” Trevor chimed in. “Have you ever known Alana to let anything stand in her way when she wishes to be with her children?”

  “True.” As much as my sister loved me, I knew her children would always come first. As they should. I glanced downward, resting a hand over my abdomen. As I supposed mine would.

&nb
sp; I looked up to discover Trevor’s gaze had tracked my movements. When they lifted to meet mine, I was struck by the fact that he seemed to have come to some decision, some resolve. Though what it was, I couldn’t have told you.

  “I’ll go find Cromarty and Alana, then,” he declared, pushing to his feet. “Send word if you have need of me.”

  “We need to search the tunnel where the body was found,” Gage offered. “If you feel up to it, you could join us. Say, in an hour?”

  Trevor nodded slowly. “Just tell me where to meet you.”

  Gage issued him instructions and showed him out of the room. I waited until the door had shut behind Trevor before asking my husband about the olive branch he’d seemed to hold out to him.

  He stared down at the creamy white cushions before him where he rested his hands along the dark wood of the chair’s high back. “Yes, well, I suppose I can’t fault him for his brotherly concern.”

  “And?” I prompted when I could tell there was more he was choosing not to say.

  His gaze lifted to meet mine, sharp with aggravation, before reluctantly explaining. “I’ve already asked Lord Edward and his brother, Lord Henry, to assist me in my search of the tunnel, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two more of the duchess’s children also joined us. And as I suspect you have no intention of being left behind.” His eyebrows lifted toward his hairline in admonishment. “I decided it might be prudent if we were not outnumbered.”

  I frowned. “Do you expect trouble?”

  He turned to the side, the line of his jaw hardening. “I don’t know what to expect.”

  There was no doubt he was being evasive, for he must have some particular reason for not wishing to be outnumbered by the Kerr brothers. Unless it was purely a general suspicion. After all, the three youngest Kerr brothers had been some of the only people in residence for nearly the entirety of the month of December, which meant that any one of them could have been involved in the murder and concealment of that body in the crypt. Perhaps they all were.