A Study in Death

Book 4: A Lady Darby Mystery

by Anna Lee Huber

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Female Sleuths; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Scotland, 1831. After a tumultuous courtship complicated by three deadly inquiries, Lady Kiera Darby is thrilled to have found both an investigative partner and a fiancé in Sebastian Gage. But with her well-meaning-and very pregnant-sister planning on making their wedding the event of the season, Kiera could use a respite from the impending madness.



Commissioned to paint the portrait of Lady Drummond, Kiera is saddened when she recognizes the pain in the baroness's eyes. Lord Drummond is a brute, and his brusque treatment of his wife forces Kiera to think of the torment caused by her own late husband.



Kiera isn't sure how to help, but when she finds Lady Drummond prostrate on the floor, things take a fatal turn. The physician called to the house and Lord Drummond appear satisfied to rule her death natural, but Kiera is convinced that poison is the real culprit.



Now, armed only with her knowledge of the macabre and her convictions, Kiera intends to discover the truth behind the baroness's death-no matter what, or who, stands in her way . . .

Release date: July 7, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat.

Every hour wounds, the last kills.

—A SAYING FOUND ON ROMAN CLOCKS

EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

MARCH 1831

“Can you turn your head a little to the right?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Lady Drummond gasped, swiftly complying.

At that angle the light fell just so on her honey blond curls, and hid the streak of gray beginning to show at her right temple. It would also allow me to accent the height of her cheekbones and the pert tilt of her chin. I narrowed my eyes to study just how the swirls of butter and goldenrod formed a pattern in her elaborately styled hair, and then I dipped my brush in the paint on my palette.

“Lady Darby, you must grow weary of reminding your subjects not to fidget and turn,” she chattered in her light, melodic voice, careful not to move even her mouth too much. “And children! How on earth do you coax them to sit still? My Freddy and Victoria would never last a minute.”

A smile curled my lips as I applied the paint carefully to the canvas before me. “Oh, I don’t need a subject to remain perfectly still, just when I’m focusing on a particular part of their anatomy. Like your face and hair.” I brushed a small dab of the yellow ochre into the goldenrod hue I’d mixed for Lady Drummond’s hair. It needed a hint more gold. “When children move about, it actually helps me to better capture them. After all, they’re far from static. If I can observe how restless they are when trying to sit still, then I know to paint their vitality. If they giggle frequently, then I know to light their eyes with delight.”

“And I suppose you do the same with adults?” she guessed.

“To a certain extent,” I replied distractedly, trying to imitate the definition in the ringlets surrounding her face.

She laughed a bit breathlessly. “I think I’m afraid to ask what my twitching says about me.”

The sharpness in her tone belied the humor implied by her statement, and I couldn’t help but peer around the canvas at her. She sat very still, but the hands that had lain so elegantly in her lap were now clasped together, and her thumbs rubbed against each other, turning the skin pink. Normally I didn’t encourage the subjects of my portrait commissions to talk, but from the very beginning there had been something about Lady Drummond that had been different. It was that difference that compelled me to reassure her now.

“Oh, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I replied casually, dabbing my brush in the paint on my palette. However, when I snuck another glance at her, I could see in her troubled blue eyes that she knew I was lying.

Perhaps I should have said something, but how could I admit I recognized her sadness, her loneliness? That I sensed her uneasiness, that her perfect life was not all that it seemed, and that her husband was quite possibly a brute. Although we’d spent several hours together every morning over the past two weeks, we were not friends. And I knew from experience that people did not like to have their carefully cultivated façades ripped away, whether you could see beyond them or not. They preferred the disingenuousness of the lie to the nakedness of the truth.

If any society lady might react differently to such an unveiling, I suspected it would be Lady Drummond, but still I was hesitant to take a chance. I genuinely liked her, and I quailed at the thought of hurting her, even if there was a possibility it might help. She was warmhearted and kind, quick-witted and even quicker to smile, and the sorrow I saw in her eyes called to the same melancholy I buried inside me. All the secret hurts we wished to keep hidden, sometimes even from ourselves. Though I now had my fiancé—and sometimes investigative partner—Sebastian Gage, to share mine. I wasn’t certain Lady Drummond had anyone to lighten her burden.

The ornate gold clock on the mantel in the drawing room chimed the hour, recalling me to my task. Lady Drummond had informed me she had an appointment this afternoon, so I would only have an hour more of her time before she would need to ready herself. I rested my brush on my palette and flexed my right hand, trying to work out the stiffness the continued cold weather caused in my joints.

Lady Drummond observed my movements. “Shall I call Jeffers to come stoke up the fire?”

“No. The fire is already burning quite brightly, and I suspect the room is as warm as it’s going to get.”

“Yes, this winter has been dreadful, hasn’t it? But are you certain? I know this room can be quite drafty.”

“I’m sure.”

“I bet Lady Cromarty doesn’t mind the chill.” Her lips quirked in amused remembrance. “I recall how dreadfully hot I was when I was enceinte with my children.”

My sister, Alana, was eight months heavy with her fourth child, and the growing discomfort had not improved her temperament.

“Yes. Lord Cromarty and I, and even the servants, have taken to wearing extra layers of clothing.”

Lady Drummond smiled.

I dipped my brush in the goldenrod hue and focused once more on Lady Drummond’s curls. She obliged me by returning to her posed position without my even having to ask. The sun outside the window shone brighter than it had a few minutes ago, indicating there had been a break in the perpetual ceiling of gray clouds—a rare treat for Edinburgh in March. When such a thing happened, nearly the entire city was tempted outside to enjoy the rays of warmth while they could. But Lady Drummond and I stayed where we were.

I had to admit the peacock blue silk wallpaper made a stunning backdrop to the baroness’s portrait, and it brought a depth of hue to her somewhat watery blue eyes that would have been lacking otherwise. The forest green pleated fabric of her dress and gold braid were striking, but truly did nothing for her features. If not for the brilliant blue backdrop, I might have broken yet another of my rules and urged her to choose a different gown.

“And how is Lady Cromarty feeling?” Lady Drummond asked kindly.

“Quite well,” I admitted. “I was cheered to see her moving about the house yesterday, and some color has returned to her cheeks.”

After arriving several minutes late and rather flustered one morning the week before because Alana had been ill, I had hesitantly admitted my concerns over my sister’s impending delivery. The birth of Alana’s third child had been met with complications, so we were all anxious for her and the new baby’s health.

She beamed. “That’s wonderful. And I’m sure a relief to you and Lord Cromarty.”

“Yes,” I replied simply, though I couldn’t help thinking of my brotherin-law Philip’s increasingly strange behavior over the past month since my return to Edinburgh. There wasn’t anything distinct I could point to, but it niggled at the back of my mind nonetheless. I knew he’d been busy with political matters, so perhaps it was just his distraction. I pushed the worrying thought away.

“Well, I have some creams and unctions I would like to send her, if I may. A friend of mine introduced them to me as I was entering the last stage of my confinement when my skin was so taut it was almost unbearable.” She swiveled on her gold and ecru Chippendale chair to reach for a piece of foolscap on the desk nearby, forgetting to remain still in her enthusiasm, and nearly upsetting the bowl of sugared plums she had been nibbling on. “I’ll send a note around now asking Hinkley’s to deliver it.”

I thanked her, having grown accustomed to ladies offering me helpful advice for my sister since she’d officially entered her confinement a few weeks ago. Some of their suggestions were beyond bizarre, like avoiding looking in the mirror to prevent giving her baby bad dreams, or inducing sneezing with pepper should her labor prove difficult. At least Lady Drummond’s seemed to be truly useful. Alana had been complaining about how dry and itchy her skin felt, particularly over her ever-expanding abdomen. I’d made a note to search out something for her since she’d been discouraged by her physician from making any more outings.

Dropping my brush in the cup of linseed oil I had at the ready, I chose a rigger brush and began to highlight Lady Drummond’s curls with the shade of butter. When I glanced up, I could see she was worrying her hands again, as she’d been doing quite frequently this morning. I could tell that something was troubling her, but it didn’t seem my place to ask her about it. Perhaps if we’d been acquainted longer, on surer ground, I might have dared, but as things currently stood, it merely seemed prying.

I had just begun to lose myself in the rhythm of my movements when she spoke. “Your fiancé, Mr. Gage . . .” She cleared her throat. “Are you still assisting him with his inquiries?”

I slowly lifted my head, surprised by the question, and the too-casual way she’d attempted to phrase it. She sat tensely, waiting for my answer.

“Yes, I am,” I managed to reply. “Though we’ve nothing notable to investigate at the moment. Just a few small matters.” I tilted my head to the side, trying to decide whether to risk a question of my own. “Why do . . .”

But I was cut off by the sound of the drawing room door bursting open. It thudded against the wall behind it.

“What is the meanin’ o’ this?” Lord Drummond shouted, crossing the room toward his wife in a few angry strides.

I unconsciously shrank away from him, reminded too intimately of some of the encounters I’d had in the past with my late husband, Sir Anthony. Lady Drummond did the same and then forced herself to sit upright, facing her husband’s glare.

He shook the paper he was holding in her face, causing her to flinch. “I asked ye a question. What is this?”

She stared past her husband at me, and I could read the horror and humiliation reflected in her eyes. Lord Drummond followed her gaze, his head rearing backward in shock when he saw me, clearly having neglected to notice my presence.

The muscles in his jaw tensed and then released before he bit out, “Lady Darby, I require a word alone wi’ my wife. Please leave us.” He turned away from me in dismissal.

I stood there stunned. I wanted to do nothing but comply, but my muscles wouldn’t seem to budge. It was as if they remembered all too well the times when Sir Anthony had cornered me, furious about something I’d done or simply frustrated and eager to take it out on me. It was not unlike facing a predator. Stand still. Don’t make any sudden movements. Don’t look him in the eye or he’ll see it as a challenge.

Lady Drummond seemed to employ the same tactic, sitting rigidly in her chair, not daring to lift her gaze. The sight of her struggling not to cower from her husband as he towered over her shifted something inside me. It had been nearly two years since my husband’s death, and yet I still struggled to escape from his domineering shadow. To watch another woman face such an existence angered me. And suddenly I was tired of remaining quiet.

From our first meeting, I’d suspected Lord Drummond of being a controlling brute. It was written in the hard glares, the proprietorial grip of his hand on his wife’s arm, the clipped way he spoke to her. I’d seen no bruises on Lady Drummond, but there were ways to hurt someone without leaving a mark. I knew.

Even if he didn’t physically harm her, I’d witnessed enough of his displays of temper to know that he did not treat his wife as he should. A wife who was loved and cherished did not wince when she heard her husband walking through the house.

“No,” I stated firmly, swirling my brush through the paint on the palette. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lord Drummond’s shoulders tense, but I told myself to ignore him. I flicked another glance at the clock on the mantel. “I still have thirty-four minutes with Lady Drummond, and I don’t intend to waste them.”

Lord Drummond turned his hard glare on me. “Ye will do as I ask,” he replied, speaking in sharp tones. “I hired ye to paint my wife’s portrait . . .”

“No,” I replied as coolly as I could manage.

Lord Drummond’s posture stiffened further, proving he was unaccustomed to being interrupted. Lady Drummond’s eyes were wide and almost wild, as if she couldn’t believe what I was doing. I’m not sure I could either.

“You requested I paint your wife’s portrait. I choose which commissions to take. I’m not obliged to accept any of them.” I leaned in to pretend to apply my brush to the canvas, though in actuality my hand was shaking. “I have other commissions already lined up, and I do not wish to fall behind schedule. Nor do I intend to waste the costly pigments I mixed this morning specifically for your wife’s portrait.”

Lord Drummond opened his mouth to argue, and I finally looked up to scowl at him and cut him off. “So I’m afraid you’ll just have to throw your tantrum later.”

The room fell silent, and I realized with a sick feeling of dread that I might have overstepped myself. My refusal to leave was one thing, but that last remark had been dangerously insulting, no matter how true it was. My heart beat loudly in my ears as I stared Lord Drummond down, knowing if I looked aside now, the argument would be lost, and Lady Drummond would suffer the consequences.

When Lord Drummond’s nostrils flared and he turned to stalk from the room, I could hardly believe I’d won, though I dared not move until he’d slammed the door shut behind him. Then I exhaled and turned to stare into the hearth, my heart still galloping in my chest. A feeling of elation began to fill me and I couldn’t stop a smile from curling my lips. It felt good to stand up to a bully for once after years of shrinking from my late husband.

However, my pride was short-lived.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lady Drummond murmured so softly I almost didn’t hear her. Her eyes were clouded with fear, her hands pressed to her abdomen.

And I suddenly realized what I’d done.

Lord Drummond was little danger to me. For him to strike a woman outside of his protection would have been beyond the pale of gentlemanly conduct. My fiancé or brother or even brother-in-law would have been quite within their rights to demand satisfaction for such a slight to their female relative. However, Lady Drummond had no such defense. Being Lord Drummond’s wife, he could do as he wished to her, as Sir Anthony had done to me. Yes, society generally frowned upon physically harming one’s wife, but they also expected that husbands should give their wives moderate correction, so spouses who went too far in their discipline were rarely prosecuted. Perhaps my standing up to Lord Drummond had been a personal triumph, but it had also potentially exposed Lady Drummond to harsher treatment.

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t do nothing,” I pleaded. “I know what he would have done had I left the room.”

Lady Drummond’s gaze dropped to the Aubusson rug. I hated saying the words, hurting her by destroying the fiction, but it was the truth.

“Perhaps this will give him some time to calm down.” I inhaled shakily before adding, “Sometimes it works.”

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, and I could tell she understood I was speaking from experience. Something passed between us then, though neither of us said a word. It was an acceptance similar to what I imagined soldiers felt for each other, having been through the hellish nightmares of war together. Lady Drummond and I had been through a different sort of battle, but a battle it was all the same.

I lifted my brush and turned back toward the canvas, unwilling to push Lady Drummond for more than I was prepared to give.

It was only later that I realized what a mistake that had been. I should have urged her to confide all—what was making her nervous, what cruel acts her husband was capable of, what the contents of the letter that had so angered him had been. Instead, I allowed her to keep her secrets, and by doing so, they almost remained hidden forever.

If only I’d made her talk, the events that followed would have unfolded quite differently.

CHAPTER 2

Edinburgh’s brief glimpse of the sun had passed by the time I emerged from Drummond House, and the sky was once more weighted down by dark gray clouds. I hurried down the steps and into Philip’s carriage just as the first drops of rain began to splatter against the roof.

Though only half past noon, the Cromarty town house was ablaze with light as we pulled around Charlotte Square and up to the door. I dashed inside as Figgins held the door open for me. I could hear the murmur of happy voices through the open drawing room doors above.

The butler smiled as he took my cloak and gloves. “Mr. Gage is here.”

My heart gave a leap, as it always did upon hearing that Sebastian Gage was in the vicinity. I wondered if it always would.

I nodded in thanks and passed my satchel of art supplies, including my set of specially weighted brushes, to the maid standing nearby. She would take it to my bedchamber, and I would transfer it to my locked art studio on the top floor later.

“Please tell Bree I’ll be up in a moment,” I told her, though I knew the request was pointless. My lady’s maid would understand what the arrival of my satchel meant, and she would already have my afternoon dress laid out for me.

Brushing a hand down over my plain slate gray serge dress, I climbed the stairs to the drawing room, knowing I would never be allowed to sneak past to change before greeting them.

Gage sat to the right of my sister where she reclined on a spring green fainting couch near the Georgian windows, her hands resting instinctively and protectively over her full belly. She was smiling at something he said, and I was grateful for the welcome flush it brought to Alana’s cheeks. Gage, for his part, also seemed to be enjoying himself. His pale blue eyes crinkled with humor as he leaned back in his chair and rested one booted ankle over his other knee. Though his golden curls had recently been trimmed shorter than usual, they were still artfully arranged in their normal style.

Philip was the first to notice me as he entered through the connecting door from the parlor with a stack of correspondence in his hands. More parliamentary business, I assumed. “Ah, there you are, Kiera.” He nodded to Gage with a twinkle in his eyes. “Now you can distract your fiancé from filling my wife’s ears full of nonsense.”

My fiancé. Those words still astonished me every time I heard them.

After my disastrous marriage to the late great anatomist Sir Anthony Darby, and the scandal that followed the revelation of my forced involvement with his dissections, I had thought never to marry again. I had also thought never again to have anything to do with corpses, and yet a year and half later I’d found myself assisting with the investigation of a gentlewoman’s murder. It was during that investigation that I had met Sebastian Gage, gentleman inquiry agent, and now after seven months of tumultuous courtship, and three treacherous inquiries, we were engaged to marry.

“What has he been telling her this time?” I remarked, good-naturedly playing along as Gage rose from his chair.

“Just that the sun made an appearance this morning, even though we all know it’s much too early in the year for such a thing in Edinburgh.”

“Ah, but it did. I saw it through Lady Drummond’s window.”

A smile playing across his lips, Gage took hold of my hands and leaned in to kiss my cheek. I inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne as well as the faint odor of sawdust, telling me he’d likely been building something that morning in the workshop in the basement of the building where he rented his bachelor quarters.

“Well, dash it,” Philip muttered. “That means I owe Strathblane five quid.”

Momentarily distracted, I turned to watch Philip drop into the chair Gage had just vacated. “You wagered on the weather?”

Philip shrugged his broad shoulders. “What else is there to wager on?”

I smiled. My brother-in-law was too chivalrous to gamble on the ridiculous and sometimes scandalous things that most gentlemen bet on—the length of affairs de coeur, the measurement of an opera singer’s bosom, or whether one man would have a legitimate child before another man. From the fond look in my sister’s eyes, I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

I leaned over to kiss her cheek, noticing her maid had added a cherry red ribbon trim to her jonquil floral morning dress, one of the only gowns that still fit her comfortably at this stage of her confinement. It was a welcome addition as the other colors had begun to fade.

“You have paint on your cheek, dear,” Alana murmured.

I nodded, promising to return shortly.

After scrubbing my neck, face, and hands clean, and allowing Bree to help me into a Pomona green gown much more suitable to entertaining, I rejoined the others. It had taken longer than expected to fix my hair, which, per usual, was already falling out of its pins. So by the time I settled onto the settee next to Gage, Alana had introduced her new favorite subject—preparations for our wedding.

It was not that I minded my sister’s enthusiasm, and in fact, being hopeless myself at social events and planning, I welcomed her assistance. But bit by bit it had all begun to snowball out of control, growing from a small ceremony and wedding breakfast with family and close friends to something more akin now to the event of the season. Oh, Alana wasn’t imprudent enough to call it that, knowing how the words would terrify me, but I wasn’t fooled. I could see what an enormous, elaborate affair it was becoming.

Several times I had wanted to speak up, to halt the monstrosity my wedding was growing into, to chop the guest list to a tenth its size. But Alana seemed so happy, and it had given her something to occupy her time. I knew how trying she found it to be largely restricted to the house. She was a social creature, eager to interact with others.

As was Gage—the other reason I hadn’t opposed their plans. He seemed quite happy inviting half the members of the ton, who all admired and adored him. I was the outsider, the eccentric, the person most likely to trip over her hem as she walked down the aisle.

Philip could sense my tension, and had even tried several times to speak up on my behalf, but Alana had ignored him, insisting this was what I’d wanted. Gage had at least pulled me aside to ask if that was true, and I’d been unable to tell him no. Not when it seemed such a little thing in the grand scheme of it all. Our wedding was just one day. Our marriage would be the rest of our lives, and that was the part I was most looking forward to. Especially when Gage took me in his arms.

Still, Philip shot me a sympathetic look as Alana launched into her recommendation for the floral arrangements. I tried to be attentive, but my thoughts continued to return to Lady Drummond. I couldn’t help but wonder if her husband’s temper had cooled, or if the delay I forced had only made matters worse for the baroness. After all, there were just as many people who stewed in their anger—building themselves up into a fury—as there were those who reacted without thinking. What if, that very moment, she was suffering her husband’s wrath?

Apparently my worries did not go unnoticed, for Gage reached over to still my hand where I had begun to fuss with a piece of my gown’s lace trim. I looked up to find him watching me in quiet concern and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. But he was not fooled.

“Lady Cromarty,” he interrupted my sister. “Would you mind if I spoke with Kiera alone for a moment before luncheon?”

My sister glanced between us. “Of course.” She smiled. “And please, I’ve told you before. Call me Alana. After all, you’re to be my brother.”

“You can use my study,” Philip offered, never lifting his eyes from his stack of dispatches.

Gage escorted me down the stairs, but did not speak what was on his mind until he’d closed the study door behind us very properly, leaving it slightly ajar. I strolled toward the hearth, where the fire was banked, giving off only a minimum of heat. Lifting my eyes, I stared up at the portrait I’d painted of Alana and the children and tried to gather my thoughts, to decide how much I wanted to reveal. How much Lady Drummond would be comfortable with me divulging.

Gage joined me in my contemplation of the painting. “Kiera,” he began. “You know you don’t have to defer to your sister’s opinion.”

I turned to look at him in surprise.

“If you’d rather have forget-me-nots instead of roses, or daffodils instead of tulips, you should say so.”

I offered him a gentle smile. “Gage, I don’t really care about all of that. You know that.”

“Then what’s troubling you?” His gaze searched mine. “I can tell when something is wrong.”

I lowered my head, staring at the speckled stone slab before the hearth. “Something . . . upsetting happened at Lady Drummond’s this morning.”

He pivoted to face me more fully. “What do you mean?”

I lifted my eyes, still trying to decide exactly what to say. “Lord Drummond interrupted us. He was furious with his wife. He shook a letter in her face.”

“Well, I suppose there was something about it that displeased him.”

“Yes, but it was more than that.” I swallowed, wishing Gage would come to the same conclusion I had without my having to disclose so much. “I don’t think he treats his wife very well,” I told him slowly.

His pupils widened in comprehension.

“Do you know Lord Drummond?”

His mouth flattened into a frown. “Not really. Not nearly enough to be familiar with his temperament.”

I nodded, biting my lip as I looked away.

“He’s a former navy man. Received his title for services to the Crown during the war with Napoleon. Perhaps, like my father, he still acts like he’s commanding his crew from the quarterdeck of his ship,” he suggested. The corners of his eyes crinkled, letting me know he was as much concerned for me as he was for the Drummonds.

“It’s more than that,” I insisted. I smiled tightly. “Remember, I would know.”

Though I had never shared all, he knew enough about Sir Anthony’s ill treatment of me to understand what I meant.

Gage nodded and pulled me close, tucking my head under his chin. I inhaled deeply and wrapped my arms around him, soaking up the warmth and comfort of his embrace. I hadn’t even known how much I needed it.

“Is there something I can do?” His chest rumbled against my ear.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Can . . . can I think about it?”

“Of course.”

I closed my eyes as he pressed a kiss into my hair, wishing there were an easy solution to Lady Drummond’s predicament.

CHAPTER 3

I glanced up and down Hanover Street, my arms wrapped around me as I shivered in the cold wind. What was taking so long? I reached up to pound the knocker on the door of Number 99 once more, bouncing on my heels, trying to warm myself. Normally, the Drummonds’ ever-efficient butler, Jeffers, was prepared to let me in before I’d even climbed the steps, but this morning I’d been waiting at least a full minute, possibly longer, for someone to answer the door.

I looked back at Philip’s carriage still parked on the street. The coachman and footman stared up at me, awaiting further instructions. I offered them a weak smile and then turned to wrap on the door for a fourth time.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as the royal blue door remained closed. Something must be very wrong for the staff to ignore my knocking for s