A Brush with Shadows Read online

  “I don’t ken anything,” she insisted. “But . . .”

  I heard in her voice that she didn’t want to admit whatever she knew.

  “Tell me,” I urged gently.

  She inhaled swiftly. “I overheard some o’ the maids talkin’. One o’ ’em swears Lord Gage and the dowager used to . . . carry on wi’ one another.”

  “Did she say why she thought that?”

  Bree’s hands stilled as she registered my lack of surprise. “She said she saw him take her hand in the drawin’ room when they thought no one was lookin’. And that he used to send her letters.” She resumed her movements. “You knew.” She sounded relieved not to be the bearer of troubling news.

  “I was told something in confidence that made me suspect the same thing,” I admitted, pondering whether I was willing to take a risk. When Bree finished, rather than let her push my gown off my shoulders, I swiveled abruptly to face her. “May I assume you also think the item Lord Langstone was using for blackmail was those letters?”

  “I did wonder.” Her voice lowered and she glanced back at the door. “’Tis why I didna wish to say anythin’ in front o’ Mr. Gage.”

  “Then I need you to do something for me.” I explained how I’d seen the dowager frantically burning papers, and about the singed corner of one letter I’d managed to save. Retrieving it from between the pages of the book where I’d hidden it, I passed it to her.

  She gasped. “It’s true, then?”

  “It’s probable,” I replied sadly.

  Her face blanched in misgiving. “Does Mr. Gage know?”

  Unwilling to betray my husband’s knowledge of the matter, I brushed her question aside. “You leave that to me. What I need you to do is show that around belowstairs. Make certain the maid who claims she witnessed their . . . affaire de coeur sees it. I also want Mrs. Webley to know you have it.”

  Her eyes lit with comprehension. “You want to try to flush her or her mistress out. See what they’ll reveal.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she declared, tucking the scrap of paper into her pocket. Her determined gaze then fell on my hair. “Now let’s tend to this bird nest.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “I didn’t tell you about the mine partnership because I didn’t think it mattered,” Lord Tavistock snapped back at Gage.

  The viscount appeared a bit haler today. A welcome ruddy tinge had entered his cheeks, and his breathing sounded less labored. But that also meant his words held more bite.

  “It’s public knowledge. Appeared in most of the local newspapers and probably a few in London.”

  “Newspapers that were published while we were in Ireland,” Gage retorted to his implied criticism that he hadn’t been keeping abreast of the latest news.

  “That’s hardly my fault.”

  “No, but it is your fault you never mentioned the mines.” Gage narrowed his eyes. “In fact, I believe you deliberately neglected to tell us because you knew Alfred had been upset about it. He didn’t wish to marry Lady Juliana, and he felt trapped into the union by this deal you’d made with the Duke of Bedford.”

  The manner in which the viscount looked as if he were chewing on something unpleasant told me Gage had hit the nail on the head. “Alfred has always been a stubborn and recalcitrant boy.”

  Gage snorted. “I wonder who he inherited those traits from.”

  His grandfather’s scowl turned blacker. “He needed to be made to see reason. He’s nearly thirty-six. It’s high time he wed an appropriate girl and produced an heir.”

  “An appropriate girl?” I interjected, latching on to what I deemed the most important words in that sentence.

  The viscount’s silver eyes flicked to meet mine. “Yes. One of suitable family and lineage. I’m not ignorant to the sorts of women he courted while in London and at his friends’ debauch gatherings.”

  Yes, but was that all he meant? I couldn’t tell whether he was aware of Miss Galloway or any attachment that might have formed between Alfred and her. If one even existed.

  “What did you threaten would happen if Alfred didn’t accede to your demands?” Gage persisted.

  His grandfather glared back at him, at first refusing to answer. Then he arched his chin like an obstinate child. “I told him I would strip everything I could from his inheritance. All he would be left with were those things that were entailed—Langstone Manor and its attached lands.”

  “The estate isn’t self-sustaining,” Gage replied, grasping the implications before I did. “Without the mines and other tracts of land, in short order, he would be crippled with debt.”

  “Only if he refused to wed Lady Juliana.”

  I watched as fury transformed my husband’s face. “Is that why you really asked us here? You suspected Alfred had gone into hiding, and you needed us to find him so you could bring him to heel?” He flung his hand toward the window. “You never truly feared foul play. You simply needed a way to convince us to investigate.”

  “At first, yes. I thought maybe he was ducking me and his responsibility,” he grudgingly admitted, shouting back. “But after a week, when he couldn’t be found, I began to worry I’d been wrong. That something had happened to him. I never lied about that.”

  “Maybe. But you certainly summoned us with that letter under false pretenses.” Gage moved closer to the bed, looming over his grandfather. “What else have you neglected to tell us? What other means were you using to persuade Alfred?”

  I knew to what he was referring, but Lord Tavistock shook his head. “Isn’t that enough? Power and money always did motivate Alfred more than anything.”

  “What about fear for his life?”

  The viscount’s eyes widened in shock and then his face suffused with red. “Are you accusing me of harming my own grandson?”

  “Someone was. Someone has, if that bloody coat is any indication.”

  The old man blanched. “I am not responsible for that. Nor would I ever condone such an action.”

  Gage’s eyes weighed and assessed him. “Maybe. But regardless, you’ve gotten your alliance. With Alfred out of the way, Rory will be a much more tractable heir, won’t he? And I wager he’ll be happy to wed Lady Juliana.”

  “You think he’s dead?” he wheezed between coughs.

  “I suspect we’ll know soon enough.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Do you really think he’s dead?” I asked as we strode down the corridor away from the viscount’s chamber.

  Gage’s arm was tight beneath mine, still holding in the anger and disillusionment he must have been feeling about his grandfather’s actions. “I don’t know. But the longer this search stretches on with no answers, the more I think we have to face the very real possibility that he has perished, either by natural or unnatural means.”

  At the end of the corridor, he glanced to the left and then the right before guiding me through a doorway two doors down and shutting it behind us. It was the library I’d failed to locate on numerous occasions.

  “Is anything in this house designed in a traditional manner?” I groused.

  It was no wonder I’d missed it. Tucked off a corridor among rooms I’d assumed were more bedchambers, it didn’t appear anything like a normal library other than the shelves filled with books. Had I not known better, I would have called it a men’s reading parlor, for it was filled with heavy leather furniture and stark tables bearing lamps. I suspected it had once been but another bedchamber until it was converted to this use.

  Ignoring my comment, Gage crossed to the window, pushing aside the drapes to allow more light into the shadowed room. “Let’s review the facts, shall we. We’ve searched for miles in every direction, spoken to all the people who live on the neighboring lands and in the village, interviewed Alfred’s frie
nds, and yet we haven’t been able to locate him. Barring the possibility that someone is either a brilliant liar or that Alfred has fashioned himself some unknown bolt-hole—both options that are unlikely, but not impossible—I think we have to face the truth. Alfred truly has vanished.” He exhaled as if making this pronouncement was almost a relief. “He’s not in Plymouth.” He ticked off on his fingers. “He’s not in London. Father was almost certain of that.”

  “Then where is he, Gage? I know we all keep saying he vanished, but that’s impossible. Unless you believe the pixies led him away, and I know you don’t.”

  He planted his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know. Unless a bog actually did swallow him up.” He frowned. “Or someone buried him in a place where freshly turned soil wouldn’t give us pause.”

  I considered this suggestion, but he rushed on before I could respond.

  “Everyone in this family has purposefully led us astray, making this inquiry far more complicated than it needed to be. But I think it’s time I faced a truth I haven’t wanted to accept.” He exhaled forcibly. “That Alfred has likely been murdered.”

  I’d considered murder to be a very real prospect almost since the beginning, but it was apparent Gage had not. After all, Alfred was his cousin. No matter their tussles in the past, he still cared about him. And it was obvious he found this shift in his approach to the inquiry to be troubling.

  I wrapped my arms around his middle and rested my head against his chest, offering him what comfort I could. He continued to stare out the window, lost in disquieting thoughts, but he lifted his arms to embrace me back. We stood that way for some time with nothing but the clock ticking on the mantel to disturb the silence around us. From this vantage, I could see out into the front walled garden. Even in bright sunlight it still looked hopelessly forlorn.

  “You know, I used to wish something awful would happen to Alfred,” he murmured. “He was just so dreadful to me, to Mother. I wished he would go away and never return.”

  I looked up at his face, at the evidence of his tightly restrained emotion in the lines at the corner of his eyes and the brackets around his mouth. “You were just a boy,” I reminded him.

  “I know.” His eyes dipped to meet mine. “But now I’m a man. And I owe it to him to find him.”

  “Then we shall,” I replied, infusing as much confidence as I could into my voice. “Even if we have to dredge every bog between here and Okehampton.”

  His lips curled into a tight smile. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” His gaze fastened on something on my right temple, and he lifted a finger to wipe it away. Lowering his hand, we stared down at a speck of mud. “Care to explain now what happened to you this morning? And who’s been talking to you about pixies?”

  “Rory.” I briefly explained what happened that morning, including his cousin’s part in saving me from an ignoble fate. As expected, my husband was not amused by my carelessness.

  “Kiera,” he began sternly.

  “I know. I know. My only defense is that I genuinely believed the man I’d seen could be Alfred. But I shouldn’t have lost my head.”

  “If it had been Alfred, and you were able to catch up to him, what did you think you would do? Insist he return home with you? I don’t like to think it, but if Alfred is alive and he’s gone to such lengths to remain hidden, he could be dangerous.”

  “I’ll be more careful,” I assured him. “In any case, Rory claims there was no man, and he was close enough he should have seen him as well. Though I didn’t appreciate his trying to tell me I’d been pixie-led.”

  “No. That doesn’t sound like him.” His voice trailed away as he turned toward the window again.

  I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t I redirected him to the more urgent matter at hand. “How do you wish to proceed?”

  “Well, I think you should visit Miss Galloway again.” He shifted so that he could see me more fully. “Provided you can avoid running into any more bogs.”

  “What if it’s the same one?” I replied tartly.

  He arched a single eyebrow at my pitiable jest. “I believe I’ll try to speak with the Duke of Bedford’s steward at Endsleigh House about these Swing letters. I would have liked to speak with the duke himself, but now that we know he’s in London, I suppose that’s not possible. And I shall pay Mr. Glanville another visit. I’m curious if he knows anything about the blackmail, or if he can direct me to any of Alfred’s acquaintances further afield.”

  “He was certainly forthcoming the last time we spoke,” I remarked, feeling slightly guilty for not sharing my suspicions about the blackmail. But I didn’t want to raise the matter until I knew. Until I was sure. There was also the matter of the gold button I’d found in Miss Galloway’s cottage, but I wanted to give her the chance to inform me of it herself, and Gage might not allow that if he were aware.

  “Yes, well, let’s hope he doesn’t decide to share too much without your presence to rein him in.”

  “My presence reined him in?” I asked dubiously, recalling all the shocking things he’d said and done.

  Gage nodded. “You do not want to see him when there are no ladies present.”

  “So long as you don’t share his brandy, or any of his companions,” I added pointedly, “I suspect you shall survive.”

  He pulled me close. “Have no fear there. Just listening to him will be unenjoyable enough.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The weather the next morning was not quite as auspicious as the day before, but Gage seemed certain I shouldn’t encounter any sudden shifts in the next few hours. Given his protective inclinations, I trusted he was correct. Thin clouds wisped across the sky, blocking much of the sunlight, but the air was warm and dry, urging me to tuck my shawl into my shoulder satchel with my sketchbook and charcoals.

  I rapped on Miss Galloway’s door, and was met almost immediately by her relieved expression.

  “I’m so glad you called,” she exclaimed, gesturing me inside. “I read your note. Have you any news on the search?”

  “I’m afraid not.” I placed my bag on the floor and settled onto the bench before her table as she set a kettle over the fire. “There’s still no sign of Lord Langstone or any more of his possessions. Not even the missing button from his bloody coat.”

  The last felt a bit heavy-handed, for I hadn’t intended to even mention the button. But then I realized she might not be aware the button she possessed belonged to Alfred.

  Her eyes flared wide. “Oh, a button?” She crossed to the cabinet and began rummaging through the drawers. “Was it gold? I found one outside my cottage about a week ago. Now, where did I put it?” Her hands rifled through the drawer in which I’d found the button, and then moved on to the one above it.

  “Yes,” I replied, trying to keep the wary confusion from my voice. “Gold with a series of ornate swirls.”

  “I believe I have it, then.” She grunted in frustration. “Or I did.” She returned to the original drawer, pulling all of the contents out of it and setting them beside her where she knelt on the floor. “I’m sure I put it in here.”

  I moved forward to study the items she’d removed, but there was no sign of the button.

  She frowned down into the empty drawer. “I don’t understand. I know I put it in this cabinet. Where could it—” Her voice broke off abruptly as her eyes flitted first toward the herb shelves and then toward the door.

  “Do you normally leave your door unlocked?” I asked.

  “Yes. So few people venture out this way, and it’s not as if I have much to steal.” Her tone tightened as she stared down into the empty drawer again.

  “Maybe you mislaid it,” I suggested, though I knew very well she had not. Not unless she’d moved it since the day before when I’d found it.

  Of course, it was possible she was
lying. Perhaps she’d slipped the button into her pocket or discarded it in the hours since I was last here. But then, why had she mentioned it at all?

  “Maybe,” she murmured, replacing all the items in the drawer.

  There was another distinct possibility. Someone had taken it. Someone who’d known where it was. Perhaps someone who’d watched me remove it.

  An image of Rory in his mud-splattered trousers standing beside me in the bog appeared before my eyes. Would he have done such a thing?

  I resumed my seat at the table and Miss Galloway stiffly joined me. “Well, at least you know what became of the button.” She frowned, clearly bothered by the missing object. “Even if we don’t know where it is now.” She inhaled a deep breath, settling herself. “Have they given up looking?”

  “Most of the farmers and laborers have returned to their work, but my husband and I are still searching.”

  She nodded, her brow heavy with worry.

  Impulsively, I reached out to touch her hand. “We won’t stop looking until we know what happened to him. Whatever that might be.”

  Her pupils dilated, telling me she understood the implication I was trying to convey. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she murmured.

  The harried look on her face, the telltale brightness in her eyes, and the discovery of the button outside her cottage all seemed to indicate more than a simple acquaintance, so I decided to venture a delicate question. “Miss Galloway—”

  “Please, call me Lorna.”

  I flashed her a brief smile. “Lorna, forgive me if I’m treading where I shouldn’t, but . . . are you and Lord Langstone . . . is there something between you? Something other than friendship?”

  Her eyes lowered as she reached up to toy with an oblong piece of what appeared to be amber with some sort of leaf or feather trapped inside hanging from her necklace. I didn’t know if she was aware, but the fact that she hadn’t immediately denied it already gave me my answer.