Chapter 12

"Come," Dolly urged with a grin as she weaved her arm through mine and towed me toward the house. "The crowder will only play another reel or two, and then Rabby James has agreed to weave a tale or two for us all. We want to 'ave our food and good seats before he begins."

Ever since Lord Gage had mentioned that his family were all able droll tellers, I'd become curious exactly what this meant, so I eagerly followed the other ladies into the dining room to fill a plate and collect a mug of cider. We returned to discover that Tristram and the other husbands had secured us seats at a table near the center of the gathering. Gage was there as well, laughing and enjoying himself among his newfound relations. I was happy for him, but I also couldn't repress a twinge of worry for his father.

The last I'd seen, he hadn't been relishing the company other than Tamsyn. But then again, he hadn't seemed to hate it either. A surreptitious glance about the garden showed him standing at the edges of the gathering once again, speaking to a few older men.

I'd just taken my seat when the fiddler ended his tune with a flourish and another man holding a fiddle took center stage in the middle of all the tables rather than on the dancing floor. To a casual observer, he was rather unassuming, standing just a few inches taller than five feet, with a head full of silver-threaded brown hair and weather-beaten clothes. But there was a twinkle in his eye and a graceful theatricality to his movements that indicated he had the charisma of a true showman. And from the moment he first drew his bow across his fiddle strings, he held us all in his thrall.

"Aye-ye! Who's ready for a lusty tale?"

A holler went up from a few of those gathered, and soon we were being treated to the amusing ballad "Richard of Taunton Dean" and his clumsy courtship of a parson's daughter. It also wasn't long before he had us all joining him in singing the rather catchy chorus. A series of other songs followed—"Ann Tremellan" and "The Streams of Lovely Nancy"—interspersed with tales of mermaids and giants, of black ships that brought bad luck, and of witches and the wind charms sailors paid them to enchant to capture the wind. One legend even told of the land of Lyonesse, which allegedly lay just off the tip of Land's End, having been consumed by a great storm. Purportedly the great underwater city's bells would ring again if ever another calamitous storm was on its way.

It was evident that many of the people there had heard these tales and ballads several times over, yet they seemed just as entertained as if they were hearing them for the first time. There was no doubt they were an active audience—laughing, clapping, stomping, singing, and even at times good-naturedly heckling the droll teller. I couldn't recall an evening when I'd enjoyed myself more.

The gathering was even so informal that many couples were seated as we were, with Gage straddling the bench and me leaning back against his chest with his arms around me, conserving warmth as the temperature that autumn evening dipped closer to freezing. The freely flowing Punch and cider, as well as various other liquors, also helped insulate everyone from the cold and lighten spirits.

"Aye-now. I've one more tale to tell," Rabby James declared after taking a long drink from his glass. "And this one's not so well known."

"How 'bout the tale of the women who saved Padstow from the Spaniards with naught but their red petticoats and a 'obby 'oss," one man slurred, spoiling much of the denouement.

"Nay. This one's even better," Rabby replied amiably. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes alight. "For it involves treasure."

This certainly captured everyone's attention, and the assembly hushed each other as Rabby began his tale.

"Many, many years ago, but not so very long 'tis beyond remembrance, a great ship was caught in a tempest. The wind raged and 'owled, ripping the sails to shreds. And the sea heaved and it roared, knocking the great ship about like it was naught more than a biskan, a fingerstall." He lifted his finger in illustration, and I realized he must have meant a thimble. "The ship was blown off course, hurled toward a shoal littered with razor-sharp rocks that looked to the sailors like the devil's teeth. But their captain was canny and strong. And though it took the strength of seven men, they steered the ship away from those jaws of death.

"?'Owever, the writhin' sea refused to be denied, and even the captain's cunning could not save them from what he didn't know. For not far away lay a shallow sandbar. One which the great ship 'ad no hope of avoiding. It was soon driven to ground with such a shuddering force that it tore the main mast from its mooring."

Rabby turned slowly in a circle as if to ensure all were listening. "Now, the people in the village nearby had watched the ship's floundering with concern."

There were a few dry chuckles from the audience.

"And bein' the good and brave Cornish men and women they were, they set out across the treacherous sea to do everythin' they could to help the stranded and drowning sailors." Rabby paused, arching his eyebrows. "They only asked that they be allowed a token of the cargo in return."

Even I caught the meaning of this wry jest. These villagers were wreckers. People who descended on shipwrecks all along the coast of England and picked them clean of every valuable, whether they had the legal right to do so. It was a controversial topic, particularly when there were allegations that the ships had been lured to their doom for that very purpose. Those in shipping and industry and the government would argue that these people were thieves and murderers, and a public nuisance.

I turned to look at those seated around me. But I suspected Cornish men and women would tell a different tale. After all, these wreckers did often risk life and limb to save the survivors, and they were also often the ones forced to clean up after and bury the dead who washed ashore. And the plunder had landed on their veritable doorstep. For those miners, fishermen, and laborers who made little in wages, wreckage must seem like a blessing and a boon to their mean subsistence. And for coastal landowners like the Roscarrocks, I could only assume they clung tenaciously to their ancient rights of wreck.

"But what the villagers didn't know," Rabby continued as his voice gained intensity, "was that this was no ordinary vessel. It belonged to the King of Portugal. And the barrels and crates weren't filled with merely silk, brandy, olive oil, cork, and figs, but actual treasure. Gold and silver and copper and precious gems. The very sight of it made the villagers near crazed, and the Portuguese sailors they had been attempting to save turned mad with the fervor to keep it from them, even as the waves continued to pound and batter the ship. It was as if they had all been infected by some sort of fever. One that burned hot through their veins, too powerful to resist."

Like everyone else, I found myself now leaning forward, hardly daring to breathe as I waited to hear what happened next. And Rabby, as a gifted storyteller, knew exactly how to draw out the moment and keep us on tenterhooks.

"?'Twasn't enough they were fighting the unforgiving sea and shifting sands, they were fightin' each other." Rabby shook his grizzled head. "Dozens, perhaps 'undreds, died that day from the pitiless waves, the rush of backwater as the sand was swept from beneath their feet, and the steel blades of their opponents. Those that did escape scattered to the wind with their treasures, only to be pursued by their neighbors as well as the Portuguese sailors. For the fever made anyone who even heard of the gold and silver and jewels covetous. Friends skirmished with friends, and then the local gentry joined the battle, demanding their cut. All while the foreigners petitioned the government to confiscate and return their property."

Rabby turned a slow circle again, sweeping his gaze over everyone listening with bated breath. "In all the land, there was but one soul who had not been infected. One soul whose heart remained pure. One slip of a girl whose chief desire was not for the gold." Rabby's gaze rested on me for a few beats longer than seemed natural, and I perked up, wondering if it had been done with intention. "Though possess it, she realized, she must if she was to purge the land of this sickness. It had already killed her father and her brother, leavin' her alone but for her sole companion, a mangy mongrel she loved more than anything else in the world. Fed him better, too."

Some of those listening chuckled, but my heart clenched, beginning to suspect what was to come.

"This slip of a girl lived her life all but ignored and overlooked by those around her. In fact, the dog was more recognized than her, as he'd stolen cuts of meat and assorted pieces of shoe leather in the past. But she preferred it this way, and to her ends, this worked in her favor, as she went about unnoticed, gathering information and making her plans. Then one by one," Rabby tiptoed toward one young woman and then another, snatching something from each of their plates in illustration. "She stole into the homes, shops, manors, and caves where the pieces of treasure were kept and carried them away to a location known only to her. There she concealed them, with the village none the wiser as to who'd taken them."

He whirled about suddenly, his eyes seeming to search the edges of the gathering for someone in particular. "All went according to plan until the night the final object was obtained. The mongrel the girl had been so careful to secure before venturin' forth each evening chewed through the rope that restrained him and followed her to the home of the butcher, who had hidden a salver of pure gold." He shook his head. "The treasure had grown jealous, you see. For the girl did not love it like all the others did. So it vowed to take the one thing she did love.

"The girl got away safely, but when the butcher woke to find the thievin' mongrel in his 'ouse, he snatched up his pistol. Hearin' the gunshot and her dog's whimper, the slip of a girl raced back to the butcher's 'ouse, droppin' the plate to the ground as she fell to her knees to wrap her arms around the dyin' animal."

Rabby's visage swam before me as tears filled my eyes, and from the sound of sniffles and soft sobbing around me, I knew I wasn't the only one affected by the sad tale. One big bear of a man standing beyond the droll teller even swiped his arm across his eyes. Gage's arms tightened around me, either offering comfort or seeking it. Perhaps both.

"And as the mongrel took his final breath, so did the girl, her heart havin' broken clean in two." Rabby shook his head. "But with this one selfless act of pure love, all the treasure's power was undone. The villagers' eyes were opened, their shame complete. So they buried the girl beside her beloved dog and erected a cairn to her honor along the sea cliffs to remind them of the dangers of greed.

"As for the gold plate?" He nodded his head toward the west. "?'Twas given to the church. You can still see it at St. Endellion's. And the rest of the treasure?" His eyebrows arched. "The girl took that secret to her grave, and to this day, 'tis never been found." He lifted his fiddle to his shoulder, turning to gaze over his shoulder where I could see Lord Gage standing next to Bevil. "But some say on a windy night, near Pentire Point, you can still hear her mourning her beloved hound. And if your heart is true, and ye listen carefully, she just might whisper the location of the treasure to ye." With this, he set his bow to the strings and began to play a doleful tune.

The mournful song threatened to make me start blubbering. I pushed away the remnants of my second glass of Holland-soaked Punch, wondering if it had been stronger than I'd realized. Gage rubbed his hands up and down my arms, but when I tilted my head back to peer at him, it was to discover his half-lidded eyes were trained across the crowd. I followed his gaze toward his father, who still stood at the edge of the gathering. At first, I didn't know why this warranted his interest, but then I slowly became aware of what he must have already noticed. That we weren't the only ones watching Lord Gage.

In fact, several members of the Roscarrock family were scrutinizing him rather than Rabby. Bevil stood next to him, cutting his eyes periodically in his cousin's direction, while Amelia sat some feet away not bothering to conceal her sudden interest. A quick sweep of the guests showed Mery had also made an appearance, hovering near the steps leading down into the sunken garden, with his eyes fastened on Lord Gage. Even Tristram studied my father-in-law over the blond head of his wife. Though when he caught me watching him, he swiftly looked away. But if my father-in-law was aware of their interest, he gave no indication of it, continuing to observe the proceedings with the same lightly furrowed brow he'd worn from the beginning.

I turned to Gage, curious what—if anything—he proposed to do. Should we perceive this as a threat or was there some other explanation for the Roscarrocks' keen absorption with his father?

"Come," he urged, drawing me away from the table. Our fingers twined together as we ambled toward the dance floor, where we had a clearer view of Lord Gage. But the Roscarrocks seemed to have lost interest and my father-in-law started moving toward the house. The other fiddler—or crowder, as Dolly had called him—began tuning his instrument, suggesting the evening's dancing wasn't done.

Gage waylaid a servant, asking him to locate Anderley. Then he pulled me into his arms, twirling me across the lawn as the strains of a lively reel began. It wasn't long before I'd almost forgotten the tense moment. Dancing tended to require all of one's concentration, especially when you were being passed from one enthusiastic Cornishman to another.

It wasn't until Gage partnered with me for a second time that Anderley finally appeared. He stood scowling at the edge of the dance floor, all but tapping his foot in impatience. It wasn't like the valet to behave this way. It bordered on insolence.

When the reel ended, Gage led us over to Anderley, urging him a short distance away from the crowd so that he could address him in some privacy. "I'd begun to think that footman failed to deliver my message." When Anderley didn't bother to reply, but instead continued to stare tight-lipped at his employer, Gage's features took on a far more forbidding cast. "I need you to instruct Lembus to sleep in Lord Gage's dressing room tonight and here on out."

I turned to Gage in surprise.

"It's merely a precaution," he added for my benefit. "But a necessary one." He arched his eyebrows at Anderley. "Should Lembus argue, remind him of his duty. And should he argue still, send him to me."

Though Anderley didn't openly challenge Gage's instructions, it was evident how he felt about them.

"This is a boon for you, at least," I told the valet, trying to jolly him out of whatever melancholy he'd sunken into with the idea that he would no longer have to share his lodgings with the sour Lembus.

But Anderley merely turned his glower on me.

In the face of this, Gage's voice grew clipped and stern. "Your orders are clear. You're dismissed."

The valet barely sketched a bow before striding off.

"What just happened?" I asked in bewilderment, unsettled by Anderley's behavior.

However, if Gage was listening, he gave no indication of it, simply continuing to frown at his departing valet's back before walking away, muttering something to himself under his breath.

I was still ruminating on Anderley's contentiousness an hour later when I made my way back upstairs to my bedchamber. My feet were sore and my head ached from too much Holland-soaked Punch and spiced cider and too little sleep. Bree arrived soon after me, setting to work on my fastenings.

"Did something happen to upset Anderley tonight?" I asked, hoping Bree might be able to elucidate the cause to me. "When Gage spoke with him an hour ago, he was almost hostile, and completely unlike himself."

"I dinna want to talk aboot it," Bree replied tersely.

When she'd walked in, I'd been too distracted by my own fatigue to notice how she might be feeling, and then she'd turned me about to begin on my buttons. But apparently her mood wasn't much of an improvement over Anderley's.

"Oh, no. Did the two of you fight?" I ruminated, uncertain whether I'd actually meant to ask the question aloud.

"I said I dinna want to discuss it," Bree snapped, and then, as if realizing how brusque she was being, she added a more softly worded, "m'lady." But like a prick to my conscience, this only served to remind me I had no right to ask her to divulge her personal matters. Not if they didn't affect her work.

I knew it was her right not to share everything with me. After all, just because I was her employer didn't mean I had leave to pry into every aspect of her life. Gage had even warned me about doing just such a thing. But I couldn't help it. I cared for Bree and Anderley. I considered them more like friends or family than staff, a fact I knew would scandalize most people of my station. Just as I was aware that such a relationship was intrinsically unequal and weighted in my favor as their employer. But I cared for them nonetheless and worried for their happiness.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us as I stood stiffly, waiting for her to finish unfastening all the tiny little buttons down my back. I was debating whether to introduce a more mundane topic or remain quiet until she retired when she spoke in a determinedly even voice. "?'Twas a lively party."

"Yes," I said. "Yes, it was."

I felt the last button give way and then she began to tug at my stays. "Those fiddlers certainly ken how to wield a bow."

"Did you hear the droll teller?"

"Aye!" she answered enthusiastically, but then hesitated. "At least, some o' his tales and ballads."

"The beginning or the end?"

"Beginning."

I nodded. Then I wouldn't bother to ask her whether she'd noticed anything amiss about the Roscarrocks' strange behavior. Though I did wonder what had pulled her away, and whether it accounted for her vexation. "Did you learn anything of interest?" I asked, hoping to distract myself from the desire to prod at the source of her discontent one more time.

She didn't answer immediately, instead waiting until she'd whisked my dress over my head and helped me to remove my stays. "Only that the amount o' Holland gin, brandy, and Irish whiskey…" She screwed up her face at this last, and I couldn't help but smile at her loyalty to Scottish single malt. "In their cellars is rather astounding."

"Someone made a comment about that, and it raised Lord Gage's suspicions. And his hackles," I added in full honesty.

"Aye, and well it should. For judgin' from the sheer volume and quality, I would wager they either smuggled it themselves or are fencin' it for someone else."

This was a possibility I hadn't considered. Maybe Bevil and the others had spoken true, at least in the strictest literal sense. They weren't smuggling, but rather brokering the sale of contraband brought ashore by other free traders. Either way, if they hadn't paid taxes on it, the act was illegal.

It also raised some interesting implications surrounding Branok's death. Perhaps he'd run afoul of these free traders and they'd killed him. The place of his demise could fit the scenario of a clandestine meeting gone wrong. But if this was the case, we would need proof, and I doubted Bevil, Mery, and the others would willingly share any details that might implicate themselves in such a criminal enterprise. If another gang of smugglers—be they rivals or conspirators—were the culprits, we would have to go about gathering evidence in a different way.

I raised the theory with Gage when he returned to our bedchamber. I'd been lying in bed for some time, attempting to drift off to sleep despite the sounds of music and laughter still filtering through the window glass, but my mind was too full of information, and none of it was fitting together satisfactorily. It made me restless.

A feeling my husband seemed to share if his exasperated sigh as he sank down on the edge of the bed was any indication. He hadn't seemed surprised to discover I was awake. Nor did he refute the possibility I'd raised. On the contrary, he confessed his thoughts had run in a similar vein.

"It's perfectly obvious they're concealing something from us. They deny they're still smuggling, yet they host this soiree where spirits of obvious quality flow freely. I don't know whether to believe they're simply that reckless, or if I should feel that my intelligence has been insulted." Though I couldn't make out his features in the darkness, I could tell by the tone of his voice and the hunch of his shoulders that he was not only discouraged but exhausted.

What we both needed was a solid night's rest. However, there was one more issue that couldn't wait. It had knotted my stomach for the last hour and more. "Are you genuinely worried for your father's safety?"

He turned his head to look at me, and while I still couldn't see his face, perhaps he could see mine. "I don't want to be, but…I know you saw it, too. The strange way Bevil and Amelia and some of the others were looking at him. Almost as if they expected something from him."

"That's exactly it," I agreed. "But what?"

"I don't know, and until we do, I'd rather Father not be left alone at the opposite end of the house."

"Which is why you sent Anderley for Lembus," I replied in understanding.

"Yes. Lembus may be a peevish fop, but he's undoubtedly loyal to my father and anxious to keep the prestige his position as his gentleman's gentleman gives him. He'll make sure Father's safe. Or send for us if he isn't."

I nodded, though he couldn't see it. It was the simplest solution, at least to ease our minds.

"As for Anderley…" Gage paused again, turning to me. "I'm fairly certain I know what's going on. So don't let it concern you. I'll take care of it."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to explain, but I heard how tired he was. "Come to bed," I urged him, lifting my hand to him. "The rest will keep until morning."

My husband didn't require much convincing. He clasped my hand briefly before shedding his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor as he always did when Anderley wasn't there to tend to them. A fact which would have exasperated me had I been the one required to clean up after him. Then Gage crawled beneath the covers, settling his long, warm body alongside mine. I rolled over to rest my head against his shoulder, smoothing down his chest hair so that it didn't tickle my face.

"When do you need to tend to Emma?" he murmured as I inhaled the musk of his skin.

"Soon enough that I'm not sure it's worth falling asleep, but if I don't—"

"She'll sleep 'til dawn," he finished for me with a low chuckle before pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Tell Mrs. Mackay to bring her to you here."

"And shock her sensibilities with your immodesty," I jested, poking him lightly on his bare chest.

"I doubt Mrs. Mackay can be shocked. But I can put on a nightshirt if that's the problem."

"Did you bring one?"

"Of course."

I snorted, for there was no of course about it. He only slept in a nightshirt on the most frigid of nights.

"How unladylike," he teased.

Such a response called for a wry retort, but I couldn't summon the energy to form words, let alone lift my head to fix a proper glare on him. So instead I ignored it, allowing myself to be dragged down into the sweet oblivion of slumber that sleeping next to my husband only seemed to provide.