The other family members were all off in different parts of the castle, brooding in their own way. All except for Ransom, who had been out all day, and Storm who had returned to the farm. Flynn was studying an atlas in the library with the younger Deverells. Kate, therefore, was at a loose end and desperate to be useful. But she had no intention of cleaning a floor.
"Olivia, will you take me out to the place where they found Sally? I don't want to bother Storm and he thinks I shouldn't concern myself with it, but there has to be something there to point a finger at Joe Dowty. Something overlooked by the constable. I saw them take the body up without much care for the surroundings, as I'm sure you did too."
Olivia agreed at once, setting her mop and bucket aside, looking relieved to have a better purpose.
But while Kate tied her bonnet ribbons in the hall, Raven came down the sweeping stairs and immediately wanted to know where they were going.
"Out for a ride on the moor. We'll be back before the tide comes in."
"A ride on the moor? Just the two of you?"
"That's right."
"You're up to something."
Olivia laughed carelessly. "What on earth could the two of us be getting up to?"
For a few moments they both thought they were safe, but as they descended the steps down the side of the island they heard Raven running after them and shouting, "If something interesting is going on, I'm coming too. Wait for me!"
* * * *
Distant thunder rumbled over the headland as a handsome team of horses took them through the ruffling grass at a steady canter.
"Bad weather on its way," Olivia muttered.
"As if we couldn't see that for ourselves," Raven huffed. "We'll probably be swept away and end up in a bog like Sally White."
"Nobody asked you to come," came the swift reminder.
Kate looked out over the granite tors that peppered the scenery. It was a bleak place under skies like these, but it also had a wild, breathtaking beauty as she'd observed before. The juxtaposition of raw, savage stone and gently rolling green pasture, dotted with buttercups and daisies, reflected the two sides of Storm Deverell. He belonged here, to be sure.
Kate had begun to believe that she did too.
She was finding it hard to breathe, because she was hurting inside for him, that he had to defend himself from these terrible accusation when he only ever tried to help. She'd never known a kinder man. Is that why Reverend Coles had sent her to him, because he knew the goodness inside that gruff exterior?
She loved Storm Deverell. Kate knew it now for certain. No man had ever looked at her, touched her, kissed her and taken care of her the way he did. In the beginning she'd been afraid of showing a weakness, putting her guard aside, but he had worn her down steadily, smoothing her sharp edges away. She'd been so worried about staying strong for Flynn, that she'd forgotten about being a woman for herself too. Storm had shown her that she could be both.
But with the coroner's inquest hanging over their heads they were in limbo, everything stalled until it was done and the verdict announced.
That damnable blue-eyed scoundrel had better marry her and soon. If Kate had to hurry things along by solving a crime and hunting down a murderous villain to clear her man's name, then she'd do it. Sometimes a woman had to be ruthless.
The horses turned left and started down a hill, then cut across the fallow field toward the river. A few hundred years ahead was the Putnam house— her house now. This must be near the spot where she met Storm, all those weeks ago. When she had no idea of what fate held in store. They traveled onward, picking up speed as the ground evened out and they ran alongside the curving river.
"That's where the wooden bridge is out." Olivia pointed with her whip.
Yes. This is where she tried to cross the swollen river on her first day here. So long ago it seemed now.
She looked down over the side of the cart. There were thick muddy marks cut through the grass where a carriage had come this way. Mellersh's carriage? No, he would have gone further down the river to the other bridge a mile on. He was always a very cautious driver, avoided mud and dirt of any description, and would never try to cut across a river.
These marks had really churned up the earth. Someone driving recklessly and expecting the old bridge to be there, not knowing it had been washed away and not repaired all winter. A local then, but a person who hadn't been home in months. Or simply someone as reckless as Kate. But the wheel marks were not hers. These were more recent and thinner than the tracks of her lumbering old cart.
"Stop!" she shouted. "Please stop here."
Olivia drew the horses to a snorting halt and she carefully climbed down.
Raven hung over the side demanding to know what she was looking at.
Studying the muddy lines, Kate followed them to the riverbank and saw where they'd entered the water. A rock thrust upward from the edge, about the size of a man's head, but it had a sharp side and there— standing out brightly— a mark of dark red upon it. Was this where Sally was found? No, her lifeless body had been found on the other side of the river and downstream. But her body could have floated down before it was caught in the reeds, could it not?
She crouched and touched the blot of color with her fingertip. It was not blood. When it flaked off onto her leather glove she saw it was paint. Something had hit that rock as it tried to cross the river— at speed according to the wheel marks, crushed reeds and the split heads of bulrushes.
Raven, impatient to know what Kate was doing, had leapt down to follow her. "What is that?" she demanded.
The air hung moist and heavy, stealing the breath from her mouth as she spoke. "I think something went into the river here. Something with red paint." She showed her glove with the chip of paint from the stone. Another pulse of thunder passed overhead.
"We don't know that it's paint," said Raven, unusually pale suddenly.
"No, I suppose not." Perhaps her imagination was making more of it, as usual.
But then Raven knelt, having spotted something else there, gleaming in the mud of the riverbank. It was a splinter of wood, about the length of her little finger and it was painted the same shade of dark wine red. She turned her head, looking over the moor, a sudden gust of wind blowing her black hair over her shoulder. "A storm is coming," she said. "We'd better get back to Roscarrock."
"But this could be a clue," Kate insisted.
"It is," Raven replied. "And that's why we'd better get back to Roscarrock."
The first drops of rain spat into the grass at their feet, and Kate turned her face up to feel that welcome cooling dampness after the unrelenting mugginess of the past few days. Raven was already walking back to the cart. A damp curl of wind caught Kate's skirt and pushed it against her legs with a burst of strength. She looked down and saw something else in the grass.
"Hurry, Kate. We don't want to be caught in the rain!" Olivia shouted.
She bent, grabbed the small item from the grass and hurried after Raven.
* * * *
The Deverells assembled in the drawing room of the castle. Kate felt honored to be included, since she was not a member of the family, but clearly they thought of her as one of their own already.
Raven had shown the splinter of wood to her brother Ransom as soon as he came home and he did not attempt to deny that it was a piece broken from a wheel spoke on his new curricle.
"So this is what happened when you rode drunk from Exeter after picking up your new curricle and ruined it before you got here," his father exclaimed. "You found yourself out on the moor? Why didn't you tell anyone, damn you?"
Ransom was ashen. "I didn't know what I'd done. I couldn't remember."
They were all silent, horrified.
He stood by the mantle, swaying slightly. "I woke up in a ditch by the road. It was just coming light. The horses seemed fine. I saw the wheel was off kilter, and I thought I remembered coming off the road with a jolt..."
Olivia got up and stood
with True, holding his arm.
"I had meant to visit Storm before I came here," Ransom continued, looking around the room at all the faces. "Thought I'd surprise him, but the old wooden bridge wasn't there." He looked down and shook his head. "That's all I could remember of that night— riding along fast, Sally laughing, not seeing— until it was too late."
"Sally?" Storm demanded. "What was she doing with you?"
He groaned, a hand to his head. "I didn't know her name then. Or perhaps I knew it and just couldn't remember. When I arrived in Exeter from London, a few weeks ago, I went to pick up the new curricle I'd ordered. She was there, across the street. I recognized her as the barmaid from The Fisherman's Rest, and an old flame of yours. Anyway, she'd just got off the mail coach and was making a lot of noise about having a win at the races, being flush with money."
"She was supposed to be leaving the area," said Storm. "I gave her that money to get away."
"I didn't know that, did I? She was never the most careful or discreet person, and I was afraid she might be robbed. I thought it would be best to get her home before someone took advantage of her." He stopped again and took a long breath. "When she saw my new curricle, she was very keen to ride in it." Now he put both hands to his head. "I bought her supper and wine. We drank a great deal. She made no objection to coming back this way. At some point I said we should visit Storm. She said she knew a shortcut and wanted to take the reins. I tried to stop her, but she was determined ...well, I'd drunk too much...so I let her take the reins. After that, I don't remember anything until the next morning. I woke up in the reeds, pulled myself together and looked for her, but she wasn't there. I thought perhaps I must have let her out somewhere on the road, or she'd waved down some other transport."
"But you didn't come here that day. It was a fortnight before you finally arrived," True muttered. "We'd begun to despair of you."
"I was afraid to turn up in that state— a cut forehead, a torn coat sleeve. I was sick to my stomach. That dreadful feeling of having done something terrible, but not being able to remember any of it." He stopped, drew a shuddering breath, and continued, "I knew you'd lecture me about the curricle and handling horses without a clear head, so I got it back as far as St. Austell. It was still drivable, but barely." He coughed nervously. "I didn't know what to do about Sally. I kept telling myself it was alright and that after driving the curricle into the river she must have found someone else to give her a ride."
"And you decided to silence your conscience with more brandy, rather than face the truth."
"I know it was wrong," Ransom murmured, resting his clenched fists on the mantle. "I made another stupid mistake, didn't I?" He bowed his head. "I can't seem to stop doing it. I just keep getting deeper into the mire." Then he gave an odd, cold, mirthless laugh. "Instead of shooting at you four years ago, father, I should have turned the bloody gun on myself."
"This is no time for self-pity, boy. You must face up to your part in this. Be a man for once."
Kate looked at Storm. She could almost see the anger rolling off his shoulders like a fine mist off the cliffs. "But what happened to Sally? You said you looked for her?"
"Of course I looked," his brother replied.
"Not very far though."
"Like I said, I thought she'd found another ride. What could I do, run all over the moor looking for her, when she was probably eating breakfast somewhere and nursing her headache with opium powders?"
"But surely, when you heard Sally was missing—"
"I didn't know what had happened. I didn't want to think..." He closed his eyes. "I swear she wasn't there when I woke up and looked, father. I swear she wasn't. I thought she'd come back eventually and everything would be well."
"And when they did find her in the river?"
He opened his eyes again and they were black, weighed with grief. "I still didn't want to believe it was anything to do with me. I couldn't. To think of her being out there all that time, floating..." He swallowed hard. "She must have been thrown a good distance and hit her head."
Although Kate felt relief wash over her, because Storm would be proven innocent now, she could hardly celebrate this development. Even Damon had nothing smug to say.
"You know what we have to do," said True.
"Yes, of course." Ransom stood straighter, haggard hollows under his eyes. "I knew I'd have to stand up at the inquest. I wasn't going to let anyone be arrested for murder, least of all my own brother. Whatever you all think of me, I'm not that evil. I took a long ride on my horse today to think things through and come to terms with what I did. I...I'm sorry."
Storm rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped to his lips. "It was an accident," he said finally. "Sally must have floated down stream and got tangled there in the reeds where you couldn't see her. We'll just have to tell them what happened. The truth." He stood and walked over to his brother. "You won't stand alone."
* * * *
The Coroner's inquest was held at The Fisherman's Rest— a fitting venue, since Sally had worked there. A large crowd attended, morbid fascination, and the notoriety of the Deverell family, drawing locals out from every nook and cranny. Kate heard that there were people there from as far afield as Plymouth.
Bert Soames, his head and hands dramatically swathed in bandages, gleefully gave his account of the night Storm Deverell supposedly beat him in an unprovoked attack. "It seems to me that the fellow has a mean temper and all it takes is a little spark. There I was, talking to that young lady," he pointed a bandaged fist across at Kate who sat on one of the benches nearby, "on a matter of business, and he came dashing in to beat me about the head, first with his fists and, when that weren't enough, with a table leg." He held out his arms to demonstrate the length and breadth of this gruesome table leg.
A gasp rose up from the audience. Kate looked down at her hands rather than see Bert's smug red face beaming. He was enjoying himself, of course, relishing his moment in the light. He knew she would not want anyone to know why he'd really been there, for then her past would come out. Not to mention the sizeable theft for which she was responsible.
"My good friend, Joseph Dowty," he gestured to the man who sat beside him, arms folded, a satisfied smirk lifting his mottled cheeks, "told me about the missing local lass and how she were once that fellow's sweetheart. It seems to me an obvious conclusion that he," a stubby finger thrust now across the room at Storm, "done it to her, just like what he done to me."
Further gasps from the crowd were silenced by the Coroner, yelling and banging a heavy book upon the table before him. The action disturbed a thick cloud of dust that shimmered in the sunlight through the small crooked windows of the tavern.
"Another friend o' mine," Bert continued, hooking his thumbs around his coat collar, "a very fine gent, were coming here today to speak against Deverell too— he were also assaulted by that savage fellow on the same evening. But he had to leave and dash back to London very suddenly. I reckon he were intimidated or blackmailed by that family o' reprobates."
"Or paid off," Joe Dowty snorted. "Deverells like to throw their money about and we all know that, but they can't pay their way out of this one."
"Beaten I were," Bert added gravely, "to an inch o' me life. I'm surprise I can still stand, but I shall never be the same again. I'm a broken man."
"Yes, Mr....Soames," the Coroner croaked wearily. "Thank you for your opinion. It is duly noted. You may sit."
"But I ain't done, sir. There's more."
"I'm sure there is," came the dreary reply. "But we have others who wish to speak."
It had been something of a free for all for most of the morning, with many people shouting out theories— some quite outlandish— about the demise of poor Sally. Now there was a muted stir as Chief Constable Gallworthy elbowed his way into view. He was late arriving, but had put on his top hat for the additional air of authority and he looked very official.
Rolling his bloodshot eyes, the coroner reluctantly signal
ed for the constable to come forward. Since the expansion of the police force and its new powers into even these far outposts of the country, the old system of inquiry into suspicious deaths faced a new world. Thus the grumpy old man was obliged to listen to the constable, whether he wanted to or not.
"I must apologize for the delay, sir, but evidence has come to light most recently of an accident near the site where the body was recovered. I went up there myself this morning for another look, upon learning some new information about Miss White's last actions."
Faces turned like flowers seeking the sun, people twisting around in their seats.
"I have also conferred with the driver of the mail coach to Exeter and discovered that Miss White traveled that way on the first day of her disappearance. She did, however, return west from Exeter in the company of Mr. Ransom Deverell— the gentleman who came forward yesterday."
"See! A Deverell," someone in the crowd shouted. "It had to be one of 'em."
"O' course it was." Joe Dowty leered. "Who else but a Deverell would abuse a woman, beat her and leave her for dead."
Chief Constable Gallworthy did not look up from his notebook, but spoke clearly to be heard above the mutterings. "Mr. Ransom Deverell confessed to driving Miss White across the moor with an intent to visit his brother. At some point Miss White insisted upon taking the reins and an accident occurred shortly after in the dark. "
"A likely story!" Joe Dowty stood, shouting. "Accident, indeed! I shouldn't be surprised if they were both in on it. Both brothers. I tried to warn that girl many a time to stay away from them Deverells. They're no good! None of 'em."
"Sit down, Mr. Dowty."
Gallworthy continued, "It would appear Miss White was thrown from the vehicle and wounded. When Mr. Ransom Deverell regained consciousness he was unable to find her and in a state of some confusion about what had occurred."
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