A Brush with Shadows Page 31

His eyes were troubled. “Maybe when we were boys. But fifteen years is a long time. None of us are exactly the same people we once were.”

  The manner in which he spoke made me wonder if he was talking about more than Rory.

  “Including Alfred?” I guessed.

  His gaze flicked down to meet mine. “Yes. Though, he’s still capable of being the same unmitigated jackass he always was.” He sighed. “The truth is, I never thought I’d see him treat a woman with as much esteem as he showed Miss Galloway. He seems to truly care for her.”

  “I thought he was going to wish your grandfather to the devil there at the end.”

  “Yes. There’s that, too. He’s never shown such restraint in the past.” His expression communicated he was confounded, and perhaps maybe even a little uneasy about witnessing this new side to his cousin.

  “It troubles you?” I prodded cautiously. Having been so abruptly denied answers to my queries about his mother, I was sensitive to the possibility of it happening again.

  He seemed to reflect on my question. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  I waited, hoping he would say more.

  “Alfred was always so horrible. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t acting as my tormentor. Even my good memories of us playing together always end with him making some snide remark or shoving me out of a tree. And now I’m confronted with a man who’s different, but also the same. I’m hesitant to believe he’s actually changing. And I’m not sure I want him to.” He huffed a breath. “Which troubles me. Shouldn’t I want him to be better?”

  “In a perfect world, yes. But Alfred treated you terribly in the past. You knew how to categorize him, and now you don’t. It’s understandable that you would find his possible transformation—let’s not get ahead of ourselves—difficult because of the past you can’t forget. A past you’ve never forgiven him for.”

  His voice hardened. “Because he’s never apologized. He’s never asked for my forgiveness.”

  I stepped away, recognizing it might be best for me to retreat, lest he shut me out again. “True. I can’t blame you for your dislike and mistrust. Based on what you’ve told me, I’m none too fond of him either. But continuing to stoke all that anger is hurting no one but yourself. Alfred certainly isn’t bothered by it.”

  “My mother—”

  “Your mother is gone,” I gently interrupted him before he could begin a tirade. “She’s past caring about your loathsome cousin or his mother. And if she could speak to you now, I’m certain she would tell you the same thing.”

  His eyes gleamed with all the conflicting emotions about his family he’d been carrying inside him for so long.

  “Just think about it,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips before I slipped from the room.

  I wanted to stay, to hold his hand through the maelstrom swirling inside him. But I was beginning to apprehend that with Gage sometimes retreat was the better virtue. For if I wasn’t there to argue with, then he had only himself to rage against.

  * * *

  • • •

  I decided to take a walk in the garden to clear my head and focus on the conundrum at hand. After all, Rory was still missing, either by misfortune or by choice, and someone seemed intent on harming the members of Gage’s family, be it by poison or ax. As the person most on the outside, I suspected I might have the best chance of unraveling the truth.

  I rounded the corner to descend the stairs and spied Alfred seated on a bench placed before the window at the end of the corridor. His gaze was directed outside, so I could have slipped by without saying anything, but he seemed so pensive, so agitated, I realized I couldn’t. Not even knowing I risked receiving one of his scathing snubs.

  He glanced up as I approached, and I couldn’t help but think of the conversations he must have overheard between Lorna and me while hiding beneath her cottage. He knew I didn’t like him. I’d said so. However, he didn’t seem the least bothered by this fact. But given the way he treated others, he must have been accustomed to people’s animosity.

  If ever given the chance, I’d fully intended to ring a peal over him for the dreadful way he’d treated Gage when they were younger. But since meeting him, I decided he would probably enjoy it, so I kept a civil tongue.

  “You don’t have to be polite,” he told me before turning back to the window. His forehead furrowed. “Your family may be different, but the Trevelyans have never found such niceties to be necessary.”

  “Then perhaps that’s your trouble,” I replied, perching on the opposite end of the bench. “After all, kindness and courtesy go a long way. And oftentimes family members need it to fall back on more than anyone.”

  “But then our family gatherings would be so mundane. Much better to dance a quadrille trying to avoid all the hidden daggers.”

  I studied his handsome face, intrigued by the similarities to Gage. When he drawled sarcastically like that, they sounded much the same. And yet, they were so very different. Though Alfred seemed to have been wounded by someone much the same way he in turn mistreated his cousin. But who had hurt Alfred? His mother? His father before his death?

  He turned to meet my gaze, his mouth curling into a sneer I suspected preceded a vicious set down. But the insult never came. Instead, a curious light entered his eyes and the scorn slowly drained away to something more thoughtful, something harder to define. I waited patiently for him to speak, wondering what, if anything, he would tell me if I allowed him to take the lead.

  In truth, I didn’t expect him to reveal anything significant. So I was genuinely surprised when he posed a question.

  “What do you think? Should I yield to Grandfather’s pressure and wed Lady Juliana?”

  My astonishment must have been evident, for he smiled in reluctant amusement.

  “What of Miss Galloway?” I asked before he changed his mind about asking me.

  His humor fled. “We . . . we could still be friends.”

  I arched my eyebrows, letting him know I realized friends was merely a euphemism for lovers. “Is that fair to Miss Galloway?” I paused before adding, “Is it fair to your unborn child?”

  This time it was Alfred’s turn to be startled. “I’d heard you were unnervingly observant. Lorna said you would notice.” He glanced out the window toward the garden below and the moors beyond, agitation thrumming through him once again. “No, it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You genuinely care for her, don’t you?”

  “I like myself better when I’m with her.” He frowned. “No, it’s more than that. She makes me want to be better because she deserves better. Does that make sense?”

  “It does.”

  “I’m trying to do the honorable thing, for perhaps the first time.” His shoulders drooped. “But maybe it’s not so honorable after all.”

  A large portion of society would, indeed, agree with his grandfather. That Lorna Galloway was perfectly acceptable as a mistress, but definitely not viscountess material. That Alfred owed it to his family to wed the daughter of a noble house, especially now that his brother was missing and his grandfather was so ill. But I didn’t happen to be among their number.

  “Well, you should appreciate that I don’t hold much respect for society’s opinion on such things. And neither does Gage.”

  “Yes, but wedding an anatomist’s widow is a bit different than marrying another lord’s by-blow.”

  I glared at him incredulously. “Even when that widow was forced to participate in her anatomist husband’s dissections, and accused of macabre solicitation, cannibalism, and more in the penny press?”

  This seemed to give him pause. “Yes, well, I’d forgotten about that.”

  My skepticism did not wane.

  His gaze skimmed over my features. “You’re much different than I thought you would be.”

  I didn’t know whether to view
this as a compliment or an expression of disappointment, so I returned to the subject at hand. “I suppose your grandfather will argue that Miss Galloway should be treated like Philinda Warne?”

  His face crumpled into resentment. “The vicar’s daughter? Yes, I suppose so. Though the chit lied about my seducing her.”

  “I’m well aware of your reputation.”

  “Yes, and it’s well deserved. I know I’m a rogue. But I’m not so bad as to get the rector’s daughter with child.” He scoffed. “Give me some credit.” He nodded his head in the direction the village must lie. “She was also dangling after the innkeeper. And she married him. I imagine he was in on the scheme to inveigle money out of my grandfather.”

  A notion suddenly occurred to me. “Does he pay something to them every month?”

  “No. Gave them a tidy sum upon the child’s birth. He might give them a bit more from time to time.” His lip curled. “If they make him feel guilty enough. But nothing regular.”

  “But anything they hope to get in the future will go away once you’re the viscount and hold the purse strings.”

  His expression darkened as he realized what I was suggesting. “If they had anything to do with my poisoning, they would need a conspirator among the staff.”

  “What did Rory think of the matter? Did he believe Mrs. Warne’s story?”

  “I imagine he believed whatever Grandfather told him to.”

  “So he would have been more sympathetic to them.” I tilted my head. “Unless he discovered what they were doing.”

  Even so, such a theory seemed far-fetched at best, though technically possible, regardless of who was telling the truth. Both Alfred’s and Mrs. Warne’s outrage seemed genuine, so I didn’t know whom to believe. Except Alfred had no reason to lie. He readily admitted he was a scoundrel, and that he’d gotten Lorna with child. Why would he deny fathering Mrs. Warne’s baby, but not refute the other accusations?

  “What do you think happened to Rory?” I asked, curious if he’d formed any other opinions on the matter since we’d returned to Langstone. I considered telling him what Gage and I had learned from Rory’s valet, Moffat, but decided it would be best to keep that information to ourselves for the moment.

  “I haven’t the foggiest. As I said earlier, I was almost convinced he was the one behind my being poisoned, but I can’t see how his going missing fits into that scenario. He was never one for theatrics. He would be more likely to bide his time, or claim that given the amount of time that had passed the bloody coat must indicate my death.”

  And he might have, at that. Except Gage and I had been here to examine the coat and raise doubts that the blood on the fabric was enough to clearly indicate death. But I agreed on one point. Rory did appear to be a very patient, methodical man.

  Alfred, on the other hand, was not. I only hoped that whatever occurred in the next few days, he would not do something rash. Life-changing decisions should not be rushed. And neither should his bid for his grandfather’s goodwill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The morning of Gage’s thirty-fourth birthday dawned grim and dreary, but I was not going to let that keep me from making his day as enjoyable as possible. I would be glad I ensured it began in such an agreeable way, for I would have no control over everything that came later.

  We still lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms pleasantly dozing, when someone rapped on the bedchamber door. I yawned and lifted the sheets to be certain I was sufficiently covered while Gage pulled his dressing gown over his broad shoulders. After our disagreeable visitor the night before, we’d elected to lock all the doors and place chairs under the handles. This meant the hearth was still cold, for the maid could not enter to tend it, but that was a small price to pay for peace of mind. It simply meant we had to rely on each other for heat.

  He removed the chair and unlocked the door to admit Bree, who hovered uncertainly near the door, glancing back and forth between us. Such timidity was not normal for her, and I sat up straighter, puzzled by her reaction. A closer look at her face made my heart begin to beat faster.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “’Tis Lord Tavistock.” She turned to Gage. “He’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  Gage turned on his heel and strode toward the connecting door while I scrabbled for my dressing gown.

  “Anderley’s waitin’ for ye,” she called after him.

  I hurried over to the dressing table. “Help me dress. Something simple,” I ordered her.

  Ten minutes later, we reached the corridor outside his grandfather’s bedchamber only to find Alfred and the dowager badgering a footman to let them enter.

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Hammett gave me strict instructions that no one was to enter until the physician finished his examination. Not even family.”

  “This is an outrage,” Lady Langstone protested. “Since when does a butler issue orders that supersede the wishes of the family?”

  “Be calm, Mother,” Alfred drawled, leaning back against the wall opposite the door. “I’m sure Hammett’s only following Grandfather’s instructions or the physician’s request. After all, who wants a woman pacing back and forth, flapping her arms while you’re trying to do an examination?”

  I felt quite certain this was meant to be directed at his mother and not women in general. In either case, the insult hit its mark.

  “I do no such thing,” she snapped. “But I would make certain this physician is doing a thorough job.”

  I suspected she must have already been up for hours. What else explained her perfectly turned-out appearance and elaborate hairstyle at such an unsocial hour? Alfred, on the other hand, looked as if he might never have been to bed. At the least, the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkled clothing spoke of a restless night and hasty dressing.

  He was opening his mouth to make another quip when the bedchamber door opened. We all swung about to hear what the brawny man dressed in a rough coat had to say. However, Lady Langstone seemed intent on slipping past, until Hammett closed the door firmly, standing in its way.

  The physician didn’t look much like one expected a medical man to appear, even a country one, nor did he sound like one. But I had no doubt he must have been competent. Lord Tavistock was not the sort of man to suffer fools gladly, and even without a great deal of medical knowledge he would have recognized slapdash practicing.

  “Lord Tavistock’s illness has worsened,” the physician pronounced in a gruff voice with little inflection. “The ague has settled into his lung tissue, inflaming them and making it difficult for him to breathe. He needs rest and little excitement.” His gaze swung toward Alfred. “Which I understand there’s been a great deal of in the past few weeks.”

  “Will he recover?” Gage asked anxiously.

  “If he were a younger man, perhaps. But at his age, it’s not expected.”

  Gage nodded, his mask of indifference carefully in place, but when I offered him my hand, he gripped it tightly.

  “May we see him?” Lady Langstone intoned in a manner that wasn’t really a question but a demand.

  The physician shared a glance with Hammett. “Only if he wishes to see you. And only if you do not rile him. As I said, he needs peace and quiet.” He nodded to us all. “I’ll stop by again this evening. Send for me if I’m needed before then.”

  Before the physician had even turned the corner, following the footman who was to show him out, Lady Langstone stood toe to toe with Hammett.

  “I will see him.”

  Hammett drew himself up to his full height and dignity. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he’s already said he doesn’t wish to see you. Not just now,” he added, softening the sting he must have seen his words had caused her. His eyes shifted over her shoulder. “He’s asking for his grandsons, Lord Langstone and Mr. Gage.”

  Gage’s hold on my hand tightened and t
hen released as he stepped forward. He and Alfred shared a look filled with mutual apprehension.

  “I want to see him,” Lady Langstone repeated. Her voice was so brittle I thought it might crack.

  Hammett shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  She huffed and spun about to stride off down the corridor. I watched her go. Didn’t the others realize she was masking her hurt at the viscount’s refusal to see her with anger? I turned back to find Hammett studying me as he shuffled to the side to usher Gage and Alfred into the bedchamber. The look in his eyes made me recall our previous conversation and the things he’d said about her. Before I could reconsider, I set off down the corridor after her, lifting my pomona green skirts in my haste to catch her up.

  She was about to turn another corner, headed toward I knew not where, when I called her name. Her steps halted abruptly as she glared over her shoulder at me.

  “What is this?” she sniffed, arching her chin upward. “Come to gloat?”

  But all of her venomous disdain could not hide the gleam of tears in her eyes.

  “No, my lady,” I replied gently. “I merely wanted to know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “For me?” she snarled.

  “Yes. After all, Lord Tavistock is your family, too. You’ve lived with him for over thirty-five years, and served as his hostess since Lady Tavistock died. This must be difficult for you as well.”

  She stared at me in shock and then almost in horror as her bottom lip began to quiver. “I-I can’t . . .” she choked and spun away, continuing to walk in the same direction she’d been headed. But now her steps were more of a stagger.

  I followed her uncertainly, not wanting to leave her alone, but unsure of my welcome. When she pushed through a door, leaving it open as she went inside, I decided she wanted me to join her.

  I’d not yet explored this room, for it had been locked, and now I understood why. It was a tiny stone chapel adorned with stained glass windows and an altar arranged with gold holy objects. A handful of wooden pews lined the floor, their surfaces polished to a sheen that was evident even in the dim light. I smelled the lemon wax.