A Brush with Shadows Read online

  That being said, I did not dally over dinner. There were only so many of Lady Langstone’s venomous looks and sly cutting remarks I could endure, especially when Rory did little to help direct the conversation elsewhere. I might have felt annoyed with him, except that he seemed so apologetic when I did manage to pull his attention away from whatever preoccupied him. Clearly something was bothering him, and I hoped he would take the opportunity to confide in Gage when I slipped away, claiming fatigue.

  In any case, I had something much more interesting to devote my evening to.

  Lifting the skirts of my dress, I hurried back to my bedchamber. I was pleased to see Bree had found the items I’d requested. After tugging on the bellpull to summon her, I hurried over to the dressing table to examine the platter, clear glasses, and sieve.

  I pulled the key out from where I’d secured it inside my corset and leaned over to unlock the bottom right drawer. Inside sat my jewelry case, as well as the two bottles of Miss Galloway’s tincture. I set the bottles on the table and rose to fetch some sheets of foolscap to jot down my notes when Bree arrived.

  She’d merely arched her eyebrows earlier when I relayed the list of items I needed her to procure for me, accustomed to my odd requests. But now she studied the arrangement on the dressing table with mild alarm.

  “Dinna tell me that’s poison in those bottles,” she chided.

  I glanced down at them and back at her. “Most likely not.” Then I narrowed my eyes, curious what she might have heard belowstairs, and from whom. “Why did you suspect poison?”

  She scoffed and pushed away from the door. “Because why else would ye be intent on examinin’ their contents? Yer no’ tryin’ to duplicate a recipe.” Her mouth quirked wryly. “You an’ Mr. Gage do investigate murders, m’lady. That means poison.”

  I smiled at her logic and allowed myself to be spun around.

  Her fingers deftly began working their way down the buttons. “I hope ye werena plannin’ to strain potions in this dress. One splash and the silk would be ruined.”

  “Of course not,” I lied. “I was just getting everything prepared.”

  Her quiet harrumph told me she didn’t believe me for a second. “What’s supposed to be in those bottles? Something Lord Langstone drank?”

  “A tincture for a stomach ailment. At least, that’s what Miss Galloway claims. We found the nearly empty bottle in Lord Langstone’s chamber. Miss Galloway gave me the full bottle this morning and claimed it was from the same batch.”

  “And you want to compare their contents to find oot if she’s tellin’ the truth?”

  “Exactly.”

  With little warning, Bree whisked my gown up over my head. “Who’s this Miss Galloway?”

  “She’s the illegitimate daughter of Lord Sherracombe. Lives out on the moor in the same cottage she grew up in with her now-deceased mother.” I swiveled so I could see Bree’s image in the looking glass as she began loosening the strings of my corset. “Actually, Mr. Trevelyan tried to convince us she’s a witch.”

  It turned out I hadn’t needed to see my maid’s reflection to observe her reaction, for she tugged so sharply on the corset strings I nearly lost my balance.

  “My apologies, m’lady.”

  “If anything, I would say she’s more of an herbalist,” I continued. “Or simply a hedge witch, as Gage says they’re called on Dartmoor.” I turned to glower over my shoulder at her. “Now, tell me why the suggestion that she’s a witch so startled you.”

  “’Tis nothing. Only . . .”

  I arched my eyebrows, waiting impatiently for her to explain.

  “The other servants have been tellin’ me some o’ the local folklore.”

  “I imagine there are quite a few colorful tales connected with Dartmoor.” The land was too isolated and atmospheric not to be the subject of myth, especially when one considered the high number of deaths connected to its natural hazards. Combine all that, and the moors must be rife with legends.

  She nodded, removing my corset. “Aye. Pixies bent on mischief, vanishin’ cottages, beasts protectin’ treasures, even a lady who turns into a black dog every midnight and runs alongside a coach made from her husband’s bones.”

  I sat on the bench and leaned over to remove my shoes and stockings. “Is she the witch you’re so concerned about?”

  “Nay,” Bree assured me as she returned with my nightdress. “Least no’ ’til she removes every blade o’ grass from her castle. ’Tis only then she can be at rest. Or free to cause more mischief.”

  I looked up at her, trying to tell if she was serious or pitching the gammon. She seemed to be in earnest, but that still didn’t explain her reaction. I cast her a long-suffering look as she lifted my night rail to drop it over my head, refusing to raise my arms until she acknowledged it.

  “But they did tell me another tale that was aboot a witch,” she hastened to add. “Named Vixana.”

  I let the folds of the nightdress settle around me and swiveled to allow Bree to remove the pins from my hair while she related the tale. “She lived in a cave at the foot o’ a tor to the south, no’ far from here, and she hated people. Despised ’em. Though no one could remember why. Anyway, she spent her days perched on top o’ her tor, waitin’ to cause harm to any who passed. Near her tor lies a bog, and when travelers would try to take the track past her home, she would summon a thick mist to disorient ’em, so that they would stumble into the bog, ne’er to be seen again. Because of it, locals took another trail, which led through the roughest part o’ the moor, miles oot o’ their way, just to avoid goin’ past Vixana’s home.”

  Bree picked up a hairbrush, running it soothingly through my hair before she began to plait it. “This went on for many years. No one kens how long. Until a young moorman who’d been given special powers because o’ a favor he performed for the pixies decided to investigate Vixana’s tor. When Vixana saw him walkin’ along the track toward her, she summoned the mist as she always did. But because o’ the gift o’ clear sight that the pixies had given him, the moorman was able to stay to the path and cross the bog unharmed. When Vixana saw this, she screamed in frustration and began to weave another spell. But the moorman heard her shriek, and realized he was in danger. So he slipped on a ring that would make him invisible—his other gift from the pixies. Vixana was baffled when she could no longer see the man she wanted to direct her spell at, so she moved closer to the edge o’ the rocks, leanin’ over to search for him. But while she was distracted, the moorman crept aroond to the other side o’ the tor, climbed the rocks, and snuck up behind her to push her o’er the edge to her doom. Vixana no longer lives there, but the tor is still named after her.”

  I studied Bree in the mirror as she tied the ribbon to secure my braid. “That’s a very affecting story, but . . . what does that have to do with Miss Galloway?”

  Bree shrugged. “Probably nothin’. But one o’ the servants muttered something aboot Vixana’s descendants still bein’ aboot before Mr. Hammett could shush her. Just be careful.” Her eyes met mine steadily in the mirror. “I ken ye like to believe the best o’ ladies who’ve been wronged, an’ goodness kens I think that’s admirable. But . . . they’re no’ all innocent. Sometimes where there’s smoke, there is fire. And sometimes when there’s blather, the rumors are true.”

  I considered her words as she turned to gather my clothes and straighten the room. She was right. After hearing Rory’s speculations about Miss Galloway’s mother’s involvement with Annie, I’d already decided I needed to proceed with caution. Hearing Bree—someone I trusted almost implicitly—say the same thing only drove the matter home.

  That being said, I knew listening to folktales wasn’t the only thing Bree had been doing with her time belowstairs. “Have you made any progress with Lady Langstone’s maid?”

  Bree sighed and shook her head. “She’s a prickly one. No’ easil
y charmed. But I’m workin’ on her.”

  “Anderley told me he asked you to try to cozen Cooper, Alfred’s valet.”

  “Aye. Noo, he’s more promisin’. Just wants someone to listen to his complaints, and I can do that.” Her nose wrinkled. “Even if he does whine more than my three-year-old nephew.”

  I chuckled and she smiled.

  “Leave the dishes on the dressin’ table when yer done. I’ll take care o’ ’em in the mornin’.” She glanced between me and the bottles, as if debating whether to issue another warning like a little mother hen. “Mr. Gage will be up soon?”

  My brow furrowed in irritation. “I imagine so.”

  Wisely sensing she’d pushed me far enough, she bobbed a curtsy. “Good night, m’lady.”

  “Good night,” I replied, waiting until the door was firmly shut before spinning around to begin my analysis of the tinctures.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I was perched on the bench, dabbing my pinky fingers into each of the two tinctures and touching them to my tongue to try to decipher any difference in taste, when Gage entered the room through the connecting door to his chamber.

  “What the devil are you doing?!”

  I startled as he strode closer to stand over me. His eyes flicked furiously over the contents of the dressing table.

  “Testing the tinctures.”

  “Are you mad?” he demanded, reaching for the ewer of water and a clean glass. “It could be poisoned. Wait.” He halted abruptly in pouring the water, making it slosh onto the floor. “Tinctures?” He emphasized the plural.

  “Yes,” I replied calmly. “Miss Galloway gave me a bottle of tincture she claimed was prepared from the same batch as the bottle we found in Alfred’s room so that I could compare them.”

  “And you decided to drink them?” He thrust the glass of water into my hands.

  “No! I was merely tasting them. And I already have a glass of water. How do you think I’ve been cleansing my palate?”

  “Kiera, they could be poisoned!” He pushed the glass toward my lips. “Drink that.”

  I scowled, but obliged, restraining myself from pointing out that drinking the water would force more of the tincture down into my stomach. “I highly doubt it,” I said when his hand moved away. “Besides, even if they were, drinking nearly an entire bottle didn’t kill Alfred. So there’s little chance a few small tastes is going to harm me.”

  “Maybe not. But it might harm . . .” He stopped himself before he said the words, his eyes dipping to my abdomen and then back to my face.

  My face flushed with warmth at the implication and I couldn’t stop myself from pressing a hand to my flat stomach. I wasn’t yet expecting. Or, at least, I didn’t think I was. It was too early to tell if any of our most recent efforts had yielded results. But there was the possibility. And I hadn’t even considered the effect my examination of the tinctures might have on him or her.

  That thought made me go cold. Possibly days into motherhood and I might already be doing an abominable job. Considering all the uncertainties I’d been wrestling with recently, this was not a welcome revelation.

  I set the glass of water carefully on the table, trying to calm my suddenly swirling stomach. Courtesy of my anxieties or the tinctures?

  “Well, I haven’t noted anything suspicious that might lead me to believe these contain poison.” I spoke evenly, trying to use reason to allay my own concerns as much as Gage’s. “I compared their appearance, their texture, their scent, and . . . and even their taste. In addition to the gin the ingredients are dissolved in, I was able to distinguish all the herbs Miss Galloway mentioned, as well as a few more. As far as I can tell, there is nothing to cause alarm.”

  Gage rested a hand on my shoulder in comfort, sensing my distress despite my attempt to hide it. Following my gaze, he read over the list of suspected ingredients I’d noted on the paper before me. “What did Miss Galloway say the tincture was used for?” His voice was still edged with tension, but kinder than it had been moments before.

  “Stomach ailments.”

  His eyes dipped to my face, not missing the irony of dosing such a substance with poison. “Did she know why Alfred needed it?”

  “No. At least, she didn’t share the specifics. Though she did mention she sells this particular treatment to the villagers. Says she makes a new batch every few weeks.”

  He cupped my elbow, helping me to my feet, and guided me toward the bed. I perched on the edge while he moved about the room, checking the locks on the windows.

  “What else did Miss Galloway have to say?” He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You were in her cottage longer than I expected.”

  “Preparing to storm the castle, were you?” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Actually, yes.”

  His reply made my tentative smile vanish.

  “And Rory didn’t help matters. Toward the end, I practically had to restrain him.”

  “He truly believes she means us harm?”

  “He does.”

  The last set of drapes closed with a snap, but when he failed to join me on the bed, I looked up from where I’d been worrying my hands in my lap to find him studying me.

  “But what do you think?”

  I paused to sort through my impressions of her before I spoke, waiting on Gage to sit by my side. The silk of his dressing gown brushed against the cotton of my nightdress.

  “I rather liked her. She’s not responsible for the hand she’s been dealt, and yet, I think she’s made the best of it she can.”

  “She could have let her father arrange a marriage for her.”

  “And be made to feel grateful her entire life that her husband condescended to take her as his wife?” I shook my head.

  “They don’t all turn out that way,” he reminded me quietly.

  “And some of them end up quite worse.” I stared up at him through my lashes, reminding him how I felt about arranged marriages. After all, my first marriage had been arranged, and had turned out to be the worst mistake of my life. “Regardless, you cannot blame her for wanting to retain control of her own fate.” I propped my foot up against the mattress, clasping my hands around my bent knee as I considered my observations of Miss Galloway. “She’s intelligent and capable. She doesn’t seem to tolerate nonsense, and yet she’s not without empathy, even for the likes of Alfred.”

  Gage laid back, turning to his side to face me, and propped his head on his hand. “What do you mean?”

  I reclined beside him, staring up at the bed curtains. “From the little she said, I could tell she was better acquainted with him than I’d expected. I think they were friends, of a sort. If not something more.” I turned my head to look at my husband. “He seemed to confide in her.”

  His pale blue eyes glistened with interest. “About?”

  “His life here at Langstone. His perception that no one truly cared for him.”

  Gage’s eyebrows shot skyward briefly before furrowing in a frown. “If so, it’s his own fault.”

  Amusement curled my lips. “Oh, she was well aware of that. And I’ve no doubt she pointed that out to him.”

  His eyes trailed over my features as he mulled over what I’d said. “You think there might have been something between them?”

  I shrugged. “Stranger matches have been made.”

  His face softened at my obvious reference to our own union, and he reached out to roll me onto my side closer to him. His fingers lifted to toy with the end of my braid. It was only a matter of time before he removed the ribbon and destroyed all of Bree’s efforts to keep my hair tame. “If that’s true, do you think she would have helped him? Either to hide or escape, if the situation merited it?”

  I chewed on my lip in contemplation, not failing to note how Gage’s eyes became riveted to my mouth. “If the motive w
as solely to escape your grandfather’s wrath, then no. But . . . if the reason was good enough, perhaps if he was in danger, then yes.” It was my turn to scrutinize him. “What are you thinking?”

  He frowned. “Nothing as of yet. I’m just . . . curious.”

  I raised my eyebrows, hoping he intended to elaborate.

  “Do you remember the bouquet we found in Alfred’s room?”

  “The herb bennet? Miss Galloway claimed it’s for protection.”

  “She admitted to giving it to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured as his gaze drifted to my right ear.

  When he didn’t explain, I prodded him. “Why? Is it not true?”

  “No. She’s right. It’s traditionally used for protection. What I find interesting is that it’s often used for a specific type of protection.” He settled in closer, as if imparting a secret. “Herb bennet has religious associations, namely that it can ward off the devil and evil spirits, in particular the venom of any beast. This is because St. Benedict, for whom the plant is named, was once given a cup of poisoned wine. But when the saint blessed it, the glass shattered and a demon emerged, exposing the giver’s evil intentions.”

  My eyes widened. “How did you find this out?”

  “I had a few extra minutes to spare this afternoon, so I looked it up in the library.”

  I pressed a hand to the warm skin revealed by the gap in his dressing gown. “Well, then, if that’s true, it would hardly make sense for Miss Galloway to have given Alfred a plant to protect him from poison if she intended to dose him herself.”

  Gage nodded, gripping my hand to quell my excitement. “But that also means she may have suspected he was being poisoned by someone else.”