Chapter 11

Witnessing my father-in-law's delighted reaction, I couldn't help but scrutinize the woman he'd called Tamsyn more closely. I guessed she was of a similar age to him and possessed a very fine pair of sloe brown eyes ringed with thick lashes. In fact, at one time she must have been a real beauty, though time had worn some of that away. A number of her teeth were missing and there was an unevenness to her jawline that made me suspect part of the bone had deteriorated. It must have been painful to eat, which accounted for the extreme slimness of her frame. But for all that, there was also a heartiness to her, a timeworn resilience, like granite.

"I'd not thought to see you here," he declared, taking hold of her hand and bowing his head with the same exquisite grace he showed the ladies who fawned over him in London. "But I suppose the Grenvilles are Roscarrock kin."

"Strained though that be at times," she replied.

This comment seemed to dampen some of Lord Gage's delight.

"However, I'm a Kellynack now."

His eyebrows arched. "You wed Ethan, then?"

"I did. God rest his soul." She turned to me, offering her hand. "We haven't been introduced. Tamsyn Grenville Kellynack."

Prodded by this statement, Lord Gage stepped in to perform the remainder of the niceties. "My daughter-in-law," he explained before arching his neck to peer over the heads of those nearby. "My son is around here somewhere."

"Pleased to meet you," I told her.

"Likewise."

"Mrs. Kellynack is a cousin some degrees removed, and an old friend," Lord Gage clarified. The warmth with which he infused the word friend made me suspect this wasn't just a passing remark.

"Aye, a friend too old to put up with this Mrs. Kellynack nonsense," she teased. "Tamsyn I've always been, and Tamsyn I'll always be. The same to you, Mrs. Gage."

I smiled. "Then you must call me Kiera."

"Oh," she crooned. "Now, aren't you lovely. And I suspect your son is as meddlesomely 'ansome as you always were," she told Lord Gage.

"Meddlesome?" he protested.

She planted her hands on her hips before elaborating for me. "There wasn't a girl from age three to age sixteen who wasn't fawnin' over the boy, and he didn't pay them any mind."

"I noticed you," he replied with flattering intensity.

"Only because of Jago."

A heavy silence fell, ending their friendly and flirtatious banter, and I could only surmise it was because of her mention of Jago. Although Lord Gage had never told me his name, from the grim set of his mouth, I suspected Jago must be the friend who was killed by the revenue men so long ago. Yet, thus far, no one had dared to speak his name. No one but Tamsyn.

"You've been away too long, Stephen." She shook her head sadly. "Jago wouldn't have wanted that."

"But maybe his mother would."

"Auntie Pasca? Nay. She's naught a bitter bone in her body."

"She's still alive?" Lord Gage seemed alarmed to learn this.

"Aye. Ye should pay her a visit."

I could tell it was on the tip of his tongue to refuse when the sound of raised voices drew everyone's attention toward a man who was climbing wobbly up onto a chair with the help of his no-more-stable friends. Obviously, they had been imbibing freely from the spirits provided.

"Oi!" the man shouted, slurring his words. "Let's 'ave a toast to ole Branok." He raised his glass, sloshing half of it over the side onto his laughing companions. "?'Is 'ospitality be as generous in life as it were in death."

I glanced at Lord Gage, wondering if this was meant to be an insult to Mery and the Killigrews while the man tittered before continuing.

"Almost as generous as 'is supply o' brandy, Holland, an' good Irish whiskey."

"Here, here!" his friends echoed as, almost to a man, every other head swiveled to look at us, as if belatedly realizing not everyone among them was so accepting of the implication. Lord Gage's expression had turned thunderous, but he held his tongue. Perhaps recognizing it would do no good to object when most, if not all, those present were perfectly content to partake of the spirits and possibly other goods that had been smuggled in to avoid paying the tariffs the government imposed on such imports.

In any case, the man on the chair was soon yanked down by a woman half his size, who latched onto his ear. "Cam, ye great dobeck! Shut your gob."

"Cam is an idiot," Tamsyn said to Lord Gage. "Always has been."

"Maybe so," Lord Gage answered in a deceptively calm voice. "But that doesn't mean the Roscarrocks have stopped their free trading."

Tamsyn clamped her lips together, seeming to struggle with how to respond. And that, in and of itself, spoke volumes. "I'm not privy to such information," she finally said. "But I will say, we're never for want of fine spirits in these parts."

"Did you know Branok well?" I asked, deciding this was my opening.

Her dark eyes shifted to me. "Better than most, but still not as well as some."

I was about to ask her what that meant when she elaborated.

"I don't think anyone truly knew Branok. His actions, at times, were inscrutable." She huffed. "Perhaps even to himself. What I do know is that I wouldn't trust him. Not even if I was drownin' and he rowed toward me with the only boat in the sea."

I didn't know how to respond to this or the deep well of hostility which seemed to underscore her words, but it seemed to strike a chord with Lord Gage. Perhaps because it confirmed what he already wanted to believe about his uncle and all of the Roscarrocks.

Which only made matters all the more awkward when Bevil suddenly appeared at our side. "Tamsyn," he greeted her stiffly. "How fares your brother? Heard his leg's been givin' 'im trouble again."

"Aye," Tamysn confirmed, her voice tight but cordial. "Dr. Wolcott says there's naught left to do but amputate, but Gil would still rather contend with the pain than the loss of 'is limb."

Bevil nodded. "Gil was always tough."

Tamsyn made no verbal response to this, but from the fierce light in her eyes I could tell there was more to the matter than either was saying. Some hidden undercurrent that made me hesitate to ask what had happened to Gil. But Lord Gage still had other matters on his mind.

"Quite the selection of spirits," he bit out in his typical acerbic tones.

Bevil's jaw hardened. "Aye. Branok always was particular about his liquor. Would've mortgaged the estate if that's what he had to do to get it." He turned away to growl in an undertone. When he caught sight of me watching him, he nodded his head toward the house. "Ye should try the Punch."

I offered him a smile. "I will."

He clomped off before I could attempt to converse more, and I felt a stirring of empathy for him. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who felt awkward in social situations or who made abrupt statements to try to cover that fact. I spied his wife Joan standing near the side of the house, sneaking glances at him as he circulated among the guests. I wondered if she felt the need to monitor him as my older sister, Alana, always had me, ready to step in to smooth over any gauche remark I might make.

Dolly waved her hand, beckoning me to join her a short distance away. Lord Gage and Tamsyn had their heads bent toward each other in conversation, so I excused myself to cross the short distance to Tristram's grinning wife. She looked fetching in a gown and pelisse of pale blue, her blond curls swept up high on her head. I couldn't help but search her features and figure for any indication that what her maid had shared with Bree was true, but if so, I could discern no obvious physical evidence that she was with child again. Even I knew better than to ask.

"Here ye are," Dolly exclaimed, drawing me closer. "I've some ladies to introduce ye to."

I realized then that she had been standing with a trio of women all of a similar age to us. They smiled in welcome as Dolly presented them each in turn.

"Anne, you've already met."

"Yes," I replied, nodding at Dr. Wolcott's pretty dark-haired wife. "Lovely to see you again."

"Likewise."

"And this is my sister-in-law, Morgan Knill." Dolly gestured to a woman with thick ash-blond hair and the same sharp features as her mother Joan.

Morgan nodded demurely, also much like her mother.

"Her husband is somewhere about." Dolly made a brief show of searching for him before leaning in to murmur. "He's a dissenter, but we don't 'old that against 'im."

Morgan continued to smile good-naturedly even as Dolly giggled. Given the fact we were in Cornwall, I suspected by dissenter, she meant Methodist, and wondered if the Knills attended the chapel we'd seen in Trelights earlier that day. Word was there were many of John Wesley's followers in Cornwall because he'd preached here numerous times in the latter half of the previous century.

"And this is Imogen Trewhella."

The final woman was by far the tallest and possessed soft brown hair clipped short, which accented her high cheekbones.

"Her 'usband Ervan is Tristram's first cousin," Dolly explained as I briefly clasped Imogen's proffered hand.

"Then you're all Great-Aunt Amelia's granddaughters or married to one of her grandsons?" I clarified, wanting to understand their relation.

"That's correct." Imogen flashed an impish grin. "We're the Merry Wives of Roscarrock."

"No one calls us that," Morgan countered dampeningly.

"Dolly does."

"?'Tis true," Dolly chimed in to say.

Morgan arched a single eyebrow. "No one else does."

But this distinction didn't seem to bother Dolly, who ignored her, gesturing to me with a flourish. "And of course, this is Kiera Gage." She dimpled. "She's one of us now."

"It's nice to meet you," I told them all sincerely.

A tiny pleat formed between Morgan's brows. "Yes, but…shouldn't we be addressin' you as Lady Darby?"

"Please, don't," I hastened to assure her, before telling them all, "Kiera will do."

Dolly rocked back on her heels. "Like I said, one of us. And she has the most adorable little girl with golden curls." She peered over her shoulder in the direction of the house. "Looks just like her da'."

We all followed her gaze toward where my husband stood speaking with a pair of men Amelia had introduced me to not a quarter of an hour earlier, yet I'd already forgotten their names. When Gage looked up to find us all watching him, he smiled uncertainly, as if he wasn't accustomed to receiving admiring glances—if not outright stares—from women everywhere he went.

"I'd heard the rumors about young Stephen…now Lord Gage," Imogen clarified for Morgan. "But I'm not sure I believed them until now."

"Aye, ye can certainly see the resemblance between Mr. Gage and his father," Anne ventured.

Dolly reached up to finger the cameo necklace draped around her neck. "Nanna says that if Mr. Gage 'ad the Roscarrock hair, he'd look like 'er father did when he was young."

"Perhaps," Morgan conceded. "But Nanna says the same about Mery, and I don't see much of a resemblance between him and Mr. Gage."

Dolly and Imogen grimaced in agreement.

"I doubt Mr. Gage spends half his day lathered and the rest lazin' in bed either," Imogen scoffed to the others, agreement, though Anne's was tempered.

"None of you like him, do you?" I asked, seeming to confirm it when no one leapt at the chance to be the first to answer.

"?'Tis hard to like someone who has always been so disagreeable," Dolly finally said.

Having known my fair share of such people, I nodded. "I suppose I can understand that."

"But I don't think he knows any other way to be," Anne protested, directing her gaze somewhere at the vicinity of our feet. "We've all heard how 'orrible his father was, and 'ow his mother simply abandoned him here." Her words had grown more impassioned as she spoke, but now they softened again as she rested her hands protectively on her rounded stomach. "And I…I don't believe Branok was much kinder."

Given the cruelty they'd ascribed to Mery's father, Casworan, I'd wondered whether he'd learned any of it from his own father, Branok. I supposed this was at least partially an answer.

"Maybe not, but we've all tried in turn to be kind to 'im." Morgan draped an arm around Anne's shoulders. "You've a good heart, but ye can't blame us for not likin' the man. Not when he treats us as he does."

"I suppose. But he's not all bad," Anne insisted. "Frankly, what I think he needs is a good wife."

Imogen scoffed. "If anyone will have 'im."

"Don't be daft," Morgan protested. "Of course they'll have 'im. He owns this entire estate now, doesn't he? 'Tis more likely, he'll find himself trapped into marriage. Or facing an angry father's pistol." She arched her eyebrows. "So I'd be mindful of who takes any sudden interest in 'im. Because whoever he weds will become mistress of Roscarrock."

Dolly, in particular, appeared pained by this idea, and I couldn't blame her. After all, her family lived here at Mery's sufferance. Any bride Mery took might not be able to force them from the property, but she could make life very unpleasant for them.

"Mery knows that," Anne assured them, and then flushed. "He said that's why he only bothers with barmaids and the like."

"Aye, but if he was sufficiently lathered, would he know the difference?" Imogen pointed out. "He certainly didn't know the difference when he punched that baronet last year."

"That was just a bar fight," Anne said.

Imogen shrugged as if to say she didn't see the distinction.

"Is Mery prone to violence?" I asked, trying to glean as much useful information from this conversation as I could.

"Aren't all men?" Imogen surprised me by being the one to reply. "At least, under the right circumstances," she added, softening the cynicism of her response.

"I suppose you're thinkin' of Branok's death," Morgan said, removing any hope of further subterfuge.

"Mery was the person with the most to gain," I replied evenly.

"Aye, and we all know Nanna asked ye 'ere because she doesn't believe her brother's death was an accident. 'Cept, it wasn't any of us." She glanced at the other women. "None of the immediate family anyway."

"How can you be certain?"

Morgan arched her chin. "Because that wouldn't be our way."

This seemed a rather ingenuous statement from a woman who had otherwise not exhibited the least amount of na?veté.

"Besides, Mery didn't want to inherit. Not yet anyway." Anne seemed certain of this. "He preferred things the way they were."

"Without responsibilities," Imogen muttered dryly.

This time Anne didn't flinch from the unflattering implication about her cousin. "Aye."

"Then, if not a family member, who do you believe harmed Branok?" I pressed. "Or don't you believe he was murdered at all?"

Dolly's cheeks flushed under my regard. "Mr. Cuttance has never liked Branok. At least, that's what Tristram says."

I wondered if Tristram had also told her about our interaction with the parish constable that morning. If so, she might just as easily be telling me what she thought I wanted to hear rather than her honest suspicions.

"I'd take a look at the Grenvilles," Morgan said softly.

I turned to her in surprise. "The Grenvilles?"

"Aye, they've long 'eld a grudge against the Roscarrocks."

I glanced in the direction where Lord Gage and Tamsyn had stood, but they were no longer there. "Because of Jago? Because he died while transporting smuggled cargo on behalf of the Roscarrocks?"

"Partly. There's also the matter of Gilbert Grenville's leg," Morgan added.

Tamsyn's brother? Bevil had just asked her about his lower limb.

"They blame the Roscarrocks for that as well?" I asked.

The four women exchanged looks before Dolly spoke. "It happened years ago. Gil was helpin' the Roscarrocks with some work on the estate."

"He broke his leg," Imogen chimed in to add. "?'Twas never set right."

"This was before my Tom took over the practice," Anne interjected.

Imogen nodded. "It never healed correctly. Pains him awful, I 'eard."

"And since it 'appened while aidin' the Roscarrocks, there are some Grenvilles who blame Branok," Morgan summarized, smoothing back the tendrils that had escaped her tightly bound hair.

"And you think they might have killed him for it all these years later?" I asked as the latest reel ended to a smattering of applause.

Her only response was a shrug.

Anne turned aside, fiddling with her necklace. I suspected she must be aware of her husband's recommendation that the leg be amputated. But since she chose not to share this information with the others, I decided to follow her example. After all, just because Tamsyn had informed Lord Gage and Bevil didn't mean the Grenville family wanted it aired to everyone else.

It was clear, at least to me, that the trouble with Gilbert Grenville's leg wasn't simply a break that hadn't knit properly. Not if amputation was now the physician's counsel. There must be more to it.

In any case, all of this information about the Grenvilles and Mr. Cuttance was purely supposition and hearsay. None of which proved guilt. Not on its own. We needed something more concrete.

"What of the evening Branok's body was found?" I asked, addressing Dolly specifically. "Did you notice anything odd when he was brought back to the house?"

Her eyes widened at the question, and I realized it was perhaps too blunt, too macabre for such a setting, but I blundered forward anyway when she didn't respond.

"What of the rest of you?" I asked. "Were you notified that evening? Perhaps even summoned here. Or were you told the next day?"

"He…wasn't brought here," Dolly stammered, finding her voice.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dolly looked to Imogen and Morgan as if for confirmation. "Branok's body wasn't brought here to the house." She nodded to Anne. "He was taken straight to Dr. Wolcott's."

I supposed this wasn't unheard of, even though under normal circumstances the body would be taken to the closest residence. Especially if there was any chance of rendering the injured person aid. Then the physician or surgeon would be summoned there to examine them. Yet Branok's body had been transported several miles farther inland, likely by cart, to Dr. Wolcott's home in Trelights instead.

"Did you see anything?" I asked Anne, wondering how late it had been and if she'd retired or if the commotion of their arrival with Branok's broken body had perhaps woken her.

"I…I saw Uncle Bevil, Tristram, and Mery arrive. Heard 'em talkin' to Tom. But…" She shook her head again. "I didn't see anything else."

"You didn't see the body?"

"Nay." She clutched the Indian shawl draped around her shoulders tighter. "Tom said he didn't want me distressed. Forbade me to even go near the icehouse."

Which was the structure built into the side of the hill behind their cottage I'd noticed earlier that day, I presumed. "Is that where Branok's body was stored? Until he was laid out in his coffin for the vigil before his funeral, that is."

Once again, the women exchanged wary glances. "He was never brought back to the house," Dolly explained.

This was definitely a surprise. I supposed the notion that he'd somehow survived his fall and might yet wake must have seemed ridiculous. But even under the most strained circumstances I'd found that the bereaved often clung to tradition just as tenaciously as a ward against superstition as well as a final good-bye.

For four days, the body would be watched over day and night, in either an opened or closed coffin, if necessary. Friends and family members would congregate to share their grief in the parlor where the vigil was held, where the flowers would be continuously refreshed in order to mask the odor of the decaying body. Then the coffin would process to the church and later the graveyard, where it would be lowered into its final resting place.

Most genteel women did not take part in the procession or attend the funeral and internment. It was generally frowned upon. So the four-day vigil over the body was usually their last chance to say their farewells. But this was Cornwall. Perhaps they didn't follow the same strict protocols.

I glanced at Morgan. I also knew that dissenters often held a different view of the matter than the Church of England, and so rather than being prohibited, women were often encouraged to attend their loved ones' funerals. But given the fact Branok had been Anglican, I doubted Morgan would have pushed herself forward in such a manner unless the other women were doing so.

"Then there was no vigil?" I replied, seeking confirmation.

Imogen crossed her arms over her chest almost defensively. "The men believed it would be too distressing."

"?'Tis probably true," Morgan countered. "The sight of a dead body in such a state would undoubtedly give one nightmares." She seemed to realize too late that I had witnessed bodies in far more gruesome conditions, and flushed to the roots of her ash-blond hair.

Not wanting to draw more attention to the fact than necessary, I ignored it. Though the truth was, many of those corpses had given me nightmares.

"In any case, the funeral was held just two days later," Dolly supplied. "It was decided that would be best."

Decided by whom?I couldn't help but wonder. The same men who had found Branok's body? The same men with motives to want him dead?

"?'Twas difficult to argue they weren't right," Anne contributed in a small voice.

And the trouble was, she was correct. Ostensibly, their decisions not to follow tradition seemed justified. Branok's body had obviously been discovered in a mangled state. There would have been no illusions that he would revive. So transporting him directly to Dr. Wolcott's and keeping him there in order to avoid upsetting the ladies seemed a prudent choice, as did hastening his funeral and burial.

But these seemingly sensible decisions could also be indicators of subterfuge. Perhaps they'd worried the women would notice something the others had not, so they'd elected to prevent even the possibility. Or perhaps they'd feared Dr. Wolcott would discover evidence he might have initially overlooked, so they'd rushed the burial. After all, the only men who could attest that the death had happened the way it did were those same three men who had found Branok's body. Even Dr. Wolcott would have been making his assessments based on the information they'd provided.

I wasn't prepared to call them all liars, or even to believe them to be, but I was still ill at ease. Something about their actions was out of kilter, and the fact I couldn't pinpoint what troubled me about them disturbed me more than I liked.