A Stroke of Malice

by Anna Lee Huber

  “This body you found,” she began briskly. “Do you still believe it’s Helmswick?”

  “Well, thus far, we haven’t uncovered any viable alternatives, and we’re still waiting to hear from his stewards and solicitors. As far as we know, no one has heard from the earl in over four weeks. As for definitive proof.” I exhaled a weary breath. “We’re searching for it.”

  She nodded her head once. “Then it likely is the scoundrel.”

  “Is he? A scoundrel, I mean.”

  She tilted her head in consideration. “Perhaps ‘scoundrel’ is too strong a term. But he definitely isn’t a nice man.” Her face softened. “Not like my Lumpy.”

  I was aware of her fondness and continued affection for her late husband, whom she called Lumpy. I often wondered what he had thought of this sobriquet during life, no matter how lovingly she said it.

  “I don’t know much about Helmswick,” I admitted.

  “Well, he comes from good stock. His mother, God rest her soul, was a lovely woman. But she had absolutely no backbone. Quite the wilting violet whenever any difficulties or confrontation arose. Lived under the thumb of her husband, and then her son, until she died.”

  “Was her husband a tyrant then?” I asked over the rim of my cup as I lifted it to take another sip.

  “No, not particularly. No worse than most gentlemen.” Her gaze was sharp, unflinching from the truth. “She certainly never seemed to challenge him. But their son was of a different mold. I heard tell that he and his father used to get into terrific arguments. It would send her to bed for days.”

  “Did you ever hear what any of those arguments were about?”

  “Oh, the usual, I imagine. A young man eager to kick over the traces.” She shook her head. “He never seemed to be able to please his father, was his mother’s popular lament. But in my opinion, he never really tried.” Her words trailed away as her head turned to the side, and I could tell she’d thought of something. “There was one instance I remember quite clearly. It occurred perhaps a year before his father died. The late Lady Helmswick had a habit of defending her son’s actions, at least to others, but in this case, she didn’t even try to. I gathered that whatever he’d done was so shocking, she could hardly grapple with it.”

  Now this was interesting. I set my empty teacup and saucer down on the bed a short distance from me. “And what did his father do?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he knew. At least, his wife seemed determined he not know.”

  I sank back in my pillows, curious what the young Helmswick could have done that had so upset his compliant, indulgent mother that she had resolved to keep it from his father. Had she been able to keep the secret? And if not, what had the elder Helmswick’s reaction been? And did any of this have anything to do with what had happened to Helmswick here in the crypt?

  I couldn’t see how, but I tucked it away in my memory to consider later.

  “What of the rest of Helmswick’s life? The rest of his family? Was Lady Eleanor his first wife?” I’d not forgotten the strange statement he’d made to Charlotte about her making him a much more suitable bride.

  “Let’s see. Helmswick has no brothers or sisters. They all died in childhood, as they so often do.” She said this without any real inflection, unconscious of the pulse of fear those words sent through me. “His father’s brother was stationed somewhere in India. Quite the nabob, as I understand it. I believe he’s still there. And his mother was an only child. So I’m afraid there’s not much family to speak of. And no previous wives.”

  Then why had he said that to Charlotte? The fingers of my left hand tapped the coverlet beneath me in agitation as I puzzled this. Perhaps there had been an earlier attachment, a previous indiscretion. Someone he had been pressured to wed either because of some sort of thoughtless act or a familial understanding. Someone he had decided he would not wed because his consequence was too great. It might explain the incident that had so shocked his mother. If he had gotten, say, the vicar’s daughter with child and then refused to marry her. That would cause quite the stir.

  Unless the issue of suitability itself pertained to Lady Eleanor.

  “How much of a stickler to propriety is the younger Helmswick? At least, when it comes to his wife,” I clarified, for we all knew the rampant hypocrisy that most gentlemen—most men in general—held when it applied to their own behavior versus that of what they expected from their wives, sisters, and daughters.

  “Oh, he undoubtedly expects the strictest of decorum from his wife. Recall, he believes the example set by his mother and father to be the ideal.”

  “Except Lady Eleanor is no shrinking violet.”

  “No, she is not.”

  The look we shared was significant, both of us wondering how Lord Helmswick had handled this discovery. Had he tried to cow her? Had he resorted to violence? Or were vicious words and threats more his style? My fingers curled into fists at the remembrance of all I’d endured at Sir Anthony’s hands, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for the duchess’s daughter.

  “What of the rumors about her parentage? Would Helmswick have had any qualms about that?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Possibly. He certainly wouldn’t feel any such qualms about holding it against her.”

  I nodded. Undoubtedly, it was a familiar fault he hurled at her, as if the circumstances of her conception meant whatever charge he’d raised against her was to be expected.

  I laid my head back against the pillows to gaze up at the bed curtains, feeling the effects of the laudanum taking hold. This dose must have been slightly larger than the last. There was a fuzziness at the edge of my thoughts and my eyes felt sticky. I had to concentrate doubly hard to pay attention.

  “Are the rumors true then? About the younger four?” Lady Eleanor and Lord John had admitted to it, but I was curious what Lady Bearsden knew, both as an inveterate gossip and the dowager duchess’s friend.

  “Despite the duke’s acknowledging them as his, I don’t believe there’s truly any doubt.”

  “And the fathers? Do you know who they are?” I narrowed my eyes, wondering whether blackmail of some kind could play into all this. Whether the real fathers might wish to remain unknown. “Lady Eleanor all but acknowledged hers is royalty of some kind, and Lord John’s is some sort of explorer. But what of the other two?”

  Lady Bearsden seemed surprised by this. “She did? Well, yes, that’s what I’ve been led to believe as well. And as the children have grown into adults, it’s been easier to tell which of those rumors holds the most veracity. Lord Edward is the exact likeness of his alleged father.”

  “He is?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her nodding. “But perhaps you haven’t met him. He is rather a recluse these days.” She fell silent, but I could tell she knew more. I waited, curious about her sudden reticence to speak.

  “And Lord Henry?” I ventured.

  “He looks much like his alleged father as well,” she said quietly, her voice pregnant with unspoken things. “But I’m surprised you haven’t guessed it.”

  My gaze flicked to meet hers.

  She stared back at me steadily. “But perhaps you have.”

  I wanted to protest that I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I realized I had noted something familiar about Lord Henry’s features. Something that tickled in my brain, but I hadn’t been able to place it.

  She thumped her cane on the floor as if preparing to rise. “If you wish to know more, you should simply ask the duchess. She would know better than all the rest of us.”

  I blinked, pushing Lord Henry’s image from my mind. “Yes, but will she tell me?”

  She shrugged, pushing to her feet. “You won’t know until you ask.” She paused. “And when you do so, you should also ask her the real reason she hurried back to Sunlaws.”

/>   I lifted my head, only to let it fall back again as it spun slightly. “What do you . . . ?”

  Lady Bearsden raised her hand, halting my words. “It is not my secret to share. But tell her that if she does not inform you herself, the dowager duchess has promised to do so.”

  So that was why the two older ladies had wished to speak with me the evening before. I’d held my own doubts that the duchess had been completely truthful about her reasons for rushing off to Scotland at her daughter’s summons, but here appeared to be confirmation I’d been right to be mistrustful.

  She crossed to the bed to gaze down at me with gentle affection. “Rest for now, my dear. You look exhausted. And I suspect you’ll need all your wits about you when you speak with the duchess. Selina will still be here when you wake.”

  I nodded, recognizing she was right. My eyelids were already at half-mast.

  “Take care of yourself and that baby. I expect to be able to dote on him at Charlotte’s wedding.”

  I laughed. “We don’t know that it’s a boy. My Aunt Cait is convinced it’s a girl.”

  “Well, my niece’s future mother-in-law can say what she wants, but only a boy would cause you this much trouble.”

  I smiled at her departing figure. Except she didn’t know just how little trouble Gage had been to his own mother. Or how much trouble I had been to mine.

  Hours later when I woke, the snow was falling fast and furious. I stood at the window, watching the flakes swirl past, smothering everything with a layer of white. The braes in the distance were but a hazy blur—a denser smudge amid the whirling white eddy of the sky. I shivered in a stray draft, pulling the shawl I’d draped over my shoulders tighter around me. I hoped everyone who had set off from the castle this morning had been able to escape the worst.

  So lost in my own thoughts was I that I didn’t hear the door open behind me until Bree spoke. “M’lady! Are ye no’ supposed to be in bed?” she chastised. “Come away from there afore ye catch a chill.”

  I sighed, turning to face her. “The surgeon did not tell me I had to remain chained to the bed.”

  “Nay, but he warned ye no’ to strain yerself.”

  I arched a single eyebrow. “I hardly think standing to gaze out the window will cause me any undo strain.” Even so, I returned to the edge of the bed. My stomach growled at the smell of the creamy soup sprinkled with chopped parsley and the slices of fresh bread lightly steaming on the tray. The clock said the day was edging toward late afternoon and I hadn’t eaten since daybreak.

  “Climb under the covers, and I’ll set the tray on yer lap,” Bree directed.

  I narrowed my eyes at her, knowing this was a ploy to get me properly back into bed, but the added sight of a thick hunk of yellow cheese and a dish of toffee pudding convinced me it would be worth it.

  Once Bree had me settled and I had stuffed my mouth full of buttered bread, she crossed the room to potter about, straightening items that didn’t need to be straightened. She was limping a bit, the old injury to her leg troubling her as it did when the weather grew damp. After I’d sated my hunger with a few bites of food, I slowed down to survey my tray more closely. Not finding what I’d hoped for, I decided to ask for it.

  “Are there any messages for me?”

  “Nay, m’lady.” Bree turned to clasp her hands before her. “Though Mr. Gage asked me to tell ye he’d be back before dinner.”

  “He’s gone out?” I asked in surprise, my gaze straying toward the blustering snow outside the window.

  She nodded. “To the brewery.”

  I frowned. He must be making inquiries about Colum Brunton. Yet his note was not the one I’d been expecting, but one from Alana. Surely she and Philip had already set off for Blakelaw House. If she’d come to see me, as Gage said he would ask her to do, and I’d been asleep, then I would have thought she would leave me a message of some kind, even if it was brief.

  But perhaps she hadn’t come. Alana could hold a grudge as long as anyone I knew. She and Philip were sadly alike in that. During the year and a half I’d spent living with them, I’d learned to tiptoe about the house when either of them were in a stony sulk. Truth be told, had they not been so unfashionable as to share a bedchamber, I wondered if they would still be so happily married. Being forced to lie in such close proximity to each other each night made them address the unspoken things between them either in words or deeds.

  I felt a tightening in my stomach at the possibility my sister had elected to depart without responding to my request that she come see me. It threatened to squash my appetite. Picking up the wedge of cheese, I ripped off a large hunk and popped it in my mouth defiantly, welcoming its sharp bite. If she chose to reject the olive branch I’d extended, that was her fault, not mine. I had more pressing things to occupy my mind with than her self-righteousness.

  “I’m sure he’ll take care, m’lady,” Bree assured me.

  I glanced at her in startlement, and then realized that my face must have betrayed my internal struggle. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” I replied as I swallowed, choosing not to correct her.

  I swirled my spoon through the thick soup, deciding it would be best to change the subject. “What of you? Have you made any progress locating anyone who witnessed Lord Helmswick leaving the castle on December seventh?”

  She seemed oddly reluctant to reply, and I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

  “I have, m’lady. I told Mr. Gage aboot it as he was leavin’.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, I grew impatient. “And?”

  She inhaled a quick breath. “There’s a footman. Says he was on duty the mornin’ Lord Helmswick left.”

  “So he saw Helmswick depart with his own two eyes?”

  She nodded. “Says he closed the carriage door behind him and raised the step.”

  I sat back to consider this information, frustrated by her continued agitation as she shifted from foot to foot. I eyed her resignedly. “Is there more? Or are you honestly afraid I’ll leap from this bed and stride downstairs, demanding to speak with this footman?”

  She had the grace to flush as I laid out the absurdity of the worries she clearly harbored.

  I shook my head, returning to my meal. “You should know better than to think me so contrary and foolish.”

  “I beg yer pardon, m’lady.” She rocked back on her heels. “But ye do seem to find yerself in rather a lot o’ scrapes.”

  One near tumble down the stairs and suddenly I was in danger at every turn. I fought the urge to lash out as I had done with Alana. They were merely concerned. I should focus on that, and the fact that they cared enough to express that concern. At least, that’s what Gage would counsel.

  Exhaling a long breath of exasperation, I returned to the matter of the footman. “Mr. Gage can speak with this footman when he returns and form his own assessment, but what of you? What do you think of him?” I tilted my head, suddenly wondering which servant Anderley had taken exception to her dancing with. “Do you think he was being honest?”

  Her brow furrowed and her lips twisted as she gave the questions some serious deliberation. “Well, he’s one o’ the junior footmen.”

  I nodded. If he’d been on duty during the wee hours of the morning, when the ledger indicated Lord Helmswick had departed, then he would almost certainly have been lower ranked.

  “So he’s no’ so high and mighty as some. Seems to be a hard worker.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Though he’s no’ learned the knack for keepin’ his gloves clean yet. I had to show him how to scrub away a spot in a pinch.”

  Which was probably how she’d convinced him to talk to her.

  Her good humor faded. “But he’s also young and verra eager to please.”

  “To prove his loyalty?” I guessed.

  Her mouth tightened. “Aye.”

  “So if Tait, or even
the duke or duchess, asked him to lie about such a thing, he might?”

  “Maybe.”

  I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin, wiping away a dribble of soup. Perhaps Gage would be able to form a more definite impression, or even inveigle the truth from him. Otherwise, we were brought to point nonplus. We couldn’t prove Helmswick himself had left, but we also couldn’t disprove it.

  Truth be told, the entire affair was beginning to feel bereft of options, a muddying swirl of conjecture and probabilities, all impossible to prove and devoid of further recourse.

  I ate in silence for a few more minutes and then indicated Bree should take the tray. My thoughts were too much a tangle, and my insides as well, for me to even be able to take another bite of the delicious toffee pudding.

  She set it to the side without a disapproving look for not finishing the meal. I supposed she was taking pity on me.

  While she checked the bandage wrapped around my shoulder to stabilize it, making certain it was not abrading my skin, I studied the tiny row of flowers adorning the puffed sleeve of her pale pink gown. The floral trim had been one of my presents to her for Handsel Monday. Per tradition, our other servants had received new uniforms along with their few small gifts, but as a lady’s maid, Bree was allowed to wear simple gowns—most of which were my castoffs made over, but some of which were purchased for her new. I’d noticed her eyeing the trim in a shop in London while we were selecting winter accessories to match the dresses I’d had made to accommodate my ever-expanding waistline. I was pleased to see she’d already put the trim to good use.

  “There,” she declared as she finished adjusting the soft linen cloth and pulled the sleeve of my nightdress back over my shoulder. “Noo, that shouldna trouble you.”

  I thanked her, refraining from pointing out that it hadn’t troubled me before. She helped me loop the sling back over my head and around my arm, and yet still I hadn’t found a way to voice the sentiments I wanted to. However, when she made to rise, I halted her with a gentle touch to her arm.

  The pupils of her whisky brown eyes flared in surprise, but she waited patiently as I gathered my words.