A Brush with Shadows Page 8

  As we approached the brook, my husband turned back to warn me. “Be careful here, Kiera. There are loose quarrying stones from an old tin workings flung about.”

  I followed his advice, shadowing his footsteps as best as I could. We forged the brook with the aid of a few strategically placed stepping-stones, and turned our steps northwest, trailing another branch of the same brook. The land there became easier to traverse, gentler on the soles of my feet, though muddier.

  I was glad I’d chosen to wear my short reddish fawn redingote and matching walking dress, for the hem was certain to be crusted with dirt and grass by the time we returned to the manor. If only women could respectably wear pantaloons and riding boots. Though I was sure Gage had selected the color on purpose, his walnut brown breeches still appeared neat and tidy despite the muck splattering his tall boots.

  “I know this might sound odd,” Gage said, falling into step beside his cousin. “But since you’ve been handling Grandfather’s paperwork, have you noticed anything alarming? Anything that would explain Alfred’s disappearance? A large bill or an angry letter . . .”

  Rory shook his head. “I apprehend what you’re suggesting, but the answer is no. I’m afraid not.” He tilted his head in thought. “Unless Hammett circumvented me and delivered it straight to Grandfather.”

  “Has he done so before?”

  “Once or twice.” His voice turned wry. “I suppose when it’s something sensitive he doesn’t believe I should see.” He turned to look at Gage. “I know he delivered a letter from your father. I saw it on Grandfather’s nightstand.”

  I could hear the frown in my husband’s voice. “When was this?”

  “About a week ago.”

  And yet the viscount had not mentioned it.

  But Gage plainly didn’t want that to be evident to his cousin, for he nodded. “Ah, yes. What of a will?” he added, switching topics. “I assume he has one. Is it stored in his study or in the possession of his solicitor?”

  Rory’s mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

  “With the solicitor.” Gage grinned. “He always was precise.”

  “And well aware of my mother’s machinations.”

  Gage glanced at him in surprise.

  Rory arched his eyebrows. “Don’t pretend you’re not aware that my mother is constantly scheming to see that Alfred and I inherit all of Grandfather’s property. She’s done so all our lives.”

  “I’m just surprised to hear you admit it.”

  “Yes, well, I no longer have any illusions about my mother. Or my brother, for that matter.” He sighed heavily. “They are who they are.” His eyes flicked to me and then to Gage. “Just as I have no illusions that I must be a suspect in Alfred’s disappearance.”

  “Why do you say that?” Gage replied, his tone neither confirming nor denying it.

  “Because if something should happen to Alfred, I’ll become Grandfather’s heir.”

  Gage studied his cousin’s features, seeming to try to see into his head.

  I decided that while his cousin was being so straightforward, we might as well ask the question we were all thinking. “Do you have anything to do with Alfred’s disappearance?”

  My husband scowled at me.

  But Rory only smiled. “No, Mrs. Gage, I don’t.”

  Perhaps it was the fact that he’d listened to my request that he should use my new married name and not my courtesy title that influenced my perception and not genuine intuition, but I felt almost certain he was being honest.

  Gage must have agreed, for he ventured to ask another question. One that was perhaps more fraught. “Would it surprise you to learn that your brother wasn’t in distress? That he might have decided to go into hiding of his own volition.” He paused. “And that your mother might have helped him.”

  Rory didn’t even blink before answering. “That wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I’m not sure who was more shocked by his blunt answer—myself or Gage. Regardless, we both stumbled to a stop.

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” Gage pressed, finding his words first. “Do you think your mother was either persuaded to help Alfred or pushed him to hide herself because some . . . situation arose where she deemed it necessary?”

  “I trust you mean because he’s done something that would have infuriated Grandfather, not that he’s killed a man or some such thing?” Rory remarked.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head in bafflement. “I don’t know. I doubt they would have qualms about doing just such a thing. But Alfred hasn’t angered Grandfather. At least, no more than usual. There’s been no reports of misdeeds or irate visitors.” He glanced between us. “If he’s done something for which he needs to hide, I’m not aware of it.”

  Gage began slowly pacing forward again, considering his cousin’s words.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know about it yet,” I suggested, falling in step beside Rory.

  “It’s possible,” Rory admitted, though his eyes remained trained on Gage’s perplexed profile. “Does this mean you don’t think Alfred is really missing?”

  “We don’t know what to think,” he replied honestly. “We’re merely attempting to explore every possibility, and everything I know of Alfred tells me he’s capable of such a ruse.”

  Rory nodded.

  “And someone utilized the same rope-and-knot trick on our bedchamber window that Alfred used to terrorize our tutors.”

  And possibly stood over us, watching while we slept. Though I hadn’t yet mentioned that to Gage, for surely it must have been naught but an eerie dream.

  Rory’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You think it was my brother?”

  “Maybe,” Gage replied, watching him as closely as I was. “Or someone else familiar with it.”

  It was Rory’s turn to stumble to a stop as he realized what Gage was implying. “Me?” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rory frowned at the tightness in Gage’s voice. “I did no such thing. I have no reason to.” His brow furrowed angrily. “Unless you think me a thief.”

  Why this statement caused Gage to recoil as if he’d been punched in the stomach, I didn’t know, but an entire conversation passed between the two men without either of them saying a word.

  “No,” Gage finally answered aloud, turning away. “But I had to ask.”

  There was a new stiltedness in their demeanors as we pressed onward uphill across the moor. The ground here was spongy with peat, and I was beginning to make out the shapes of large rocks nestled among it on the ridge before us. Several sheep from a larger herd milled about the stones, grazing on the tall grasses.

  Though I was curious about whatever secret lay behind their silent altercation, I was not sorry for the hush that fell so I could reflect on my surroundings. I was a portrait artist, so landscapes had never been my specialty, but I could well see that Dartmoor was rich fodder for painters of that type. Especially on a day like today when the heath was speckled with vibrant colors—pink heather, yellow gorse, and the amber-tipped grass waving in the wind—and the canvas of the sky was dotted with puffy clouds for contrast. The sun shone bright, almost making me wish I’d left off my cloak, but the clear, cool air brushing my cheeks made me glad for it. Just being there among it all, my artist’s muse awakened and stretched. My mood lifted with each step I took deeper into the expanse of the moor and away from that oppressive house.

  Unfortunately, Gage did not seem to share my contentment.

  “To be honest, I was surprised to hear that Alfred was even staying here at Langstone Manor.” His voice was subtly laced with challenge. “I presumed he’d still be in London, pursuing all the pleasures it has to offer, and steering clear of Grandfather’s watchful eye.”


  I was relieved when Rory didn’t take up the gauntlet Gage’s barbed comment had thrown down, but instead answered with something close to weariness.

  “Yes, well, I suspect he’s only here for the summer.”

  “He doesn’t usually leave town like the rest of society,” Gage replied more tamely.

  His cousin kicked at the grass before his feet. “I also think it has something to do with the fact that he’d heard you would be returning to London, with your fascinating new bride in tow.” He flicked a glance at me. “He never could stand to be outshone. And you seem to do it at every turn.”

  Gage didn’t attempt to respond to this, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he agreed or he was stunned by Rory’s answer. Perhaps a little of both.

  We’d been prepared for the interest our marriage would draw among London society. After all, Gage was the handsome and charming golden boy while I was a scandalous outcast. Our union had caused no small amount of shocked and perplexed speculation. We’d been subjected to a degree of unwanted attention and conjecture in Edinburgh during the three months of our engagement and marriage when we’d lived there, but we’d known it was but a taste of what was to come in London. I was not looking forward to such scrutiny.

  As we drew closer, I could see that the rocks before us were large indeed. And what seemed to be a random pattern began to take on a definite shape. These had quite obviously been moved here.

  The first stone we encountered also happened to be the biggest. The menhir would have stood about nine feet tall had it not fallen out of its socket into the soft peat. It was the end point of what appeared to be a row of smaller stones. A short distance away, the other large stones—most of which had also fallen—formed a stone circle, a rather forlorn formation among the vast emptiness of the moor.

  Gage paused next to the menhir, propping one foot on it. “This is the Langstone.” Removing his hat, he let the wind riffle through his hair and narrowed his eyes against the sun to survey the rest of the site. “Hence the name of the manor.” His arm swept from left to right. “And this area is called Langstone Moor. It stretches up toward Cocks Hill and over to the River Walkham and the bogs and marshes of Greena Ball. A bit to the southeast you can see the granite outcroppings of Great Mis Tor.” His arm continued its arc, gesturing to the landscape south of the manor. “That hill further in the distance is Roos Tor.” His hand moved past the manor to point toward a mound a quarter of a mile or so to the west. “And then, of course, this is White Tor.”

  To the north and east, I could see a few farms and pastures, but from northwest around to the south stretched only the expanse of the bleak moor and its enigmatic tors. “What lies beyond?” I asked, wondering what existed past my line of sight.

  “A few miles to the south, there are a few towns and settlements. Princetown and its infamous prison are about five miles away as the crow flies. But that way . . .” He gestured toward the brow of Cocks Hill. “You could walk for days without encountering another soul. And if you became lost . . .” There was no need for him to finish that statement.

  Despite the warm sun beating down on my back, I shivered at the thought. I now better understood what Gage and his grandfather had meant when they said that men had become disoriented and vanished, never to be seen again. Even in sunny weather, I could imagine the difficulty. But if rain, or snow, or fog hampered your visibility, it would be impossible to know where you were or in what direction you were headed.

  Rory’s mind seemed to have followed the same track, for his voice when he spoke was somber. “If, for whatever reason, Alfred set off in that direction, I’m not sure we’ll ever find him.”

  We all fell silent, I supposed contemplating the sobering and terrifying possibility.

  Then Gage inhaled and straightened. “Well, first we need to figure out just where he was going. Just because the gardener saw him headed in this direction doesn’t mean he didn’t change course or double back.” He turned to his cousin. “What was Alfred doing before he set off on his walk? Who was he with?”

  Rory’s gaze had strayed to the southwest in the direction of Great Mis Tor, and his thoughts seemed to have followed, for it took him a moment to respond. “Oh, um, I don’t know. I remember passing him in the hall on my way to review some correspondence with Grandfather a short time before he must have set out. I asked if he was feeling better, but he didn’t reply, just continued walking. He seemed . . . distracted.”

  “Had he spoken with Grandfather?”

  He shook his head. “Not for several days, if I recall correctly. Not since his stomach complaint had begun.”

  “And how did he seem after that interview?”

  “Well, he left the manor, and took his horse and rode off hell-bent for somewhere, if that’s any indication. But that wasn’t uncommon.”

  So there could have been an altercation of some kind, one that perhaps Rory wasn’t privy to. But if that was the case, if that was the catalyst, then why hadn’t Alfred disappeared that night? Had he needed to make arrangements? Had his stomach ailment prevented him from following through?

  Or had something unexpected truly befallen him, and all of this speculation was for naught?

  I glanced at Gage, curious how he wanted to proceed.

  “Before we do anything further, I want to climb White Tor and get a better view of the land surrounding the manor. I suspect you’ll appreciate it, too, Kiera.”

  I eagerly agreed and we set off toward the west. But before we’d even taken a dozen steps, there was a loud snap and I stumbled, almost tumbling into the peat. Gage’s arm shot out to clasp my elbow, keeping me upright.

  “Are you well?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

  “Yes,” I replied uncertainly as I recovered myself. “I . . . I think it was my boot.”

  We bent to examine my right foot and found the lace had broken. Too neatly, to my mind.

  “I don’t think it can be fixed,” Gage said, examining the cord. He began to pull at the longer lower part of the lace. “But I think I can tie this part around your ankle to keep the boot on your foot. It won’t be the most comfortable fastening, but it should allow you to walk back to the manor rather than be carried.”

  I sighed. “Do it.”

  I could sense Gage’s frustration as he wound the cord twice around my ankle and knotted it with a hard tug.

  “How is that?” he asked, rising to his feet again.

  I tested my foot, moving forward gingerly. The boot slipped as I walked, the leather gaping, but there was nothing else to be done. I dropped my skirts back into place. “It will have to do.”

  My husband moved to my side to take my arm. “Then I suppose White Tor will have to wait . . .”

  Pressing a hand to his bicep, I cut him off. “There’s no reason you and Rory shouldn’t continue. I can see the manor from here. I can make my way back alone.”

  Gage’s expression brightened in eagerness, but still he hesitated, out of concern for me. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” I assured him, and then set off by myself before he could argue. “Now go on.”

  “We won’t be long,” he called after me.

  I waved my hand in acknowledgment and continued my shuffling steps back toward Langstone Manor. I could already feel my spirits, which had been lifted by the walk on the moor and the sunshine, lower again. It was partly disappointment at my not being able to climb the tor, and partly the dread of returning to that dreary house.

  Irritation also pricked me, for I had a dawning suspicion that someone at the manor was determined to cause us difficulties and discomfort. First the trunks, then the open window, and now my bootlace. I supposed the trunks and bootlace could simply be coincidences, but combined with the window, I had a difficult time believing that.

  Bree was nothing if not careful and efficient. She would have known I intended to u
se my walking boots while I was here, and she would have inspected them as she polished them this morning. In any case, I had seen the crisply severed edges of the lace. Only one strand of the cord seemed at all stretched. It had not frayed over time, but appeared to have all but snapped in one fell swoop. Such things did not happen. Not often, anyway.

  By the time I reached the manor and found my way through the labyrinth of corridors to my bedchamber, I was in something of a rage. So rather than ring for Bree, I marched into Gage’s connecting chamber and tugged the bellpull there. It was only a matter of minutes before Anderley answered the summons.

  “Back so soon, sir. I thought you’d be . . .” The valet’s voice trailed away in surprise at the sight of me glaring at him instead of his employer.

  “Mr. Anderley, I want you to tell me the truth this instant. Are you up to no good?”

  I didn’t care what Gage’s assurances were; I wanted to hear straight from his valet’s mouth that he wasn’t playing pranks again. Gage might trust him with his life, and likely for good reason. After all, I’d witnessed their cool coordination when a situation grew serious or potentially dangerous. But that didn’t mean I believed Anderley always behaved with our best interests in mind.

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

  He seemed genuinely confused; however, I also knew him to be quite a good actor when the situation called for it.

  “Are you playing pranks because you’re unhappy to be here?”

  His eyes widened. “No, my lady. Of course not.”

  “There’s no ‘of course’ about it.”

  His mouth opened and then closed, and then he voiced a question of his own. “Are you talking about the trunks?”

  “As well as our window being opened during the middle of the night. And now my bootlace snapping.” I gestured down to my foot hidden beneath my skirts.

  “I’ve had nothing to do with any of that,” he replied adamantly. “Mr. Gage mentioned the window, but he alleged his cousin might be responsible.” He tilted his head. “I take it he’s not.”