A Brush with Shadows Page 33

  In the end, it was a light rain that staved off Gage’s brimming emotions and propelled us out of the graveyard. In our haste to leave the manor, neither of us had grabbed an umbrella. Not that they would have proved very useful on horseback anyway. Resigned to a little dampness, we paused for a moment beneath the covering of the lych-gate.

  “If I may be so bold,” I said, “what did your grandfather wish to speak with you and Alfred about?”

  Gage turned to stare at the horses tethered outside the gate. “He told Alfred to quit dodging his responsibilities and find the courage to decide what he really wanted.” He paused, furrowing his brow.

  I leaned in to catch his eye. “And you?”

  “He asked for my forgiveness.” He sounded uncertain and still slightly shocked. “He said he hadn’t made my mother live at Windy Cross Cottage, that it was her choice to reside there. And after he learned she’d died from being poisoned by her maid, he tore it down because he was ashamed not of her, but of himself. That if he’d made her live at the manor, perhaps she wouldn’t have been made ill so often in our drafty, damp cottage. That someone would have realized what her maid was doing.”

  “It sounds like he blames himself for her death,” I murmured, just as surprised by his confession, though I’d suspected something of the sort.

  He nodded numbly. “I think he does. He also apologized for not stepping in more often to halt my cousins’ teasing and Aunt Vanessa’s spiteful gossip. He said he thought it would make me stronger, that it would better prepare me for society’s slights and insults. Except they never came. Father proved to have even higher-ranking friends than himself, and I was accepted based on them and on my own merits. It never mattered that Father held no rank. And then he was given a barony, so the point was moot.”

  All of this should have made Gage feel relieved, but instead he still seemed troubled. “I would have thought your grandfather’s apology would please you, or at least reassure you, but it doesn’t,” I prodded, hoping he would explain.

  “No. It does. It’s only . . .” He reached out a hand to touch the rough wood of the arch holding up the lych-gate, running his gloved fingers over a set of initials carved there. “I believed hearing those words was what I wanted, more than anything. To prove my family wrong, for my sake, and for my mother’s. To show them I’m as worthy a descendent as any of them. Worthier, even. And yet . . .”

  “It rings hollow?”

  He nodded. “What does any of that matter? I know I’m worthy. You know it. Those I count closest to me do also. I’m glad Grandfather and I reconciled. But . . . now he’s dying. Why couldn’t it have happened sooner? Would he have confessed all of this if I’d come home sooner?”

  “Darling, you can’t punish yourself like that.” I urged him to face me. “There’s no way to know whether coming home would have made any difference. It’s just as likely it could have made relations between you even worse.” I pressed a hand to his chest over his heart. “You know as well as I do that life doesn’t always turn out like one would wish. You have to embrace the good when it comes and let go of the bad. And your reconciling with your grandfather, no matter how late it came, is good.”

  He inhaled a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

  He might say he agreed with me, but it would be a long time before he truly believed it.

  I tucked my arm through his again and pulled him toward where the horses were tethered. “The important thing now is that you should spend as much time with your grandfather as you still can. Let me worry about coordinating the continued search for Rory.”

  “You’re not planning on searching the moors in this weather, are you?” he protested.

  Our eyes lifted to the sky where the latest cloud bank had slid past, allowing a sliver of sunlight to pierce through before the next one smothered it again. Normally I wouldn’t have been overly concerned with such weather. Rain was more often than not a daily occurrence in Britain. But the wary manner in which Gage watched the skies, like they were a portent to something worse, gave me pause. Perhaps the fast-moving clouds were even more indicative of the capricious shifts to come.

  “Not unless it clears. And not alone. If I do set out from the manor, I’ll be certain to take a few servants with me.”

  “Speak to Hammett. He’ll know which men would be best.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Is that Anderley?” I asked in surprise, as our horses cantered into the courtyard upon our return to Langstone Manor.

  The valet stood next to the stables, chatting with one of the groomsmen. But as soon as he caught sight of us, he swiftly moved forward. Gage’s expression turned stony, anticipating poor news about his grandfather. As we brought our horses’ heads around, he vaulted from his steed’s back.

  “What news?”

  “We’ve uncovered some information you should know straightaway. Miss McEvoy’s waiting for us in your chambers.”

  I could see relief tremble through my husband as he exhaled. This was about the investigation, not his grandfather.

  I scrambled to dismount, allowing Gage to assist me, and then led the men through the manor and up the stairs to our rooms. Bree stood inside my bedchamber next to the young maid who tended the fires. The same one who was infatuated with Anderley. Her skin flushed a fiery red the moment the valet entered the room behind Gage and me.

  “Tell them what you told us,” he coaxed her. He smiled encouragingly when she seemed to falter. “Go ahead. I assure you, they don’t bite.” But the smirk he displayed next plainly said he might.

  Bree rolled her eyes. “Give the lass some time. Yer flashin’ yer charms aboot ’ll only make her stammer more.”

  The maid swallowed, glancing at each of us nervously. “I . . . I just finished sweepin’ out the hearth in Mr. Trevelyan’s room when I saw Lord Langstone hurry past. He looked like he was goin’ out, so I . . . I decided I’d best sweep his, too.” She worried her fingers. “I hadn’t done so in a while, with him bein’ missin’ and all.” Her eyes communicated she was worried she would get in trouble for this dereliction.

  I nodded. “Go on.”

  “But when I got to his room, I . . . I found this lyin’ on the ashes in his hearth.” She pulled pieces of paper from the pocket in her apron. “I normally would never ’ve taken ’em,” she hastened to say, flicking her eyes toward Anderley. “But . . . but Mr. Anderley told me I should tell him if I saw anything strange, and I thought this might be what he meant.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Anderley confirmed.

  I took the paper from her grasp as she beamed shyly at the valet, and turned to allow Gage to read over my shoulder. The paper had been torn in only four pieces, so I was easily able to fit it back together to tell that it was a letter. One hastily jotted off.

  Alfred,

  I know where your brother is. Meet me at my cottage as quickly as you may.

  Lorna

  I looked up at Gage, seeing the same dawning worry in his eyes. There was no indication whether Rory was alive or dead, but if he were dead, why would she have phrased it so? In that case, she would’ve come to the manor to share what she’d uncovered. Which meant Rory was likely alive.

  “You don’t think Alfred would do anything hasty, do you?” I asked Gage.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But it would be best if we didn’t give him the chance to.” He turned to the maid. “How long ago did you see Lord Langstone leave?”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “She came to me about half an hour ago,” Anderley interjected. “Straight after finding the note?”

  She nodded in confirmation.

  “How long did that take?” he asked her.

  She flushed again. “Not long.”

  “So maybe three-quarters of an hour,” Anderley deduced.

>   Gage’s expression turned grim. “Too long.” He moved toward the window, staring out at the swirling cloud-strewn sky. “Gather as many men as can be spared,” he told Anderley. “Then have the groomsmen saddle horses.”

  Anderley nodded and hastened out the door.

  “I’m coming with you,” I said when Gage swiveled to face me. I wasn’t about to be left behind, not when Lorna was somehow mixed up in all of this.

  He glowered at me for a moment, but did not protest. “Dress for rain and wind,” he replied as he strode toward the connecting door. “It’s not going to be a comfortable ride.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Gage was right. No sooner had we set off across the moor toward Lorna Galloway’s cottage than the rain began to fall in earnest. That wouldn’t have been so bad had the wind also not decided to kick up a fuss. Our range of vision swiftly deteriorated as the rain blurred the landscape, making it all too easy to become disoriented. Out of necessity, we were forced to slow the horses to a steady walk, bowing our heads against the periodic gusts that flung icy raindrops into our faces.

  By the time Lorna’s cottage came into view, my cloak was thoroughly soaked and my cheeks stung with cold. We must have looked a sorry, bedraggled sight, and Lorna’s wide eyes as she emerged from her cottage with a shawl draped around her shoulders only confirmed it.

  “Where’s Alfred?” Gage demanded to know as we drew our horses to a stop before her porch.

  She blinked, glancing at me. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he left with you yesterday.” Her skin appeared extremely pale in the dim light. “Why? Has something happened to him?”

  But Gage was not so easily swayed. “We found your letter.”

  “What letter?”

  “The one you sent him today, telling him to meet you here. That you know where Rory is.”

  Her mouth gaped slightly as she looked to me and each of the other men in turn. “I . . . I never sent him a letter. I’ve been here all day.”

  “Is Alfred inside?”

  “No!” Her voice grew agitated. “He’s not. But he could have been.” She glared at me and Gage. “You said he would be safe. You said nothing would happen to him while you were there to keep watch.”

  Gage’s voice softened with concern. “He truly isn’t here?”

  “No.” She shook her head, clutching her shawl tighter as she turned to stare out at the rain drumming down on her roof. I could almost hear her anxious thoughts, for this was not the sort of weather to be caught out on the moors.

  “Well, we know he took a horse and set off in this direction.” Gage glanced around him. Even if Alfred was hiding inside, he couldn’t very well conceal a horse.

  “Then where is he? I haven’t seen or spoken to a soul all day. Until you. And I haven’t heard the sound of a rider.” Her voice rippled with panic.

  “I think the more important question is, who actually wrote that note luring him here?” I grunted, guiding my horse around, so that I could use the edge of the porch to dismount. “For if they elected to do so by falsely impersonating Miss Galloway, then I doubt their intentions were noble.” That was the gentlest way I could think of to phrase the fact that Alfred was in serious trouble.

  Lorna’s eyes were stricken with alarm. So much so that she didn’t even balk at my offer of support as I draped an arm around her waist.

  “If someone were going to . . . surprise one of your visitors coming from Langstone, where would they lie in wait?” Gage asked. “Near the river.”

  She inhaled a deep breath, lowering her shoulders and smoothing the fear from her features. “You mean if they wished to ambush someone?” she replied, recovering her usual cool insouciance and insistence on calling a spade a spade. “Yes. I suppose the river would be best. Though I don’t know which path he took—the drier one that loops to the north or the boggier trail you used.”

  “We’ll search both.” Gage’s eyes flicked to mine. “You’ll stay here with Miss Galloway?”

  He was asking more than that simple question, but all I did was nod.

  “Keep a sharp eye out,” he added before ordering Anderley to take two of the men to search the path on which we’d come for any signs of a struggle while he took the other servant and rode north to the shallow river crossing there.

  As we watched them canter away, I was grateful for the solid weight of my pistol pressed against my side inside the pocket of my deep sapphire blue redingote lest we should encounter any trouble. Then Lorna and I turned as one to enter her cottage and escape the cold and damp.

  She bustled forward to set a kettle of water over the fire while I tried my best to shake the damp from my outer garments. Though Gage’s unspoken urging had been clear, I didn’t expect to find Alfred inside the cottage. Lorna’s reaction had been too genuine, and far more pronounced than her almost taciturn answers to our questions during our first visit when she’d known all the while Alfred was hidden under her trapdoor. Even so, I glanced around for signs of his presence.

  I thought my searching had been unobtrusive, but Lorna turned to face me with a resigned expression. “I suppose you need to see beneath the cottage.”

  My lips curled into a humorless smile. “I’m sorry. But yes.”

  It was always difficult to tell a person you genuinely liked, whom you wanted to believe, that you didn’t entirely trust them. But such was the lot of an inquiry agent. However, perhaps more distressing than people’s usual annoyance or outrage was Lorna’s easy acceptance of the matter. It was clear she was used to others’ mistrust, and that made me squirm with remorse.

  I looked around the bedroom and peered underneath the cottage in the small space revealed by the trapdoor, though I didn’t go down inside. That seemed excessive. In any case, Alfred would’ve had to squeeze up into the joists located below where we were standing and lift his feet for me not to see him.

  Lorna closed the trapdoor and spread her rug back over it before joining me back in the main room, where the water in the kettle had begun to boil. She busied herself with the tea things, moving to and fro and fretting over small details. It was so unlike her that I knew she was mulling over something troubling.

  “What is it?” I finally asked.

  She looked up at me blankly.

  “What’s put that furious furrow between your eyebrows?” I reiterated, letting her know I wasn’t fooled.

  She glanced down, her mouth working as if she didn’t know how to voice the thoughts inside her. Or perhaps she sensed what significance she would give them by actually putting them into words. “Do . . . do you think Alfred might have gone missing on his own?”

  I considered her words. “You mean, that he forged that note and left it for someone to find?”

  She nodded, her eyes stark with dread.

  The suggestion had some merit. After all, he’d only ripped it into quarters—tears that were easily mended—and thrown it into a cold hearth. He might have even known the maid who handled such tasks was nearby and likely to visit his rooms soon. But more pertinent was the implication.

  “So that he could avoid all the difficulties, avoid his . . .” my gaze dropped to her abdomen “. . . responsibilities.”

  She lifted a hand to timidly touch her still-flat stomach. If she was surprised I knew, she didn’t show it. But then again, she’d told Alfred I would figure it out. “Yes. I . . . I don’t want to think it. Not after everything. But . . .”

  “But this is Alfred.” The man didn’t exactly have the most dependable history.

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  I deliberated over the last time he’d “vanished,” the spontaneity of it, and about my conversation with him the previous day. He didn’t tend to plan for things. He did them when he thought of them. And the looming decision he had to m
ake, whether to give in to his grandfather’s wishes and wed Lady Julianna or defy him and choose Lorna, definitely troubled him. Troubled him enough that he might decide avoidance was a better option. But I highly doubted he would pause to forge a letter from Lorna—one he must know would swiftly be proven false—and then tear it up, hoping it would be brought to our attention.

  I glanced at the rain-splattered window as another gust of wind flung the icy pellets at it. “No, I don’t believe this time Alfred vanished by choice.”

  Lorna nodded, and although her shoulders lowered I could still see a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.

  We both sat straighter at the sound of a horse’s hooves striking the earth. Rising to our feet, I followed Lorna toward the door, taking my redingote and the pistol tucked in its pocket with me. However, we discovered it was only Gage hunched inside his sodden greatcoat. He reined in just short of the porch, and Lorna opened the door wider.

  “There are signs of a scuffle just to the north, near a large outcropping of exposed granite,” he shouted. “Do you know the place?”

  Lorna nodded.

  “If I were planning an ambush, that wouldn’t be a bad place to choose. There are horse tracks leading from that spot in several directions, so we’re going to split up and follow them. You’re certain you would have heard someone ride by your cottage?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “I suppose a pounding downpour might drown out the sound, but while the rain has been steady, it hasn’t been falling that hard. Nor has the wind been gusting continuously enough.”

  “Then we can rule out this trail.” His gaze flicked to meet mine. “Are you going to remain here with Miss Galloway?”

  I knew what he wanted my answer to be, though I appreciated the fact he was allowing me to make the decision. At least ostensibly. Fortunately, this time I was in complete agreement. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

  “Stay together, and stay inside the cottage.” He glanced toward where my horse stood, tethered to the porch. “If, for whatever reason, you should you have to depart, leave us a note.”