A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,29

would have rather undertaken the unpleasant task as soon as possible, the other part of me recognized my limitations. Perhaps if I had not been round with child, I would have fought harder, but I already felt slightly queasy, and the state of the corpse would only make that worse.

“In any case, Lord Edward informs me Mr. Rodgers—the procurator fiscal for this county—is undoubtedly three sheets in the wind at this hour on Twelfth Night, if not already on his way to four,” Gage told me as we reached the door to my assigned bedchamber. “The likelihood of his arriving before midday is slim to none.”

That this Mr. Rodgers would object to a woman examining the body was all but certain. Most men, particularly gentlemen, objected on principle alone, aghast that the prospect should even be presented to them. Which was why it was best to complete the task before he could balk at it.

“The duchess, it seems, is none too fond of this Mr. Rodgers or his abilities, and she’s asked us to investigate,” I replied before stifling a yawn.

“Has she?” he murmured thoughtfully, and then reached out to open the door.

I would have elaborated, but the sight of Bree standing near the dressing table, her arms crossed over her chest, brought me up short. Her artfully coifed hair looked as if it had been through a minor windstorm, and she fairly bristled with exasperation.

“Bree, what are you doing here? We told you that you had the night off.” I followed her glare toward Anderley, who leaned against the door leading to the sitting room that connected my and Gage’s assigned bedchambers, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Told both of you that.”

My husband’s valet’s dark hair and clothing were likewise rumpled, belying his insouciant demeanor—a bearing I suspected he’d learned from his employer. Whether he realized it or not, Gage stood in just the same stance, sporting that exact expression when he was eager to conceal something. It was meant to deflect as well as distract, drawing one’s attention to his physical stature—his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscular legs—rather than his mental maneuvering. I had always thought of Anderley as a dark foil to my husband’s golden good looks, and his physique was similarly impressive, though it didn’t have the same effect on me. Or on Bree, if the black scowl she directed his way was any indication.

“We heard aboot the body,” she replied, softening her anger as she turned toward me. “The entire servants’ hall was abuzz wi’ the news. And we thought ye might have need o’ us.”

If the servants all knew, then the entire castle, as well as the adjoining village, if not half the county, would be aware of it by morning.

Gage sighed, evidently realizing the same thing. “Not tonight. There’s nothing more to be done until morning. What’s left of the body will keep until then.”

Bree wrinkled her nose, her only outward display of disgust.

“As will our questions, given that most of the guests are too inebriated to stand upright, let alone answer a simply query. But we will need your help then.” He glanced between his valet and my maid, noting the same hostility toward each other I had. “Why don’t you both bring us our breakfast trays at first light, and we can discuss the matter then. For now, we could all use some rest.”

And by all, I knew he really meant me.

“Though I will use your assistance now,” he told Anderley, pulling the wig from his hair as he crossed the room. A cloud of powder billowed over his head. “This infernal wig is making my scalp crawl.” With his other hand, he reached up to scratch at his matted hair, making it stick up in sweaty clumps. “It’s no wonder men used to shave their heads. How else could they abide these things?” he grumbled as he led his valet through the door.

Bree stepped forward to help me remove the veil and wimple, draping them over the bench at the foot of the bed as I loosened the belt fastened above my rounded stomach. “I heard the fiddlers when we passed by the servants’ hall,” I murmured idly. “Did you have a pleasant time? That is, before you heard about the body.”

“Aye,” she replied simply. Too simply to explain the twin furrows between her eyes.

“You must have fit in nicely.” Which I knew was not always the case. But as a fellow lowlander Scot, she would have