As Death Draws Near by Anna Lee Huber Page B

shrill woman’s voice almost visibly sent the hair bristling down her back.
    She stooped to gather up my dress and shoes, tossing the former over her arm before she swiveled back toward the dressing table to slam shut the lock box with my necklace and earrings nestled inside. She wedged this into the bottom right drawer.
    â€œWell, under the circumstances, I’m glad of your upbringing.” I told her as she straightened, knowing I had to say something. “Neither Gage nor I have the slightest notion about Catholics, or abbeys, or what troubles they might face, and I suspect we shall need your expertise if we are to solve Miss Lennox’s murder.” I pressed a hand to my brow wearily. “If it’s murder at all.”
    She stood staring at me with a rather flustered expression on her face.
    â€œHave you had a chance to write to your brother?” I asked, wondering if our discussion might have dredged up memories of her earlier life.
    â€œI . . .” She paused and then bent over to collect something she’d dropped. “Not yet.”
    â€œDid they assign you adequate accommodations somewhere?” I knew she must be as tired as, if not more so, than I was, and here I was keeping her.
    She nodded. “Aye. I’m to share a room wi’ one o’ the maids. Far as I can tell, the girl is quiet and tidy, so it’ll do.”
    â€œThen I should let you seek your own bed. Good night.”
    She picked up the candleholder by the door. “Good night, m’lady.”
    I waited until the door shut before crossing the room to crawl into bed next to Gage. His long body weighted the covers down so that I had wriggle my legs to slide underneath. Before I blew out the candle beside the bed and lay down, I turned to find him watching me with somnolent eyes.
    I think I half expected him to chide me for not taking issue with Bree’s Catholicism, but instead he murmured in a drowsy-deep voice. “You’re right. We do need her.” He grunted as he tried to roll himself toward the edge of the bed. “I think I know more about steam locomotives than I do Roman Catholics.”
    â€œSteam locomotives?” I asked in amusement as I pushed him, helping him to gain his momentum.
    He managed to hoist himself upright, perched at the edge of the mattress. At first he didn’t attempt any further movement, and I wondered if perhaps his head was spinning from the drink. Then he reached up to tug at his cravat, pulling it from around his neck and tossing it on the floor like a little boy. I’d noticed it was one of his more lamentable habits, and was glad I wasn’t the one forced to pick up after him. That was Anderley’s job.
    â€œYes. Your brother is simply mad about them. Jabbered my ear off about them at Dalmay and Lady Caroline’s wedding breakfast. Declares they’ll revolutionize the way we travel. And they just might.”
    â€œThen you’d best invest in them,” I proclaimed with a yawn, too tired to continue to follow this conversation. Instead, I lay back and tried to keep my eyes open to watch him continue to divest himself of his clothes. He had a very fine back, did my husband. Smooth and well muscled. I had been admiring it and various other parts of his body with my artist’s eye since our wedding night. Or perhaps it was with the appreciation of a rather smitten wife. Either way, he was thoroughly distracting.
    â€œI already have.” He shifted the mattress as he reached down to remove one of his stockings. “There are proposals to link the Liverpool and Manchester Railway with Birmingham.”
    I yawned, closing my eyes as I gave a disinterested hum.
    I felt him lift the covers, letting in a draft of cool air, and then he rolled toward me, hovering over me as he pressed against my side. “Poor Kiera,” he crooned. “Hauled acrossrough seas and all over Rathfarnham, and then forced to listen