A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,49
claimed. Could it be a lie—either intentional or not? After all, Mr. Hislop couldn’t sit at his post at all hours of the day and night. There must be times when he would take the word of others regarding the comings and goings of the castle’s guests. If Helmswick’s valise and his manservant had departed the premises, along with his carriage, then might Mr. Hislop simply have assumed the earl had left with them?
It was something to consider.
I was about to voice this speculation to Gage when a name entered on December ninth made me stiffen in surprise.
He leaned closer, reading the word next to my finger. “Marsdale.” He scowled. “What the devil was he doing here then?”
His exclamation echoed my thoughts exactly. Except, I very much feared I knew what he was doing here. After all, I’d witnessed his brief interaction with Lady Helmswick outside the ballroom—the curl of her lips, the manner in which his hand brushed the small of her back.
A sinking feeling settled in my gut, for if my suspicions were correct, it might also explain why Helmswick would sneak into the castle through another entrance.
I glanced up at Gage. “I think we need to speak with him.”
The look in his eyes was grim with concern. “Let us hope, for once, he doesn’t prove to be the inveterate rogue he’s always purported himself to be.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My misgivings continued to grow as we searched the remainder of the entries in the visitors’ book. True to Mr. Hislop’s assurances, every guest entered in the book was notated to have both arrived and departed, save for those currently in attendance for the Twelfth Night Ball. For the sake of thoroughness, Gage and I even read through each of those names, and between the two of us could account for every partygoer’s whereabouts, at least in regard to their location the previous evening.
There were three gentlemen other than Helmswick who had visited Sunlaws Castle at some point following December first, but who had not taken part in the Twelfth Night festivities. So we noted their names and direction, but I was not hopeful that one of them would prove to be our victim. Two of them I recalled as being too old, and Gage believed the third possessed wheat-blond hair. But it wouldn’t do to leave any stone unturned.
That being said, I needed a brief reprieve from turning over one particularly troublesome rock. So Gage escorted me to our chambers, where I asked Bree to bring me my luncheon, feeling unable to face a barrage of questions from the guests.
Despite the reservations I harbored about Marsdale and our pending interview with him, I discovered they did not affect my appetite. It was undoubtedly due to the fact I’d eaten very little that morning, and that the growing babe inside me seemed to demand I fill my stomach at least every three hours. Regardless, I was soon stuffing my mouth with gusto.
Ignoring Bree’s knowing grin, I urged her to sit. “I have another task for you,” I muttered between bites of roasted chicken.
She perched on the edge of the chair opposite mine at the round table positioned before the wide bay of windows overlooking the vale beyond. The castle had been strategically positioned on a low hill within a peninsula formed by three streams. From my room’s vantage toward the northwest, I could see the nearest burn trickle past beneath two of the stone bridges leading away from the property. On the far side stood the buildings devoted to the castle’s brewery and distillery.
Further west, the stream forked, forging one ribbon of water between the green and brown gorse-laden braes rising on both sides. Snow dusted the lower slopes of the southern face, contrasting starkly with the dark rock beneath. The other fork swept away to the south, forming a small pool near the base of one of the hills before carrying onward. The sky overhead was heavy with clouds, so that the lowest seemed to brush the tips of the braes with their wispy fingers.
I felt a pulse of concern for Anderley, wondering if he’d set off for Haddington yet. There seemed little doubt that snow would fall before nightfall. I could only hope it would not hinder his and the groom’s progress eastward.
Swallowing a drink of warm, spicy cider, I leaned toward Bree as I set the cup on the table. “I need you to find out which servants witnessed Lord Helmswick and his valet, Mr. Warren, leaving the