My chest squeezed uncomfortably, seeming to force all of the air from my lungs. Gage’s actions were quite justified and perhaps even necessary, but the sight of him down in that grave made a chill of foreboding run down my spine. I wanted to reach out and snatch him back, to order him out of there, but I seemed frozen, unable to speak.
Neither of the men seemed aware of my reaction, as Trevor inched closer to where Gage stood with his head lowered, scrutinizing something in the grave. They both murmured something, but I could not hear them, didn’t want to hear them. I just wanted Gage out of that ominous hole in the ground.
Thankfully, he found nothing to interest him and quickly climbed out with the aid of my brother. Once his feet were firmly planted on even ground again, I turned away, unwilling to let him see how rattled I was. The air came rushing back into my lungs, and I breathed deeply for several moments of the sharp winter air, trying to regain my composure.
It was silly of me to become upset. Just two days prior I had seen one of Lord Buchan’s gardeners down in the grave and it had not unsettled me. There was no reason I should be upset now seeing Gage down there.
But irrational as it was, I couldn’t seem to shake the disquieting feeling that had overcome me. That Gage had just placed one foot in his own grave.
Still oblivious to my distress, Gage moved forward to stand beside me. “Have you already searched the rest of the abbey ruins?”
I turned to him with a start and he nodded at the stairs leading away from the abbey church down into the cloister. “I . . . no.” I fumbled, mentally castigating myself for not thinking of it. “I can’t believe we failed to do so.”
Gage turned back to me. “I’d glad you didn’t.”
I bit back the self-recriminating thought I was about to utter and scowled at him. Just what did he mean by that?
“It would have been dangerous to conduct a search on the night the crime took place,” he replied, clearly trying to placate me. “Those stairs look none too steady, and I can’t imagine the rest of the abbey is in much better condition.”
“And the morning after? When Trevor and I returned?”
“Well . . .” He paused uncomfortably. “It’s unlikely your efforts would have turned up much.”
I arched my brows angrily. “But we still should have looked.”
I turned to stride across the distance toward the staircase, frustrated with myself for not having done so earlier. Here I was trying to prove how capable an investigator I could be on my own, and I’d neglected to do something so obvious. Gage was right. It was unlikely we would have found anything to assist with our inquiry—there was no reason the grave robbers should have visited the other parts of the abbey—but it still needed to be searched. And now that three days had passed since the murder and robbery, it was doubtful we would find anything even if something had been left to find. The rain and wind and time would have washed it away.
Gage caught up with me before the stairs, taking hold of my elbow as we picked our way down the chipped sandstone steps. We passed through an archway overgrown with creeping plants and into the cloister, now completely open to the sky. The roof had long ago fallen in, probably during the destruction wrought by Henry VIII’s army in the mid-sixteenth century. The stone and wood had been carted away to be used elsewhere, but the holes in the walls where the roof beams had once been supported still remained. Now a patch of green grass spread out across the enclosed courtyard, with trees and shrubs hugging the walls.
Trevor followed behind us and we all paused, studying our surroundings before turning to the block of buildings on our left. We passed a large arched ledge built into the wall and strolled by several rooms, some of which were in too much disrepair to enter. The library, a narrow barrel-vaulted room with only a few decorative accents remaining, was empty.
But the Chapter House was not.
Gage and I cautiously crossed through the doorway flanked with ornate pillars and halted at the top of the stairs that led down into the echoing chamber. The musty stench of mold assailed our nostrils. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that the room featured several lovely Gothic pointed-arch windows. However, the heaviness of the stone walls and vaulted ceiling and the trees shading the abbey ruins made it next to impossible for these meager light sources to brighten the chamber.
I couldn’t help but admire the plaster ornamental arches and scrolls on the walls at the far end of the chamber, even as I shivered from the chill that seemed to pervade the room. Staring up at the rounded vaulted ceiling as we descended the steps into the gloom, I could almost hear the canons’ voices resonating around us in the space. It must have been a glorious sound when they were alive, but now the memory of those reverberations only prickled over my skin, as if the canons’ ghosts were brushing past me.
Gage pulled me closer as I shivered a second time, but then his attention was captured by something to our left. A bundle of cloth rested on the low stone ledge that spanned the length of the walls where the canons had sat in contemplation.
Gage guided us toward it, enabling me to see that the bundle appeared to be made of a course woolen cloth of some kind. I did not object when Gage released my arm and reached out to examine it, not wanting to touch it myself. I leaned in cautiously as he folded back the cloth, half afraid some woodland creature bedded down inside would leap out. When all he uncovered was the fine pink muslin of a lady’s gown, I rocked back on my heels in confusion.
Gage glanced back at me, his brow furrowed, sharing my puzzlement. Then he carefully lifted the dress to find a set of women’s undergarments, including a frilly shift and petticoat. At the bottom of the pile rested a dainty pair of women’s slippers.
Neither of us seemed to know what to say, and ultimately it was Trevor who broke the silence.
“Who the devil’s clothes are those?”
We both turned at the sound of his disgruntled voice.
“There isn’t another disturbed grave in the cemetery, is there?” Gage asked in dismay.
I shook my head. “I . . . don’t think so. But I suppose we should check. Although . . .” I glanced at the pile of clothing “. . . it would need to be a very recent burial. If I’m not mistaken, and I often am when it comes to fashion, that gown was purchased rather recently.”
Gage lifted the gown by the shoulders so we could see the bodice better. “No. You’re right. These wide puffed sleeves haven’t been en vogue for long.”
I couldn’t help pursing my lips. Two months prior, I had eyed those sleeves in the shops in Edinburgh with distaste, and they certainly hadn’t grown on me since. Stylish they might be, but they were not conducive to painting. The big, floppy things would simply get in the way and hinder my movements.
“But I thought Lord Buchan said his uncle’s burial was the most recent, and that was twenty months ago,” Trevor pointed out.
Which made it unlikely this gown had come from a grave in the abbey’s cemetery.
My brother shifted closer, his face creased in a troubled frown. “So if those clothes are not from a corpse, then where did they come from?”
We all turned to stare down at the pile of strange garments.
“And where is the girl to whom they belong?” Gage added grimly.
• • •
After searching the remainder of the abbey ruins that were safely accessible, we retraced our steps through the west door and then turned to follow the path that led away from the abbey out across the wide lawn toward Dryburgh House. The Earl of Buchan’s manor was relatively young by most standards, having been built barely a century earlier, and also charmingly modest considering the previous earl’s eccentric reputation. Fashioned from the same reddish-brown sandstone as the abbey, it somehow seemed natural that the Palladian mansion should be situated there, even with its grand pillars and arched windows. I suspected this had more to do with its size than anything else, for rather than dominate the landscape, it seemed to simply settle neatly into its space,
enhancing the setting instead of altering it.
The current earl greeted us warmly as we were ushered into his study. He was clearly glad to see Gage, and I tried not to feel slighted, though it was impossible not to feel some sting. It was a reminder that I was merely the assistant. Gage was the inquiry agent, with his own extensive reputation and that of his father’s to back him up. I’d merely helped solve two investigations—two tricky investigations—but only two, nonetheless.
“Lord Buchan,” Gage began, settling into a chair. “We may have uncovered something significant.”
“Oh?” Buchan murmured, leaning forward eagerly.
“Yes. But first, I must ask, have you received any communication from the men who took your uncle’s bones?”
Buchan sat back suddenly, his heavy brow arched high. “Communication? Why, no. Of course not.”
Gage’s eyes flicked to my own. “I’m afraid there’s no ‘of course’ about it.” He related the story of the similar abduction of Sir Colum Casselbeck’s body and the ransom note the Casselbeck family had received. All the while, Buchan’s eyes widened farther and farther with each new detail until I thought they might be expelled from their sockets.
“Oh, my. No. I haven’t received anything of the like. Should I be expecting it?” he asked.
“I’m not certain,” Gage admitted. “But there is a possibility the two body snatchings are related.” He sank back in his chair, resting his linked fingers over his abdomen in a gesture I’d become very familiar with. Then he tilted his head to the side to ask, “Do you know if your uncle was acquainted with Sir Colum?”
“Why, yes. They were friends. And both founding members of the Society of Antiquaries.”
Gage’s posture straightened, the only outward indication he gave that his interest had been piqued along with mine. “This society is the same one to whom Mr. Collingwood alleged his aunt donated his family’s gold torc?”
Buchan glanced over at me for the first time since we’d taken our seats, clearly realizing I had shared this information with Gage. “Yes. Do you think Mr. Collingwood also accused Sir Colum of theft?” he asked Gage.
“I don’t know. But I shall find out.” He studied the earl before posing his next query. “I suppose your uncle considered many of the other members of the society to be his friends.”
Buchan nodded. “He was quite enthusiastic about the subject, and many of the other men thought very highly of him. They still speak of him so.”
I straightened in my chair as Gage voiced the same question I was thinking. “Are you a member?”
“I am. Which reminds me . . .” He turned toward me eagerly. “Lady Darby, after you expressed so much interest in the location of Collingwood’s gold torc, I wrote to the society’s treasurer to discover whether there are any records of such a donation, and if so, where the artifact is currently stored. I should have done so the moment Lewis Collingwood darkened my door with his accusation, but how could I have known it would come to this?”
I exchanged a look with Gage.
“Now, let’s not be too hasty to rush to judgment,” he cautioned the earl. “Mr. Collingwood is our most promising suspect, but by no means do we have sufficient evidence to prove he is in any way involved. There are still numerous other avenues to explore.”
“Such as?” Buchan demanded, his brow darkening. He clearly did not appreciate being chastened.
“Well, for one, can you tell us whether any young ladies in the area have passed away recently?”
Buchan’s eyes widened at the question. “None that I’m aware of. Why?”
Gage shrugged his shoulders. “Just idle curiosity. Perhaps unrelated.”
I frowned, curious why he’d chosen not to tell the earl about the clothes we’d found in the abbey. When we exited the house a quarter of an hour later, it was the first thing I asked him.
“Sometimes it’s best to keep one’s cards close to one’s chest,” he answered obscurely, adjusting the angle of his hat on this head.
“You don’t trust him,” I persisted.
“I don’t know him well enough to decide whether to trust him.”
I nodded, thinking I understood his logic. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at my brother, walking on the other side of me, recalling how we had had a similar conversation just the evening before.
“And so in the meantime,” Gage added, “I intend for us to do all of our own questioning. Which means we shall be contacting the members of the Society of Antiquaries ourselves.”
So that we could be certain Lord Buchan was not omitting any pertinent information to our inquiry. I squinted against the bright sunlight as I made plans to once again call on Philip’s assistance. He knew everyone who was anyone in Scottish society, government, and industry. Surely he was acquainted with at least a few of the society’s members.
As we passed the corner of the manor to join the drive down which our carriage was parked, a dark-haired maid stepped out of the shadow of the building. The gravel crunched loudly as we halted in surprise. She eyed us warily, twisting the apron over her skirts, and for a moment I thought she would bolt. But then she inhaled deeply, as if finding her courage.
“My lady,” she murmured with a wobbly voice.
I nodded in encouragement, taking a step closer to her to separate us from the men. Even so, she studied them through the screen of her lashes over my shoulder. I sensed that she wished we were alone, and I was about to tell the men to go on ahead when she inhaled shakily again and spoke.
“Ye said if we remembered anythin’ else teh tell ye.”
“I did,” I confirmed, trying to place her in the crowd of servants gathered in the entry hall of Dryburgh House two days prior. I thought she might have been one of the small maids cowering in the back, perhaps nursing a thick head from all of the drinking the night before.
“Weel, I didna remember the other day, but then Tally, she’s another maid like me, ye ken.” I nodded, trying to follow her thick brogue as she began talking faster. “And, weel, we got teh talkin’, and we remembered we saw these lads doon at the abbey.”
My face must have shown my interest, for she hastened to add, “’Twas through the trees, ye mind, where we was beatin’ the rugs. And we didna ken they might be up teh trouble. Or we’d o’ said somethin’ for sure.”
“I understand,” I assured her. “When was this?”
“Hogmanay morn. We was hurryin’ to get our tasks done so we could go teh the ceilidh.”
I resisted the urge to turn and look at Gage and Trevor, who I knew must be sharing my anticipation, and focused on the maid. “How many men were there? Did you get a good look at them?”
She unwound and then twisted her apron again. “Two—that we could see.” She shook her head. “But we couldna see ’em weel. Though we did try.” She blushed. “They was very dashin’.”
“How do you mean?”
“They was dressed teh the nines. Even their horses were the prime article.”
I frowned. “You mean they were gentlemen?”
“Oh, aye.”
This was something I hadn’t been expecting. “You’re sure?”
She nodded in certainty and I thanked her and sent her on her way.
“What do you make of it?” I asked Trevor and Gage as we turned our steps toward the carriage again.
“It could mean nothing. Many people stop to visit the abbey ruins,” Trevor pointed out. “Perhaps they were simply a pair of young gentlemen out on a lark.”
I lifted my carnelian red skirts as I stepped over a particularly muddy patch in the drive. “Maybe. But in that case, they likely also attended the Rutherford Ball. Every gentleman for miles around was there, and many from farther afield.”
“Then your aunt and uncle should be able to give us a good idea who they might have been,” Gage chimed in, pausing at the side of the carriage. “St. Mawr is right. They might have been doing nothing but indulging in a bit of idle curiosity.”
&nbs
p; I arched my eyebrows, not fooled by his display of indifference. “Or they were scouting the location for a digging expedition later that night.” Taking Trevor’s proffered hand, I climbed up into the carriage before Gage could respond.
My brother followed me inside, sitting beside me, as he had on the ride to Dryburgh. Which left Gage to take the seat across from us, forcing me to either look out the window or meet his laughing gaze. He had known that I wouldn’t be able to resist countering his argument, even though I knew he was as aware of the alternative possibility as I was.
The carriage swayed slightly from side to side as it slowly rolled forward over the gravel, bumping Trevor’s shoulder against mine. I looked up as Gage removed the bundle of clothing we had found in the abbey from inside his black greatcoat, where he’d stored it during our interview with Lord Buchan. He rested it on the seat beside him.
Trevor inhaled as if coming to some decision. “How did you know that dress belonged to a young lady?” he asked Gage. Though I knew he’d meant for the question to sound casual, I realized it was far from that. I suspected Gage did, too, if the subtle manner in which his nostrils flared was any indication.
“The gown is pale pink,” Gage replied as if that was answer enough. And it would have been for any woman, or a fashion-conscious man. But a dandy my brother was not, and neither was he particularly observant when it came to women’s clothing choices.
“Only debutantes wear pale pink, Trevor. It’s insipid on older women.”
He turned to me in chagrin. “Oh.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s all right, dearest. Had you known that, I would have worried you were coming down with something.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, well, half the time I don’t even notice what color waistcoat Shep is handing me. Is it blue or green?”
A Grave Matter Page 10