As Death Draws Near (4 page)

He chewed and swallowed the final bite of his sandwich before answering. “I honestly can't say. From what I gather, Ireland isn't like England, or even Scotland. The divide between classes is wide in Britain, but it's even wider in Ireland. And there is a great deal of unrest and unresolved animosity between Protestants and Catholics.”

“But I thought the latest Catholic Relief Act was supposed to alleviate some of that?”

Gage's eyebrows arched tellingly. “In some ways it only made it worse.”

Passed only two short years earlier after a long, contentious fight, the Catholic Relief Act had granted near political equality to Roman Catholics, allowing them to become members of Parliament and hold a limited number of government offices. It was the final act in a series of legislative reforms which began fifty years before with the repealing of some of the harshest penal laws affecting Catholics and ended in 1829 with emancipation. However, not everyone had been happy with this outcome. I clearly recalled my first husband Sir Anthony's outrage that the Duke of Wellington, who was prime minister at the time, and his government were supporting the bill. He, like many in Britain, believed it was an affront to the British way of life, a threat to the Crown and the English Constitution.

I had been conflicted about the issue. But when Sir Anthony had died of an apoplexy just a few short days before the relief act was passed and then the scandal over my involvement with his human dissections had broken, any thoughts of Catholics and their emancipation were forgotten. I had more pressing matters to contend with, including being brought up on charges of unnatural tendencies and desecrating the dead, all of which were summarily dismissed.

“What does that mean for us?” I asked, trying to decipher the reticence I saw in his gaze whenever I snatched a glance at him.

“It means we'll have to tread carefully. As outsiders, everyone will be suspicious of us. The Catholics simply because we're Anglican. The Anglicans and Protestants because I don't intend to toe the mark when it comes to any biased behavior.” He sighed heavily. “It will be a fine balancing act getting any of them to trust us.”

“I thought you'd never been to Ireland.”

“I haven't. But I began a correspondence with Lord Anglesey a number of years ago.” He turned to meet my gaze. “When I was in Greece.”

Knowing what I did about his time spent fighting in the Greek's War of Independence from the Ottoman Empire, I understood the sudden solemnity behind his eyes. He had only recently shared with me some of the horrors he'd witnessed, both private and public, but it had been enough to give me nightmares.

“I went to school with Anglesey's son, so we were already acquainted, and he wanted to be kept apprised of the situation in Greece,” he explained. “In particular, there were a number of Irishmen who joined the fighting, sympathizing with the Greeks' cause—slaving under the yolk of their Turkish oppressors.” He arched his eyebrows. “Much as Ireland is under the thumb of Britain.”

“I see,” I replied, not seeing at all. I kept my eyes trained on the horizon, lest Gage see my doubt. “So you played informant.”

“When it suited me. Other times I conveniently forgot what some of my fellow British subjects were involved in.”

I smiled at his droll admission. This sounded more like the man I married.

“And so you continued your correspondence, even after Lord Anglesey became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland?” I guessed.

“It has proven useful. And the man
is
a diverting letter writer.” His mouth twisted in suppressed amusement. “Though he does have a tendency to revise his own history.”

Marsdale pivoted to face him. “That bit about when his leg was hit with a canonball at Waterloo and he was standing close to Wellington? ‘By God, sir, I've lost my leg!'”

“‘By God, sir, so you have!'” Gage replied, continuing the script. His eyebrows arched skeptically. “I imagine there was a great deal more screaming involved.”

“He certainly sounds like a character,” I said, being unfamiliar with the man.

Of course, I knew who he was. He was a war hero, after all, like the Duke of Wellington and Lord Gage, who had served as a captain in the Royal Navy. But I did not often converse in such lofty circles, even with an earl for a brother-in-law. I had never wished to. Though I had known Gage was well connected, through his father if nothing else, he had rarely spoken of his high-placed friends. Perhaps because he didn't consider them friends, but acquaintances. Either way, I was beginning to feel quite out of my depth.

“He most certainly is. And enamored of the ladies.”

“Much like myself, he's left rather a long string of broken hearts,” Marsdale interjected.

I scowled at his conceit.

“Including his first wife,” Gage pointed out dampeningly.

Marsdale grimaced. “Yes. There is that.” Apparently, even the marquess had standards, and that included not running off with your friend's wife, forcing your own wife to sue you for divorce.

The boat crested a large wave at an awkward angle, dropping us down harshly. I gripped the rail as the rocking propelled us back, feeling the dip in my stomach. The men seemed less affected. Needing only one arm to hold himself upright, Gage even pressed a hand to my back to steady me. I swallowed, hoping this wasn't a sign of worse seas to come.

“Do you think Lord Anglesey will be able to assist us?” I managed to ask.

“Perhaps, should we need it. With any luck, the county
constabulary will be able to inform us of all the particulars and provide support.”

“Will they have investigated?”

“One hopes. Though I gather they're more often employed to keep the peace and execute warrants. I don't know what sort of experience they have with this kind of inquiry, or how seriously they will have taken it. I suppose it depends on the man in charge.” He paused. “And whether they're interested in capturing a nun's killer.”

“Well, someone informed the Duke of Wellington.”

“Yes, but that might have been the mother superior.”

I hadn't thought of that. I supposed if she were head of her religious institution, she must have some connections. After all, even clergy, even Catholics, were beholden to some politics and secular traditions.

I frowned as my annoyance with Lord Gage grew. Could he not have taken ten more minutes to write down some of the details of the crime and the people involved rather than sending us into this inquiry blind? He hadn't even told us how the girl died. After all, there were any number of ways she could have “got herself murdered.”

Another wave threw us back from the rail, nearly making me lose my grip. Nausea or no, I was beginning to wonder if maybe I would be safer below. The wind, which before had been reviving, now seemed to stab icy fingers through the fabric of my carriage dress. I shivered and lowered my chin, grateful I'd left my straw crape bonnet in the cabin, for it surely would have been ripped from my head. As it was, Marsdale was having to wrestle with his own hat.

Gage moved closer, trapping me between his arms where his hands clasped the railing. I didn't know whether it was because he'd noticed my chill or he was worried I would be knocked off my feet, but I was glad of it. I breathed easier with his warm, solid presence at my back, even though my hair, which had been ripped loose from my coiffure by the gusts of wind, must have been whipping in his face.

“We shall find out all soon enough,” Gage murmured into my ear. “For the moment, it is enough that we are on our way. And Lord willing, we shall make good time and reach Rathfarnham by nightfall tomorrow.”

I stared out at the crashing waves, which seemed to surge upward even to the horizon. “Yes, Lord willing.”

U
ltimately, the captain was proven right. The sea did calm as we passed to the south of the Isle of Man sometime in the hours just before nightfall. However, we first had to pass through a squall, which tossed the boat about like a piece of driftwood.

Soon after our conversation had ended, I'd been forced to go belowdecks or risk being soaked to the skin and possibly flung overboard. Not surprisingly, because of this combination of unfortunate elements, I was soon quite ill. I spent the next few hours on the bottom bunk, moaning and begging for the world to stop moving. It was then that I missed my cat, Earl Grey, most.

I had decided to leave the mischievous gray mouser in the care of my nieces and nephews at my sister's town house in Edinburgh. It had seemed unfair to drag him on such a long carriage ride to the Lake District in Cumberland and then on to London, when he could be happily ensconced in the nursery with the children, whom he adored with the indifferent fervency that only a cat can manage. Besides, I knew my niece Philipa would have been distraught to see him go, even more so than the others. She had begged to pay me and Gage a visit in our new town house every day after our wedding, but I knew it had not been me she was missing, but Earl Grey. So it seemed best to leave him behind.

After learning we would be traveling by boat to Ireland, I had been all the more glad he'd not made the journey with us. Until now. I missed his warm, rounded weight on the bunk beside me, the rumble of his purr, the comfort of stroking his fur. Bree sent the men away and cared for me as best she could, but she simply wasn't Earl Grey.

It took several hours for my insides to stop churning even after the rough waves had ceased to do the same to the boat. I could not stomach dinner, but I did manage to sleep, tucked in close to Gage's long body in our small bunk. Bree occupied the bunk above us while Anderley wrangled with the hammock in the opposite corner. Where Marsdale slept, I never knew, nor did I care.

By morning, I felt blessedly more like myself, and even able to enjoy a meager breakfast. The skies overheard gleamed a crystalline blue with scarcely a cloud in sight as the green shores of Ireland came into view. My spirits lifted with each mile we traveled toward land, eager to escape the waves, not trusting the fair weather to last.

We docked at the port of Howth, northeast of Dublin, around midmorning, pausing only long enough to transfer our trunks before we climbed into a hired coach and set off south along the Dublin Road. Marsdale somehow charmed his way into joining us, though Gage told him we would not be traveling into Dublin, but taking the Circular Mail-Coach Road around. He insisted his destination was along our route, and offered to pay half the cost of the carriage, so Gage relented.

The only person who was truly inconvenienced by the marquess's continued presence was Anderley, who was forced to ride up top with the coachman. Given the fair weather, I thought he might not mind, but seeing the furtive looks he sent Marsdale's way, it was clear I was wrong. Knowing what I did now about Anderley's penchant for making his displeasure known and felt, I couldn't help speculating on how he would manage that in this case.

I didn't have long to wait. After our first stop at a coaching
inn to stretch our legs and use the necessities, Marsdale spent half an hour squirming fitfully. I bit my lip, trying to work out the source of his discomfort. When finally he coaxed Bree, who was seated next to him, to check the back of his cravat, she pulled out a burr which had become buried in the folds.

“How the devil did that get there?” he remarked.

None of us responded, though I heard Gage clear his throat, and when Bree turned toward the window, I could see she was suppressing a smile.

Much of the rest of the journey passed without incident, though it was warm and not altogether comfortable, even with Gage's shoulder to lean on. Because Gage had elected to take the Circular Road, we traveled through several swaths of open country where the view from our windows was quite lovely— green hills, and fields of wheat, and clear rippling streams. West of Dublin, we passed several artillery barracks, the dreaded stone block of Kilmainham Jail, and the Royal Hospital with its tall central spire. Then the road crossed over and ran alongside a wide canal, busy with barges, before sweeping away to the north toward the city. Soon after, we finally turned to the south, crossing the canal once again and plunging deeper into the impossibly green, wooded landscape for which Ireland was so well known.

Just when I began to wonder how much farther we had to go before we reached Rathfarnham, the sound of the carriage wheels changed as we rolled across the stone surface of a bridge. Over the clatter of the wheels, I could hear the rushing waters of the River Dodder, and leaned forward to stare out through the branches of the ash and alder trees overhanging it, largely blocking our view of the tributary. Our coachman had informed us in his lilting tongue that the river was the boundary of Rathfarnham village and the old Rathfarnham Demesne. Here the roadside gradually gave way to more homes and businesses. Next to the river on the right stood the sprawling wooden structures of a mill, and then the stolid block of a gray stone manor house. The imposing walls
of a gate lodge which, no doubt, led to some other manor rose up to our left, before the beginning of a tidy row of shops that stretched along either side of the lane.

Our carriage slowed to a crawl, giving us a better glimpse of the town, as well as its people, bustling to and fro in the afternoon sun. The villagers barely spared us a glance. I supposed because our carriage wasn't the only coach and six on the street, though there were far more single-horse carts and buggies, pulled just as often by mules and donkeys, as black town coaches. An arched opening in an otherwise plain stone wall on the right marked the entrance to a graveyard blocked by black iron gates, I presumed to separate the living from the dead.

Only two shops stood between this sober reminder of mortality and the barracks of the county constabulary, situated at the corner of a narrow lane. Several horses were tethered at the front of the billet, their heads buried in troughs. With the street in front of the building so occupied, our coachman guided the carriage toward the opposite corner, where the parish church stood in all its Georgian splendor. Its tall spire reached up as if to pierce the sky, towering above everything around it. We slowed to a stop next to a swath of manicured shrubs and bright flowerbeds buzzing with bees.

I glanced at Gage, expecting him to issue some sort of instructions before we alighted, but his gaze was focused on the scene outside my window. I could tell from the pucker between his brows that something was troubling him, but before I could ask what, he suddenly reached for the door. “Wait here,” was all the explanation he offered as he stepped out.

We heard him conferring softly with the coachman, though Bree and Marsdale gave no indication they could make out his words any better than I could. A moment later, he climbed back into the coach and we set off down the road again.

“I thought you wished to consult with the chief constable,” I queried, confused by this sudden change in our plans.

“I did. But upon seeing how many people would witness our first stop in Rathfarnham being at the constabulary, I
decided that might not be in our best interest, or that of our investigation.”

I turned to peer out the window at the villagers again, several of whom now paused to take note of our passing carriage. Their heads tilted together in speculation.

“Aye. An' the other half o' the village would ken ye went to the Peelers by sundown.” Bree shook her head. “The Irish dinna trust the guard.”

“True enough.” Gage's eyes looked a question, but he did not ask it.

“Her grandmother was Irish,” I explained. And then, lest Bree feel awkward, I added. “As was mine.”

“I'd forgotten that,” he remarked. “Your mother's mother?”

“Yes. She was born north of Dublin, but she moved to Scotland to live with an aunt and uncle when she was young.” I turned to look out the window as the road swerved to the east, and the tall trees lining the road thinned enough to provide a glimpse of a square white tower. “She didn't often speak of Ireland. Though I was only five when she died. So it's possible I simply don't recall.”

My grandmother, Lady Rutherford, had been a formidable and fascinating woman. Even as a young child, I had seen the way others watched her. With her white hair, and bright lapis lazuli eyes—the same shade as mine—and her musical voice, she had still possessed the ability to charm men half her age, though it had been obvious she had adored only my grandfather until the day she died. There had been some scandal over their marriage because of her lineage. It was ridiculous. Yes, she could trace her ancestors back to the ancient Irish kings, but she also claimed blood from English nobles, part of the Ascendancy who had been granted Irish land confiscated by the Crown during one of Ireland's unsuccessful seventeenth-century revolts. As far as I could tell, it was pure snobbery, possibly because my grandmother refused to hide the lilt that still colored her voice. The lilt my grandfather so loved.

“So you have relatives here in Ireland?” Gage persisted, unaware of my thoughts.

I glanced back at him. “I suppose. But I'm afraid I don't know where or even who they are.” The truth was, it had been a long time since I'd thought of the Irish branch of my mother's family. I didn't even know for certain how my grandmother had felt about her relatives, though I had a very vague sense that she was happy to leave them in the past.

“So where are we going?” I asked, returning to the matter at hand. “The cottage where we'll be staying? The Priory?” At least, that was what Lord Gage had called it.

“I thought we'd pay a visit to the abbey first. We'll be passing it anyway, and I'd like to speak with the mother superior to find out what details she can tell us as soon as possible.” Gage's eyes cut to mine. “Besides, didn't you say time was of the essence in regards to certain pieces of evidence?”

I knew he was speaking of the body. We'd not been given the exact date of the murder, and I'd expressed worry over the amount of decomposition the nun's corpse might have already undergone, particularly in the summer heat. At a guess, I estimated at least a week had passed, and I was already bracing myself for the level of putrefaction I would be forced to confront.

I swallowed and turned away. “At this point, another hour won't make much of a difference. It's still going to be extremely unpleasant.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marsdale wince, guessing correctly what evidence we were referring to.

“Well, regardless, I'd like to visit the abbey first,” Gage declared before giving him a hard glare. “Marsdale, would you like me to have the carriage stop at this tavern?” He tipped his head toward the window, where outside we were passing a thin, three-story building painted the shade of ochre with brown trim. “The Yellow House” was emblazoned above the door and windows in gold letters.

We'd waited the entire trip for Marsdale to tell us where
to convey him, but since we'd turned on the road leading south, I'd begun to have a sneaking suspicion we were not going to be rid of him so easily. Though why he should wish to linger with us was beyond my fathom. Surely the marquess would enjoy whatever entertainments could be found in Dublin city far more than those here in the countryside. To be fair, he had been surprisingly quiet much of the journey, and he'd kept the majority of his ribald humor to himself, but I didn't trust this good behavior to last.

“No. I know a fellow who lives nearby. I'm sure he'll be quite happy to take me in.” His voice was lighthearted enough that I wanted to believe him, but I couldn't, not until he'd actually been delivered to this friend.

Evidently, Gage felt the same way. “Then the coachman can deliver you to this friend while we speak to the mother superior.”

“No need for that. I can join you and have the carriage take me once you're settled at this Priory you mentioned.” He smiled his most amiable smile. “I wouldn't wish to inconvenience you.”

Bree scoffed at this last comment, continuing to stare out the window.

I pressed my lips together to hide my amusement. However, Gage was focused on something I'd missed.

“You are not entering the abbey with us, Marsdale.”

Some of his nonchalance began to slip. “Why not? I could be of assistance.”

Gage arched an eyebrow at the absurdity of that statement. “How exactly? By questioning the nuns?” His voice was flat, suggesting nothing overtly, but I felt my cheeks heat at the hidden implication.

Marsdale's teeth flashed in a wide grin. “I bet I could charm them out of quite a lot. But no. That's not what I meant.”

“Regardless, I'm not going to allow you to make a nuisance of yourself.” His mouth twisted. “At least, not any more than you already have.”