I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing his expression, trying to tell whether he was being truthful. “He says not, and I’m fairly certain he’s being honest.”
Anderley nodded, gazing back at me uncertainly. He didn’t rush to add further assurances, which swayed me. In my experience, liars often provided too many details.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, given your past actions, you can’t blame me for suspecting you.”
His shoulders lowered a fraction, sensing my mistrust was waning. “I suppose it serves me right. Miss McEvoy warned me this would happen one day if I did not stop my mischief.” His nose scrunched up as if he didn’t like admitting Bree had been correct.
I lowered my arms, crossing toward the escritoire where Gage’s traveling desk still sat open from when he’d penned his letters this morning. “Yes, well, perhaps it was precipitous of me to assume there’s one person behind all of these things,” I admitted, wondering if I had been somewhat rash now that my temper had cooled. “Maybe the misplaced trunks and my bootlace snapping were both accidents.” I frowned, still unhappy with that explanation. “But there’s something decidedly odd about it all.”
“Yes, well, maybe not so odd.”
Suspicion gleamed in the valet’s dark eyes.
“You know something.” He didn’t reply, but I could tell I was right. “You believe you know who is behind all this.” When he still didn’t answer, I arched a single eyebrow, letting him know I was not going to be fobbed off. He was well aware I was no ordinary society wife, and that my and Gage’s marriage was not of the traditional sort.
His scowl darkened. “Lord Langstone’s valet, a rather repugnant toad named Cooper.”
“You sound as if you are acquainted.”
He gave a single sharp nod. “We’ve been forced to endure each other’s company more than we’d like. Though, truth be told, once is one time too many.”
“From what I’ve learned of his employer, I can only imagine, but what in particular makes Mr. Cooper so objectionable?”
“He can’t abide the fact that Mr. Gage is considered more attractive and fashionable than his employer, that Mr. Gage’s attendance is courted above Lord Langstone among members of society in London.” His lips creased into a humorous smile. “Perhaps you don’t realize, but a good valet prides himself on his employer’s appearance and presentation. If he is not turned out to perfection, then it’s a reflection on us. And while we have no control over our employer’s charm, or wit, or ability to act like a gentleman, we still take credit for it nonetheless.”
I was not familiar with all the particulars of the life of a valet, but having already realized that my appearance was either a credit or discredit to my maid’s abilities, none of this came as a surprise. If Mr. Cooper was intent on comparing his abilities to others, it must have been doubly insulting that Gage’s company should be preferred over his employer’s, given the fact that Lord Langstone was higher in rank and would presumably inherit a greater fortune.
“And this is why you think he’s determined to make our stay uncomfortable?”
“What other means does he have to retaliate?”
As a valet, not many.
The idea that Alfred’s valet might be responsible for all of this both relieved and aggravated me. In one sense, I was reassured to hear all of it might only be the work of an aggrieved servant. But that same suggestion also made me angry and affronted that he would carry out such petty actions.
It also raised some interesting questions.
“Do you think Mr. Cooper knows anything about his employer’s disappearance?” I asked, curious to hear his opinion. I’d presumed since Alfred had left his clothing and his valet behind that he was not involved, but perhaps I’d been too hasty.
Anderley clasped his hands behind his back. “My impression is that he does not, simply because Cooper has never been any good at hiding his thoughts. He seems far too frustrated and out of humor to be parcel to any scheme. I would have expected him to be more twitchy.” He cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “But just to be sure, I’ve asked Miss McEvoy to do what she can to convince him to share what he knows with her. I would attempt the matter myself, only I’m certain Cooper would rather don a sackcloth than confide in me.”
My lips quirked at the notion.
“As for the damage to your bootlaces, I’ll help Miss McEvoy keep a closer eye on your garments, as I’ve been doing with Mr. Gage’s. I didn’t think Cooper would sink so low as to tamper with a lady’s attire, otherwise I would have said something before.”
“Thank you,” I replied and then hesitated, another thought having occurred to me. In truth, I’d been lucky my bootlace had snapped where it did. Had I been further out on the moor or descending a staircase, the situation might not have turned out so well. Such a realization made me uneasy, especially when coupled with my troubling dream and the open window. “You don’t think he’s . . . capable of violence, do you?” I asked as casually as possible.
I appreciated the way Anderley paused to consider my question.
“Not directly. He might slash the dresses in your wardrobe, but he would never have the stomach to assault another person.”
I nodded, wishing I felt more comforted by his answer.
Anderley seemed to sense this, for he offered me a reassuring smile. “Allow me to handle him, my lady.” His eyes hardened. “And if it turns out he’s not the one causing trouble, I’ll find that culprit, too.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
As expected, Bree was indignant when she saw the damage to my boot. Though she didn’t need to tell me, for I already knew, she swore up and down she’d inspected my boots that very morning and there had been nothing wrong with them. In fact, I suspected she was even angrier about the incident than I had been. I assured her I didn’t blame her, but her face was still red with outrage when she stomped out to see to the stains at the bottom of my walking dress.
I located my sketchbook and settled onto the fainting couch with my stocking feet tucked up beneath my cornflower blue gown. Despite Anderley’s assurances that he would get to the bottom of all this nonsense, I couldn’t help feeling a bit out of sorts. Which I supposed was the culprit’s exact intention. Part of me questioned whether I was making connections and assigning culpability where there were none. But another part of me—the part that perked up when I sensed something was not as it seemed—told me I was right to be suspicious. And I’d learned long ago not to ignore my intuition, or the consequences could be dire.
In any case, sketching always seemed to settle me when I was tired or strained. Unlike painting, which absorbed all of my attention and made me nearly oblivious to the world around me, sketching merely distracted me from the present while still allowing my brain to percolate on what it wished in the background. I paused with my charcoal poised over the paper, intending to draw the moor, but then I realized a drawing in black and white could never do it justice. A proper rendering of the moor would require paint and a large canvas. And while I would have dearly loved to unpack my supplies and escape into my art, I hadn’t the time for such a luxury. Not to mention the fact that Gage needed me here with him, not disappearing into my head. So instead I set about capturing the likenesses of the people who populated Langstone Manor, hoping maybe something my artist’s eye had noted might shed light on the investigation.
I began with Lord Tavistock, before moving on to Lady Langstone and Rory. Then, almost without realizing it, I began to draw Emma Trevelyan Gage. My sketch was hazy at best, having only the portrait in Tavistock’s study to model it off of, but it seemed somewhat fitting, seeing as my understanding of Gage’s mother was also hazy.
I couldn’t help but be drawn to the puzzle of who Emma had really been. After all, she had arguably been the single most important person in Gage’s life, and yet, I knew so little about her. I knew she’d defied he
r family to marry the man she loved, even though he was beneath her in rank. I knew she’d brought her son back here to live rather than remain in Plymouth alone, presumably because of the illness that plagued her for most of Gage’s life. I knew she’d been murdered by her maid, Annie—poisoned to keep her ill and in need of Annie’s care, until one day the poison became too much for her body. But that was all.
Gage shared his memories of her so rarely. He seemed to keep them locked away inside him, somewhere I couldn’t reach. After meeting several members of the Trevelyan family, I could better understand his intense loyalty to her, but I didn’t really have any better sense of who she was than I had before.
Who was this woman who had chosen to return to a place she must have been desperate to escape rather than tough it out in Plymouth? Had she been so ill she feared for her safety? Had she believed raising her son at Langstone would provide him with better opportunities, that it would prepare him for a future beyond what Gage’s father had at that time been able to provide? If so, I couldn’t fault her logic. After all, had Gage not shared his cousins’ tutors, had his grandfather not insisted he attend Cambridge, he would not be the man he was today.
It was difficult to imagine Gage without his veneer of gentlemanly polish. Even without the benefit of the education Lord Tavistock had been able to supply, I had no doubt Gage would have acquired knowledge somehow. He was far too intelligent not to. And his mother would have instructed him in at least the basics of correct behavior. But he would not have been the smoothly refined, elegantly charming man he was today, nor the darling of society. He would have been like his father, feigning an ease with the world he lived in, but knowing he was never truly of it.
I frowned down at the woman I’d sketched. And that was part of the trouble, wasn’t it. Perhaps Emma hadn’t known she and her son would face such harassment and belittling when they arrived at Langstone, but once she discovered the treatment Gage faced, had she questioned her decision? Had she wondered if this was the best place for him? Why had she stayed?
Upon his return, Gage found me reclined on the fainting couch still grappling with these conundrums. I blinked up at him, wondering how long he’d been standing over my shoulder without my realizing it. I opened my mouth to speak, but then noted the somewhat haggard look in his eyes. Glancing down at the sketch of his mother his gaze was riveted on, I apprehended why.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, closing my sketchbook. My cheeks flushed with guilt, feeling somehow I had trod where I shouldn’t. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have . . .” I fumbled for the right words, not wishing to upset him more.
But before I could find them, he gently rested a hand on my shoulder. “No. It just . . . caught me off guard, that’s all. I don’t mind if you sketch my mother. Though that portrait artist painted her nose wrong. It was more like my grandfather’s, but not quite so long.”
I set my sketchbook aside and rose to my feet. Smelling the scent of Gage’s cologne and the starch applied to his cravats, I noted that he’d already changed into fresh clothes. His hair was also slightly damp, curling about his forehead and the base of his neck.
Pressing a hand to the navy superfine fabric of his coat, I leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. I sensed this was not the time to ask him about his mother, about their past. The look in his eyes had been too raw. So I returned to more pressing matters. “Discover anything else of interest?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly. Everything seemed just as I remembered it.”
I waited to see if he would mention anything about Anderley or the bootlace, but his mind seemed consumed by other things. In any case, I had not expected his valet to tattle about our conversation. That would be up to me whether I chose to do so. Anderley might have his faults, but he had never tried to interfere between me and Gage. At least, not since his employer’s interest in me had become fixed.
“I’m going to have a word with Grandfather,” Gage said, his thoughts still distracted. “Would you like to accompany me?”
“Of course.”
Hammett had explained earlier that one of the best times to visit the viscount was after his midmorning nap. By that point the congestion from overnight would have had time to clear and the morning dose of medicine to take effect. Combined with the extra rest and the sun shining through what windows there were, it usually rendered him in the best mood.
Regrettably, today that wisdom did not hold true.
As we entered his chamber, he was barking at a servant I suspected was his valet, sending the man scampering from the room. His eyes lifted as he passed me by, seeming to communicate he wished us luck in dealing with his irascible employer.
Lord Tavistock reclined back into his mound of pillows, smothering a cough. “Well,” he rasped upon catching sight of us. “Have you found my grandson yet?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” Gage replied calmly as he approached the bed. “After all, we’re investigators, not wonder-workers.” He paused, studying his grandfather’s gaunt face. “How are you?”
“I’m old,” he snapped, waving his grandson’s concern aside. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
But Gage wasn’t willing to be ordered about. Instead, he took his time settling into his chair next to the bed. “When did you last speak with Alfred? How long before he disappeared?”
The viscount’s scowl deepened. “What concern is that of yours?”
“It may have some bearing on the investigation.”
“How?”
Gage didn’t sigh aloud, but I could tell he was suppressing his exasperation. “Grandfather, you asked me here to find Alfred. If you wish me to do so, you need to trust my methods.” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “And you cannot expect me to report on my progress twice a day.”
Lord Tavistock’s face contorted as if he’d bitten into something rancid and he was about to spit it out. It was evident he wasn’t accustomed to being defied, but given his circumstances he was in no position to make demands. He flicked a glance at me and then begrudgingly relented. “I spoke with him three days before he vanished. Among other things, we spoke about his neglect to take any interest in the estate. Which he promised to remedy.”
Gage was not willing to be diverted so easily. “What other things?”
His grandfather’s expression remained thunderous despite the cough that rattled up from his throat. “My health, the state of the roads, his engagement. I can’t recall every last thing!”
“Did you argue?”
His silver eyes turned piercing. “You think he snuck away. That he chose to leave. But I told you I know that’s not what happened. I know it.”
“Yes, but how do you know it?” Gage persisted. “Simple intuition could be telling you something is wrong, I’ll grant. But I doubt it’s being specific enough as to tell you that natural causes are not to blame.”
His grandfather turned away, his mouth clamped in a stubborn line.
“Do you have any enemies we should know about? Did Alfred?”
“No more than usual,” he muttered.
Gage’s hands fisted in aggravation, and I sympathized. For a man who’d gone to such lengths to bring us here to find his heir, his grandfather was remarkably unforthcoming. Which only made me wonder if I had been correct in my initial suspicions. Did he already know where Alfred was and had used his grandson’s hiding as an excuse to draw Gage here? If that was the case, if reconciliation was the goal, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“You haven’t received a ransom note, have you?” Gage asked. “Do you suspect he’s been kidnapped?”
The viscount turned back at this bit of guesswork. “No, I haven’t. That would make this entire matter a bit easier, wouldn’t it? At least knowing what happened to him.” His voice tightened with strain at the end, and I wasn’t certain his suppressing a cough was entirely to blame. He seemed ge
nuinely troubled.
However, Gage did not hear it as such. His eyes flashed in anger. “I heard you tore down Windy Cross Cottage.”
His grandfather stiffened. “It wasn’t being used anymore. You made it clear you had no need of it.” He shrugged in feigned indifference. “And after a time it simply became an eyesore.”
“Yes, it always was one, wasn’t it?” Gage snarled before rising to his feet and striding from the room.
I offered the viscount a tight smile of commiseration before following my husband. It was evident to me there was a world of suppressed emotion behind much of what Lord Tavistock had said. Emotion my husband could not sense while repressing his own hurt. But although I didn’t know all the details that had led to Gage refusing to set foot here for fifteen years, I was strongly of the belief that the fault did not lie with my husband. As such, any further efforts toward reconciliation needed to begin with Lord Tavistock. After all, Gage had already set aside past hurts to come to his grandfather’s aid. Whether the stubborn old viscount was capable of doing what needed to be done remained to be seen. But if we found Alfred before Lord Tavistock could put his pride aside long enough to make things right, I didn’t think Gage would ever give him another chance.
I frowned. I couldn’t let that happen. Not when I sensed Gage needed this.
If his grandfather didn’t act soon, I might be forced to meddle.
* * *
• • •
By the time I caught up with Gage, he’d already turned the corner toward the stairs that would lead him to the more public rooms of the house. I grabbed his arm before he reached them.
“Sebastian, wait,” I murmured, using his given name as I did when we were alone. I hoped it might gain his attention since his other name had not.
He whirled about to face me, anger and resentment still flashing in his eyes. And beneath those were the ever-present pain and confusion I suspected he’d been carrying nearly all his life.
A Brush with Shadows Page 9