A Brush with Shadows

by Anna Lee Huber

  When Sir Anthony had died, he’d left me little more than a pittance. The rest had gone to his cousin—a man who had never liked me, and absolutely despised me after learning of my part in Sir Anthony’s work. Had my sister and her husband not welcomed me into their home, I would have had nowhere to go, and barely enough money to live respectably, albeit humbly for a handful of years. After that my only choice would have been to remarry or find some form of employment in the few positions open to impecunious gentlewomen. That is, if I could convince a man or an employer to overlook my lack of fortune and scandalous past. I shuddered to think what would have become of me if not for my family.

  Men like Rory and even Gage had never had to worry about such eventualities. Even as a second son, Rory could rely on Lord Tavistock to bequeath him a significant enough portion that he would never need worry about survival. His brother might eject him from Langstone Manor when he inherited, but he would have enough funds to live elsewhere without difficulty. Just as Gage had known since a young age that he would always inherit the portion Lord Tavistock bestowed on him as the future child of his mother in Emma and Lord Gage’s wedding contract. This had enabled Gage to live his life without being under his father’s thumb, and had made our marriage possible. Otherwise, I was certain Lord Gage would have cut him off without a farthing for daring to defy him and wed me.

  As such, even though Miss Galloway’s life had been very different from my own, I still felt an affinity for her. Her intelligence and spunk only made me predisposed to like her more, as well as her refusal to cow to either Rory’s badgering or Gage’s charm. Such delight in her actions was counter to our aims, but I enjoyed it all the same.

  Miss Galloway’s green eyes gleamed at me, as if she recognized the pleasure I was taking in her defiance.

  “I comprehend your predicament, Miss Galloway,” Gage replied politely. “But it really is most urgent that we find Lord Langstone. Is there truly no assistance you can give us?”

  “I suggest you search her cottage,” Rory declared. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’s hiding him. That or you’ll find evidence of his belongings. Perhaps when her poison didn’t work on him she killed him by a more direct method.”

  Miss Galloway’s glower returned, though this time it was also tinged with a perplexity I shared. Why was Rory so antagonistic? His remarks went above and beyond mere condescension. And why was he suddenly so certain she had played some part in Alfred’s disappearance? The location of her cottage, isolated out here among the moors, was convenient to the last place Alfred was seen, but one could hardly cast blame based on the placement of a person’s dwelling.

  “You are not entering my cottage,” Miss Galloway retorted to Rory and then nodded at Gage. “And neither is he.” Her eyes then fell to me. “But I’ll allow Lady Darby to search if she wishes.”

  So she was aware of who I was. Gage had introduced me as his wife. He’d made no mention of the title from my first husband I retained out of courtesy. Who had told her about me? Alfred? The villagers?

  I stepped forward, willing to put our curiosity to rest, and hopeful she would more readily answer our questions without Rory glaring sullenly down at her from the horse he’d never dismounted. But Gage reached out a hand to halt me. I looked up into his pale blue eyes, able to read his concern. Though he had the courtesy not to say the words aloud, I knew he was asking me whether following Miss Galloway inside was a wise thing to do.

  I arched my eyebrows, uncertain what exactly he assumed would befall me inside. Did he think Miss Galloway would attack me? Or was he more worried about her casting a spell?

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him in a low voice.

  Miss Galloway stood by her door, ushering me inside. Although I didn’t share Gage’s trepidation, I still paused ever so slightly at the threshold. Yes, I felt a kinship with this woman, but I didn’t truly know her. What if I was wrong to believe she didn’t wish me ill? After all, I’d been fooled in the past.

  I met her gaze, and the steady, watchful regard she returned helped me take the final step inside. If she were intent on harming me, wouldn’t she have given me a reassuring smile in order to coax me into her domain?

  Even so, my heart kicked in my chest as she slammed the door shut behind us.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After all of Rory’s allusions to witches, I’m not sure what I had expected to find, but it wasn’t the cozy room into which she ushered me. The cottage was indeed tiny, but every space had been used with such clever economy that it didn’t feel confining. The front half of the main room was set up as a kitchen, including a table and benches, a cupboard, and an iron rack from which pots hung. Various herbs hung from another part of the ceiling, being dried before they were stored in the jars that lined several shelves below them.

  A large stone hearth dominated the center of the room, dividing the kitchen from a small sitting area with two well-worn chairs. Thick woolen blankets draped over the backs of each, while a round table set between them boasted a stack of five or six books. Below it rested a basket of mending on a threadbare but well-cared-for rug covering the slate floor.

  My eyes were first drawn to the chairs and then the door at the far side of the room. It was impossible to tell whether both chairs had been used recently, for they both sported permanent indentations in the fabric. But if Alfred was hiding here, he was likely through that door.

  “You can take a look,” Miss Galloway told me, following my gaze. “But I assure you, there’s no one there.”

  I wanted to believe her, but I also knew I needed to at least peek inside. Crossing the small space, I opened the door and quickly scanned the contents of the room. They were few, naught but a bed covered in a faded quilt, a dresser, a rug, and a few dresses hung on hooks. Though I felt silly and somewhat embarrassed doing so, I lifted aside the quilt and peered under the bed. There was nothing but a few boxes, just as I’d expected.

  Still, as unobtrusively as possible, I sniffed the bedding and the air, trying to detect if a man’s scent lingered here—his cologne, his musk, anything that was unlikely to belong to Miss Galloway. But the sheets smelled of lavender, and the flowers sitting in a vase on the dresser concealed most of the other odors.

  Returning to the main room, I noted that the drying herbs also perfumed the air, overpowering even the scents of any recent cooking. It was obvious this had not been done with intention, but if Alfred had been here it would be a happy coincidence.

  Miss Galloway stood next to the table, patiently watching me as I took all of this in.

  “I apologize,” I told her as my skin tingled with embarrassment. “But Lord Langstone has been missing for so long. His family is growing a bit frantic.” I hoped that was explanation enough for our prying.

  Her eyes dipped to the wood of the table as she trailed her fingers over the grain. “I was under the impression they were not so caring.”

  I studied her downturned face, wondering just how well she knew Alfred. How much had he shared with her?

  “But I suppose a missing heir does constitute a problem,” she added, lifting her eyes to meet mine again.

  “Yes, well, I’ve learned sometimes those who care the most also exhibit the gruffest demeanors. They simply don’t know how to express it.” Despite my animosity toward him, I hated to think that Alfred believed none of his family cared for him. And then I thought of Gage, of the family’s callous, brusque treatment of him, and sighed. “And sometimes things are exactly how they appear.”

  Miss Galloway tilted her head, sensing there was more to my statement than I admitted, but she did not press.

  Before she could change her mind, I nodded toward the plants hanging from the ceiling. “This is quite an impressive collection of herbs. Do you grow them yourself?”

  “Many of them. I have a small plot on the eastern side of the house. The others I gather from the moor an
d the riverbeds.”

  “We found a brown tincture in one of the drawers in Alfred’s chamber. Did you prepare it for him?”

  I tried to word my question in as conversational a manner as I could, which seemed to amuse Miss Galloway, for her lips quirked upward at the corners. Her shoulders relaxed and her brow smoothed of its last pleats. Apparently she had decided to trust I meant her no harm.

  “I did. It was a receipt I learned from my mother. I mix a batch every few weeks, for I always have villagers asking for it.”

  “What is it used for?”

  “Stomach ailments.”

  My eyes widened, though this somehow shouldn’t have surprised me.

  “It contains things like chamomile, catmint, aniseed, fennel seed, dill weed, and a few other ingredients. Nothing particularly unusual.” She crossed the room and reached into one of her cabinets and extracted a bottle similar to the one we’d found in Alfred’s room. “This is from the same batch if you wish to test it.”

  I took it from her, opening the lid to smell the contents. “Was this the first time he’d purchased a bottle from you?”

  “Yes. Though . . .” She hesitated and I arched my eyebrows in question.

  Her lips compressed in an awkward grin. “It wasn’t the first remedy he’d purchased from me.” She cleared her throat, dropping her gaze. “Though, the first was done more in jest than actual need.”

  I frowned in confusion, examining her averted eyes and the pink tinge of her cheeks, until comprehension dawned. “You mean . . . ?”

  She cleared her throat again. “Yes. He purported to have . . . masculine difficulties.”

  It was my turn to blush. “Is that how you met?”

  “Yes. I discerned immediately he was doing it as some sort of jape. He wasn’t the first man to think such a ruse would be amusing and cause me no end of discomfort.”

  I scowled, annoyed on her behalf.

  “But he was the first to return and apologize.”

  My surprise must have been evident, for she actually laughed.

  “I take it you haven’t heard very complimentary things about him. Perhaps justifiably, I might add.”

  “Well, he was quite cruel to my husband growing up, and he’s done nothing in the years since to make me believe he’s any different. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not inclined to think good things about him.”

  Her smile turned wry. “I well believe it. And if it’s any consolation, I wanted to slap his smug face the first time I met him, as I’m sure you wish you could.”

  “Oh, I’d like to do a bit more than that.”

  Her grin widened.

  I inhaled. “But I shall restrain myself.” I grimaced. “If I ever get the chance.”

  Her smile vanished as she nodded, acknowledging the fact that he was still lost. And for the first time genuine concern crossed her features.

  “So you became friends?” I guessed, slipping the tincture she’d given me into the pocket of my dark charcoal gray riding ensemble.

  “Of sorts.” Her gaze strayed toward the window where a beam of sunlight had broken through the mist. “Actually, I found him to be quite amiable, once he stopped behaving like such a wretch. I shall be sad if I hear something unfortunate has happened to him.”

  There was something in her voice, something fraught and apprehensive. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then restrained herself, casting me a humorless smile. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of her reaction, but I suspected she was being honest about one thing. She had grown to like Alfred. But as merely a friend, or something more?

  “I know you don’t know me,” I began hesitantly. “But . . . if you know something . . . if you need someone to confide in, I will do my best to keep what you tell me in confidence.”

  Her eyes widened, making me certain I’d guessed correctly. There was something she was not saying. But was it about her personal relationship with Alfred or something to do with his disappearance? She seemed to consider my offer, but ultimately only nodded.

  Then her gaze fell to my chest, and I realized she was staring at my amethyst pendant. I reached up to finger it, curious at her interest.

  “Someone who loved you gave that to you,” Miss Galloway murmured with quiet certainty.

  “Yes, my mother. Just before she died.” She’d claimed it would protect me, and being only eight years old I’d believed her. Now I wore it as much as a way of keeping her near as for security.

  Her gaze lifted to bore into mine. “Keep it close. Don’t take it off.”

  I blinked, startled by her pronouncement. “Why?”

  Her eyes clouded with trouble. “There is a darkness that hovers over that house. A shadow that seems to touch every life that falls within its reach.”

  A chill swept through me as I continued to try to make sense of what she was saying.

  “I can’t explain it. But I sense it. And I can tell you that Lord Langstone is not the first person from Langstone Manor to go missing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to say anything more about it. “Just wear your pendant. And keep that tincture. You might have need of it.”

  She turned toward the door, dismissing me, and I glanced up to see a drying bouquet hanging over the entry—one just like the flowers we’d found in Alfred’s chamber.

  “That’s why you gave Lord Langstone the herb bennet,” I guessed, before she could open the door.

  She pressed her hand flat to the wood, turning her head to speak over her shoulder. “Yes, it’s for protection. Among other things.” She exhaled heavily. “But apparently it didn’t work.”

  Before I could ask her anything further, she pulled open the door and stepped to the side to allow me to pass. I accepted her dismissal this time without demurral. Gage and Rory, who had finally dismounted, stood by the horses, staring up at us quizzically. Before I could join them, Miss Galloway stopped me with a hesitant touch to my arm.

  “If . . . if you should like to come again . . .” She glanced at the men. “Just you. You would be welcome.” Her voice was timid, as if she was uncertain how I would accept such a proposition and wary of giving it because of that. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d made similar overtures of friendship over the years and had them rebuffed. “You could bring your sketchbook. I can show you some beautiful settings.”

  So she definitely knew my past, for we’d made no mention of my talent as an artist. And yet, she still wanted to befriend me.

  I smiled, having no trouble making it genuine. “I would like that.”

  Her eyes brightened and she nodded, leaving it at that.

  Gage arched his eyebrows in question as I approached, but he said nothing as he turned to help me remount. In sharp contrast, Rory was practically bursting to ask me what had happened. I ignored him, lifting an arm in farewell to Miss Galloway as we turned our horses and rode back down the path in the direction of the manor.

  As much as I liked Miss Galloway, she was still a puzzle. Rory had led me to believe her mother had come from a lowly birth, but Miss Galloway’s manner of speech said otherwise. She was intelligent, articulate, and poised. Isolated out here on the moors in that small cottage, she could only have learned such comportment and enunciation from her mother. She must have come from a family that was gentry, if not nobility. Which meant her family had almost certainly disowned her. But who were they?

  Before I could contemplate the matter further, questions and accusations burst from Rory’s lips. “You were in there quite a long time. Could you tell if Alfred had been there? Was she brewing more potions?”

  I cast him a quelling look. “No, there was no sign of Alfred. And she wasn’t brewing anything. Her cottage appears perfectly common, perfectly normal. She has an impressive array of herbs, but that’s to be expected co
nsidering she makes medicinal cures for the villagers.”

  I elected not to mention the bottle of tincture thumping against my leg in my pocket. I wasn’t sure I wanted Rory to know I had it. As for the rest, I decided it was best to keep what I’d learned to myself until Gage and I were alone.

  “Well, then if Miss Galloway is not hiding him or conscious of his whereabouts, I suppose we shall have to try elsewhere,” Gage declared, spurring his horse forward to lead us down the track leading to the river.

  “Surely you don’t believe her?” Rory protested. “The woman is as skilled a liar as they come.”

  I scowled over my shoulder at him as I urged my mare to follow Gage’s. “Why are you so determined to distrust her? I was under the impression you were barely acquainted with her.”

  I didn’t have a chance to view Rory’s reaction, as my concentration was needed to maintain my seat as the path steeply dropped down to the stream. In any case, Rory didn’t try to answer, but seemed to be ruminating on something unpleasant when I glanced back at him again just before we forded the river at the same calm pool. It wasn’t until our horses had climbed the slope out of the valley and back onto the higher part of the moor that he drew up alongside us.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, but perhaps it’s best if I do.”

  Still, he hesitated. His eyes almost looked stricken, and my stomach tightened in dread, somehow knowing I wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

  “I distrust Miss Galloway because . . . because we always suspected her mother was the person who sold Annie the poison she used on Gage’s mother.”

  My gaze flew to my husband. I felt sick with shock, but I was more concerned with how he would take this revelation. He sat stonily in his saddle, his hands gripping his reins as he struggled to keep his feelings in check. It was evident that Rory’s admission was as new to him as it was to me. He’d known his mother’s maid, Annie, had poisoned her, but I’m not sure he’d ever contemplated where Annie had gotten the poison.