A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,120
what he didn’t, and whether it was worth finding out. “Regardless, I still don’t know anything.”
“Stop being so obstinate,” I finally snapped. “You can better help her by talking to me than by feigning ignorance.”
A small flicker of amusement crossed his face, letting me know he’d enjoyed infuriating me. A trace of the Marsdale I knew and ludicrously felt a fondness for. “Why do you keep insisting I know something? And for that matter, why does the villain of this piece have to be from the castle? Why can’t it be someone from the village or a passing tramp?”
My scowl turned black. “Because someone tried to push me down the stairs!”
Marsdale blanched, acknowledging the unsettling nature of that statement. His gaze trailed over my injuries before stopping on the swell of my abdomen. His brow furrowed. “Are you sure about that?”
I stumbled back a step at the insinuating tone of his voice, feeling as if I’d been slapped. “Yes,” I bit out between angry breaths. “Harbor whatever delusions you wish to, but don’t insult me.”
Whirling away, I stormed toward the door.
“Kiera,” he pleaded, though I’d never given him leave to use my given name.
I turned to glare at him.
He lifted his arms, palms upward. “I can’t.”
Seeing the wretched look on his face, I relented, but only slightly. “To choose now of all times to turn noble,” I scolded. “And foolishly so.”
I frowned up at the ceiling, for my voice had sounded unexpectedly loud. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one deriding someone for a fool.
“You bloody, bloody fool! What have you done?! I’ll never be free,” the woman shrieked before breaking into sobs, her voice lowering to a mumble as it carried through the wood and stone.
I opened the door to find Lord John being driven from his sister’s room, her face twisted with desperation and fury. At the sight of me, their eyes both widened in alarm before Lady Helmswick turned away and Lord John fled toward the stairs.
Marsdale charged past me to grasp her shoulders. “Nell, what is it?”
But she merely shook her head, refusing to answer as she wept into her hands. He glanced back at me and I took a step toward them, but he shut the door in my face, turning the lock with a decisive click.
“Fiend seize it,” I growled, using one of Gage’s more creative curses. I stood glaring at the offending piece of wood, and for half a second considered picking the lock. But they would hear me doing so. Even if they didn’t, my forcing my way into Lady Helmswick’s chamber would not convince them to tell me anything.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, I swiveled to grasp Bree’s arm. “Come on.”
She understood what I was about without needing further explanation, and we hurried down the spiral staircase as fast as we dared. We could hear Lord John’s footsteps pounding rapidly against the stones below us as he descended, and so were able to judge he’d most likely exited on the ground floor. Except, at that level there were two openings in the base of the stairwell. One leading toward the wine cellars and larders, and further along to the kitchens and to the stairwell down into the doom; and another opening onto a long corridor. The voices of servants drifted down the passage from the direction of the kitchens, and knowing one of them might have seen something if he’d passed that way, I elected to try the long corridor first. If stealth had been Lord John’s aim, this was a quieter passage.
The walls on both sides were spaced evenly with windows, and I realized why when I spied the stubby shrubs of the courtyard planted beyond the glass on our left. The corridor spanned the entire length of the open-air enclosure at the heart of the castle, all without boasting a single doorway. But for one at the end, which led to a small vestibule lined with a few cloaks and an odd assortment of boots and pattens. On the left, there was an outer door that led out to the courtyard.
I wanted to stamp my foot in exasperation, but instead I backed up to peer through the window at the man seated on a bench tucked against the wall by the door. He wasn’t the man I sought, but there was something in his expression, something deeply troubled, and I wondered if in this solemn place he might confess it to me.