Chapter 13

We largely had the dining room to ourselves the following morning. Save for Tristram, who stepped in long enough to grab a piece of dry toast, the rest of the Roscarrocks and Killigrews remained in bed, apparently having drank and danced later into the night than their houseguests. They were also probably nursing aching heads. I knew I was suffering from a small megrim, and I could tell Gage was feeling at least some twinge of discomfort. Only Lord Gage appeared none the worse for the late night and imbibing, but perhaps he'd consumed less than the rest of us.

But despite our relative privacy and the numerous things we needed to discuss, by unspoken agreement we all remained silent on the subject of Branok's death. After all, the walls were thin, and there were servants moving in and out of the chamber and always listening, even if we were supposed to pretend they weren't. However, that did not stop me from making several observations.

While the family strove to hide it well, there were indications of financial strain everywhere. Chipped dishes, mended tablecloths, a cracked windowpane, a moldy smell in one corner of the parlor, cracked masonry in the courtyard. Taken one at a time, they might have been dismissed, but altogether they amounted to more.

Bree had already told me about the leaking roof over the servants' quarters and the fact a third of the staff had been dismissed. I could see evidence of that loss in staff in the gardens where the remnants of the party lay discarded and untended to. In a house with sufficient staff, some of them would already be awake and at work to tidy and clear away the mess.

Not wishing to dwell among the detritus of the previous evening, we strolled as a trio down into the lower garden and then out toward the pond. Trees ringed a portion of the water, stretching their branches still speckled with brilliant autumn leaves over the surface to be reflected back at the sky. Meanwhile, we could see the line of the ocean glittering in the morning sun between two folds of the coast. The highest point of the undulation to the south marked the cliff from which Branok had fallen to his death, though no one could have seen him from such a distance. Especially with all the brambles and vegetation crowding the crag.

We all stared wordlessly across the water, the chill breeze tugging at our garments. The sun at our backs cast our shadows across the ground and out onto the pond—my shorter one in a distinctive bonnet between their two tall straight figures. The wind was strong enough to carry with it the scent of the sea, but every once in a while, I would catch notes of grass and the more stagnant pond.

It was a beautiful place. There was no denying it. I didn't say so aloud out of deference to Lord Gage's feelings, even though one glance at his face showed me he was perfectly aware of the fact, and hard-pressed not to also feel it square in his chest on that lovely autumn morn. After all, he had spent much of his childhood here, where he had many happy memories. One bad recollection did not wipe away all the good simply because one wished it.

"I think it's time we take a sharper look at this smuggling business," Gage announced without preamble, I supposed deciding it was better to jump straight into the fire rather than dither around the edges. "And given your history here and everyone's awareness of your antipathy toward the enterprise, that makes me the man to undertake the investigation."

He turned to both of us with a sharp glint of determination in his pale blue eyes, as if he expected us to argue, but neither Lord Gage nor I disputed the point. He was right. Lord Gage would get nowhere with such queries and, as a gentlewoman, I acknowledged that the men involved in such an enterprise were unlikely to share any information with me. Though that wouldn't stop me from questioning some of the women who might know something.

"How do you propose to go about it?" Lord Gage queried, pivoting slightly so that most of his weight rested on his uninjured leg.

"I've written to an old friend who lives just south of here," Gage replied. "I'm hoping he'll be able to shed some light on the situation."

"Trelawny?"

If Gage was surprised his father knew this, he didn't show it. "Yes. Last I'd heard he was back in Cornwall for a visit with his family."

"Who's Trelawny?" I asked, wondering if I'd ever heard my husband mention him.

"Edward Trelawny." Shadows gathered in his eyes. "We met while fighting in the Greek War of Independence."

I understood his reticence to say more, knowing that chapter of his life aiding the Greeks in their fight for independence from the Ottoman Empire had been one of the darkest and most difficult. I also now recognized who this Trelawny figure was. He had been an intimate of Shelley and Lord Byron, and a novelist and adventurer in his own right. He'd also served with the Royal Navy for some time during the wars with Napoleonic France, making me wonder if Lord Gage was acquainted with him.

Gage clasped his hands behind his back. "I know it's only been a couple of days since our arrival, but I'm considering riding south to pay him a visit. Though it will take the better part of the day to reach Trelawny's home and return." There was a question in his eyes that I suspected had little to do with his seeking permission to go and more to do with his ensuring Emma and I were looked after in his absence.

Lord Gage nodded his head in understanding. "It would be helpful to have an outsider's perspective. Someone who is familiar with the personalities and the politics of the area." His gaze cut to me. "Meanwhile, Kiera and I will continue questioning people closer to Roscarrock."

"I'd like to speak to Dr. Wolcott again," I said. "One or two things have occurred to me since yesterday morning that I'd like to ask him." I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the house. "And as I understand it, Bevil and Joan's daughter Morgan married a dissenter. A Methodist likely. I have to wonder how he felt about Branok and the Roscarrocks' nocturnal activities."

"But Methodism wouldn't keep him from supporting smuggling," Lord Gage countered. "At least, it didn't stop the Carters of Prussia Cove near Mount's Bay," he sneered. "The ‘King of Prussia,' as they call John Carter, and his brothers were some of the most prominent free traders in all of Cornwall during the latter half of the last century. And they were Methodists." He turned away. "Though I did hear they banned cursing and crass discussion among their crews, and they seemed to pride themselves for their honesty." He scoffed as if he couldn't quite credit this.

"Morgan's husband still might be worth talking to," I replied, privately hoping Morgan was present when we did so. She seemed to know things the other wives did not, and I had to wonder whether that was because she was Bevil's daughter and therefore considered more trustworthy, or because she was simply more observant.

Lord Gage grunted in approval.

I noticed Gage was studying his father closely and I wondered why until he spoke. "You might also consider questioning the droll teller from last night. Our relatives seemed particularly interested in his last tale. The one about the treasure."

Lord Gage frowned. "They were probably worried they might be implicated."

Gage and I shared a look. Could that be all? Had they been worried Lord Gage would open an inquiry into a past wreck and their potential involvement with it?

But my husband's thoughts had gone one step further than mine. "Did you ever witness a wrecked ship?" he asked his father.

Lord Gage's scowl deepened, and it took him a moment to respond. "No. Though occasionally I heard my relatives talking about them."

"Did they ever mention one of them belonging to the King of Portugal?"

Lord Gage aimed a scornful glare at his son, but the disdain slowly died, being replaced with some emotion more akin to puzzlement.

"What is it?" I asked. "Have you thought of something?"

"No, I just…" he began, but then broke off, shaking his head vehemently. He paced several steps away, stopping to stare briefly toward the outbuildings in the distance, where a number of laborers and farmhands could be seen going about their daily tasks.

I looked to Gage for some clarification, but he could only shrug. We joined his father, where he stood examining some sort of stone rubble structure with a beehive-type corbeled roof built into the side of the banked ground behind the outer courtyard of the house.

"What is it?" I asked.

"A wellhouse," he explained absently. "Though from the looks of it, it might no longer be in use. It sits over a natural spring."

The sound of voices drew my attention toward the house. Just over the top edge of the embankment I could see Great-Aunt Amelia hobbling alongside her daughter-in-law Joan toward the stables and carriage house. Or perhaps they were bound for the barns and outbuildings beyond. Whatever the case, they didn't seem to be cognizant of our presence. Which wasn't to say there was anything suspicious about their movements. At least, not like Mery, who came skulking out of the door to the servants' quarters a few moments later and, skirting the pond, set off to the west toward Port Quin. He pulled his coat over his head, presumably to block out some of the bright sunlight.

My concentration returned to the two Killigrew women as they disappeared from sight. A number of questions still lingered about Amelia and her motives for sending for us. Particularly why she'd changed her mind about Branok's death after he'd already been buried. I couldn't help but feel she had more to say.

"Perhaps we should also speak to Amelia again," I suggested. "This time privately."

Gage began to nod, but his father cut him off.

"Leave Aunt Amelia to me," he murmured, never removing his gaze from the wellhouse.

We waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, Gage cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll set off, then, before the morning is too advanced." He pulled me close to his side, leaning his head down to speak to me softly. "Should there be trouble while I'm gone, you can rely on Father or Anderley."

It was on the tip of my tongue to question that, especially after his valet's belligerent behavior the previous evening, but I could see in his eyes that he knew what I was thinking of and telling me to dismiss it.

"I would trust either of them with my life and yours," he added, clearly sensing I needed extra reassurance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Gage straighten, telling me he'd heard his son's pronouncement and was not unaffected by it.

"I'll be back by nightfall," he promised, pressing a kiss to my brow before turning to stride toward the house to collect his things for the journey.

I tried not to feel any sense of loss or foreboding at his departure, but the truth was I always suffered a pang of apprehension and longing when we separated, even for a short time. I wondered briefly at his decision not to take Anderley with him, but then realized Gage's protective nature was well established, particularly toward his family. I'd butted up against it often enough to know that he would view it as his solemn duty to ensure Emma and I, and even his father, were well guarded. In any case, there was no reason to believe he would be in any danger, and he would be carrying at least one pistol on his person on the chance there was trouble.

I turned to find Lord Gage watching me, perhaps expecting me to shed a tear or protest my husband's absence. Or maybe he thought I'd oppose the idea of being forced to investigate alone with him. While it was true he wasn't my first choice in a partner, over the past few months we'd managed to live together quite peaceably. I suspected it helped that I refused to be either cowed or intimidated by him. And that I was Emma's mother. Whatever the case, there was no reason we shouldn't be able to work together amicably.

"Why don't we begin with the droll teller," I suggested.

While Bree had helped me dress that morning, she'd informed me that Rabby James had been given a bed in the servants' quarters for the night. So it made sense to begin with the person closest to hand. However, when we asked after the fellow, we soon learned that he'd already moved on, tramping either south or east to his next destination, wherever that might be. I understood then that he wasn't simply a local storyteller, but a wandering minstrel, traveling the countryside to tell tales and play music for his living. If we took to the saddle, we might be able to catch him, but no one knew exactly in which direction he was headed. Given that, it seemed a foolhardy mission to go cantering up and down the dusty lanes searching for him when we weren't even sure he had anything relevant to tell us.

After checking on Emma, I set off with Lord Gage on horseback, riding toward the village of Trelights. The brilliant early morning sun was now tempered somewhat by clouds, and a glance to the west, far out over the sea, suggested rain might fall by the afternoon. I hoped that wouldn't impede Gage's journey.

Dr. Wolcott wasn't at home when we arrived, but Anne greeted us warmly and plied us with tea, promising her husband would return shortly. Lord Gage employed his renowned charm to good effect, and soon had Anne blushing and beaming with pleasure. Not that she wasn't already radiant from the child growing inside her.

"Kiera, 'ow fortunate ye are to live with two such kind and amusing men," she declared. "Ye must spend all of your time smiling."

"Yes, it's difficult to keep my head out of the clouds," I replied in jest, though Lord Gage must have sensed some of the wryness behind my tone, for he turned to look at me. He would be perfectly aware that he'd rarely, if ever, practiced his charm on me.

Anne laughed, unaware I wasn't being anything but sincere.

"Since we have a moment," I said, leaning toward her to confide, "I did wonder if you might be able to help me with something that's been perplexing me."

"Of course." She blinked earnestly, seeming to derive as much pleasure from being asked for her assistance as Lord Gage's flattery. I supposed, being the youngest adult of her kin and the wife of a highly competent husband, she wasn't often asked for her help.

"Your cousin Morgan raised the concern yesterday evening of preventing Mery from being trapped into marriage since he's now inherited Roscarrock House. Which is understandable," I explained carefully. "But I did wonder…why isn't he already married?"

A tiny pucker formed between her brows.

"After all, he's been the heir for decades. Ever since his father's death. And I can't help but be curious why he wasn't compelled to wed," I finished almost apologetically.

Anne smiled sadly. "Great-Uncle Branok did try to force him to take a bride. One with a significant dowry. He even banished Mery from the main 'ouse and effectively cut him off." She gave a solemn chuckle, replacing our empty tea things on the tray. "But Mery proved to be even more stubborn and strong-willed than his granfer."

Lord Gage grunted. "And perversely, I suspect Branok was proud of that."

Anne looked up at him, the twinkle in her eye confirming this.

"A trait which must run in the family," I couldn't resist muttering as I took one last drink of my tea before passing the cup back to Anne.

My father-in-law turned to me sharply and I met his gaze evenly, daring him to deny that his past insistence that his sons do exactly as he directed and yet show strength by standing up to him was not also perverse.

This coaxed a covert smile to Anne's lips. "Aye. Even Mery exhibits such a perverse contradiction." Her mirth faded. "Says he doesn't trust women. I believe it's because his mother abandoned him when he was so young." She turned her head to the side, lowering her voice nearly to a whisper. "But he can't sleep—not truly anyway—without either bein' inebriated…or havin' a woman by his side."

I studied her smooth profile and the taut cords of her neck. It was clear that she'd not shared this information lightly. Just as it was clear, at least to me, that her cousin, at one time or another, had slept by her side. Whether this had occurred when they were just children or later when they were older, whether it had been chaste or not, was less obvious.

Before I could figure out how to prod deeper without exposing her to Lord Gage's ridicule, a cheerful whistle carried to us from outside the window along the walk. The front door opened to admit the whistler and, a few moments later, Tom Wolcott appeared in the entry to their drawing room.

"My lord, my lady," he said, nodding his head deferentially to us each in turn. His posture turned rigid and formal—a stark contrast to his previous relaxed cheer. "Had I known you intended to call, I would have remained at home."

He gripped a black medical bag in his hand, giving credence to his wife's assertion that he'd been called out to a patient in the village. Not that we'd doubted her.

"Of course we understand you have your charges to see to," Lord Gage demurred. "But if we might have a moment of your time, a few additional questions have occurred to us."

"I'm at your service." Dr. Wolcott stepped back to gesture down the corridor. "Why don't we step into my study."

Anne's face fell as, once again, her husband was evidently intent she not chance hearing any gruesome details of her great-uncle's demise. Though I wished I could protest on her behalf, I knew it wasn't my place. Nor was either man likely to listen to me. Furthermore, Anne might prove to be a distraction. One that would prevent Dr. Wolcott from being as candid as we needed him to be. So I merely offered her a commiserating smile and retraced my steps from the previous morning to the inviting study with colorful watercolors adorning the walls.

"Now, what did you wish to ask me?" Dr. Wolcott said to Lord Gage as they claimed the two armchairs while I perched on the middle of the settee. Only when my father-in-law directed his attention to me did the physician realize I was actually the one with questions.

"As I understand it, Branok's body was brought straight here rather than your being summoned to Roscarrock House."

He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and clasped his hands before him. "That is true."

"When he arrived, could you tell how long he'd been deceased? Based on rigor mortis and such."

He seemed slightly taken aback. "I…I'm afraid his body was so severely damaged from the fall…Many of his bones were shattered and his muscles…" He broke off, clearing his throat. "I didn't trust that a corpse in such a dreadful state would present the typical stages of decomposition." Something of my disbelief and skepticism must have shown on my face, for he cleared his throat again. "However, based on insect activity and the damage to the pocket watch found on his person, I strongly suspect he was deceased no less than three hours when he was found."

It took me a moment to properly gather a response, still struggling as I was with the doctor's decision not to note the level of rigor mortis in Branok's corpse. I found it difficult to believe that the body had been so damaged that such an assessment would prove useless. As such, I couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Wolcott had not, in fact, consciously elected to ignore it, but instead had simply failed to do so, and now he was making excuses.

He was a relatively young physician, and I doubted he'd seen many cases of traumatic death. If it was merely a matter of inexperience, then I found I could overlook such an error. His surprise at my even broaching the subject seemed to indicate such.

But it could also be attributed to something quite different. Something far less forgivable. If so, he wouldn't be the first medical man to underestimate me and the extent of my knowledge. And he probably wouldn't be the last to whom I would deliver a comeuppance, whether I'd intended to or not.

"You said he was found with his pocket watch?" Lord Gage queried, redirecting the conversation as I considered whether to prod deeper into Dr. Wolcott's pretext.

Dr. Wolcott jumped at this. "Yes. Though I can't state definitively whether it stopped immediately after his fall or continued to work for some time following."

"I assume the watch was returned to Bevil or Mery."

"Yes, but…" He flushed. "I believe it was buried with Branok."

Of course it was.

I nearly sighed aloud, and then turned to my father-in-law to see if he also found Dr. Wolcott's behavior suspicious, but his expression revealed nothing but a keen interest in what he was saying.

"Who made the decision to keep Branok's body in your icehouse rather than lay him out in the parlor at Roscarrock House?" I inquired, ignoring Lord Gage's startled look. "And who decided to hold the funeral two days earlier than usual?"

Dr. Wolcott frowned, now growing angry rather than annoyed by my pointed questions, but I'd expected just such a shift in his demeanor. "Bevil and I did," he answered defensively. "As I've explained numerous times now, the body was in a terrible state. The…" He stumbled over his words briefly. "The bowels had even burst, and the smell…" He cringed. "It was only going to get worse. There was no way he could have survived the fall. And no way he could be given the usual vigil and procession." His pale eyes dared me to suggest otherwise.

I didn't attempt to do so. Not when his explanation sounded perfectly reasonable. And yet, I still felt something wasn't quite right. For while everything the doctor had said seemed entirely rational and truthful, his behavior suggested otherwise.

Lord Gage and I excused ourselves a short time later, collecting our horses from Dr. Wolcott's man-of-all-work.

"When did you learn about Branok's lack of a vigil?" my father-in-law asked me after the servant had stridden away.

"Yesterday evening." I searched his shadowed eyes. "That troubles you."

It was a statement rather than a question, but he answered, nonetheless. "Yes." He frowned. "Though I'm not certain why."

I glanced discreetly toward the window overlooking the drive, spying Dr. Wolcott watching us. "Because despite your family's seeming straightforwardness, no one is being fully honest with us."

With the use of the mounting block, I hoisted myself into Figg's saddle. Lord Gage stepped forward to help me adjust my foot in the stirrup as I held up the train of my charcoal gray riding habit with velvet collar and cuffs. But rather than release me immediately, he waited for my gaze to meet his.

"I warned you."

There was no gloating in his voice, no satisfaction. Only weary resignation.

"I know," I conceded.

He nodded once and stepped back to mount his own steed.