The Anatomist's Wife (20 page)

“So you didn’t traipse into the forest?”

Mr. Fitzpatrick’s face crinkled in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, there’s a great many reasons, but never mind.” Gage studied him closely, and
I could tell he was trying to make a decision about something. I didn’t think it had
to do with whether to believe his explanation for the mud, which even I found convincing.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick,” he began seriously. “I need your word that whatever is revealed
in this office will not be spoken of to anyone who is not present.”

Mr. Fitzpatrick turned to look at me more directly.

“Do I have it?”

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

I scrutinized Gage and wondered where he was leading this conversation.

“The reason Lady Godwin’s figure had begun to change was not because she was getting
fat. She was with child.”

Mr. Fitzpatrick’s eyes opened so wide I thought they might pop out of their sockets.
“I . . . well . . . are you sure?” he spluttered.

Gage exchanged a glance with me. “Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Very sure,” he replied dryly.

“Well . . .” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “Thank heavens Godwin was in India.
If he knew I had been sticking my . . . uh . . .” He flicked a panicked look at me. ”Bedding
his wife while she was in such a state, he would have chopped my . . . uh . . . hurt
me badly.”

Gage arched an eyebrow rather eloquently. “Well, Lord Godwin is not here. And he’s
not the father.”

“He’s not? Well, I’ll be.”

I almost sighed aloud at the man’s idiocy.

“Then who is?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Gage replied with much more patience than
I could have mustered. “So far we know that Lord Marsdale bedded her in February,
about a month before she would have gotten with child, and Mr. Calvin in . . .”

“Mr. Calvin bedded Lady Godwin?” Mr. Fitzpatrick interrupted. “Well, I’ll be damned.
There’s more to the prig than I thought.”

Gage ignored him. “And Mr. Calvin in May or June, which is too late. You said you
never bedded her until the end of June.”

“That’s the truth.”

“So we’re left wondering who lay between her sheets in March. Do you have any idea?”

Mr. Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. “
Hmmm . . .
Let me think . . .”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at this display of mental acuity, thinking this entire
conversation was a waste. Gage’s eyes smiled at me.

Mr. Fitzpatrick shrugged. “Don’t think I can help you. Lord Stratford was her lover
at one point, but I couldn’t tell you whether that was in March.”

I jerked my gaze back to Gage and sat forward in my chair.

“Did you say Lord Stratford was one of her lovers?” he asked for clarification.

“Well, yes,” Mr. Fitzpatrick replied. “But like I said, I don’t know if that was in
March.”

I watched as Gage shifted in his seat, trying to contain his excitement much the way
I was. “Anyone else here in attendance who has been linked to Lady Godwin?” he asked
the man.

He tapped his chin again and shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

Gage nodded and rose from his seat. “Thank you for your assistance, Fitzpatrick.”
He shook the man’s hand. “And remember what I told you about keeping this quiet.”

“Of course, of course,” he said with a bob of his head.

The door closed behind him with a solid thud, and I leaned toward Gage. “Do you think
Lady Stratford didn’t know?”

He shook his head sharply from side to side and narrowed his eyes. “Not for a second.”

“So she lied to us?”

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” he stated.

My muscles tightened in anticipation. “Perhaps we need to have another conversation
with her as well.”

Gage nodded. “This time unannounced.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

L
ady Stratford was not happy to see us when she opened her parlor door. In fact, she
made little effort to suppress the scowl furrowing her features. Gage was, of course,
charming, and she allowed us in, but she could not be bothered to offer any of the
trite pleasantries ladies were taught to. Instead, she settled back on the pale blue
settee she occupied the last time we spoke with her and lifted an embroidery hoop
and continued to stitch. I noticed the basket at her feet filled with threads, ribbons,
and needles, and the distinctive round handles of a pair of dainty shears. Gage perched
on the edge of the chocolate-brown chair before Lady Stratford, but I decided to remain
standing just over his shoulder.

“Lady Stratford,” he began in the voice of a parent scolding his child for a minor
infraction. “I was disappointed to discover you lied to us.”

She glanced up at him, her brow lowering in irritation. “Do not patronize me, Mr.
Gage. I’m not in the mood, nor of the rank, to allow it.”

“You neglected to tell us that your husband was one of Lady Godwin’s lovers.”

“That is just a nasty, uncorroborated rumor,” she snapped, stabbing her needle into
the fabric.

“Yes, but it also happens to be one I find remarkably credible.”

Lady Stratford glared at Gage.

“After all, your husband has never been known for his fidelity or discretion, and
neither has Lady Godwin,” he continued in an indifferent voice.

Her gray eyes hardened to chips of ice. “Much like yourself.”

He nodded once slowly, acknowledging her right to return his rude comment with one
of her own. “Can you tell me where you were the evening of Lady Godwin’s murder?”

The countess’s bosom lifted and lowered as she took a deep breath. “I had a headache
after dinner, so I retired to my room.” Which explained her absence from the parlor
later that evening when Philip addressed everyone, but gave her no real alibi. “My
maid attended me. She can confirm my whereabouts.”

Except that servants could too easily be bought or threatened if they did not do as
their employer wished. Her maid was a witness, but not a very good one. And Lady Stratford
seemed aware of this, if the challenge in her gaze, daring us to contradict her, was
any indication.

Gage leaned forward and gentled his voice. “You must have been terribly upset when
you learned that Lady Godwin was being bedded by your husband.”

Lady Stratford’s gaze dropped to her needlework. “I
told
you it was only a rumor.”

“Yes, but it still must have hurt. It’s one thing to be forced to follow convention
and sit back and indulge Lord Stratford in his indiscretions, and quite another to
discover they involve your closest friend—a woman who should have known better, who
should have been loyal.” His sympathetic words rattled the countess, for her thread
tangled and she flung aside her embroidery with a grunt of frustration. “Lady Godwin
must have been aware that you would not approve.”

Lady Stratford gazed across the room toward the windows and laughed bitterly. “Since
when did she care for anyone’s approval?”

Gage hesitated, as if waiting to see if she would elaborate. When she didn’t, he goaded
her further. “Surely her closest friend’s approbation meant something to her.”

Her eyes were bleak and wintry when they turned back toward us, as if a blizzard raged
behind those icy gray orbs. “You clearly did not know Lady Godwin, Mr. Gage.” Her
gaze rose to meet mine over his head. “Did you, Lady Darby?” I shook my head, chilled
by the loathing in her stare. “No? Well, count yourself lucky.”

“Do you know when they . . . ?” Gage began.

“No. I do not. Sometime in the spring, I gather.
If
the rumors are true.”

“Is he . . . ?”

Lady Stratford abruptly rose from her seat. “I’m finished. If you want to know anything
else, why don’t you talk to my husband? I’m sure he’ll be happy to swap tales of your
conquests,” she called over her shoulder, one last parting shot as she exited through
the door to her dressing room.

“Well, that went well,” I muttered dryly.

“It did, rather,” Gage replied as he rose to his feet.

“She just stormed out on us,” I reminded him, confused by his satisfied tone.

“Yes.” He held the door to the corridor open for me. “And in doing so, proved she
is both upset by Lord Stratford and Lady Godwin’s relationship and has a temper.”

I considered his words, struggling with the idea of Lady Stratford as a murderess.
“Do you honestly believe she could have done it?”

He glanced at me. “Why not? She has motive. And a pretty shabby alibi.”

“Yes,” I replied uncertainly. “But somehow I can’t imagine Lady Stratford slicing
Lady Godwin’s neck just because she bedded her husband, let alone harming that baby.
It sounds mad.”

“Well, maybe when she discovered their betrayal, she went a little mad. Such things
have happened before.”

I contemplated this idea and then shook my head. “No. Maybe if she had just found
out, but the rumors circulated months ago. People don’t focus on old relationships
when there are new ones to gossip about, and it sounds as if Lady Godwin has hopped
into any number of gentlemen’s beds since she was with Lord Stratford.”

“True,” he conceded, turning down the corridor toward the main hall. “But what if
Lady Stratford only recently confirmed the rumors? What if Lady Godwin approached
her at this very house party and told her she was expecting her husband’s child?”
Gage raised his eyebrows. “That would be quite a blow.”

I frowned. “I suppose. However, we still have a few other issues to contend with.
Such as the amount of strength it took to inflict Lady Godwin’s wounds.”

“Anger can generate a lot of power, Lady Darby.”

That was true, but I still felt Lady Stratford was too dainty to have sliced the viscountess’s
throat so cleanly. “What about the muscle it would have taken to dig that hole in
the forest and bury the baby? Anger is potent, but it also spends itself quickly when
exerted.”

He was silent for a moment while he thought. “Perhaps she had help.”

I looked up to meet his gaze. “Her maid?” I asked, thinking of her alibi.

“She seems the likely choice.”

I pressed my hands together, realizing he could be right. I didn’t want to believe
Lady Stratford could have committed the crime, especially as it involved a child,
but I had to at least reconcile myself to the possibility. “All right, then who are
we questioning first? Lord Stratford or the maid?”

Before he could reply, my question was answered for us. Mrs. MacLean called our names
and came hurrying down the hall toward us. Huffing and puffing with either panic or
excitement, she pressed a hand to her side as she tried to catch her breath.

“Oh, Mr. Gage, m’lady,” she gasped, the pitch of her voice rising. “I was just comin’
to find you.”

“What is it, Mrs. MacLean?” Gage asked calmly. “Has something happened?”

“Aye! Faye, Lady Godwin’s maid, ya ken. She told me that Celeste, Lady Stratford’s
lass, borrowed one o’ her aprons. Said she couldna find her spare.”

His gaze met mine, and his eyes seemed to sharpen like a falcon sighting his prey.
“Thank you, Mrs. MacLean. We’ll go speak with Faye.”

“She’s in ’er room. I just came from there.” She clucked her tongue. “Wanted to check
on the puir dear.”

“Let Lord Cromarty know what you’ve discovered,” Gage instructed her. “And send Lady
Stratford’s maid up. But don’t tell her why.”

“Course.” The housekeeper performed an odd curtsy and hurried off down the hall.

I pulled Gage to a stop just before he entered the servants’ stairway. “Aren’t you
concerned by how all of this suddenly seems to be falling into place?”

“It normally does, once you hit on the right suspect,” he replied. I could see the
suppressed excitement in his frame as he began to climb. “Perhaps Faye remembers something
about Lord or Lady Stratford that can help us?”

“Yes, but will she even speak ill of the countess?” I asked as I followed. “The lady
has been so kind to her.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused by his ominous tone of voice.

“If Lady Stratford is the murderer, it would certainly shed a different light on her
willingness to help the maid.”

“Guilt?” I guessed.

“Or something much more nefarious. If Faye knows something, even something she may
not realize is important, Lady Stratford might decide she needs to keep her quiet.
Permanently.”

A chill crept down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around my torso. I just couldn’t
see Lady Stratford being capable of such evil things, but what if I was wrong? She
certainly wouldn’t be the first person to fool me. Sir Anthony had seemed harmless
enough before we wed. It wasn’t until a week after that I discovered how wrong I was.
I didn’t want to discover the same about Lady Stratford a week too late to help Faye.

“Then I guess we had better help her remember,” I said.

He nodded and rapped on the door to Faye and Celeste’s room.

“
Entrer
,” we heard Faye’s heavily accented voice say through the wood.

The little maid stood next to the window, looking out on the garden. When she turned
toward us, I was glad to see she was more composed than the last time we visited her.
Her eyes were still rimmed in red, but her appearance was neat and tidy.

“
Mon dieu!
” she gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “
C’était rapide.
”

“Mrs. MacLean met us in the hall,” Gage explained. “She said you allowed Lady Stratford’s
maid to borrow one of your aprons.”

“
Oui.
Celeste . . . um . . .” The maid seemed to struggle switching back to English. “She
is Lady Stratford’s maid. She say her apron missing and borrow mine.”

“She also shares this room with you?” I peered around Gage.

“
Oui
.”

“When did she borrow the apron?” Gage queried.

Faye’s wide eyes flicked back and forth between us in growing alarm, and I wondered
if her reaction had more to do with her shaky grasp of English or the nervous energy
suddenly radiating off of Gage. “
Mmm . . .
zee day before zee last day.”

“Two days ago?”

“
Mmm . . . oui
.” She nodded.

Which would have made it the day after Lady Godwin’s murder.

“Did she say how it might have gone missing?”

Her brow furrowed. “No. It just . . . missing.” She shrugged.

I stepped back to lean against the wall as he asked Faye if she would like to sit.
The maid shook her head no, and clasped her hands in front of her.

I glanced around at the sparseness of the room. As a rule, servants’ quarters were
normally rather bare and austere, particularly when two visiting servants occupied
the room. There were two small beds, barely larger than cots, a small dresser, and
a wardrobe. The floor boasted only a worn, thin rug, probably saved from the rubbish
bin after it was deemed unusable in the main part of the castle. No curtains or paintings
covered the thick stone walls, just a wooden cross hung in the middle of the wall
opposite the two beds, so that the maids could reflect on it while they lay in bed,
I supposed.

“Was Lord Stratford one of Lady Godwin’s lovers?” Gage asked lightly, propping his
foot up on the frame of the bed.

Faye seemed to take a long time considering her answer, but I knew she must have understood
the question. Gage glanced at me, sharing my curiosity over the maid’s hesitation.

Finally the girl sighed and dropped her eyes. “
Oui
.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?”

“Because Lady Stratford so nice to me. She her ladyship’s friend. But my lady say
Lady Stratford sleep with my lord, so she sleep with hers,” the maid stated and pointed
her nose into the air, defending her employer’s reprehensible behavior to the last.

“Lady Stratford bedded Lord Godwin?” Gage asked doubtfully.

“
Oui
,” Faye nodded her head once decisively.

“All right. Well, do you know when Lady Godwin and Lord Stratford conducted their
liaison?”

The maid tipped her head to the side and closed one eye. “
Mmm
 . . . Lent.”

“Lent?” Gage seemed to contemplate this.

“The six weeks between Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday,” I reminded him.

He scowled at me. “I know what Lent is.”

“It normally falls within March,” I added, wondering if this was his issue.

“Thank you,” he snapped before turning back toward the maid who was watching our quarrel
with great interest. “Could Lord Stratford have been the father of her child?” he
asked after taking a calming breath.

Faye shook her head. “No.”

This was not the answer either Gage or I expected. “Why not?” he pressed.

“He is . . .” the maid waved her hand in the air as if searching for the word “. . . 
stérile
.”

“Sterile? You mean he can’t have children.”

“
Oui
. Many people know zis.”

Something nagged at me in the back of my brain, something important. I furrowed my
brow, trying to remember.

Gage turned to me and murmured. “I bet you five hundred pounds he’s not.”

“And how exactly are you going to prove that?” I asked him crossly.

“Why don’t you take the bet and wait and see?”

“I don’t have five hundred pounds.”

He shrugged. “My loss.”

We looked up to find Faye scrutinizing us again, and then her face cleared. “Ah. You
are lovers,” she stated as if she’d just solved a great mystery.

“No!” We both exclaimed.

I scowled at Gage’s reaction. Just because I was horrified by the thought did not
mean he should be. I barely restrained myself from asking him what was wrong with
the idea of having me for a lover. But such a question would imply that I cared. And
I didn’t.