Chapter 17

We attended church the following morning at St. Endellion, where the Roscarrocks had worshiped for centuries. Tombs and memorials to the family lined the north aisle and the churchyard, and even a pew bench end boasted the Roscarrock family arms. It was a lovely old church, rich in history and ornamentation. One that had been dedicated to St. Endelienta, who, as Amelia explained, had been King Arthur's goddaughter.

Apparently, St. Endelienta had been very fond of cows, for Arthur killed the person who slayed her favorite bovine, even after Endelienta had brought the cow back to life. Then when she died, the cow brought her to the very spot where the church was built. I had long ago learned not to bother questioning the logic or validity of tales about medieval saints.

The droll teller had claimed that the salver of pure gold from his final tale—the only part of the Portuguese treasure that had ever been recovered—could still be seen at St. Endellion. While it was true there was a gold plate propped on a shelf along the north aisle, there was no evidence it had actually come from a shipwreck or Portugal, for that matter. Half the churches in England probably boasted a similar artifact.

Seated at the front as I was, flanked by my husband and father-in-law, I had little opportunity to observe anyone else during the service. But when we departed, I couldn't help but note that Anderley was not among those filling the pews with Bree and the staff from Roscarrock House. Mrs. Mackay had remained home with Emma, in fear she was developing a bit of ague.

If Gage noticed his valet's absence, he didn't show it, and it was hardly the time for me to mention it. Not when we were being greeted by many of the same people we'd been introduced to at the party the Roscarrocks had hosted, including the Grenvilles. If Lord Gage had revealed that it was Tamsyn who'd told him she'd seen Branok alive and well, the Roscarrocks surprisingly bore her no grudge. Which made me suspect my father-in-law had at least been circumspect in that regard. Even so, his interactions with everyone, including Tamsyn, were decidedly stilted.

Gage and I had hoped to speak with him on the carriage ride to and from the church, but Tristram had claimed the seat next to him so as not to overcrowd the Killigrews' conveyance. We intended to make a second attempt before dinner, but by the time I'd attended to Emma, the family was already sitting down at the long table in the dining room. Only Mery was absent, but he'd also not joined us for the morning service.

The meal began with our making small talk about things such as the weather. Amelia shared that November was known as the "black month" in Cornish. Miz-dui, she called it. And that the sun we'd enjoyed during our first days here was unlikely to last. "Though we would welcome it, if it did continue to shine," she added, turning toward the window where the sun beamed down on the ground, still damp from the lingering morning showers.

"Just so long as the ground doesn't freeze before Martinmas," Dolly chimed in to say.

"Aye." Noticing my curiosity, Amelia's eyes twinkled. "There's an old sayin'. ‘If Martinmas ice can bear a duck, the winter will be all mire and muck.'?"

I smiled at the rhyme.

"?'Tis just another way to say ‘an early winter is a surly winter,'?" Bevil groused between spoons of his potato and leek soup.

"Then I hope for your sakes the winter is late," I remarked. For I couldn't imagine Bevil being surlier than he already was. He clumped about the house, scowling and sending suspicious or outright hostile looks our way, particularly toward Lord Gage. Even now, he periodically darted an antagonistic glare at his cousin across the table.

"Every season 'as its time and place," Amelia reminded us. "We need the winter just as we need the summer. Everything in balance. Like the ebb and flow of the tide." She sank back, scrutinizing us with her pale eyes. "Everyone remembers 1816. The year without a summer. But I recall a winter when I was a child when it was so warm and mild, ye couldn't believe 'twas January and not July. Oh, but the storms that year! They were somethin' fierce." She shook her head sadly, her raspy voice losing some of its strength. "We lost a lot of good men to the sea that year."

My gaze naturally gravitated toward Lord Gage, wondering if he was thinking, as I was, of his mother and her lost first love. His concentration seemed devoted to the food before him, but the tiny furrow in his brow suggested he was also attending to our conversation. Had I been alone with Amelia, I might have asked her about her sister and her first betrothed, but doing so now, in front of the family with Lord Gage looking on, seemed too intrusive.

Gage bantered with Amelia and utilized his charm to draw more stories about the history of the family and the area from her and some of the others. Even Joan, Dolly, and Tristram shared a few anecdotes from their lives. Only Bevil remained silent, supplying grunts when the others required his participation. That is, until someone weaved a story involving one of the Grenvilles.

He waited until the laughter had subsided before remarking to Lord Gage in a biting tone, "I know who it was that convinced ye Branok is still alive."

Lord Gage lifted his gray eyes, narrowing them to slits at the tone of his cousin's voice.

"?'Twas Tamsyn, wasn't it? Even now, you'd believe any ole rubbish she tells ye."

Lord Gage arched his chin. "You're one to spout morals. Her hands are far cleaner than yours."

"The Grenvilles' 'ands have never been clean. You know that as well as I do." Bevil pushed to his feet, throwing down his napkin. "And as for Tamsyn. Fifty years changes a person. You don't know 'alf of what she has or hasn't done." His gaze raked over his cousin in disgust. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd take her side over ours. You always did prefer pretense." He turned to leave the room as Lord Gage also rose to his feet.

"That's rich coming from a man who has surrounded himself with trappings that aren't even his."

My eyes widened at the cruelty of the remark even as Bevil's footsteps faltered, and he aimed a look filled with pure malice at my father-in-law.

"Boys," Amelia gasped much too late.

Neither of them listened. Bevil continued on into the interior of the house, while Lord Gage strode toward the adjoining room and the door leading out into the gardens. We heard a slam and then soon saw him striding by the windows in the direction of the pond and the cliffs beyond. I could only presume he was tramping off to search for Branok again, stoking his anger and disgruntlement with every step.

Dinner ended on this discordant note, as Amelia clutched her hand to her weak heart, confessing her desire to rest, and Joan and Dolly escorted her from the room. Tristram made his excuses, trailing off in the direction of his father.

I turned to Gage uncertainly. Matters couldn't carry on like this. Everyone was getting more deeply hurt by each other with each passing day, and we were no closer to uncovering the truth about Branok's death than before. That was if there was any to find.

Gage crossed the room and leaned down to press a kiss to my brow. "I'll find him." He followed the same path as his father, not even breaking stride as he passed the windows.

I looked up as a maid entered. "I beg yer pardon," she exclaimed, stumbling to a stop. "I thought the family was finished."

"We are," I told her with a weak smile, pushing back from the table.

I climbed the stairs to Emma's chamber, needing the peace and comfort cradling her in my arms always brought me. But she was still napping, her face softly reposed and her normally fisted hands relaxed. I was tempted to reach out to run my fingers through her soft curls, but I was afraid it would wake her.

Mrs. Mackay arched her eyebrows in question from her seat near the window, clearly sensing my apprehension. I shook my head, trying to reassure her, and then slipped back out of the room. Once in the corridor, I hesitated. I stared at my bedchamber door, knowing I could take a nap myself. I could certainly use the extra sleep. Except the idea of lying alone with my thoughts was about as appealing as one of my father-in-law's snide remarks.

So instead, I found myself wandering through the rooms on the main floor of the house, all of which were empty. Strolling out into the garden I spied Dolly seated at a table positioned underneath the shade of a large beech tree. Sometime in the last quarter hour, Imogen must have decided to pay a call, for she perched next to Dolly, leaning toward her avidly as if to hear every word. I could only imagine Dolly was rehashing what had happened over dinner. Although when they caught sight of me, neither of them looked abashed, instead waving me over eagerly.

Half the tree's leaves had already fallen to the ground, their dampness squelching beneath my feet and releasing an earthy aroma as I approached.

"We figured we risked less of a chance of bein' overheard out here," Dolly explained, passing me a towel. "But you'll need this. It should absorb most of the moisture."

I set the towel down on the rain-soaked wooden bench and sat on top of it, hoping she was right. "You were expecting me, then?" I asked, as they'd had the forethought to bring an extra linen.

Imogen grinned. "Sooner or later." Sunlight dappled her features as it shined through the remaining leaves, adding highlights to her short brown hair, which fell in waves about her face. "Now," she coaxed. "Tell us everything. Did Tamsyn Kellynack truly claim she'd seen Branok alive?"

I turned to Dolly, who blushed lightly, evidently having relayed at least this bit of gossip from dinner. "From a distance. Though, to be fair, she wasn't absolutely certain it was him."

Imogen made a rude noise at the back of her throat. "To be fair, she wouldn't 'ave told ye if she wasn't sure unless she wanted to cause trouble."

My cheeks stung even though I knew the rebuke wasn't aimed at me. "I did wonder."

"I told ye Kiera wouldn't be insensible to her guile," Dolly said.

But Imogen seemed to want further assurance. "So you doubt her claim?"

"Of course I do," I said. "Identifying someone from such a distance is hardly proof. The veracity is questionable enough that her even making it has to draw some scrutiny."

Imogen sat back, seeming content with this response; however, I wasn't finished.

"But why would Tamsyn want to cause trouble?" I asked, repeating her words before turning to Dolly. "And what did Bevil mean when he said the Grenvilles' hands aren't clean?"

The two women looked at each other, clearly debating what to share. I'd hoped they'd be honest with me, or at least corroborate what I'd already learned from other sources, but there was no guarantee they would be so forthcoming. After all, just because I liked them didn't mean they would place their trust in me over what they might believe was in their family's best interest. I couldn't even say I would blame them.

Dolly was the first to speak. "The Roscarrocks and Grenvilles 'ave long been partners in many…endeavors," she finally settled on before glancing at Imogen again. "Includin' smugglin'."

I nodded, keeping my expression even. For one, I already knew about the connection between the two and their smuggling operations. This was merely further confirmation. For another, I didn't want to discourage their willingness to share by responding with too much passion.

"But despite that, or perhaps because of it, they've also had their share of disputes."

"To hear the family histories," Imogen chimed in. "It seems to be mostly tit-for-tat sorts of things. They stole our sheep, so we'll steal theirs."

"He blackened my brother's eye, so I'll blacken his," Dolly contributed.

"They didn't give us our fair share of the bounty, so we'll report them to the preventives, and likewise." Imogen waved her hand in a circle. "You apprehend what we're saying."

I nodded again, strongly suspecting I wouldn't be receiving such an unbiased recitation from anyone but these two women who had not been born into the Roscarrock family, but rather married one of their kin.

"But…there are a few instances when matters 'ave grown rather…contentious."

Dolly's dark eyes were dismayed. "They've set fire to each other's property and exchanged musket balls and bullets." She shook her head sadly. "A young lad was even killed several decades ago as the result of some disagreement."

I wondered if the young lad was Jago. If so, this was the first I'd heard of his death involving any sort of conflict between the Roscarrocks and the Grenvilles. What little Lord Gage had shared with us about the incident seemed to imply that Jago had been killed by the local preventive officer, Mr. Cuttance Senior, in the pursuit of his duty, catching smugglers and confiscating contraband. Was Dolly speaking of another young lad, or was there more to the story? More than perhaps Lord Gage even knew?

"Normally these sorts of clashes—even the violent ones—have been naturally resolved," Imogen explained. "Often because they needed to band together to confront some common enemy."

Dolly crossed her arms over her lavender pelisse. "The Roscarrocks and Grenvilles might feel a natural enmity toward each other at times, but they're not goin' to stand by and let some outsider threaten the other."

I understood, for Scotland's clans had exhibited a similar mind-set for hundreds of years. That is until the Acts of Union and the resulting Jacobite rebellions had finally succeeded in provoking divisions between many clans that superseded their previous cultural loyalties.

"But there's been no natural resolution to their latest dispute?" I deduced.

A leaf fluttered to the table between us, and Imogen picked it up, twirling it between her fingers. "Nay. This time…this time the fallin' out feels more permanent."

Dolly's features were pensive as she stared down at the wooden grains of the table.

"Their most recent dispute," I murmured as the scent of the sea teased my nostrils, drawing my gaze toward the ocean beyond the rising hills. "Does it involve Gilbert Grenville's leg?"

When neither woman answered, I turned to find them studying me warily.

"How did ye know?" Imogen asked.

"It seemed a logical guess, as Morgan already admitted the injury occurred while he was assisting the Roscarrocks." Since they had both been privy to the conversation, this should not be a shock.

"Well, it's even worse than she told ye," Dolly confessed, only to have Imogen shoot her a quelling glare. Dolly shook off the hand Imogen had placed on her arm. "Kiera needs to hear the full truth, not just what Morgan sanctions us to tell her."

Imogen seemed less certain of this than Dolly, but she stopped trying to silence her.

"They left him. Where he damaged his leg," she clarified without being specific. I suspected that was because the location would make it obvious that they'd been retrieving smuggled goods. "Whether this is because they thought he was embroiderin' his injury or because they believed someone else would go back for him depends on who ye talk to, but they all left him." She shifted uncomfortably. "In a place he couldn't be left indefinitely."

Because of the tides? Had they left him to possibly drown?

"How did he make it out?" I asked.

"Of his own volition."

On a leg that had been crushed? I winced, knowing that must have been excruciatingly painful.

Dolly's answering grimace told me I was probably correct. "That's why the doctor said his leg would never heal right. That if he'd immobilized it immediately, the bones could have been set, but additional movement had caused damage that couldn't be repaired."

"And so, the Grenvilles blame the Roscarrocks," I surmised, though she hadn't been clear exactly which Roscarrocks had done it, nor did this statement properly articulate the gravity of the circumstances.

"Aye," Dolly said.

I turned to gaze out over the sunken garden and the pond beyond. A pair of geese floated on its surface.

Knowing that the Roscarrocks had left her brother for dead, even unwittingly, must make Tamsyn furious. It must make all the Grenvilles furious. Furious enough to want revenge. The question was whether they'd taken it. Had they confronted Branok? Had one of them pushed him from the cliff?

Tamsyn's claims that she'd seen Branok alive could just be a ploy. A way to insinuate doubts into our investigation. After all, if Branok was actually alive and well, just performing some sort of cruel trick, then the Grenvilles couldn't have killed him.

"Then neither of you believe Branok could still be alive?" I asked them pointedly, wanting to be given straight answers for once.

"Nay," Imogen stated emphatically as Dolly shook her head.

"I may not have seen Branok's body, but Tristram did, and my husband would never lie about such a thing."

It was clear Dolly believed this, but that didn't mean I did. After all, Tristram was under the thumb of Branok, Mery, and his father Bevil. In fact, Branok controlled the livelihoods of all three men and their families. If he ordered them to do something, how hard would it be to deny him? Would they dare?

I turned away again. The trouble with this case was that nothing was straightforward. Nothing was uncomplicated. And it all hinged on a single truth we had yet to find a definitive answer to. Had Branok Roscarrock been murdered?

Suddenly, I craved nothing so much as solitude. I needed somewhere to untangle my thoughts, to unravel all the kinks and lay the threads of this investigation out in a nice, neat line. And I couldn't do that while others were looking on.

So I excused myself from Dolly's and Imogen's company, ignoring their uncertain glances, and set off in the direction of the pond. Circling its perimeter, I recalled that Anderley had mentioned that a dry creek bed led off to the west. After a few moments searching, I found it, for with the past twenty-four hours of rain, it was no longer absolutely dry. Mindful of the soggy ground at its center, I strolled alongside it, observing how the boggy trail turned to a slow trickle and then an actual stream. The sky overhead was a brilliant periwinkle blue and the clouds that remained were no more threatening than the down on a thistle.

With each step, I felt my mood lifting, if not my general state of perplexity. A trio of seabirds flew overhead, their calls echoing over the wavering grasses. The gentle ripple of the stream soon found itself competing in my ears with the rolling tide of the ocean crashing against the rocky shore, alerting me to my proximity to the sea before I saw it.

This, then, must be Port Quin, I realized, spying the small number of cottages clustered near the inlet that cut between two grassy forelands. Which was also where Mery's cottage was located. Slowing my steps, I examined the options before me, curious which belonged to Branok's grandson. The buildings were all crafted of stone and slate, between which sprouted wild fennel, gorse flowers, and a few late-blooming primroses. A number of pilchard sheds dotted the harbor, where the fish would be pressed, salted, and readied for shipment. Two men rolled one of the barrels they were packed in from one of the cellars toward a cart.

It wasn't a large village, and most of the cottages huddled close together, save one. It was set farthest back from the shore and boasted no garden and very little embellishments of any kind. Not even a crude wooden bench to encourage neighbors to sit and chat for a spell or from which to remove your muddy shoes before entering the house. It seemed to me a bachelor's abode, and as such, I suspected it was Mery's.

I began to sidle toward it, but then hesitated about twenty feet from its door, wondering if it was wise to approach. I had been curious where the Roscarrock heir who no one seemed to like—except Anne—lived, but now that I'd seen it, I wondered if it might be best to pass by. After all, Mery had a reputation as a rogue. One who might view my presence in his cabin as an invitation, no matter my protests, and I hadn't thought to bring along my reticule with its Hewson percussion pistol tucked inside.

On the other hand, Mery's cottage was the perfect location, near to the manor but far enough away for privacy, where Branok might have concealed himself. I wondered if Lord Gage had thought to look here. Though I had strong doubts about Tamsyn's claims—ones bordering on disbelief—there was still the slim chance she'd been correct. If so, it would behoove us to search Mery's cottage before they realized we'd thought of it.

I lifted my foot to do just that when the door suddenly opened and Mery, himself, stepped out.