No, he found he could not deny her any request, even one against his better judgment. He stroked her arm up and down and leaned in for another kiss. ‘‘You are more your father’s daughter than I ever dreamed. Like him, you know what you want, and you know how to set about getting it, though your methods are markedly different.’’
‘‘I don’t know if I’ve just been complimented or insulted.’’
‘‘Complimented, to be sure.’’
‘‘Then Jonny and I can go.’’
‘‘Will you refrain from asking questions?’’
She shrugged. ‘‘Can I help it if certain matters are bound to arise in the course of conversation?’’
‘‘I will send an armed footman with you. I would accompany you myself but Gibbs sent a note to my room earlier asking if he might meet with me following breakfast. Perhaps he has managed to trace the silver from the cave.’’
He sent her and Jonny off with repeated warnings to be careful, watched the coach disappear down the drive and turned to find his steward waiting for him at the bottom of the front steps.
‘‘I’ve information that may be of consequence, sir,’’ Gibbs said, his face grim.
A footman stood waiting at the open front door. Grayson signaled a dismissal to him and, as the heavy door closed, he walked with his steward around the house to the rear gardens.
‘‘We’ll have more privacy out here,’’ he told the other man. ‘‘What have you learned?’’
The breeze swept through the flowering trees and carefully trimmed hedges to ruffle the steward’s hair, revealing more of his balding pate than he liked to admit having. He didn’t bother shoving the strands back into place. ‘‘Someone has been to the cave.’’
‘‘Who? When? Don’t stand there gawking, for heaven’s sake. Tell me.’’ Gibbs’s wounded expression prompted Grayson to say more quietly, ‘‘Sorry. Tell me everything. Who is our mystery pirate?’’
‘‘Just to confirm, sir, did you perchance visit the cave the night before Lord Wycliffe arrived?’’
‘‘In the dark? Hardly. What are you getting at?’’
‘‘One of the men I’ve hired to watch the beach overheard a village lad raving about having seen a ghost recently. The lad, Joseph Little, happened to be rowing in from fishing shortly after dusk the night before Lord Wycliffe arrived.’’ Gibbs’s gaze darted about the garden. ‘‘Lantern light drew his attention to the beach. He says he saw a well-dressed man making his way back up to the headland.’’
‘‘A well-dressed man? How could he see that clearly if it was growing dark and he was out in his skiff?’’
Gibbs regarded his feet, looking embarrassed. ‘‘There are rumors in the village concerning a, ah, ghost, sir, that haunts the beach and the cliffs. . . .’’
‘‘Yes, of course there are. Go on.’’
‘‘So when Joseph saw the light, he quietly rowed in for a closer look. He had his spyglass with him and quite distinctly saw a figure in a frock coat and breeches tailored far too finely for a villager. He believed he was seeing . . . well . . .’’
Grayson nodded wearily. ‘‘My brother’s ghost.’’
‘‘Sorry, sir.’’
‘‘I still don’t see what the devil this has to do with Lord Wycliffe.’’
‘‘Nothing, sir. I was merely using his lordship’s arrival as a frame of reference. Although, it is rather a coincidence. Not to toss suspicion at the earl, but few men in these parts could be considered well-dressed, besides yourself, of course. And as far as it having been the late Earl of Clarington, well, any rational man knows there are no such things as ghosts.’’
Grayson almost laughed at Gibbs’s assertion, for he knew now of a certainty that ghosts in fact did exist. It was quite possible Joseph Little had seen Tom’s spirit climbing the headland that night.
A sudden memory made him question that conclusion. You should leave as soon as possible. Those were Chad’s words the other day. And months earlier, Let me sort through Tom’s things for you, Gray, and spare you that pain. . . .
Had Chad’s apparent concern masked a greater desire to push Grayson conveniently out of the way?
A sickening suspicion plummeted to the pit of his gut. Then again, those were merely two memories plucked from a lifetime’s worth. How many times had Chad taken the blame for their childhood mischief, in order to save Grayson and Tom from the brunt of their father’s wrath? And what about later? How many scrapes had Chad helped Grayson out of at university? At London’s gambling hells? Chad had always been there, always been a friend to both him and Tom.
That Chad could be anything else . . . it was inconceivable. Impossible.
He grasped at the most obvious hope available. ‘‘Lord Wycliffe didn’t arrive until the next morning.’’
‘‘Quite true, sir. Did he mention where he spent the night?’’
‘‘No, he didn’t.’’ Grayson had naturally assumed Chad spent the morning of his arrival on the road, coming from east Cornwall or perhaps even Devon. But he might have spent the night in either Helston or Mullion and still had time to travel to the beach and back, and then make his arrival here in the morning.
The notion gnawed like a festering sore.
With a shake of his head he dismissed the suspicion. ‘‘Surely a finely dressed gentleman, as you say, could have been any one of a half dozen others. Confound it, the Lowells are not the only landed family on the Lizard Peninsula.’’
But even as he stated the obvious, he realized that Chad himself was a landowner who hailed from the same peninsula, albeit some fifteen miles to the south-east, on the opposite coast.
‘‘If you’ll pardon me, sir, I am only the bearer of the information. It is not my place to tell you how to interpret it.’’
A gust of wind parted the clouds and Grayson squinted through a bar of sunlight to make out his valet’s features. ‘‘What do you suggest?’’
‘‘Prudence. Have the utmost care where you invest your trust. Perhaps, sir . . .’’ Gibbs left off, looking uncomfortable.
‘‘Perhaps what?’’
‘‘Perhaps the late Earl of Clarington made that very mistake and trusted where he should not have.’’
A hot denial rose to Grayson’s lips, but its fervor cooled before the words formed. He needed time alone to think, to sort through everything he’d learned these past few days. He started toward the house, then stopped and turned. ‘‘Were you able to find out anything about the goblet I gave you?’’
‘‘It came from a silversmith in Sheffield, sir. One Oliver Samuels.’’
Grayson nodded and continued on, dragging heavy feet through the grass as a vague nausea claimed his stomach. The thought of Chad being involved . . . He considered how accomplished a liar Chad would have to be to have acted so surprised when he saw the cave, and again each time he denied the possibility of Tom’s involvement in smuggling.
No. Chad was his friend, and Grayson didn’t believe otherwise any more than he believed in Tom’s guilt. Far easier and, in a way, less painful to believe in his own guilt.
Yes, that remained the one constant. No matter how Tom died, no matter what lengths he might have been driven to in the end, if he’d had a better brother, a brother he could depend upon and turn to . . . dear God, how much might have turned out differently?
‘‘Run out that way, Jonny!’’
Chad pointed into the field that bordered the road between Millford and Blackheath Grange, his other hand cupped around an unripe apple he’d picked up from the ground. He ran several steps himself, drew back his arm and sent the hard piece of fruit flying, a bright spot of green against the steel gray sky.
Chad framed his mouth with both hands and called out in a voice ringing with laughter, ‘‘Keep your eye on it! Don’t look away!’’
Nora held her breath. ‘‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t trip,’’ she murmured as Jonny trampled half-backward through ankle-high grass and heather. He raised both arms above his head, his h
ands outstretched and close together, ready to trap the improvised ball.
‘‘Nonsense,’’ Chad said, still laughing. ‘‘Run, boy, and watch that apple, not your feet.’’
A second later Jonny gave a little hop and snatched the apple out of the air as it arced above his head.
Chad gave a whoop. ‘‘Well done! Now toss it here.’’
For the next few minutes they passed the apple back and forth between them, Chad running into the field on the east side of the road, then Jonny into the western pasture and so on. Finally one of Jonny’s tosses went wide and struck a rock border wall, smashing the apple to pulp.
‘‘Ah, well, no matter.’’ Chad clapped Jonny’s shoulder, and both he and Nora were rewarded with one of Jonny’s exceedingly rare smiles. Then the child returned to his earlier task of searching out interesting objects to drop into Nora’s basket.
‘‘I’d no idea he was so athletic,’’ she confided to Chad.
‘‘Have you seen him ride?’’
‘‘Only in the paddock.’’
Chad gave a low whistle. ‘‘He’s fearless in the fields. Or he was. I don’t suppose he’s been out much beyond the paddocks since . . . well . . .’’
‘‘No,’’ Nora agreed with a sigh. ‘‘I don’t suppose he has.’’ She shifted her basket from one arm to the other.
Earlier, the basket had brimmed with cakes, breads, fruit and meat pasties. She, Jonny and Chad had visited some half-dozen tenant families, becoming acquainted and dispensing their treats. Jonny had eagerly played with a litter of puppies at the Davis farm, and at the Conway household, Nora had been delighted at the chance to hold their new baby daughter. Such a lovely, precious little dear . . .
She hadn’t expected the earl to accompany them this morning, but when the coach had reached the end of the drive earlier, there he had been by the gatehouse, out for a morning walk, he had said. Under any other circumstances she would have been pleased to have her husband’s friend along.
Today, however, he presented an encumbrance to her intended purpose, which was to casually glean as much information as she could from the people she met. But each time she had tried posing questions about Cornwall’s long history of smuggling and piracy, Chad would somehow steer the conversation onto other topics. After a time she had begun to wonder if perhaps Grayson had secretly sent him along to prevent her ‘‘playing at being a spy,’’ as he had put it. She had finally given up and reverted to small talk and polite inquiries into the health and well-being of each family’s members.
She sighed and watched Jonny as he ambled several yards ahead, plucking blossoms from the hawthorn hedges now bordering the road and picking up odd rocks and leaves from the ground. Though thunder occasionally rumbled in from the moor, the clouds were high and scuttling, not the sort that promised rain anytime soon. They had therefore opted to send the coach on ahead and walk home, and Nora was glad they did, for despite his silence, Jonny seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, as any little boy might.
She lowered her voice to prevent him from overhearing. ‘‘Taking Jonny out of the house today seems to have done him worlds of good. Tell me, does he look at all improved since you last saw him?’’
‘‘The last time I saw him was well before you came into his life, Nora.’’ As they walked, the earl swung an arm outward, plucking a fragrant white blossom from the hedge. With a little flourish, he handed it to her. ‘‘And yes, he looks vastly improved.’’
‘‘I’m glad to hear it. And thank you.’’ She held the flower beneath her nose and inhaled its sweet scent. Oh, Chad might have foiled her plans this morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to remain annoyed with such a good-natured, considerate man. Especially when that man had been her husband’s closest friend since early boyhood.
‘‘I must confide to you,’’ she said, ‘‘that Grayson’s mood has rallied greatly since your arrival. Before that he . . . he was not . . .’’
‘‘Quite himself?’’ Chad angled his head, offering an expression filled with sympathy.
‘‘In truth, I can hardly say. In the short time I’ve known him, he has been . . . troubled.’’
‘‘Indeed.’’ Chad strolled with his hands clasped behind him, boots thudding out the rhythm of his long-limbed stride. ‘‘What has he told you about his brother’s death?’’
She considered before answering, wondering how much she should reveal. She was grateful for Chad’s presence, certainly, yet she hesitated to betray any part of Grayson’s confidence. ‘‘I . . . suppose it isn’t news to you that he feels responsible.’’
‘‘He has ever since Thomas’s body was found.’’
Jonny returned to them and laid a handful of pink willow herb into the basket.
‘‘Those are exquisite,’’ Nora told him. ‘‘Thank you, sir.’’
When he ran off to continue his search, she became serious again. ‘‘Can you tell me anything about that awful day? I understand you were here at the time.’’
‘‘True enough, but I probably know little more than you about what happened. Tom and Gray had argued that morning, a frightful row Jonny overheard.’’
"In the library."
‘‘Yes, in fact, it was in the library, and Jonny had been listening outside the door. Afterward, Grayson stormed from the house, mounted his horse and galloped off. Thomas remained brooding in the library and I did my best to make myself scarce, thinking they both needed time to cool their tempers.
‘‘After bringing Jonny up to his nurse, I’d fallen asleep in my room, only to wake to the chaos of the nurse shrieking that the boy was nowhere to be found. Soon after, we realized Tom had gone missing as well. That actually calmed my fears for a time. I surmised nothing more sinister than Tom taking his son for a walk. But when Grayson returned to the house and discovered the pair gone, he insisted on mounting a search. Didn’t credit my theory one bit.’’ Chad’s head went down. Nora heard a breath hiss through his teeth. ‘‘A pity he turned out to be right.’’
‘‘Gray must have been frantic with worry.’’
‘‘More than that.’’ Chad stopped walking, his features taut as he clearly struggled with a difficult memory. ‘‘He was gripped by a foreboding unlike anything I’d ever seen in him. And afterward . . . egad, Nora, I’ve never seen a man as haunted as Gray. The very next night I found him drunk and raving about how it had been no accident, that he was to blame. Never before or since have I witnessed my friend in such a state.’’
‘‘Surely you didn’t believe he—’’
‘‘Not for an instant.’’
As Nora digested this information, they walked on in silence. Jonny tossed another handful of blossoms into her basket, then broke into a run when the main gate of Blackheath Grange came into view.
She slowed to a halt and stilled Chad with a hand on his arm. ‘‘I understand it was you who found Jonny.’’
Surprise flashed in his eyes. Then he nodded. ‘‘The search party had split up. I found Jonny in the woods near the headland.’’
‘‘Did he say anything?’’
‘‘Not a word.’’ His face brightened. ‘‘Until yesterday, that is.’’
‘‘Yes, but only that single word.’’
‘‘It is a start. He wants only for time and patience.’’
They were nearing the drive now, and Jonny ran back to them, this time clutching a handful of rocks and acorns. Chad rumpled his hair and reached for the basket. ‘‘Perhaps I’d best carry that, especially if Signor da Vinci here insists on bringing home half the park.’’
‘‘I’m stronger than I appear.’’ Nora gave the basket a little swing.
Chad flashed his admittedly dashing smile. ‘‘A gross understatement, I’ll warrant. Nevertheless . . .’’ He took the basket, clasping both hands around its handle. ‘‘But whether through strength or sheer determination, Nora, I believe you have the power to ultimately heal both Grayson and Jonny.’’
‘‘It is my only wish,
’’ she said around the little pain that pressed her heart.
‘‘Your only wish? Is there nothing you want for yourself?’’
She heard the teasing in his voice and a wistful smile fluttered across her lips. ‘‘What more could I want? I have all the worldly possessions that can be imagined. But such things mean nothing without a family happily sharing them.’’
Chad brought them to an abrupt stop and surprised Nora by placing a hand beneath her chin. ‘‘Devil take Grayson Lowell if he doesn’t realize what a damned lucky fellow he is.’’
The words bore an intensity that startled her. He’d said something similar before, but this time she felt awkward . . . uncomfortable, suddenly, to be strolling beside this man and allowing him to hold her basket while they discussed her husband’s troubles behind his back. It did smack of a betrayal of Grayson’s trust, and something of the old unease she had once felt around Chad came rushing back. He removed his hand and continued walking, but the imprint of his fingers lingered like shards of ice against her skin.
Up ahead, Jonny had roamed down the road past the gate. Confused and discomfited without quite knowing why, she seized the excuse to call him back, and was glad when the boy returned to walk between her and the Earl of Wycliffe.
Chapter 22
After his talk with Gibbs and learning that his best friend might be a liar, a thief and possibly involved, somehow, in the death of his brother, Grayson had done as any man in his position would.
He had quietly returned to the house, chosen a room where he wouldn’t be disturbed, shut the door, and pummeled his fist full force into the nearest wall.
The pain shooting up his arm and jarring his shoulder provided a measure of morbid satisfaction, but did little to help his situation. Or alleviate his rising anger at . . . everything. Everyone. Tom for dying. Himself for not being able to prevent it. At his father for creating the circumstances that could only have led to tragedy. At Gibbs for raising a suspicion that left a rancid taste in his mouth. And at his boyhood friend for being the focus of that suspicion.
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