A Brush with Shadows

by Anna Lee Huber

  Tamping down my emotions, I returned to Alfred’s side to try to clean his wound the best I could. If I couldn’t save Rory, then I was going to do everything I could to save his brother.

  Sometime later, I looked up as Rory suddenly inhaled a deeper breath than those before. I tensed, as did Alfred, who lifted his head, hoping against hope that he was not as far gone as we’d feared. But then Rory exhaled one last, long sigh, and I sensed the change in him. His supine body went completely slack, and as the moments ticked by his chest never rose again.

  Cold crept over me, gripping my heart and making me want to curl into a tiny ball, but I forced myself to continue my ministrations on Alfred. I noticed then how he was holding Rory’s hand, and I couldn’t stop the tears I’d been fighting from overflowing my eyes and trailing down my cheeks.

  I recovered Alfred’s wound as best I could with a strip of fabric torn from my shift. Then I settled onto the cold earth beside him, leaning against the stone wall. When I reached for his other hand, he quickly gave it to me, I supposed as anxious as I was to feel another person’s warmth. To know that yours wasn’t the only heart still beating.

  That was how Gage found us hours later.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I don’t recall much about the ride back to Langstone Manor except how cold and numb I felt. But I supposed sitting with a corpse would do that to you.

  Gage and the other men had returned to Lorna’s cottage to find our note and then journeyed on to find us. They’d just stopped to ask after us at the inn in Merrivale when Lorna arrived. However, the mist had grown even thicker, further hindering their trek to Vixen Tor, which had taken three times longer than it had initially taken me and Lorna to reach it. Upon their arrival, they’d quickly cleared away the rest of the stones from the cave entrance to unearth us.

  I’d climbed out first to stand torpidly by Lorna’s side with a blanket clutched around my shoulders while they extracted Alfred and then Rory’s body from the cavity. Unable to hang back a moment longer, Lorna had rushed forward to kneel beside Alfred. She’d not been able to return to her cottage for the herbs we needed, but fortunately someone in Merrivale had already possessed a stash of calendula lotion and yarrow powder. I packed the wound with the yarrow to slow his continued bleeding, while she rubbed the calendula lotion into the inflamed skin surrounding it to combat the infection.

  Someone from the village had also produced a litter of sorts, which dragged behind Anderley’s horse to transport Alfred to the inn at Merrivale. Most of us waited there for the Tavistock carriages to retrieve us and carry us the rest of the way to Langstone Manor. Rory’s body was rolled up inside a blanket and carried on the shoulders of the men, to be loaded into the carriage.

  Between coordinating the others, Gage plied me with tea, which I dutifully drank without really tasting it. The warmth should have revived me, but it did nothing to thaw the cold pit yawning inside me.

  Apparently the entire household had been informed of what had happened, for when we returned to Langstone, despite our dawn arrival they were lined up waiting to be assigned tasks. The first footman stood in Hammett’s customary place next to the housekeeper, so I assumed the duplicitous butler had been detained. A surgeon stood at the entrance to the drawing room, ready to attend to Alfred’s injuries. But I barely had a chance to explain what I’d done to clean the wound and try to stave off infection before Gage and then Bree bustled me off to my bedchamber.

  I allowed my maid to fuss over me, letting her comforting chatter wash over me as I soaked in a steaming bath. Whether it was the warm water, Bree’s soothing fingers in my hair, or a combination of both, the chill that had gripped me since Rory breathed his last began to thaw, and with it, my emotions. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself shaking with sobs, my head resting on my knees as my tears mixed with the bubbles.

  Gage appeared at my side and lifted me from the bath, wrapping me in a warm towel. He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled me, allowing me to weep into his collar. When my hiccupping sobs at last subsided to sniffles, I began to stammer an apology, but he wouldn’t hear it.

  “Hush,” he murmured. “I understand exactly why you’re crying. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

  I reached up to fiddle with the buttons running down his shirtfront. “Yes, but I . . . I should be the one comforting you. After all, Rory was your cousin. And Hammett . . .” I whimpered. “Hammett . . .”

  “Shhh. Yes. I know.”

  I heard the pain in his voice, even restrained as it was, and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck. Pressing my cheek to his, I whispered, “I’m so sorry, darling,” trusting he would know what I meant. For surely he must realize now that Hammett had likely had some part to play in helping Annie to poison his mother.

  He inhaled a ragged breath and held me even tighter.

  When his grip began to loosen, I pulled back to look up into his face. “Has Hammett explained his actions?”

  He brushed aside a strand of damp hair clinging to my forehead. “He hasn’t returned yet.”

  I sat taller. “He hasn’t?”

  “We don’t know whether he realized his contemptible actions had been discovered, or he stumbled into some sort of trouble out on the moors, but no one has seen him since yesterday morning.”

  I mulled over this information. “Is someone searching for him?”

  “Not yet.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. “What of Lorna? He might—”

  “I insisted she remain here,” he replied, halting my harried words. “On the chance that Hammett would come after her next. Particularly given her delicate state.” His lips curled into a tight smile. “I’m not sure I could have torn her away from Alfred’s side anyway.”

  “How is he?”

  Gage’s expression turned grim. “The surgeon removed a bullet from his chest. His condition is serious. But he thinks he’ll survive so long as we can keep infection from setting in.”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “Lorna will make sure of that.”

  “I suspect she will.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, almost speaking into my skin. “Regardless, if it hadn’t been for you and Miss Galloway, and whatever made you believe he and Rory would be at Vixen Tor, Alfred would not have survived. And Hammett’s treachery would have gone undetected.”

  I thought of the stone wall Hammett had been building, and how near to completing it he had been. Had Lorna and I arrived but half an hour later, we might never have found them.

  Gage shook his head. “What I can’t understand is why he attacked Rory. It’s clear he was obsessed with the curse, intent on carrying out what he believed to be the family’s will. But Rory was doing his duty. He would have made an excellent viscount and cheerfully wed Lady Juliana. So why did Hammett shoot him?”

  “I think I know the answer to that.” I explained what Alfred had revealed to me in the cave. “Rory was already too delirious to reveal everything to his brother, but I suspect Hammett tried to convince him to remain quiet about Alfred’s survival so that he could find him and kill him. That he tried to bribe him with the promised inheritance of the viscountcy. But Rory balked at this suggestion, so Hammett realized he would also have to die. I also suspect it was Hammett who left the note instructing Moffat to poison me, not Rory. Nothing else makes sense.”

  His brow furrowed. “He fooled us all,” he murmured in horrified wonder. “I never would have believed he was capable of such things. I honestly believed he cared for me. He was always there—a silent bulwark of support against my family when I needed him. But all along, he was silently colluding with Annie to poison my mother.”

  “We can’t know that,” I argued half-heartedly. “Not for certain. Not unless he admits it.”

  His stare told me he knew very well I agreed with him. That my objection was only made in attempt t
o shield him from further hurt. “Are you going to try to argue he wasn’t the one who tried to murder us with an ax?”

  “No,” I relented. “He had an obvious limp. It was him.”

  Gage absorbed this bit of information stalwartly, but the pain reflected in his eyes became a little more pronounced.

  “What of your grandfather?” I asked. “Has he been informed?”

  “I was trying to work up the nerve when Bree sent a maid to find me.” His eyes strayed toward the door. “Actually, my aunt Vanessa asked to be the one to do it. She promised to do it gently.” He sighed. “I hope I wasn’t wrong to trust her with this.”

  I pressed a hand to his chest to assure him. “You weren’t.”

  His eyes met mine, asking questions I knew it wasn’t the time to answer. Instead I pressed a kiss to his cheek and rested my head on his shoulder.

  I was glad to hear Lady Langstone had stepped up to do what she could. I wondered if anyone had recognized the amount of power Hammett had subtly wielded in the house. He’d restricted access to Lord Tavistock, especially since he fell ill, though I didn’t believe he’d poisoned the viscount. Given what we knew about Hammett’s motives, such a move made little sense. But he had controlled who and what information reached the viscount whenever possible. Lady Langstone, in particular, had been blocked from his presence, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was because he’d feared her perception. Unfortunately, her sour demeanor toward most everyone had made such an action seem justified. But now I could see it for the manipulative move it was. Just as his defense of her had clearly been a ploy to keep my trust by making me think he was fair and impartial.

  “Will you go to him now that I’m recovered?”

  “Are you?” he asked, forcing me to look him in the eye.

  “Well enough,” I responded honestly. “It will take some time for me to heal completely.” I inhaled a shaky breath. “And I suspect the memory will always cause me some distress. But I promise I won’t shatter.” I sank limply against him. “I just want to rest.”

  He searched my eyes as if ascertaining my truthfulness, and then nodded. “I’ll send Bree to sit with you.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he overruled me.

  “I’m not leaving you alone. Not after your ordeal.”

  “I am fine, really . . .”

  He cupped my jaw gently with his hand. “Kiera, please. Just humor me.”

  I sighed in surrender. “Wake me if there’s news.”

  * * *

  • • •

  In the end, I was only allowed to sleep for three-quarters of an hour. Then Bree woke me with a shake.

  “My apologies, m’lady. Lord Langstone is asking for you.”

  I pushed myself upright, trying to clear the sleep from my mind. Bree handed me a cup of coffee to sip as she coiled and pinned my hair. Even so, my thoughts still seemed a bit bleary when I descended the stairs a short time later.

  I found Alfred lying in a bed that had hastily been assembled in the drawing room. Lorna stood at his side, clutching his hand while Gage and the dowager lined up along the opposite side of the bed. At first, I feared the surgeon had been wrong. That Alfred’s injuries had been even more severe than he realized. And the man in the clerical collar who stood at the end of the bed didn’t ease my dread.

  But then I noticed the gentle smile on Lorna’s face, and the glimmer in Alfred’s eye, despite the pain he must have been feeling.

  “You needed me?” I asked in confusion.

  “Yes,” Alfred answered feebly, beckoning me closer. He looked up at Lorna. “We wanted you here to witness our marriage.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “Of course,” I stammered, before adding more sincerely, “That’s wonderful.” I didn’t understand how such a thing was possible so quickly, but I wasn’t about to dispute it. I suspected there was a special license involved, but that meant Alfred must have obtained it from the bishop weeks ago.

  My gaze swung toward Lady Langstone, curious how she’d accepted this development. Her eyes were rimmed in red and her complexion pale, but she seemed reconciled to the match. Perhaps the loss of her other son had softened her and made her more willing to concede to Alfred’s wishes. Or perhaps her reasons were far more practical. After all, we all knew Lord Tavistock wasn’t long for the world. If the worst should happen, and Alfred succumbed to his injuries, the title and estate would then go to Lord Tavistock’s younger brother or some other distant relative. However, if Alfred wed Lorna, making the child she carried legitimate, then if the baby was a boy he would be next in line to inherit after his father. And if it was a girl, at least they would have almost nine months to prepare for that eventuality.

  Interestingly enough, the dowager’s silent acceptance of Alfred’s marriage was not the most surprising discovery. It was the sight of her arm looped through Gage’s as she leaned on him for support, and possibly even a bit of comfort. One glance at Gage told me how bewildered he was by this development, though he gave no indication he was averse to it. He was too good a man to deny a woman in need of his assistance whatever aid he could render, even his hitherto-acrimonious aunt. Neither was he opposed to Alfred and Lorna’s marrying. He looked on with approval, standing tall at his cousin’s side, even though just a short twenty-four hours before, the prospect of being asked to stand up with Alfred at his wedding would have seemed laughable to him.

  “Grandfather has given us his blessing,” Alfred explained, his voice hoarse with fatigue and exertion. “And given the circumstances . . .” he squeezed Lorna’s hand “. . . I decided it was best not to wait. Lest she change her mind.”

  Lorna shook her head fondly, though I could see the lines of worry radiating from the corners of her eyes. It would be some days before we knew if he would suffer further complications, before we knew for certain if he would survive. Until then, she would not rest easy.

  I moved to Lorna’s side, taking the small bouquet of flowers a maid handed me that someone had plucked from the garden. By necessity, the ceremony was swift, but for all that, extremely touching. I found myself dabbing at the corner of my eyes with my handkerchief even though I thought I’d cried myself dry just hours before. They would not have an easy time of it, for some would find it difficult to accept Lorna as the new viscountess, but I had hopes their affection was strong enough to outlast it.

  Once the deed was done, we all issued our congratulations to the happy couple and slipped from the room to allow Alfred to rest while Lorna sat by his side.

  The first footman was waiting for us when we emerged, and the look on his face told us he did not have happy news. “Mr. Hammett has been found.”

  Gage stepped forward determinedly, his eyes hardening with resolve. “Where?”

  “Not far from Vixen Tor. Some men from Merrivale found him. Said it looked as if his horse had spooked and bumbled into the bog just north of there. They found the steed struggling to free itself from the muck. Mr. Hammett lay several feet away, his head bloodied from striking a rock.”

  “He’s dead, then?” Gage clarified, being the first to find the words to speak.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turned to look up at Gage, finding it impossible not to think of Lord Tavistock’s great-uncle who’d supposedly died in a similar manner, perhaps beginning the curse. It was somewhat ironic, and downright eerie, that Hammett, the perpetrator of so much pain and sorrow, should die in the same way.

  “Good,” the dowager sniffed, her eyes narrowed in spite. “It’s better than he deserved, but at least it’s a neat end to his wickedness.”

  For once, I couldn’t have agreed with her more.

  * * *

  • • •

  Later that evening as the light began to wane, Gage and I perched in our chairs next to his grandfather’s bed. What stubborn will had remained in his old and ailing body had sin
ce drained away in the face of the news of his longtime majordomo’s treachery. Whatever astonishment and anger the rest of us felt about Hammett’s cold duplicity, it was clear the viscount endured it tenfold. He’d trusted the butler, had viewed him almost as a friend. Or as close to one as a nobleman and his servant could be. To then learn Hammett had murdered one grandson, attempted to kill two others, and likely helped orchestrate the death of his daughter, all in the name of a family curse, was devastating.

  His form had shriveled almost into nothing, leaving a gaunt, sticklike figure to lie in the bed looking up at us. My heart ached for the viscount and all the pain it was evident he felt, both physically and emotionally. And it ached for Gage, who was losing his grandfather after only just reconciling with him. I supposed if one blessing had come out of this entire sordid tragedy, it was that. But my heart also ached for myself. I’d grown fond of the cantankerous viscount, and I was sorry to lose him so soon after meeting him.

  We hadn’t planned to push the viscount for any answers he could supply about his butler’s actions, but Lord Tavistock seemed to want to discuss it, to try to understand what had happened, and why no one had realized it sooner.

  “My father groomed him, you know,” he said. “Starting from a very young age, when he was but a stable boy.”

  I recalled Hammett admitting as much to me.

  “When I was younger, I wondered at that interest. Wondered if maybe he was perhaps my father’s by-blow or the product of another illicit relationship in the family. But then later I decided it didn’t matter. Hammett was good at his position, indispensable even. So I never asked, I never pushed either my father or Hammett for the truth.” He heaved a sigh, his eyes staring off into the twilight. “Perhaps I should have.”