A Brush with Shadows

by Anna Lee Huber

  I returned to the inn to find Gage standing at the edge of the carriage yard, staring out toward where the River Tavy flowed. From this vantage, we couldn’t see it, but the sound of its rushing water echoed off the trees. From the vexed look in his eyes, I gathered his discussion with the local men had gone no better than mine had with the women.

  By unspoken agreement, we remounted our horses and set off toward Langstone Manor, waiting until we reached the edge of the village before speaking.

  “I could get no answers to my questions about the Swing letters or who might have disputes with Grandfather’s acquisition of the new machines. But their very silence makes me suspect there is someone they wish to cover for.”

  “I encountered more or less the same response.” I glanced up at a curlew as it flew overhead issuing its distinctive cry. “Do you have any idea who those disgruntled parties could be?”

  “Some of the other landowners had names to suggest, having also received letters. Mostly the laborers who’ve been the most vocal about the cuts to their wages. The other farmers felt they could hardly blame them for that.” He frowned. “But despite the threats, no one has encountered any violence or loss of property. One farmer over past Brentor had his hayrick burned, and there was talk of a gathering of dissenters in Launceston, but that’s all anyone could tell me.” He sighed. “It seems rather impulsive to skip over destroying threshing machines and move straight to possible assault or murder.”

  “I agree. That does make little sense.” I tilted my head. “Unless the purpose of those letters was to obscure their real intent.”

  “Killing Alfred?” Gage asked in surprise. He shook his head. “No. Had the letters only been sent to my grandfather, perhaps. But to send them to all the landowners in the surrounding countryside? That’s a great deal of effort, all of which might have gone wasted had Glanville not mentioned the letters to us.”

  I nodded in acceptance. “I met a Mrs. Philinda Warne.”

  Gage looked up in interest. “The rector’s daughter? She’s the only Philinda I remember.”

  I nodded, relaying what she’d told me, as well as the village matriarch’s comments on the subject. When I finished, he didn’t appear very shocked.

  “Well, Philinda always was a bit . . .” He seemed to struggle to find a polite word. “Eager. But that doesn’t mean she was asking for what happened to her,” he quickly added. “Alfred was far more worldly-wise than her. Than most of those girls. He knew better than to trifle with them.”

  We fell silent, picking our way through a narrow part of the trail. When it widened again, I drew up beside Gage once more, venturing to introduce the subject I truly wanted to discuss.

  “I had an interesting exchange with a woman named Pasca.”

  Gage perked up, recognizing the name. “Is she still alive?” He shook his head, a fond smile creasing his lips. “She must be almost ninety.”

  “She doesn’t look it.”

  “Yes, well, she never has looked her age. But I know she’s older than Grandfather by several years. What did she have to say?”

  My lips quirked in remembrance. “She commented on your good looks.”

  Gage threw his head back and laughed. “Saucy old girl.”

  I hesitated, knowing what I had to say next would dim that amusement. “And she warned me to be careful.”

  His head swung around so fast I worried he might have hurt himself.

  “She told me there are dark rumors surrounding Langstone Manor and your family. That a terrible fate befalls those of you who defy your kin.”

  His expression closed off and he looked away. “Nonsense.”

  “She . . . she even went so far as to suggest your mother and now Alfred were victims of the curse,” I pressed, trying to stop him from retreating behind the walls he so often threw up around himself. I’d believed we were moving beyond that, but apparently not.

  “It’s nothing but nonsense,” he restated firmly.

  “Are you certain? Because she said there were two more Trevelyans who suffered a similar fate. Do you know—”

  “There is no curse,” he barked, cutting me off.

  However, the very fact that he was angry told me there must be something to it.

  He inhaled a deep breath so that when he next spoke, his voice was level again. “As I said, it’s all a lot of nonsense the villagers dreamed up. Superstitious drivel to explain what they don’t understand.”

  I studied his profile, confused why he refused to discuss this. Perhaps there wasn’t a curse, but some more human agent could be at work. We knew Annie had steadily poisoned Emma, but what or who had given her the idea to do so? If there was a pattern of tragic deaths in his family, then shouldn’t they be examined and compared with Alfred’s disappearance?

  “Is your grandfather’s sister Alice supposed to be one of them?” I ventured to ask.

  But Gage only sighed wearily. “Kiera, let it go.”

  “Why? Obviously this is important, or you wouldn’t be refusing to even discuss it.”

  “I’m not refusing to discuss it. There’s simply nothing to discuss. As I said, it’s nonsense.” He’d adopted his I’m-being-perfectly-reasonable-and-you’re-not tone of voice, the one that was certain to make me lose my temper.

  “I see,” I bit out. “Then I suppose I’ll have to speak to your grandfather.” I spurred my horse forward, but his hand shot out to snag my reins.

  “Do not disturb my grandfather with this. He’s ill enough. I won’t have you making him worse.”

  I wanted to refuse, but behind his frosty stare I glimpsed genuine apprehension for his grandfather. I’d witnessed myself his steady decline. Would unhappy reminiscences precipitate that further? I’d thought him sturdier than that, but I supposed if the memories were particularly troubling, it was possible. So I gave a sharp nod of acquiescence. For now.

  But that didn’t mean I was giving up. For in spite of what Gage said, there was something to this talk of a curse. Something disturbing enough to rattle him. And if he wouldn’t explain it to me, then I would just have to find my answers elsewhere.

  I pulled my horse’s reins from his grasp, and spurred my mare on ahead of him, uncaring whether he followed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I inhaled a deep breath of bracing air and boosted myself up on top of one of the exposed pieces of granite to survey the moor laid out before me. Gage had said the view on top of White Tor was a lovely one, and he was right. My lips twisted in remembered aggravation. If only he’d seen fit to tell me what his plans were for today, he might have enjoyed the sight with me.

  We’d mostly avoided each other since our quarrel the day before. I’d even retired early to our chamber in order to avoid speaking with him, though I’d still been awake when he entered my bedchamber and climbed into bed. My heart had softened when, after a moment’s hesitation, he’d rolled over to curl his long, warm body against my back and wrapped his arm around my middle to pull me close. I had felt his fretting, his uncertainty, and unable to endure it, I turned to face him. But before I could speak, the ache in his eyes had arrested my words. So instead I’d kissed him.

  The fervency with which he kissed me back had surprised me. There was an urgency to it different than he’d ever displayed before, and I had been helpless to resist it. I think in that moment if he could have consumed me and made me permanently part of him, he would have. Whether it was painful memories or fear of the future, I didn’t know, but I knew without hesitation he had been trying to communicate with his hands, his mouth, and his body what he couldn’t find the words to say. So I’d responded in kind. Words could wait until morning.

  Except morning had come, and when I reached over to touch him, all I’d found was the cold depression where he’d lain.

  With the light of a new day, and a good night’s rest, I realized I’d been rather
insensitive to Gage. After all, who wants to hear talk that their mother was killed as some part of a curse, let alone seriously consider it? I prided myself on my intuition, my perception, yet I’d ignored the signs of Gage’s distress. I well knew he closed off his emotions when he was upset or threatened. I should have raised the subject more delicately, and allowed him to retreat for a short time to mull it over before addressing it again. Then I might have been able to coax the information out of him.

  At least then I wouldn’t have been seated on this cold rock by myself. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to the sun as it broke through the clouds, welcoming the warmth of its rays up on this blustery tor.

  When after I’d prepared myself for the day Gage had still not returned to our chamber, I’d gone searching for him. I’d thought I might find him with his grandfather, but instead I stumbled into the end of an argument between Lord Tavistock and Rory. Neither man could tell me where my husband was, and I’d quickly taken myself off, deciding I didn’t need to be in the middle of their altercation no matter how curious I was what had caused the charge in the air between them. Hammett also protested ignorance of Gage’s location, though his stilted response made me suspect he had a guess, but one he was unwilling to share.

  Thus thwarted, I’d abandoned my quest and decided to go for a walk. If nothing else, it would help me clear my head and sort my thoughts. The day was a fine one, and I figured if I remained close to the manor I wouldn’t risk becoming lost even if the weather began to shift.

  Since I’d yet to climb White Tor, I set off in that direction first. From my vantage at its top, I could see the western edge of the moor stretched out before me across to Great Mis Tor and up to Cocks Hill and the expanse of nothingness beyond.

  I still couldn’t puzzle out what Alfred had been doing out here that day he vanished. Could he have been meeting someone? But if so, wouldn’t he have chosen a recognizable marker? Perhaps the Langstone? But then why had he continued on beyond it out into the moor where his coat was found? Surely if he were just out for a stroll, he would have taken a different route.

  Maybe he’d needed space to think, as I was doing perched up on this tor. Somehow being above it all made my thoughts clearer. I’d learned that fact when I was but a girl. It was why I’d so often retreated to the attics at Blakelaw House, my childhood home. Why I’d turned the loft in the library at my brother-in-law’s Highland castle into my own personal sanctuary during the months after Sir Anthony’s death and the ensuing scandal that had erupted.

  But perhaps Alfred thought better while moving. Perhaps in his distraction, he’d tripped and fallen, striking his head somehow, and become muddled. But then why couldn’t we find his body? Had a bog truly swallowed him whole, leaving no trace?

  “Oh, good morning.”

  I blinked up at the sandy-haired man who had rounded the shattered granite stack I was seated on. I’d been so absorbed in my own reflections that I’d failed to note his approach.

  “Good morning,” I replied, tilting my head in recognition. “It’s . . . Mr. Bray, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “It seems we’ve had the same idea this fine morning, Mrs. Gage.” He gestured toward me. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” I smiled in invitation and slid over to make room for him next to me.

  “Where is your husband?” he asked, settling beside me. “Out making more inquiries?”

  “Yes,” I lied, not wanting to admit I had no idea where he was. “He’s concerned for his cousin.”

  “Understandable. He is family, after all.”

  I found it interesting he should phrase it as such, narrowing in on the aspect of it being more of a duty rather than a matter of familial affection. But then I remembered he’d grown up with them. They’d run across the moor together, likely climbing this very tor. And, of course, there was that other matter with the dagger. In the interaction I’d observed between them, Mr. Bray hadn’t seemed to harbor any ill will toward Gage, but I wasn’t about to dredge up the affair.

  I studied the amiable man out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Bray might be an invaluable resource of information about the Trevelyans without my having to ask the Trevelyans themselves.

  “My husband says you used to play together as boys.”

  “Oh, aye.” His lips curled upward in a broad grin, revealing deep dimples. “He and I more than Langstone and Rory. Those two were a might too high in the instep for the likes of us at times. But that was fine by us. It was usually more fun without them.”

  “I’ve heard that same refrain quite often about Langstone. It seems he liked to lord it over everyone.”

  “Comes from his mother. From what I remember of his father, he would never have tolerated such behavior had he lived to see it.”

  “But his grandfather hasn’t stopped it.”

  “I think he’s tried.” He sighed. “But Langstone just refuses to listen. Always has.”

  “Do you think that’s what got him into this trouble? Whatever this trouble might be,” I added in exasperation.

  Mr. Bray’s eyes were sympathetic. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe he pulled his high-handed routine with someone he shouldn’t have. Maybe they drew his cork for it. Or maybe he made empty promises to the wrong person.” He fell silent, his brow furrowing. “Or maybe he took something that wasn’t his.”

  I straightened in surprise.

  “I don’t mean to imply he’s a thief,” he hastened to explain. “At least, of anything more than a woman’s virtue. But . . . he’s taken things before.”

  I hesitated to say the words, but the question had to be asked. “You mean the dagger?”

  He gazed solemnly out at the moor where cloud shadows raced across the billowing heather. “We knew all along that Langstone had been the one to take it, and Gage was merely the scapegoat.” His eyes lifted to meet mine, dulled by cynicism. “You’ll recall I knew them. I knew how Langstone was.” He turned away. “And I had some inkling of what it was like for Gage in that house.” His scowl deepened. “But how does one tell Lord Tavistock you know he’s lying, that his heir is lying?”

  “You think Lord Tavistock knew the truth?”

  The look he cast my way was rife with skepticism. “If not, he was willfully allowing himself to be fooled.”

  I hadn’t considered the possibility that the viscount had been aware of Alfred’s cruel trick, but Mr. Bray was right. Gage’s grandfather seemed to have deliberately turned a blind eye to some of his heir’s actions. I’d witnessed as much since our arrival. And yet he was so hard on Gage. I wondered if Gage had noticed this contradiction.

  I grimaced. But of course he had. How could he not?

  I felt a pulse of empathy for Gage, and another stab of fury at his rotten family.

  “One of the old women in the village mentioned a family . . . well, I guess you would call it a curse,” I said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

  “That those who rebel within the family will suffer a terrible fate?” He nodded. “I’ve heard it before. It’s the reason why, in addition to his notorious reputation, it’s never made any sense to me that all the local girls should be so eager to fall prey to Langstone’s charms.”

  I could answer that. It was the thrill of the forbidden, the lure of danger. It gave Alfred, who was already reputed to be attractive, an even more heightened allure by turning his rakehell persona into one of possibly tragic destiny. I suspected we could blame Shakespeare for that.

  He shook his head. “After all, I know they’ve all heard the legend of Stephen’s Grave.”

  “That the woman he fell in love with was Alice Trevelyan, Lord Tavistock’s sister?” I asked in confusion.

  “Aye. And the reason he killed her and then himself was the curse. It made him do it, for she’d dared to defy her parents’ wishes by agreeing to run away with him.
And then he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”

  I stared wide-eyed, shocked to have my vague suspicions confirmed with so little prodding. “And Gage’s mother?” I murmured weakly.

  He winced, as if he’d forgotten whom he was speaking to. “Her, too. Though in her case, it certainly took its time enacting itself.”

  True. Gage had been eighteen when his mother died, nineteen years after she’d married Stephen Gage and rebelled against her family. But perhaps death by slow poisoning was far more terrible than a quick demise.

  I frowned. Poison. Was that what connected them all? Even Alfred?

  Miss Galloway had given him a tincture for a stomach complaint, as well as a bundle of herb bennet for protection, particularly against poison. Rory had reported that Alfred had suffered from some sort of ailment in the days before he vanished. Had he been poisoned and finally succumbed? But if so, once again, where was he?

  I stared across the moor toward Great Mis Tor rising in the distance. From this vantage, I couldn’t see Miss Galloway’s cottage, for it was hidden behind another rise that concealed the lower slopes of that tor. However, I believed I could make my way safely there. It was not so far, even on foot, and I’d been there before.

  Taking my leave of Mr. Bray, I set off across the moor, following the track Gage and Rory had speculated Alfred might have taken when they’d believed he might have gone to visit Miss Galloway the day he disappeared. It wasn’t so difficult to follow, for their description had been good, and soon I was at her door.

  There was no sign of life as I approached, no twitch of the curtains like the last time we’d called. And when I rapped on the door three times, there was no answer. I tested the handle and the door easily opened.

  “Miss Galloway,” I called, peering inside. “Miss Galloway.”

  The cottage appeared much as it had before, though the fire was banked. She must have gone out to run an errand, perhaps visiting a village or gathering more herbs. I glanced in every direction from the porch to see if I could spot her, and even peered around the corner into the garden, but she was nowhere to be found.