Trevor sat stiffly beside me, staring out the opposite window. I couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking, but I knew he wasn’t pleased with this turn of events. Neither was our Uncle Andrew or Lord Buchan, both of whom seemed reluctant to meet my eyes. I did my best to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy when my nerves were already stretched taut with a disquieting mixture of dread and anticipation.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect. Willie had heard a gunshot, just one, so Dodd had likely died from a wound to his head or torso. From the amount of blood on Willie’s clothes, I surmised Dodd had bled out, so the scene could be quite gruesome, or not. It depended on the wound and how much movement Dodd had made while dying.
As far as the disturbed grave, my guess was no better than the next person’s. The body would be all or mostly bone and perhaps some hair, which would save us from the uncomfortable sight and smell of decomposition.
If the body was even still there.
Had the body snatchers taken it as planned, or abandoned their work after shooting Dodd, worried about the arrival of reinforcements? I supposed it depended on how close they were to being finished, and how ruthless they were.
If the bones had been left behind, then I presumed there would be two victims for me to examine. Such a thought didn’t cause me as much discomfort as I’d expected. But the thought that I might be growing accustomed to all of this did.
After the horrors of my marriage to Sir Anthony and my enforced involvement with his work—observing his dissections and sketching the results for his anatomy textbook—I had been keen to escape anything associated with that world. I had viewed the victims’ corpses from the previous two investigations I had been involved with only out of necessity and a desire to see justice done for my friends and family. But this crime had nothing to do with me. I had no relation to Dodd or Lord Buchan. I should have no desire to be near this tragedy, despite my uncle’s reluctant request for my assistance. Instead, not only had I allowed myself to be coaxed into lending my aid, but I could also feel an undercurrent of excitement running through me at the prospect.
My late husband’s colleagues had called me unnatural when they discovered my contribution to his anatomical work, and not for the first time, I wondered if they might be right. Or else why would I be running toward a dead body and a disturbed grave when by all rights I should be fleeing in fright?
Trevor’s shoulder bumped against mine as the carriage made a sharp turn to the left into the grounds of Dryburgh House. Through the dark outline of the trees, I could see the pale stones of the Earl of Buchan’s manor gleaming in the moonlight. The coach made another turn onto the gravel of the house’s drive and then rolled to a stop.
My heart jumped as I felt the manservant leap down from his perch on the back of the carriage. A moment later, the door opened and Lord Buchan pulled himself forward to descend. I was the last to disembark, with the assistance of my brother, and was instantly grateful for the kid leather half-boots loaned to me by my cousin. I had changed into them before we left and my feet now sank into the mud at the edge of the drive. I grimaced at the realization of what my gown’s hem would look like after this midnight foray, and silently said an apology to my new maid, Bree.
Dryburgh House stood some distance away from us to the right, farther up the gravel drive. Its west front, on the far side of the house, bordered the River Tweed, whose waters rambled southward only to sweep around in a wide curve to flow north again, forming the small peninsula on which the old abbey had been built. The carriage had stopped on the drive just short of a well-trampled trail that led south, paralleling the river, and straight into the trees bordering the manor’s lawn.
I had visited the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey with my family several times as a girl, and also once with William Dalmay ten years ago, the summer he acted as my drawing master. I felt a twinge of pain as the memory of Will’s earnest joy and excitement also brought to mind his recent death. It sometimes seemed impossible that he had been gone just ten short weeks. And now I had to face this place that, until now, I had forgotten I last visited in his company. It was almost too much to bear.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to push aside the image of Will’s haunted gray eyes.
Someone gripped my elbow, and I opened my eyes to find Trevor watching me closely, a look of concern tightening his features. I offered him a smile of reassurance, grateful he couldn’t know the real source of my distress. Let him think I was nervous about viewing Dodd’s body, for that was where my mind should have been focused.