Chapter 13 #2
I thought back over my recollection of the state of Miss Whitlock’s body, trying to ignore the damages to her face, aware that their severity skewed my objectivity.
I also thought back over her behavior and mannerisms during the hours leading up to her death.
If she had been with child, she wasn’t yet showing.
There had been no telltale rounding of the abdomen or swelling of the breast tissue.
She also had not yet developed the signature gait that expectant women exhibited due to the widening of their hips and the shifting of their internal organs.
If I wasn’t mistaken, this occurred fairly early during gestation.
It was true, she had been indisposed upon her arrival and her appetite over dinner had not been strong, but that didn’t necessarily signal pregnancy.
She could just as easily have been suffering from a stomach complaint or residual nausea from their travels.
Her complexion had been wan, as one would expect in someone recovering from illness, rather than the typical glow of pregnancy.
I bit my lip in indecision. For the fact was, there was no way to be certain. Even an autopsy might not provide me with a definitive answer if the impregnation was within the past few weeks.
I’d performed a postmortem on an expectant mother just once before and had struggled mightily despite the fact that I hadn’t needed to make the cuts.
The killer had done that, monster that he was.
I balked at doing one now, especially knowing it might not give us the answers we sought.
And if it provided no answers, it could offer no proof to be brought against a suspect during trial.
In fact, it might actually hurt the eventual case against whoever the culprit was if it turned out that a potential pregnancy had no bearing on the matter.
I spent much of the evening distracted by these ruminations, counting down the minutes until I could discuss them with Gage.
Fortunately, most of the guests retired early again, claiming fatigue.
When all but a few gentlemen had gone up, I felt it safe to excuse myself, leaving the fellows to my husband and his father’s care.
My lingering gaze as I departed must have done the trick in communicating my desire to speak to him, for Gage joined me in our bedchamber soon after I’d sent Bree off to seek her own bed.
He found me standing before the long mirror turning left and right as I examined my figure through the fine lawn of my nightdress.
“What do you remember from when I was expecting Emma?” I asked without preamble. “Do you recall when I first started showing? When did my nipples and areolas start darkening?”
He seemed at a loss for words at first but soon recovered, closing the door to the adjoining sitting room before approaching. His hands fell lightly on my shoulders as he met my gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
I stared back at him for the space of several heartbeats in incomprehension before realizing. “Oh! No. I’m not with child.” But then I paused, tilting my head as I calculated the days since my last menses. I shook my head. “No.”
I couldn’t tell if his expression was relieved or disappointed. His mask of inscrutability was firmly in place.
“Then, am I to assume this has something to do with Miss Whitlock?” His head reared back as he came to the realization Lorna and I both had. “She was indisposed.”
“But I cannot decide if that’s indicative of anything or not,” I confessed in frustration before reiterating my thoughts on the matter.
“So I’ve been trying to recall the changes my body went through when I was first expecting Emma.
Was there something external that could give us the answer we seek without risking the invasion of an autopsy? ”
“Well, I remember many of the changes you listed, but as to your…” he cleared his throat “…nipples, I’m afraid I don’t recall exactly when they darkened.
And as for Miss Whitlock…” He cleared his throat again.
“If you don’t know what color they were to start with, I’m not certain…
” His words trailed off, but I recognized what he was attempting to communicate and the wisdom behind it.
I also couldn’t stop a small smile from stretching my lips at the evidence of his discomfort with this topic. “You investigate grisly murders, but speaking of the anatomy of women’s breasts makes you blush.” For indeed, color had crested his bronzed cheeks.
He frowned.
I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his torso. “Oh, now, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s quite endearing.” Though I couldn’t help teasing him just a little more. “Particularly since you seem quite without shame when it comes to lavishing attention on my anatomy.”
“That’s different,” he growled.
I giggled. “That’s true. Yes, point taken,” I said, sobering. “None of this is a laughing matter.” I inhaled a deep breath as apprehension flooded me again. “What should we do?”
Gage considered my question, seeming to realize what I was really asking. Should I have performed an autopsy? Should I do one now? Only a day had passed. The decay would not be far advanced since Miss Whitlock’s body had been stored in the cold cellar. Though I still didn’t relish the prospect.
He lifted his hands to rest them on my waist. “In this instance, I think restraint may be the wisest course. Especially if, as you say, an autopsy is unlikely to further our knowledge.”
My shoulders sagged in relief upon hearing this. Something he noticed.
“And even if she was expecting, she might not have known it, let alone anyone else, since she wasn’t far enough along for it to be noticeable,” he added. “So its bearing on our investigation might be negligible.”
That was perhaps putting it too mildly. I could only imagine how Mrs. Birnam would react to someone deeming the discovery that her husband had been sleeping with and had impregnated his secretary as negligible.
But I understood what he meant to convey.
There was no way to prove who the father was, and so without corroborating evidence, Miss Whitlock’s being with child could not sufficiently indicate motive.
In any case, we agreed that performing a more in-depth postmortem was not the best step forward.
Basking in the comfort of his embrace, I forced myself to dwell on another topic. Though one that was perhaps not any more welcome.
“Did your father have anything else to say?”
He blew out a long breath. “Nothing worth repeating.”
I pressed in close to him, offering him what comfort I could. I’d considered the thought percolating in my mind a handful of times in the past six months, but this was the first time I’d dared to speak it. “Have we made a mistake?”
Gage drew back so he could see my face.
“Making the dower house our country residence,” I clarified.
We had worried that, considering how Lord Gage was, proximity would breed contempt. Given his behavior over the past week, I feared that was exactly what we were reaping.
Gage pulled me close again, resting his chin on my head.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, the aching honesty in his voice making my throat tight.
“But for better or for worse, the house is finished, and to our specifications. So let’s spend some more time there, dash the guests and the investigation and father.
We’re not automatons!” He grasped my long chestnut braid, tugging lightly so that my head was tipped back to look at him.
“Let’s collect Emma and take off for our house tomorrow afternoon, or barring that, the next. ”
I agreed, feeling cheered. “Yes, let’s.”
Arching up on my toes, I pressed my lips to his supple ones. His hand gripped a fistful of my nightdress at the back, anchoring me to him as he deepened the kiss.
Sometime later, once we were settled in bed with my head pillowed on his shoulder and my body draped along his side, skin to skin, he returned to the subject first raised when he entered the room.
“You know, Emma is fifteen months old,” he remarked almost idly, his fingers running up and down the length of my arm where it rested over his chest.
I waited to hear what he would say next.
“Should we be making a more concerted effort to have a second child?”
This made me chuckle. “I do believe you’ve been quite attentive enough.” I ran my foot up his leg beneath the covers. “You do remember how it works?”
He smiled at my teasing. “I do. I just…wondered.”
It was true, we hadn’t exactly been trying to get pregnant. But we also hadn’t been trying not to.
“It will happen when it happens,” I said with a shrug. An answer he readily accepted. But then privately I began to wonder.
I’d not worried about it before, busy as I’d been with Emma and finishing my art exhibit and then completing the dower house as we prepared for this house party, not to mention our periodic investigations.
I had also chosen to breastfeed my daughter myself, and I knew that could delay conception.
But given Gage’s regular amorous attentions, was it odd that I’d not gotten with child again?
I chewed my bottom lip, reluctant to admit my sudden concern. Plainly, Gage didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t. But surely my sister would, and possibly Lorna. At least they’d both carried multiple pregnancies.
I tried to put the apprehension from my mind until I could broach the topic with either of them, but it was still a long time before I fell asleep.