A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,112

did he get his information about his past? I doubt it’s part of the Lennox family lore.” He turned to Henry again. “Do you think your sources would speak to me?”

“I can ask,” he replied. “You think they may know more than they’re telling?”

“I do.”

“Then let’s try.”

I warmed at the sight of their anxiousness to please and include each other. It was too soon for them to have reached the point in their relationship where they were entirely comfortable with each other, especially given the fraught nature of its start. But they were both expending equal effort, and I was relieved and heartened to see it. Perhaps Gage’s relationship with his father had been forever strained and broken by this latest discovery of betrayal, but at least he had gained a brother in the bargain. And a good one.

After they departed, I sat down to resume my scrutiny of Debrett’s Peerage, only to be interrupted again. This time by Anderley.

“I’m afraid he’s just departed,” I told him, assuming he was looking for Gage, and then turned back to the page I was examining.

“Actually, my lady, I believe you are the person I need to speak to.”

I looked up in surprise before pushing the book aside and swiveling to face him. “Of course, Anderley. What is it?”

Seeing the anxiety etched across his brow, I thought perhaps he wanted to discuss his relationship with Bree. But I was wrong again.

He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “I found the ballad-seller.”

“Yes,” I replied eagerly. “And did he witness anyone entering Mr. Rookwood’s shop?”

“He did,” he began more tentatively than I would have thought the answer warranted. “A woman. A lady,” he corrected. “She entered the shop about an hour after his assistant departed.”

I felt the first quaver of misgiving. “Did he recognize her?”

“No, but he described her to me, and her coach.”

The more he hesitated, the more nervous I became. “And?”

“She was wearing a fashionable gown of some purplish-pink shade, and her carriage bore the crest of a crown with an arm lifted, holding a sword.”

I blinked at him for a moment, trying to come to terms with this information, before pressing a hand to my forehead. “That sounds like the Earl of Cromarty’s crest.” I lifted my hand, gesturing with it rather needlessly, but I felt somewhat unmoored. “Or rather the Mathesan clan crest. But the earldom’s crest has a similar design.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I turned to the side, not wanting to face the compassion in his eyes. Not when I was already fighting the nausea that accompanied my rising certainty that Alana had paid a visit to Rookwood, and on the day he had been killed. It explained why she had arrived so uncharacteristically late that day to my appointment, long after Dr. Fenwick had departed. And she had been wearing a Parnassus rose gown, her hair slightly in disarray.

Swallowing forcefully, I refused to even entertain the possibility that she’d killed him. But why had she gone to see him in the first place? And why hadn’t she told me? She must know she was one of the last people, if not the very last person, to see him alive besides his killer.

There was nothing for it. I would simply have to talk to her and hope she hadn’t done anything more foolish than keep such a revelation from me.

“Thank you for telling me,” I told Anderley. “Did Mr. Gage take the carriage?”

“No, my lady.”

“Then please ask that it be brought around for me. And should Mr. Gage return before I do, tell him where I’ve gone.”

He bowed and exited the room while I gathered up my scattered wits. I would need them all for this confrontation.

* * *

• • •

Alana was not home when I arrived, but Figgins assured me she should return soon, so I elected to wait for her. I was thus ensconced on the spring green fainting couch near the window overlooking Charlotte Square when she entered the room, fluffing her chestnut side curls as if to ensure they weren’t wilted. The intricacy of her chintz muslin gown, which was shaded the color of evening primrose and boasted a full skirt, as well as gold and amethyst agraffe and bracelets, told me she had not simply gone out for a stroll.

“Figgins said you were anxious to see me. Had I known you were coming, I . . .” Her footsteps faltered, clearly inferring from my expression that this wasn’t merely a social visit. “Is it