A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,46

best, they were withholding information. At the worst, they were harboring a murderer in their midst.

Regardless, Gage made the decision I knew he would, putting his valet’s well-being above all else. “Thank you. That would be helpful.”

Lord Edward passed the mace back to him. “Give me a moment to have a message sent down to the stables, and then I’ll show you the porter’s lodge.”

He hurried through a small door to the left of the great hearth inset in the north wall. A fire burned there, though what heat it produced soon vanished into the vaulted roof above.

The moment the door closed behind him with a click, Alana stepped forward to take my hands. “What can we do, dearest? Is there someone we should talk to? Someone we should send for?”

“Yes, have the proper authorities been alerted?” Philip added. “Though dashed if I know who they are in this county.” His brow lowered. “Or what county we’re even in. Is this Peeblesshire, or are we in that spur of Selkirkshire that juts to the north?” His use of even a minor curse in my and Alana’s presence spoke to just how unsettled he was.

“I gather we’re in Selkirkshire, for that’s the county the Mr. Rodgers we met with serves as procurator fiscal,” Gage said.

Philip tilted his head in consideration. “Rodgers. I can’t say I know the man.”

“Then count yourself lucky,” he remarked wryly as he lifted the mace up and down with his arm, seeming to test its bulk. The men exchanged a knowing glance, before Gage returned his attention to the weapon. “How heavy would you say this is, Cromarty?”

Philip took the bludgeon and transferred it to one hand as he considered it. “It would certainly pack a wallop, but I’d say no more than half a stone.”

He nodded and turned to my sister. “Alana, do you think you could lift such a weight?”

“And why aren’t you asking me that?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips. I’m not exactly sure why, but I felt mildly affronted.

His gaze dipped to the rounded swell of my stomach, his eyebrows arching as if that was explanation enough.

Meanwhile, Alana had accepted the mace gingerly from her husband, and brandished it for us to see.

“Do you think you could swing it?” Gage asked.

“Let’s see.” She swung it in front of her.

“At someone’s head.”

Alana’s startled gaze met his, but she gamely lifted the weapon so the head was positioned above her shoulder. “Well, yes, I suppose. If I was determined enough.”

“I’m sure I could swing it at someone’s head,” I declared.

“Undoubtedly,” Gage replied, never removing his eyes from the mace. “But you couldn’t do so without a great deal of effort?” he asked her. “It certainly wouldn’t be smooth or well concealed.”

“N-no.” She lowered the bludgeon to cradle it with her other hand, her composure shaken. “I suppose to be successful, I would have to . . . to hit the person from behind.”

Philip, who had scowled through much of this exchange, took the weapon from her. “That’s enough, Gage. I should say you’ve ascertained what you wished.”

“Yes,” he said, accepting the mace. “That it’s not outside the realm of possibility that our murderer could be female, albeit one with strength, determination, and height.”

Lord Edward returned then, slipping back through the door where earlier he’d exited. “Well, now that that’s squared, why don’t I show you the visitors’ book?”

I reached out to touch Alana’s hand, drawing her attention back to me. “There is one thing you can do.” My gaze darted to Philip and back, including him in my request as well. “Reassure the other guests.” The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midday, which meant that many of them would just be rising from their beds after the late night of revelry, and hearing from their servants for the first time about the dead body we’d found. “Let them know we don’t believe any of them are in danger, and try to prevent them from making wild speculations. I’m sure the duchess is already attempting to quash the worst of their conjectures, but a dozen more have likely sprung up in their place.”

“I heard Crawley spouting some rubbish about ritual sacrifice when I passed by the breakfast parlor earlier,” Lord Edward interjected, confirming my worst suspicions.

At this, Philip actually rolled his eyes, something I would have believed beneath his dignity. “Yes, well, Crawley is an idiot,” he retorted, his voice dripping with scorn, which he tempered as he answered