A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,100
from bed at all.
So I meekly allowed myself to be led, weary in body and spirit, and grateful I wouldn’t have to navigate the castle and its staircases on my own.
* * *
* * *
The following morning the sun rose bright and warm, and the frigid weather of the day before dissipated. The temperatures hovered above freezing, and the snow began to melt, making the road to Traquair passable by midday. Gage and I, as well as Bree, set out in our carriage, as anxious to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the castle for a spell as we were to uncover what the villagers might know.
Gage had reported that the groomsmen had nothing to add to what the footman who saw Helmswick depart had already told us. His traveling coach was rigged up for his journey, and then never seen again.
“Maybe one of the villagers saw his carriage pass through town as he departed,” he confessed. “If they caught a glimpse of him through the window, so much the better.”
But knowing that the earl had departed at half past four on a cold winter’s morning, I didn’t hold out much hope of that.
Traquair was a tiny village with naught but a single pub and one stone church, of relatively recent construction. The duke had told us over dinner the evening before that the town had once been more prosperous, but over the last century it had dwindled in size to barely half of its previous number of residents. He’d also boasted of the town’s once-famous thicket of beech trees, known as the “Bush aboon Traquair,” which even Robert Burns had apparently come to view. The village’s chief employers were the castle and its brewery, and the herds of sheep dotting the countryside, many of which were also owned by the duke.
Despite the early hour, we decided the best place to go for information was still the village pub, The Sheep’s Heid, where I waited inside the carriage while Gage ventured into its shadowy interior. If I had not been six months heavy with child, I would have picked my way down the muddy, snow-strewn lanes toward the church, hoping to capture the interest of the village women. These countrywomen were usually overlooked, and yet more often than not, being tied to their homes and roused at all hours by their children, they saw far more than the men. However, even with Bree’s aid, I couldn’t risk slipping and falling on the slushy ground. Especially not with my current injuries. So we peered through the windows, hoping an inquisitive woman or two would happen by.
Though we had to wait some ten minutes, we found we were in luck. Two women in drab but serviceable garments shuffled by on the opposite side of the road, baskets tucked under their arms, and their eyes devouring the sight of our shiny black lacquer coach. Bree climbed out to approach the women and ask if they might speak with us for a moment. Their eyes narrowed and their shoulders hunched with suspicion, but ultimately Bree’s gregarious nature and their own curiosity won out.
I opened the door as they approached, leaning out as far as I dared to greet them. Their gazes dipped to take in the rounded bump which was accentuated rather than hidden by my close-fitting, velvet-trimmed, cobalt blue redingote. At the realization I was with child, their demeanors instantly softened, a circumstance Bree had evidently foreseen when she chose just such an ensemble for me. We conversed about my happy expectation, and one of the women even shared a remedy for bottom rashes, which she claimed had been passed down in her family for generations and never failed to do the trick. Bree declared that her family had a similar recipe, and so they chatted amicably about it for a few moments while I listened quietly, my hands tucked in my muff.
However, the other woman, who had shrewd gray eyes, seemed to recognize I was not there to discuss baby rashes. “You’re here aboot that body was found in the crypt, are’na ya?”
I couldn’t tell if she was hostile to this fact or merely plainspoken, but I decided to be honest. “In a roundabout way, yes. I’m curious whether anyone saw a nobleman’s carriage pass through the village, leaving the castle, in the early hours of the morning about a month ago.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Yer speakin’ o’ that earl what married Lady Eleanor, are’na ya? The one wi’ a eagle and