When the rustling stopped, I looked over to see him holding what appeared to be a newspaper. “Have you found something?”
When he didn’t respond, I moved closer to see what had captured his interest. It was an edition of Woolmer’s Exeter and Plymouth Gazette dated July second. He flipped the newspaper over to what should have been the front page, running his thumb down the torn left edge.
“I suspect this is where that article Alfred dropped came from,” he said.
I had to agree. “Have you spoken to the gardener about it?”
“No, but I’ll ask Hammett to arrange an interview tomorrow morning.” He folded what remained of the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. His eyes strayed toward the nightstand. “Then, if the fine weather holds, I think it would be best to pay Miss Galloway a visit.” He frowned. “I suppose we’ll have to ask Rory to show us the way.”
I only hoped he was better at hiding his disdain for her than I presumed or Miss Galloway must certainly be aware of it. If that awareness tainted her perception of us, then any of our attempts to gain information from her might prove futile. I’d been on the receiving end of such contempt many times, and it always made me less than willing to cooperate.
“Do you think he’s the person who searched this room?”
“Perhaps. If so, it’s hard to know what exactly he was looking for. After all, we found the tincture and this newspaper.” He scowled at something in the shadows near the hearth.
Picking up his candle, he crossed the room and knelt next to the corner of the rug. Rather than lying flat, it had rolled up under itself, as if something had caught on it. Or someone had lifted it and not replaced it correctly.
“Hold this.” He passed me the candle and paper and pulled the corner of the rug back to see beneath it.
At first nothing seemed amiss. Nothing was stashed beneath the rug, and the smooth wooden floorboards appeared straight and even. But when Gage stepped forward, there was an audible creak. He stomped his foot, locating the exact board that was making the sound, and then knelt to pry at the cracks. I leaned closer, holding the light up for him to see.
Once Gage found the right grip, the board easily lifted away from the floor to reveal a cavity beneath. He reached for the candle and shone the light down into the hole, finding it empty of all but dirt and dust. Even so, for good measure, he cautiously prodded the opening for anything that might have been left behind.
“Well, it appears whoever searched this room before us found what they were looking for,” he declared, sitting back on his legs. He sighed in exasperation. “And I haven’t the foggiest idea what it was.” He dropped the board back into place with a thud and then rose to roll the rug back over it.
“If not Rory, who do you think it could be?” I asked. “Lady Langstone? Alfred’s valet, Cooper?”
He shook his head, staring at the rug. “I don’t know. But it’s clearly something they didn’t want someone else to find. Whether that means it has something to do with Alfred’s disappearance, I don’t know. Not yet.”
I knew that tone of voice and that set of his jaw. Stubborn resolve practically exuded from his pores.
“But we’re going to find Alfred by whatever means necessary. Even if my grandfather doesn’t approve.” His expression turned troubled. “Whether I like him or not, as his cousin, I owe Alfred that much.”
I didn’t contradict him, though my opinion was precisely the opposite. He didn’t owe his blackguard cousin anything. Not after the way Alfred had treated him.
But because Gage was a good man, an honorable one, I understood why he needed to try.
“You think something bad has befallen him, don’t you?” I murmured, able to read between the lines. “You’re worried he’s been injured . . . or worse.” I reached for his hand, taking it between my own.
He spoke quietly. “It seems more likely now than it did before.” He swallowed. “And dead or alive, he deserves to be found.”
He didn’t mention anything about bringing him justice, but if the worst should have happened, if Alfred had met with violence, that desire would swiftly follow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cresting a windswept rise, we pulled our horses to a stop to gaze out over the landscape. From our vantage at Langstone Manor, and even walking northwest toward the Langstone, I’d not realized how varied the terrain was. Instead of one gradual, continuous rise, the moor undulated in dips and waves, sinking into valleys carved by the rivers and streams that flowed through it before climbing again. Below us the River Walkham ambled its way gently southward. But across its banks soared Great Mis Tor, its craggy slopes speckled with rocks and its summit topped by impressive towering stacks of granite.
A smoky haze had settled over the moor overnight, one that the brighter rays of the sun hadn’t yet burned its way through. But in spite of the mist, the air boasted a crisp, clear quality I’d experienced few other places. One that had a sharp, almost acrid undertone, and made the mouth pucker, but not unpleasantly.
Turning my eyes to the south, I glimpsed the stony peaks of Roos Tor and Great Staple Tor. Behind us to the east lay the manor and the village of Peter Tavy beyond. To the north stretched the desolation of Langstone Moor, its gorse and heather broken only by the occasional stone, and what appeared to be the remains of an old settlement.
I should have been overawed by the site—and I was—but I also felt uneasy, skittish. I’d dreamt again of a man watching us while we slept—a shadow looming over the end of our bed. But when I woke, there was no one there. Although, unlike the night before, the window had not been open.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it a dream, an image conjured by my imagination? Perhaps influenced by our inquiry and the secrets that seemed to hide around every corner of Langstone Manor.
Or was someone haunting us, entering our chamber by another means? Gage had blocked the entrance to the secret passage, but what if there was another? Or what if the intruder had simply entered through one of our bedchamber doors? If so, how was it possible that I was awake enough to be conscious of his presence and yet unable to rouse myself to confront him?
I repressed a shiver at the disturbing prospect.
Sensing my apprehension, my horse danced to the side and tossed her head. I took a firmer grip on her reins and my tumbling nerves, and brought her back around while I forced calm, steady breaths through my lungs.
Gage cast me a curious glance, and I offered him as reassuring a smile as I could muster. In any case, it must be obvious to him that something was amiss. He knew well my skill with horses, and if a spirited gelding was unable to throw me, then I was certainly capable of handling this docile mare. Rory, however, was not familiar enough with my proficiencies to know better, and I’d done nothing to dispel that notion as he and Gage discussed horseflesh during our ride.
“What’s gotten into you, Eyebright?” Rory chided, reaching over to grip her bridle.
The pretty bay mare whickered in protest and then sank her head in shame. I felt guilty for letting her take the blame, but it was better that I not explain my anxieties to Rory.
Now that the horse was settled, he gave me a gentle smile and lifted his hand to point to a spot across the river. “That’s Lorna Galloway’s cottage.”
Nestled among the bell heather and bilberry on the lower slopes of Great Mis Tor, not far from where the river curved to the east, perched a small stone cottage. Cottage being a somewhat ubiquitous term, ironically encompassing everything from humble one-room dwellings to lavish country residences boasting upward of twenty rooms. I hadn’t known precisely what to expect. But this home definitely fell closer to the modest end of the category.
I found it difficult to picture Lord Sherracombe riding his horse all the way out here to visit his mistress. I wasn’t sure if such an arrangement spoke more to his character or his mistress’s. Whatever the case,
I hoped she’d loved the moor, just as I hoped her daughter did, because they certainly lived in the depths of it.
I couldn’t help being curious about this woman who’d been raised in such relative isolation, with naught but her mother and occasionally her father for company. Dartmoor was hauntingly lovely, but also wild and unforgiving. Such an environment must have imprinted on her soul somehow. Perhaps that was why Rory was so certain she was a witch.
I nudged my horse forward, trailing Rory down the hill toward the river. Our steeds carefully picked their way through the rocks along the banks of the river upstream until Rory found a place for us to cross. Along this upper valley, the river was by no means wide, but it was riddled with slick rocks. One wrong step by man or beast could result in broken limbs or a deadly head injury.
“There’s a stone slab bridge further upstream.” Rory nodded toward the north. “But it’s too narrow for the horses.”
But not too narrow for Alfred to have used. It further explained why Rory had suggested he might have headed northeast away from the manor and then across to the east before turning south.
Rory guided us to a spot where the river was shallow enough I could see the pebbled bottom. Thirty feet or so further up the stream, the water cascaded musically over a stretch riddled with rocks, slowing the flow of water. This ended in what amounted to a crisp little pool where small trout darted to and fro. The location of Miss Galloway’s cottage had been chosen with care. The cascade would provide clean drinking water, and the pool offered an abundance of fish.
Once across, we followed a narrow trail along the river’s edge, which utilized a natural indentation in the rising slope of Great Mis Tor so the climb was not so steep. The path then leveled off and led away to the north and the stone cabin.
Glancing about me, I couldn’t see another habitation or living soul, merely rocks, heath, and sky. If one climbed to the top of the tor, I imagined you could see for miles around on a clear day. But at this lower point you might have believed yourself the only person in the world.
It was beautiful, and its solitude called to my artistic nature, making me want to hole myself up here in this desolate spot and paint until I was too exhausted to stand. And then wake up and paint some more. I’d rarely had time to indulge myself in such a manner in months. I could already feel my fingertips tingling with the desire to grip my specially weighted brushes.
The idea of living such an isolated existence also chilled me. Not so long ago, I’d considered just such a life. Worn down and disillusioned by all that had befallen me after the scandal over my involvement in my late husband’s anatomy work, I’d thought to seclude myself in a cottage much like this. My sister and brother would have both been happy for me to continue shuffling between their households, but I’d begun to feel the weight of being such a burden to them. Withdrawal had seemed like it might be a better option. Had Gage not suddenly entered my world and made me long for more, convincing me to risk my life and my heart even after all I’d been through, I might very well have ended up just like Miss Galloway.
Except I wouldn’t have been completely alone. I knew my family. They might have let me live in my little cottage, but they would never have stayed away. I would have had frequent visitors. But according to Rory, Miss Galloway had no one but an absent father.
“Miss Galloway lives here all alone?” I asked Rory again, feeling a sort of trepidation at the prospect of seeing the other side to the coin I’d flipped.
Rory glanced over his shoulder, allowing me and Gage to ride our horses up alongside his before he answered. “Yes. Gossip in the village says she let the charwoman go who used to come out to her cottage to cook and clean several times a week. The same woman whom Sherracombe had hired to do so for her mother since he moved her out here.” His voice was tight with a disapproval I didn’t understand, for this action had no bearing on him. Unless he alleged the charwoman’s dismissal was to keep her from prying into Miss Galloway’s witchy activities.
As we drew closer to the stone cottage, I could see that it was indeed small, likely boasting only two or three rooms. A curtain in one of the windows twitched, and a few moments later a young woman emerged onto the small stone porch extending from the house in the direction of the river. She moved toward the corner closest to us, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched us approach. Her stance didn’t appear the least inviting.
Neither did her face as we drew near enough to see it, though it was lovely. Large, heavily lashed eyes narrowed at us, and her pale pink lips puckered in antipathy. I could hardly blame her, especially when I glanced at Rory and saw the thinly veiled contempt gleaming in his eyes. Had I been able to reach him and also do so subtly, I would have elbowed him in the ribs.
Rory might distrust her, but thus far she’d done nothing to earn our disdain. We were the ones trespassing on her favor, so to speak. Unless the sight of her unbound hair was what had so riled him. Her long blond locks fell past her waist, tied back from her face with a ribbon like a young girl might have worn. As a rule, women did not wear their hair down among polite society, but then again, she probably hadn’t been expecting company. However, the rest of her appearance was faultless, even somewhat modest, given her high-necked, lace-trimmed rose-patterned dress and kid boots.
In any case, Gage seemed unruffled by her appearance, giving her one of his most charming smiles. “Pardon us for the intrusion,” he demurred, breaking the rules of protocol to speak to her before his cousin could properly introduce us, undoubtedly out of fear of what rude remark Rory might open with. “We don’t wish to impose upon your time.” He nodded to Rory. “But my cousin said you might be able to help us.”
“How is that?” she retorted, not softening in the least under Gage’s attention.
Ignoring the hostility in her gaze, he dismounted so that he could speak with her at her level. Or a little below her level, as the height of the porch put her above anyone standing below. “I’m Sebastian Gage, and this is my wife.”
She flicked a glance at me as I also dismounted, quickly dismissing me.
“We’re looking for my cousin, Lord Langstone. His grandfather is concerned because he’s been missing for nearly a fortnight. The last anyone saw of him, he walked out onto the moor and never returned.”
Miss Galloway tilted her head. “And what is that to me?” It was spoken as almost a challenge. She must have known what people presumed about her. She would have to be soft in the head not to. But it was obvious she resented those assumptions.
“We thought you might have seen something.” Gage hesitated. “Are you acquainted with Lord Langstone?”
Miss Galloway arched a single eyebrow, clearly aware we knew the answer to this question. I almost smiled at her refusal to be taken in by Gage’s charm and careful handling.
“I’m sure Mr. Trevelyan has already informed you of that fact.” She shot Rory a venomous look where he still remained on horseback.
“Is he here?” Rory replied bluntly.
I could see that Miss Galloway wanted to deliver him a scathing set down, but she settled for a sharp-worded “No” instead.
Rory narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Gage interjected before Rory could speak again. “Could he have passed this way?”
She exhaled in frustration. “I already told the men who were out searching for Lord Langstone during the days immediately after he apparently went missing that I’d not seen him in over a week. I’m sorry he’s missing, but I can’t help you.” She spread her hands. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Did he ever say that he planned to go away, or mention any friends he intended to see?”
She shook her head, her patience growing thin.
“Was he acting strangely in any way that last time you saw him?” Gage hastened to ask before she cut him off.
This questio
n made her brow furrow, though I couldn’t be sure why. Truth be told, I was having difficulty interpreting her mannerisms. She was guarded and irritated by our presence, but had she also adopted her angry, rigid behavior to mask the fact she was lying?
Before she could form a reply, Rory spoke again, making me wish we’d left him behind and found our way here on our own.
“Why did you dismiss old Mrs. Dunning?”
I assumed he meant the charwoman he’d mentioned earlier. A matter which, as far as I could tell, had no bearing on Alfred’s disappearance.
Any softening that Gage had painstakingly achieved with Miss Galloway was lost as her spine stiffened. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“What are you doing in that cottage that you didn’t want her to see?”
She gave a mocking laugh. “What do you think I’m doing? Brining cats? Filleting fenny snake?” she quipped, borrowing from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. “Poisoning entrails?”
But this last taunt struck too close to Rory’s suspicions, and he pounced on it like a cat with a string. “Are you making poisons? Is that why you sent Mrs. Dunning away?”
Miss Galloway scowled. “Why should I pay someone else to do something I can do for myself?”
“If Lord Sherracombe is willing to compensate her, why would you want to do the work yourself?” Rory sneered.
I could sense the frustration simmering within her that she would never be able to make such a man understand, so I quietly answered for her.
“Because life is fickle.”
She lowered her gaze to meet mine for the first time since we’d been introduced.
“Because Lord Sherracombe might not have the decency or the foresight to leave her anything in his will, and his heir might not wish to continue to support her.”
Something flickered behind her eyes, a sort of understanding, as she recognized I was far more familiar with her situation than she would have ever guessed.
A Brush with Shadows Page 13