A Brush with Shadows Read online

  I subsided deeper into the bedding, recalling something else she’d told me. “She might be concerned for us as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before I left, she . . . she told me not to remove my mother’s pendant.” I reached up to feel its solid weight hidden beneath my nightdress. “And she told me to keep the bottle of tincture because I might have need of it.”

  His eyes flashed. “Was she trying to frighten you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She seemed genuinely concerned. The same as she looked when we discussed Alfred.” I hesitated, suspecting he wasn’t going to like what I had to say next even more. “She warned me there’s a shadow over this house. And suggested Alfred isn’t the first person to disappear from Langstone Manor.”

  But contrary to my expectations, Gage didn’t even recoil from the possibility. In fact, he looked pensive.

  “You’re not surprised,” I remarked in astonishment.

  “There are . . . rumors. I heard them when I was young. About some ancestor before my grandfather’s time. Someone who went walking on the moors and never returned.”

  “So you don’t know if it’s true?”

  He shook his head.

  Had Lorna merely been repeating popular lore, or did she know something? Something maybe Alfred uncovered?

  “Would your grandfather?” I asked, pressing the tips of my fingers against his skin to recall his attention.

  “Maybe.” He grimaced. “But will he share it?”

  “Perhaps I should press Miss Galloway for more information.”

  His eyes searched mine, understanding what I was really asking. He exhaled, as if answering against his better judgment, and touched his forehead to mine. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

  I moved my head back so that I could see him better, surprised he hadn’t objected to my suggestion I revisit Miss Galloway. “Truly?”

  His lips tightened in irritation. “I feel like I should be insulted. I know I’m protective of you, but I’ve never stopped you from taking reasonable actions, especially in the pursuit of an investigation.”

  I wanted to argue that statement, for we seemed to have differing opinions on what constituted “reasonable actions” in the past, but I overlooked it in favor of a more interesting point. “I thought you’d be less inclined to trust Miss Galloway’s intentions given the accusations Rory leveled against her mother.”

  “Yes, well, we have no way of knowing whether that is true or not, and as you already pointed out, it’s not fair to fault her for the sins of her mother. Heaven knows, I don’t want to be saddled with my father’s,” he muttered almost under his breath.

  I brushed a stray golden curl back from his forehead, empathizing with that sentiment.

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure we should give any credence to Rory’s claims.” His jaw hardened. “He never displayed an ounce of loyalty toward my mother in the past. Not even at her funeral. It seems a tad too convenient that he should claim to now.”

  Not knowing what had occurred at his mother’s funeral, I couldn’t respond with any confidence, but I felt I should try. “Yes, but you said yourself he seems to have changed in the fifteen years since you last saw him.”

  “But enough for him to become outraged at an accused woman’s daughter on my mother’s behalf?” The ribbon in my hair gave way as he tugged on the end. “That’s too far.”

  “You think he dislikes her for a different reason?”

  “I don’t know.” He lifted the white ribbon, gazing at it without really seeing it, and then tossed it aside. “But I trust your intuition more, and if you think she’s not out to harm you or Alfred, then I think we should ask for her help. If she’ll give it.”

  “She’s invited me to visit again. Offered to show me some places I can sketch.” I bit my lip. “But perhaps tomorrow is too soon. She’s canny. If I show up on her doorstep so quickly she might be too suspicious to talk.”

  Gage’s fingers combed through my hair, unplaiting my braid, though from the faraway look in his eyes I knew his mind was elsewhere. While he was distracted, I leaned closer, inhaling deeply.

  “So you spent all of your afternoon interviewing the staff and in the library?” I murmured as I smoothed my hand over the silk of his dressing gown’s lapel.

  His eyes met mine briefly before sliding away again. “Mostly. Tomorrow won’t work for you to call on Miss Galloway again anyway. I have other plans for us.”

  “Oh?” I replied, baffled by his decision to omit the fact that he’d been working with wood. The faint smell of sawdust still clung to his skin beneath the cleaner scents of his soap and his spicy cologne. I knew his grandfather had been the one to teach him such a hobby, while at the same time admonishing him to keep quiet about it, for gentlemen simply didn’t work with their hands. It was only natural that he should be drawn to the woodworking shed where he’d first learned, so why the secrecy?

  “I want to visit the farmers and tenants bordering the moor to the north of White Tor. I can’t help but think that if Alfred walked away from the manor, it must have been in that direction. Perhaps some skilled questioning will yield more details than the men Grandfather sent were able to gather.”

  “You’re going to go against your grandfather’s wishes?” I asked in surprise.

  “Not entirely. I don’t intend to ask them directly about Alfred, or to let it slip that he’s missing.” His voice firmed with resolve. “But I’m not going to stay away when those people are the likeliest to hold the key to my cousin’s location.”

  “I suppose you know many of them.” If so, that would make our surreptitious interrogations that much easier.

  “If they’re the same landowners as fifteen years ago, yes. And land in this part of the country doesn’t change hands often, so I suspect so. The Seftons, the Porlocks, the Brays.”

  The last name he listed sent a jolt through me, though I never moved. I’d hoped for an opening to ask Gage about the dagger, and I hardly believed he’d given me one. But still I hesitated. He would not welcome the query, and it would likely cause him discomfort. There was also the chance I would hear something I wouldn’t like. But still, the question needed to be asked.

  “Sebastian,” I murmured, knowing my use of his given name as I did only when we were in private would draw his attention away from wherever his thoughts had gone.

  He stilled his fingers and shifted his gaze to meet mine. Could he hear the uncertainty in my voice?

  “What happened with the Brays’ ceremonial dagger?”

  His eyes searched mine, perhaps trying to ascertain how much I already knew. For a moment, he seemed about to feign ignorance, but then one corner of his mouth quirked upward sardonically.

  “I wondered when you would raise that specter. I knew it was too much to hope you’d missed Aunt Vanessa’s mention of it.”

  I refrained from telling him that she’d made certain of it that afternoon in the portrait gallery. Nothing would be gained from relaying her hurtful accusations.

  He sighed heavily, rolling onto his back to stare up at the bed curtains. “Thaddeus Bray was a boy my cousins and I played with on occasion, oftentimes at their farm northwest of White Tor. Thad’s father was a sort of squire, so Grandfather, and Aunt Vanessa, deemed his son fit enough to befriend us.”

  I shifted closer to his side, allowing him to work his way around to revealing the most pertinent details. I knew from experience that it was easier to share disquieting things once you’d placed them in context, as if somehow that softened the sting.

  “The Brays weren’t wealthy. Not like we were. But they did have a few priceless possessions that had been passed down through their family for many generations. One of those items was a ceremonial dagger. Mr. Bray kept it in a glass-fronted cabinet behind his desk.”

  His frame grew tenser with
every word, and his eyes gleamed with anger. I couldn’t stop myself from resting my hand on his abdomen where his chest rose and fell rapidly with each irate breath, but I didn’t offer him any further comfort, knowing he didn’t want it. At least not until he’d finished his story.

  “One day after we’d been at the Brays’ home, the dagger went missing. I knew who’d taken it. He was always taking things that weren’t his simply because he wanted them. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing no good would come of my making an accusation. So you can imagine my surprise when Alfred instead accused me of stealing it. He even claimed to know where I’d hidden it. And lo and behold, that’s exactly where we found it.”

  Outrage raced through my veins. I opened my mouth to express my indignation on his behalf, but something in his eyes arrested me. This time it wasn’t anger, but shame.

  “I was so furious!”

  “Rightly so,” I assured him.

  “I couldn’t believe Alfred had done something so underhanded. And that Grandfather and Aunt Vanessa were going to believe him, and report it to my mother. Rory knew the truth. I could see it in his eyes. But he would never stand up for me.” The remembered anguish he’d felt as a boy resonated through his body. “I tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn’t listen. And Alfred stood there so smugly, his eyes filled with laughter. I felt so helpless. I always had so little control over what was happening, and I didn’t want to be powerless anymore. So I . . . I grabbed the dagger and I . . . I stabbed at Alfred.”

  I stiffened in shock and Gage’s gaze lowered to meet mine for the first time since he’d begun his story. His face twisted with self-loathing.

  “Nicked him in the arm. It was barely a scratch, but when I saw the blood, I was horrified. I dropped the dagger and ran.”

  “Oh, Sebastian,” I crooned, lifting my hand to touch his face.

  He grimaced. “Funnily enough, that’s exactly what my mother said when she found me hiding in the old stable at the edge of our cottage’s garden.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Dried my tears and took me home. She had no need to scold me. She knew her disappointment in me was punishment enough. Particularly when I practically had to carry her back to bed because she was so weak from her illness.”

  I frowned. “How old were you?”

  “Eleven.”

  No wonder he’d lashed out. Not only had his cousin played an unconscionably cruel trick, but he was almost alone in carrying the burden of his mother’s illness. His father had been away at sea, so it fell to him to care for and shield his mother with only the help of the maid who, it later would be discovered, was also poisoning her mistress. Something Gage blamed himself for. He believed he should have realized what was happening, that he should have been able to stop it.

  Had there ever been a time when he wasn’t responsible for himself and everyone else around him? When someone had shielded him rather than the other way around?

  “That’s when my father almost had me enlisted in the Royal Navy.”

  This was not a shock, for he’d mentioned it before, but it still made me sick to my stomach to think of him placed in such danger when he was so young. Particularly with the war against Napoleon raging. “What stopped him?”

  “Mother. She fought him tooth and nail to keep me with her. Said my banishment from Langstone Manor and my lessons for a month were punishment enough. And Father relented. I think because Mother asked him for so little. How could he deny her?”

  I nodded, but I was really pondering why his mother could fight so hard on that point, but not fight to protect him from her family’s barbs. Perhaps such a reflection was unfair, for she couldn’t be with him all the time, particularly in her illness. But all the same, I couldn’t help feeling a bit vexed that Emma Trevelyan Gage had not sheltered her son more. What would I have done if I were in her shoes?

  It was a legitimate question, for given my scandalous past and my current unorthodox involvement in my husband’s inquiries, my children were certain to face some scorn. When that happened, how would I respond? Would my children bring such slights to my attention or, like Gage, would they try to shield me? I didn’t know the answers, but I would have liked to think I would protect them any way possible.

  If they would let me.

  I studied my husband’s face, wondering if that was the problem. Maybe Gage hadn’t let his mother protect him. I quickly discarded the notion. When he was an older boy, that was possible, but at some point when he was young, he’d learned he couldn’t rely on others to defend him.

  Maybe in some ways I should be grateful for that, for it had made his enduring the gossip attached to me easier. But sometimes I worried he too easily fell back on old habits, sheltering me when he shouldn’t.

  I leaned over to kiss the honorable man I’d married, pouring all of my regret that he’d had to endure so much pain, and gratitude that he’d chosen me for his wife, into my caress. When I lifted my mouth to stare into his eyes, my chest tightened at the vulnerability reflected there. Gage so rarely showed weakness. Even in our private interactions he was usually so confident and self-assured. To see him expose his pain and insecurities in such a raw way made me want to wrap him up in my arms and never let him go.

  Instead I settled for soothing as many of his hurts as I could with my love. Perhaps if I kissed every square inch of him, if I whispered enough words of love into his skin as I held him as close to me as humanly possible, it would be a start.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  True to Gage’s intentions, we spent much of the next day visiting the farmsteads and homes that bordered the moor around White Tor. Gage was at his most charming, setting even the guarded and cantankerous men at ease. It helped that many of them knew him and seemed to respect him, having followed some of his more daring exploits in the newspapers. Even Thaddeus Bray, who had inherited his father’s property when he passed, appeared pleased to see him. At the very least, I sensed no rancor from that affair with their family’s ceremonial dagger long ago.

  The same could not be said of Alfred.

  Though Gage was as discreet as his grandfather could wish, approaching the matter of his cousin in as indirect a manner as possible, we had no trouble finding out the information we truly sought and much more. From the beginning, it was evident that Alfred was not well liked. Either these residents didn’t care whether their uncomplimentary comments got back to Alfred or they trusted me and Gage to keep their words to ourselves, for they were brutally honest. In truth, I wondered if perhaps they hoped Gage would report some of their disgruntlement back to Lord Tavistock.

  The complaints were much the same. Alfred was snide and reckless, uncaring of who or what got in the way of his own pleasure. Just as Gage had feared, there was no end of angry fathers, brothers, and husbands who claimed his cousin had trifled with their female relations in some way. Much of the time it appeared to be mere flirtation, but there were a few more troubling incidents. One farmer claimed Alfred had gotten his daughter in the family way but had refused to admit it. Apparently the allegation had been believable enough, or Lord Tavistock was merely kind, for he had given the girl a handsome enough dowry to attract a decent husband willing to accept her illegitimate child.

  Regardless, no one admitted to having seen Alfred in almost a month, and as voluble as they’d been on his sins, I doubted they were withholding anything. No one confessed to witnessing anything out of the ordinary either. Which meant that, while the information we’d uncovered might be important, the day’s efforts proved useless in getting us any closer to finding Alfred. There was always the possibility that one of these wronged men—or women—had decided to take the matter of Alfred’s appalling behavior into their own hands, but that seemed rather far-fetched.

  By the time we’d finished our last interview, the warmth of the afternoon had begun to wane and a stiff breeze picked up over the moor. I
was weary from the hours of riding and maintaining interest in the others’ conversations, even when it had nothing to do with our inquiry. Contrarily, Gage appeared invigorated, sitting tall on his horse as we ambled down an old bridle path deeper into the moor. Today he had been in his element, giving me a glimpse of the type of lord he would be when he inherited his father’s title and estate.

  The soft evening light washed over the heath around us, revealing swaths of gorse and milkwort flowers, and prickly bracken intruding on some of the drier slopes. Before us to the east, we were treated to a sweeping view of some of the tors, their craggy formations stark against the azure sky. Skylarks and meadow pipits circled overhead before soaring back toward the woodlands behind us. To the west, tucked into the shadowy folds of a valley, nestled the slate rooftops of two villages. The southern hamlet boasted a stolid gray church tower, and I wondered if it might mark the churchyard where Gage’s mother was buried.

  I scowled in irritation as another gust of wind blew the wayward strands of my hair about my face. If not for the blustery breezes, the weather would have been perfect. I struggled futilely to tuck my straggling hairs back under my jaunty riding hat, nearly missing the sight of a jagged stone pillar positioned near the intersection of our bridle path and another narrower track. It appeared too small to be another standing stone. Reining my mare to a stop, I glanced at Gage in question.

  “This is Stephen’s Grave,” he said.

  Recalling how he’d told me Rory claimed this Stephen’s ghost haunted the manor, I surveyed the moss-studded grave marker with more interest. “I sense there’s a story behind this.” Given the fact that historically suicides had been buried at crossroads, it wasn’t a great leap of logic to conclude such a thing.

  Gage rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and turned his head to gaze off over the ridge to the south where the roof of Langstone Manor was just visible above a line of trees. “The legend says that a man named John Stephen, who lived in one of the villages nearby, fell in love with a local girl. However, her parents didn’t approve of the match and so she was forced to break his heart.” He gestured to the empty, windswept heath around us. “She met him out on this bleak part of the moor to tell him she no longer wished to see him, and he gave her an apple as a parting gift. But the apple was poisoned. And after she fell victim, he also ate of the same apple, in hopes that their bodies would lay side by side for eternity.”