Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) (14 page)

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat before asking cautiously, “Did these things happen to you?”

Will seemed hesitant to respond, and that, in and of itself, was answer enough. “Some of them,” he reluctantly admitted as I rose to my feet.

I wrapped my arms around myself and paced before the wall of drawings, no longer able to sit still. My stomach churned and my nerves prickled. My legs were ready to take flight, to carry me far from here so that I wouldn’t have to face what had happened to Will. So that I wouldn’t have to accept that human beings could be so cruel.

But, of course, I already knew they could. I had paced my bedchamber in Sir Anthony’s town house in much the same manner on the night he had told me I would be assisting with his dissection the next day or be forced to live without my art forever. And on the evening not long after his death when his colleagues had accused me of unnatural tendencies and promised to send the Bow Street Runners for me. My mind had rebelled just as assiduously then as it did now, wanting to block out the truth of Will’s words, the painful reality etched in his eyes.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so frank,” Will said. “But . . . Michael told me a little bit about what happened to you. About what your husband made you do.”

I stopped pacing to look at him.

“And I thought, maybe, you, of all people, would understand, even just a little bit.” His gray eyes flickered with a hope that I could tell he was afraid, and possibly ashamed, to feel. “You always saw more than most people did.”

I had no words for him. The knot inside my chest was too tight. So I simply nodded.

His head dropped back onto his chair cushion with relief and he closed his eyes. I could see the tight lines around his mouth and the ashy cast to his complexion, and I worried we had exhausted him.

“We should let you rest now,” I told him.

Will didn’t even try to object, or rise from his chair, which told me just how tired he truly was. “But you will come again?”

“Of course,” I assured him.

He nodded listlessly. “Then you can tell me how you ended up married to that cantankerous sod in the first place.”

His irreverent comment surprised a smile out of me.

Gage waited for me near the doorway, and I glanced over my shoulder one last time to find Will already nodding off to sleep. I turned back to see Donovan seated to the side of the door in a straight ladder-back chair. His placement had enabled him to listen to every word of our conversation. Although there was nothing outwardly wrong with his presence or the chair’s positioning, it bothered me nonetheless, perhaps merely because I had been unaware of it.

Donovan rose to his feet as we passed and I could feel his eyes tracking me across the room, but when I peeked in his direction they were carefully directed elsewhere.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“T
hank you,” I told Gage begrudgingly as we turned onto the corridor that would lead us back to the staircase and the main part of the house.

He glanced down at me in question.

“For not directing Will’s and my conversation where you wanted it to go.” Which is what I’d fully expected him to do.

He turned his face forward again, hiding his eyes from me. “I thought it best to allow it to wander where it would.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “His admission didn’t mean anything, you know. Just because he accepted your accompanying me on my visits as necessary doesn’t mean he’s truly dangerous to me, or anyone else.”

“I know,” he said.

I glanced up at him, expecting to receive another lecture on Will’s potential for violence and my not taking chances, but he surprised me.

“In fact, I’m actually heartened by the fact that he’s so wary of himself, contrary as that may seem.” He stopped before the locked door and turned to look down at me, catching my frown. “A man who was more certain of himself, even as he lapses into these trances, would be far more dangerous. Simply the fact that he has contemplated what he might be capable of when he’s not in his right mind says a great deal in his favor.”

I pondered his words.

“Now, that does not mean I believe it’s safe for you to visit him alone,” he hastened to add before the argument could even enter my head. “But . . .” He pursed his lips, not seeming eager to continue. ”I’m less uneasy.”

I nodded, knowing that I shouldn’t push but accept his admission as the peace offering it was. I stared down at the toes of my slippers peeking out from the hem of my dress. “He seemed genuinely distressed by the possibility he might be capable of harming someone.”

Gage was quiet for so long that I looked up to see if he was listening. His eyes were trained on me with a strange intensity. “Yes, he does,” he finally admitted.

I tilted my head, trying to read his inscrutable gaze. “But I don’t think he has. I believe if he thought he had, or found some kind of evidence to suggest he had, he would admit it. To someone.”

He sighed and fingered the key in his hand. “You may be right. But what if he doesn’t know?” I opened my mouth to protest, but he pressed on, determined to make his point. “What if someone covered for him?”

I frowned, understanding what he was hinting at, and not liking that I had to consider it.

“You can’t tell me that Michael wouldn’t do just about anything to protect his brother.”

“But he’s the one who mentioned his worries over the missing girl and Sloane’s claims that he murdered someone at the asylum. Why admit what he did if he wants to protect his brother?”

“Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he doesn’t know for sure his brother did anything wrong. Perhaps he covered up more than just the fact that his brother escaped the manor a few times unescorted. Michael wants to know the truth, but he’s not ready to condemn his brother yet.”

I scowled at him. “That’s an awful lot of supposition.”

“You’re right,” he admitted easily enough. “But the point I’m trying to make is that, while I believe William Dalmay is being honest, at least as much as his mental state has made him capable of, I think Michael has been deliberately misleading. And I think he has more yet to reveal.”

Gage’s pale eyes had gone hard, and I had to look away. I was forced to admit I held the same worries about Michael, and it was more than a little unsettling to find that a man I thought I could trust was turning out to be so unreliable. But it had happened before, and in far more difficult circumstances.

Gage unlocked the door and guided me through.

“I wanted to ask him,” I told him, hearing the click of the lock being thrown back in place. “I wanted to ask Will if he knew anything about Miss Wallace or this girl in the asylum and end all of this ridiculous speculation.” I wrapped my arms tighter around my middle, trying to soothe the worry tying my stomach in knots. I shook my head. “But I couldn’t. Not seeing him like that, so tired and worn down. He could barely lift his head off the back of the chair in the end. It just didn’t seem fair to question him like that. Besides, what genuine proof do we have to involve him in these matters?”

Gage reached out to clasp my shoulders, forcing me to look up at him. “You were right to wait.” His eyes were kind. “There’s no reason to alarm William until and unless it’s absolutely necessary. As you said before, I think if he had something he believed he needed to tell us, he would do so. It can do no good to worry him over matters that may have nothing to do with him.”

I nodded, grateful for his reassurance.

“In any case, Michael would not have thanked us for questioning his brother without his being present, and though I’m cross with him right now, his wishes on that matter should be respected. Now, come.” He turned me toward the stairs. “I’m sure Cromarty and your sister are eager to depart and waiting for us to make an appearance.”

The expression on his face was grim as we turned the corner to the central staircase.

“You know, I can continue down myself,” I said, guessing at the source of his distress. “I’m sure they wouldn’t be insulted if you missed their leave-taking.”

He sighed. “No. I’m a gentleman. I’ll not snub your sister or her husband simply because we’ve had a disagreement.” His lips twisted, and he added under his breath, “Though I do hate it when Cromarty’s right.”

I had to agree, even though I didn’t know exactly what they’d argued about. Except that it had to do with me.

* * *

W
hen I had anticipated Philip and Alana’s departure to be something of an emotional occasion, I had failed to account for the presence of the children. My nieces and nephew were simply not capable of making a peaceful good-bye, and for once I was grateful for it. Rather than my sister and I clinging to one another while indulging in a spate of needless worrying, our embrace was necessarily brief, as she attempted to assist the nursemaid in corralling her children.

Malcolm and Philipa were not eager to climb back inside a carriage after almost a week restricted to its confines. They were far happier chasing each other around the dooryard. Even Greer, who was still shy of sixteen months old, began to kick and fuss as her nanny carried her toward the coach door. Lady Hollingsworth did not help matters by complaining. Her declarations that
her
children had never behaved so shabbily only served to irritate my sister further, making Alana even shorter with Malcolm and Philipa.

Caroline seemed to be the sole person capable of ignoring them, wrapped up as she was in her own grief over leaving Michael, and her anxiety over the precarious position of their engagement. Philip had been able to convince Lady Hollingsworth not to break the engagement, but, as predicted, she had insisted on following her nephew and his family to Edinburgh, separating Caroline from the dangers of Dalmay House and its master. The only surprise had been Lord Damien’s insistence on remaining behind. Lady Hollingsworth had objected strenuously, but Damien proved to be just as stubborn as his mother. He intended to act as his family’s representative in the subsequent explorations of the soundness of Lord Dalmay’s mind and he would not be persuaded otherwise.

I felt a new respect for Damien at his determination to do right by his sister, and I knew I wasn’t the only one, if the gleam in Philip’s eye was any indication.

Caroline began to weep as Michael bent over her hand to kiss it, the pained look in his eyes telling us he was fighting a strong emotion of his own. My heart went out to the couple. If only Michael hadn’t determined that he must lie. I understood his caution in revealing where his brother had been kept over the last decade, but couldn’t he have called in Philip to ensure Caroline’s family would keep William’s secret when he asked for her hand? So much grief could have been avoided.

Lady Hollingsworth did not allow Caroline’s hand to remain in Michael’s grasp for long. She pulled her daughter away from her fiancé and dragged her out the door to the line of carriages, leaving only Philip to say his good-byes.

He watched his aunt’s hasty retreat, and then sighed and shook his head. I felt some pity for him as he turned to me with a tight smile. It would certainly not be enjoyable to spend the day dealing with an ill wife, a shrewish aunt, a weeping cousin, and three rambunctious children, even if they were his own.

“Are you certain you don’t want to join us?” he asked with such forced hopefulness that I couldn’t help but smile.

“Not for all the gold in the world,” I replied.

“Ah, well.” He shrugged. “I had to try.” He took hold of my hand and I pressed my other hand to his shoulder, holding him back before he could say good-bye.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

He stared down at me expectantly.

“Could you ask around in Edinburgh about this Dr. Sloane? Perhaps Alana’s physician or one of the surgeons at the Royal College could tell you something about him. I . . .” I dropped my gaze, hesitant to say what I must next, but knowing it might prove necessary. Time was of the essence, and credible intelligence on Sloane invaluable, regardless of my feelings on the matter. Swallowing my trepidation, I stared at where my hand still rested against the shoulder of Philip’s deep blue coat and forced myself to speak, though my words emerged haltingly. “I believe Sir Anthony’s former assistant is an instructor there—a Dr. Renshaw. If you mention my name, I feel relatively certain he will speak with you.”

I could sense the tension in his frame and lifted my gaze to meet his again. His soft brown eyes shone with curiosity, but he did not voice the questions that I knew must be piling up on his tongue.

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll write to you when we reach Edinburgh, and as soon as I have any information for you.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded while his eyes searched mine, for any sign of wavering in my decision, no doubt. Then he leaned forward to press a kiss to my left cheek. “Take care, Kiera,” he murmured. “And if you must trust someone in my absence, let it be Gage.” He pulled back just far enough so that he could look down at me. “I know it may not always seem it, but he
can
be trusted.”

Before I could reply, he pressed my hand and walked away, leaving me to stare after him.

I drifted through the doors after the others to wave as the carriages one by one rounded the drive, their wheels crunching on the gravel, and sped away from us down the lane like a trail of lumbering ants carrying food back to their colony. I could feel the warmth of Gage’s body where he stood beside me. His attention was on the departing carriages, and he gave no indication that he had heard Philip’s remarks, but there was a slight puckering on his brow that made me suspect he’d heard at least a portion of his comments.

In any case, I wasn’t about to mention it, and I doubted he would either, so I turned away, determined to ignore the feelings of frustration Philip’s well-intentioned words had dredged up inside me.

Luncheon was a stilted affair, even without the antagonizing presence of Lady Hollingsworth. Most of us were too wrapped up in our own worries to appreciate Laura’s attempts at conversation, and eventually she gave up trying.

Only after the fruits and nuts at the end of the meal had been taken away did Michael mention he had received a reply from Mr. Wallace, the missing girl’s father, inviting us to call at our earliest convenience. “I thought we could ride over this afternoon.”

“I just need twenty minutes to change into my riding habit,” I told him and Gage as I placed my napkin on the table and prepared to rise.

“May I join you?” Miss Remmington surprised us all by asking.

“Elise, I’m not sure . . .” her brother protested while Michael fumbled for a response.

“Please,” she interrupted. Her eyes shone with sincerity. “I knew Miss Wallace, and I want to express my condolences and offer my help.”

“You knew Miss Wallace?” Michael seemed as taken aback by her admission as I was.

Miss Remmington flushed, perhaps in response to our astonishment. “Yes. We met a few times while out walking.” Her gaze darted between Michael, Gage, and me. “I liked her,” she added as if that were particularly important.

Michael looked to Gage and me. “I have no objections.”

Lord Damien, who had been observing this exchange with a scowl, spoke up for the first time. “If Miss Remmington is accompanying you, then I should like to as well.”

Miss Remmington turned to frown at him.

“Now, see here, this isn’t a social call,” Michael replied in irritation. “We are going to offer our condolences, but we are also going to question Mr. Wallace and the authorities to see what can be done to assist them in their search for Miss Wallace. We don’t need either of you causing trouble.”

“I will merely be there to observe,” Damien assured him. “And to offer my assistance if called upon.”

“Elise, perhaps you should remain behind,” Lord Keswick told her, not unkindly.

“No. I have more reason to visit Mr. Wallace than any of them. At least I knew his daughter. Besides,” she added when it looked like her brother would argue further, “Aunt Edna always said it was our Christian duty to comfort the sorrowful and aid the despairing.”