Moss and lichen clung to the cracks in the pale stone and grime coated the windows that were not broken and exposing the interior to the elements. Though the gaping hole in the western wall would undoubtedly have been more troublesome to its inhabitants. Elsewhere, the stonework had steadily begun to crumble away to reveal the interior layers of masonry, giving the outside a jagged, uneven appearance. Some spots looked so worn that they were, undoubtedly, a mere layer or two away from creating additional gaps in the exterior.
“And not a moment too soon,” Philip said. “Barely a month after Lord Dalmay moved his family to Swinton Lodge, while work began on the new manor house . . .” he nodded to the yawning gap “. . . that wall caved in on the nursery.”
I gasped, unable to find words adequate enough to describe the horror of such an occurrence had any of the Dalmay children or their nursemaids been inside at the time.
“Precisely,” Philip concurred. “William and Michael’s grandfather had largely ignored the family’s estate, leaving his wife and heir at the castle while he took up residence in Edinburgh and London. And by the time their father, the old Lord Dalmay, came into his inheritance, it was too late to undo the damage the years of neglect had wrought.”
I gazed out across the steel-blue water of the firth, close enough now to smell its brine. “I always remembered Lord Dalmay as a rather stern man. Constantly lecturing us on our duty.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “He wasn’t keen on the idea of his children wasting their time trampling about the countryside or racing boats down the Tweed. Alana, Trevor, and I knew to avoid Swinton Lodge whenever he was in residence. Which was, fortunately, not so often.” My grin widened. “When she was still alive, Lady Dalmay would hang a pennant out one of the south-facing windows when her husband had gone, signaling my mother the ‘all clear.’”
Philip chuckled.
But my face fell as I remembered. “Even in the few months between my mother’s death and hers, she continued to fly her pennant for us when Lord Dalmay was away. Though, instead of bright red, it was black.” I conjured the image of Lady Dalmay, having trouble seeing any of her with clarity except her kind, gray eyes, so like her sons’. “Lady Dalmay was a caring lady. I suppose you could have called her a sort of surrogate parent to us.”
“Yes,” Philip murmured. “Alana admitted as much to me once.”
I glanced at him, knowing I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear so. But Alana rarely spoke of that time. Our mother’s death had been difficult for her, more difficult than it had been for Trevor and me, perhaps because of her age—twelve, the very cusp of womanhood—or because she was so like our beautiful, spirited mother. She did not get along well with our more serious-minded father, which couldn’t have helped matters. Without our mother there to buffer for her, Alana and Father had butted heads like two rams in a pasture. Alana had exasperated and troubled our father. Trevor had tried his patience, while still managing to make him proud. And I had merely baffled him.
That Alana had talked about this with Philip should have been expected. They had been married for eight years, and her husband was her closest confidant and friend. Closer even than me. I ignored the twinge of jealousy I felt at that thought. I certainly didn’t begrudge my sister that intimacy with her husband, but it made me all the more aware of what I lacked.
Philip patted my hand where it lay on his arm and guided me forward down the path. It skirted the hulk of Banbogle Castle and then joined a wide, trampled dirt lane that stretched north and south down the shoreline. I commented on the well-worn trail.
“It’s an old road,” he explained. “From a time long before the foundations of Banbogle Castle were laid. The Dalmays have always allowed the people in the neighboring villages and estates to make use of it. It’s sort of a tradition. The vantage is simply too pretty to keep to themselves.”
And indeed it was. The view out over the water of the Firth of Forth was magnificent. The morning sun reflected off the waves, sparkling like gems in the clear light. The northern coast across the estuary was rockier, but the same brilliant autumn colors swathed its forests. High above, soft wisps of clouds had streamed out across the pale blue sky, while crying kittiwakes and razorbills wheeled about below them. In the distance, I could see a small island resting in the middle of the water, not far from the southern shoreline. It was too close to be Inchkeith. The isolated island where Dr. Sloane’s asylum was located stood too far out in the firth to be seen easily from this shore. And thank goodness for that. I wasn’t sure I could have stomached the sight.
The waves lapped playfully against the shore, inviting us to remove our shoes and run through them, but I knew the waters coming in off the North Sea were never warm, and with the stiff breeze whipping across the inlet, stinging my cheeks, they would be downright icy. I shivered at the thought and Philip glanced at me in query. Not wanting him to cut our walk short, I smiled in reassurance and hugged my arms tighter to my body to conserve warmth.
He nodded and we returned to our contemplation of the bay. I knew I had a limited amount of time in which to discuss William with him before we returned to the house and Gage sought him out, but it was difficult to gather my thoughts. And in the end, it was Philip who broke our companionable silence.
“I’m taking Alana and the children to Edinburgh this afternoon.”
I swung my gaze from the water to his troubled visage.
“I would like you to join us,” he added, turning his head to look down at me.
For a moment, I was speechless. I had not expected him to say anything of the like, and I couldn’t quite form a response.
“I realize that you care for the Dalmays, we all do, but this . . .” He shook his head. “This is too much. Alana’s health is already worrying without the added anxiety of sleeping under the Dalmays’ roof.”
I understood then. “Neither of you slept much last night.”
Philip sighed wearily and stopped walking and turned toward the sea. “No. I knew we should have brought the children into our room after everything that Dalmay revealed, but I let Alana convince us it would be all right. I don’t think she rested for more than a quarter of an hour at a time. She couldn’t stop thinking of the murders at Gairloch and fretting for the children’s safety.”
“But this isn’t like what happened at Gairloch.”
“I know. But you know your sister isn’t always reasonable when it comes to the children. She locked herself in the nursery with them, remember, swearing she wouldn’t emerge until the murderer was caught. I can’t risk her attempting something similar here.” His face firmed with resolve. “It would be best simply to remove them to Edinburgh. She can settle herself at the town house, and the physician who was recommended to us can examine her.”
I knew he was right. Alana’s health had suffered on our journey, and I knew the last thing she needed was to worry over her children. I couldn’t even blame her for feeling that way. As much as I believed Will to be harmless, I still felt a sliver of doubt. A sliver that had been there even before Gage had expressed his concerns in the middle of the night, though I had tried to deny it. I could not ask my sister to put up with that uncertainty, especially when it wasn’t necessary for her even to be here.
I hunched my shoulders against the chill wind and watched a small boat bob across the water toward the tiny island. “What will you tell your aunt?”
“I don’t know. Michael did withhold information from Caroline and her family.” I opened my mouth to argue and Philip held up his hand to ward off my protest. “Perhaps it wasn’t their right to know about William while they were courting, but he certainly should have informed Caroline and her oldest brother, James, about him when he asked for her hand.”
I frowned at the frothy whitecaps racing toward the beach like pale horses. Philip was right. Michael had misled Caroline and her family, and no matter his intentions in doing s
o, it had been wrong. Sir Anthony had done the same thing to me and my father, though his reasons for doing so had been infinitely less honorable, and his purpose far more nefarious. Had we known that my future husband was marrying me so that he could force me to illustrate the anatomy textbook he was writing, saving the money it would cost to hire an artist and keeping the credit for himself, my father and I would never have agreed to the match. In truth, my father would likely have blackened Sir Anthony’s name.
But his deception had not come to light prior to the ceremony, and I had said my vows, and entered my new husband’s household, ignorant of what he had planned for me. That I hadn’t revealed the truth to anyone while Sir Anthony lived had been my choice. Fear and shame and despair had ensured my silence as much as my husband’s threats.
However, Michael’s deception had been quite different from Sir Anthony’s. While still poorly handled, at least Michael’s dishonesty had been well-intentioned. Sir Anthony’s had been purely self-serving. And at least Michael had had the decency to reveal the truth about his brother long before the wedding vows were spoken.
“In any case,” Philip continued, unaware of my unsettled thoughts, “I’m not going to try to convince her to stay here, even if I thought that were possible. It just doesn’t seem right for me to insist that Aunt Jane and Caroline remain here when I’m removing my own family.”
“Does that mean you think Caroline shouldn’t marry Michael?” I asked in distress.
He frowned, looking down at the crumbled leaves at his feet. “No. It’s obvious they care for each other. And I don’t know that you could find two finer people. But this problem with William . . .” He inhaled deeply and shook his head once. “It’s not going to be smoothed over with just a heartfelt apology.”
“Because Caroline won’t be made a baroness after all,” I guessed, knowing that Michael’s dishonesty was not the insurmountable issue. “Unless, of course, William eventually dies without issue.”
“Yes, that, and William’s mental state.”
Surprised by his answer, I turned to face him. “But surely it’s obvious that his problems do not stem from a feeble family line. None of his ancestors were mad. And his current mental weakness can clearly be traced to the strains of war and his time spent in that asylum.”
“It’s probable that you are correct, but Aunt Jane won’t see it that way. And I’m not certain I can either.”
I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. When I was finally able to speak, it was in a hard voice. “You think Will is unsafe.”
“Kiera,” he murmured in a placating voice. He reached out to cup my elbow, but I shifted out of his reach. He scowled. “I honestly don’t know what to think about him. But I know that I don’t feel comfortable with you spending time alone with him.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Has Mr. Gage spoken with you?”
Philip’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “About your safety?”
I stifled a curse, wondering how he’d gotten to Philip before me. Had he knocked on his door in the middle of the night? “I told him to stay out of this,” I snapped.
“Yes, I heard you quite clearly in the Dalmays’ drawing room,” my brother-in-law told me almost in scolding.
I blinked up at him in confusion, trying to understand why he was talking about the confrontation in the drawing room.
His gaze sharpened as I realized Gage had not discussed me with him yet. “Unless you spoke with him another time.”
“Of course not,” I replied quickly. I wasn’t about to admit the man had visited me in my room later that night. Who knew how Philip would react? In his current state of mind, he might just do something foolish. Like call his friend out. Or, perhaps worse, insist Gage do the honorable thing and marry me—an outcome I couldn’t even fathom.
“His behavior yesterday evening just proves that he has taken the same overprotective stance that you seem to have adopted,” I rushed on to say before he could question me further. “Do I need to keep repeating myself? Will would never hurt me.”
Philip stiffened, straightening to his greatest height, and I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch just like it did when he was refraining from saying something to my sister he knew he would regret later. I had never seen him do it while facing me before, but then, Philip and I seldom argued. “I don’t care if you believe I’m being overprotective.” He spoke carefully, enunciating his words. “But the fact is that while you are a part of my household, I am responsible for you. I am not going to just turn my head in the other direction and allow you to do whatever you please, particularly if your actions are so foolish as to threaten your safety in any way.”
Something in my chest pinched at his words. I had always felt that Philip and I understood each other, and to hear him speak to me as if I was just another silly, irrational female hurt more than I would have admitted. “If you felt me to be so lacking in sense, I wish you would have told me before,” I replied in a clipped voice. “I assumed you valued my intelligence. After all, you were the one who asked me to assist Gage with the murder investigation at Gairloch.” An undertaking that had certainly threatened my safety. I had a scar on my side from a grazing bullet to prove it.
Philip’s brow furrowed in distress and I instantly felt contrite for even bringing up the matter of my near death. I turned to stare out at the water, hugging my arms tighter to my chest. What was wrong with me? First I threw the shooting in Gage’s face and then my brother-in-law’s. I had never been one to go about deliberately hurting others before.
“Kiera,” Philip murmured, stepping closer. He waited until I looked up at him to continue speaking. “I do value your intelligence. You know that.”
My gaze dropped to the collar of his black greatcoat. I nodded.
“And you know I regret that you were harmed during Lady Godwin’s murder investigation. Sometimes I feel like I should regret ever having asked you to take part in it.” I opened my mouth to object, but he raised his hand to halt my words. “But I don’t,” he admitted.
I searched his gaze, trying to understand what he was telling me.
“I know that had you not taken part in that investigation, we may never have caught the real culprit, and several more people might have lost their lives.”
I felt a surge of pride at his admission. After the removal of everyone from Gairloch Castle, we had avoided any discussion of the events of those dark days. I had no wish to relive those memories—well, most of them—more because of the pain and anger they caused me than any prolonged trauma or regret. But I had never stopped to consider why my sister and brother-in-law refrained from mentioning them. Was it possible that Philip, like Gage, had been feeling real guilt for what had happened to me?
“Perhaps that makes me a horrible man . . .”
“No,” I said, reaching out to take hold of Philip’s hand. I shook my head. “You are not going to take responsibility for the injuries done to me,” I told him firmly. “And if you are going to insist on trying to, then you are also going to have to take responsibility for all the good that came of it.”
His face was blank, clearly not understanding what I meant.
I turned away, knowing it would be easier to find the words if I wasn’t looking at him. “I . . . was hiding, Philip,” I began hesitantly. “We all know it. And the investigation forced me to move beyond that. To exert myself in ways I hadn’t been. Not for many months. Not since . . .” I let my words trail away, knowing he understood. I took a deep breath to continue. “In a way, that investigation gave me a second chance to fight for myself again.” I shook my head. “I never got to do that in London, after Sir Anthony’s death, after those charges were brought against me. I was too beaten and scared to even try.”
I risked a glance at Philip and saw the memory of the fragile, broken creature I had been when I first came to live with his family eighteen months ago
reflected in his eyes.
I smiled sadly. “Lady Godwin’s murder investigation gave me the chance to finally step forward and defend myself against the accusations made against me. To defy society’s small-mindedness. And most importantly it proved to me that I was strong enough to survive this. That maybe I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life hidden in the shadows.” I squeezed his hand. “And none of that would have happened if you hadn’t believed me capable enough to assist Mr. Gage. Despite his protestations to the contrary,” I added at the last.
We shared a look of wry amusement.
“He was rather irritated with me for that at first,” he admitted.
I scoffed. “Not nearly as irritated as he was with me. I had to work alongside the man, after all, and I was initially his chief suspect.”
“But that didn’t last long,” Philip pointed out.
“No. He came around. Reluctantly.”
Philip smiled. “Gage doesn’t do anything that matters without reluctance. I think it’s because of his mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was quite ill for a long time, most of his boyhood, and died during his second year at Cambridge. He never talks about her, but I know they were close. Especially since his father was away at sea much of the time.”
My heart clenched. The loss of a parent was always difficult, but something about the way Philip said he never talked about her told me Gage had taken his mother’s death harder than most.
I followed the flight of a squawking kittiwake as it wheeled about the azure sky overhead before soaring toward the crumbling battlements of Banbogle Castle behind me.
“You know, you haven’t answered me yet,” Philip pointed out. His tone was well modulated, but I could see the tension in the turn of his neck as he looked out over the firth.
I didn’t pretend to be ignorant about what he referred to. “I think you’re right about Alana and the children. They are certain to be more comfortable in Edinburgh.” I hesitated, not wanting to argue with him further, but prepared to do battle nonetheless.
Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) Page 12