Chapter 18

It was not an auspicious reception. In fact, Mery glared at me as if I'd committed some grave infraction. He was dressed as carelessly as all the other times I'd seen him, almost as if he'd just rolled out of bed after sleeping in his clothes.

"What do you want?" he demanded, closing the door to his cottage firmly before striding toward me. "Don't tell me Amelia has sent ye to do her fetchin'."

"No, I was just…out for a walk," I replied with as much aplomb as I could muster. "It wasn't until I saw these cottages that I realized this must be where you lived."

"Aye, well, now you've seen." He grasped my arm, walking me back in the direction I'd come.

"There's no need for such behavior," I protested, pulling against his grip. "I'm not refusing to leave." Finally managing to extricate myself, I rubbed my upper arm.

"Don't scowl at me like that," he countered. "I didn't hurt ye." His hazel eyes scrutinized me sharply before he turned away. "I'd have to be a timdoodle to risk angerin' a witch."

Angered by his disrespect, I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "Too late."

His frown transformed into a rather spiteful grin. "Ye admit it, then? You're a witch?"

I ignored him, remembering how Mery had baited us in the cove, hoping to provoke a reaction. He was the type of fellow who loved to stir the pot, deflecting attention away from himself. No wonder his relatives didn't like him.

"Ah, don't stop talkin' now. Not when ye were just gettin' interestin'."

But I refused to be roused further, answering instead in a carefully neutral voice, "If I'm a witch, I guess that means those witch marks by the windows in the house didn't work." I'd not yet checked any other windows than the two in my bedchamber, but after what Bree had shared about them, it was a safe bet they were inscribed on the walls in more than just my room.

"Aye, but those are to keep out the evil, not the good."

I turned to him in surprise. That he'd spoken of the witch marks as if they were genuine and not just some ancient superstition, and that he'd so breezily classified me as good.

His ground-eating strides continued several steps before he noticed my pace had slackened. He shook the shaggy blue-black strands out of his eyes as he turned to look back at me. "Am I wrong?" he taunted. "Are ye here with ill intentions?"

"An interesting question," I replied, surprising him in turn. I watched him carefully as I closed the gap between us. "I suppose it depends on what your family's objective was in inviting us here. If it was to uncover whether your grandfather was murdered, then our intentions are in alignment. But…"

A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye.

"If it was for some other reason, then…" I shrugged one shoulder, allowing him to finish the thought.

Mery glowered. "I didn't invite ye here. Nor did I ask ye to investigate." He turned to continue stalking toward the manor. "Just because the Killigrews and I are related doesn't mean we have the same objective. Or that we're ever in alignment."

"True." I hastened to catch up with him, eager to capitalize on the opening he'd offered. "We've yet to hear your version of events, so why don't you share it with me."

"Why? I already know you've been askin' questions about me."

Thanks to his cousin Anne, no doubt.

His voice fairly dripped with cynicism, so I opted for brutal honesty. "Naturally. You're your grandfather's heir. So if he was killed, suspicion has to fall on you."

"I did not murder my granfer," he growled.

"Then help us figure out who—if anyone—did."

He didn't respond immediately, but rather appeared to be considering my request. Which was far more promising than the swift refusal I'd anticipated. So I resolved to be patient, to let him come to his own conclusion. Whether it would be to our benefit or not, I didn't know, but he did relent enough to offer me his arm to help me traverse a particularly slippery section of the trail alongside the stream. Once we reached surer footing and I'd released his arm, he bowed his head, his brow furrowing. "I believe it's the latter."

I blinked in surprise. "That no one killed him?"

"Aye."

"Then, how do you explain—"

He exhaled audibly, cutting off my question. Whatever he was about to say pained him in some way. "Great-Aunt Amelia doesn't want to admit it, but…" He glanced at me fleetingly, before returning his gaze to the path before us. "Granfer 'ad heart problems. Much like her. He…knew they were gettin' worse."

I spoke slowly, deliberating over my words. "And you think he might have…fallen over the cliff?"

His lips pressed together so tightly they showed white. "I think 'twas accidental," he finally said. "That he had a massive attack and lost his balance. Though he shouldn't 'ave been there alone in the first place," he finished angrily.

It struck me that, of all the versions of events we'd heard thus far, this seemed the most realistic. Perhaps we'd overestimated the strength of those brambles from stopping someone from falling. "So Amelia sending for us was…what?"

"A wild-goose chase."

He offered no placating words, but then, he'd not been the one to send for us. This, I supposed, explained his absence and reticence in talking to us, as well as his hostility. Rather than have to lie and pretend he agreed with the others, it was easier just to avoid us.

The stream had thinned to a trickle, and I could see the pond ringed with trees and the manor beyond it. My time with Mery was almost at an end, and I didn't know if I would ever have the chance to speak with him alone again, so I pressed for clarity.

"Then Branok isn't still alive?"

Mery's shoulders tensed as he tossed a glower at me. "I 'eard Tamsyn Kellynack has been makin' such ridiculous claims. Nay. I saw…his body." Each word felt forced from his throat. "He's dead."

This proclamation had the ring of finality, and I let it stand as such.

In any case, we'd been spotted. Tristram stood next to the table where Dolly and Imogen still sat, watching as his father strode around the edge of the pond toward us. The mayflies must have been swarming, for Bevil waved his hand in front of his face as if to brush something away. However, his eyes remained trained steadily on us.

"Aye, an' here comes the inquisition," Mery muttered under his breath. "Don't say I didn't warn ye."

"What is there to question us about?" I asked, but he only cast me a wary look out of the corner of his eye.

"Good afternoon, Kiera," Bevil said in greeting. "Went for a stroll, did ye?" His gaze slid toward his uncle's grandson. "I hope Meryasek wasn't botherin' ye."

"Not at all! We happened upon each other, and he kindly lent me his escort." This was embellishing a bit, perhaps. A fact that Mery seemed to find amusing if the sudden quirk of his lips was any indication. But something about Bevil's insinuation that Mery was up to no good, despite all evidence to the contrary, irked me.

"Aye, sure," Bevil grunted as if this was doubtful, falling in step with us. "Did ye see our dolphin, then?"

"No. I didn't make it that far." I turned to him eagerly, for this was the first I'd heard of the creature. "Is there truly one?"

He nodded, scratching his chin. "We see 'im from time to time. Sometimes brings a friend."

The prospect of seeing a dolphin delighted me.

"Though he 'asn't been seen in some weeks," Bevil cautioned, glancing toward Mery, who kept his eyes averted. "Did ye enjoy a pleasant stroll?"

This seemed like a searching remark, one that was directed as much at Mery as me. Mery's loose-limbed frame now seemed tense and guarded, which put me on my guard as well.

"Aye. We discussed witches," Mery remarked, his eyes glittering in challenge when he cast me a swift look. One that warned me not to mention his opinions regarding his grandfather's fate.

"Witches?" Bevil repeated.

"I noticed the witch marks by the windows in Roscarrock House and mentioned them to Mery," I elaborated, hoping to keep the conversation directed away from my status as a possible witch.

"I see. Aye, those are ancient. Naught to be concerned with now."

"Don't tell Great-Aunt Amelia that," Mery retorted, earning him a scowl from Bevil.

"Amelia believes in witches?" I asked.

"Nay, but her mother did," Bevil replied reluctantly.

Who would have been Lord Gage's grandmother. I put aside this information to be contemplated later.

We walked on in silence, though it was far from a comfortable one. We rounded the largest grouping of oak trees near the pond and had neared the outer garden gate before Bevil clumsily tried to break it.

"Anything else ye discussed?" he interjected, trying and failing to sound disinterested. I couldn't help but feel there was something he was fishing for, and I began to understand Mery's passing mention of inquisitions.

"Just casual remarks," I said with a shrug before attempting to turn the question back on Bevil. "Why? Was there something we should have talked about?"

From his alarmed expression and fumbling tone, plainly he'd not been expecting this. "Nay. Just…" He scratched the back of his head. "Just makin' conversation."

I felt a pulse of guilt for making him embarrassed, wondering if perhaps I'd misconstrued his intentions. Hadn't I noticed the other night at the party how awkward he was in company? Perhaps he genuinely had been trying to make conversation with us and had simply gone about it ineptly. I had found myself in enough similar situations to recognize the signs and was chagrined I'd not realized it before. Instead, I'd assumed the worst.

Anxious to make up for it, I smiled up at him contritely. "There are so many seemingly disparate details to this investigation, I feared perhaps I'd forgotten to ask something. Though that does remind me, did either of you notice whether Branok's watch was underwater when you found him?"

"Watch?" Bevil asked, turning to Mery, whose expression also flickered with confusion.

"Yes. His pocket watch?" When still neither of them spoke, I found their bewilderment odd, but continued to prod. "Dr. Wolcott mentioned it had been damaged in the fall. That it stopped approximately three hours before you found the body."

"Oh, aye," Bevil agreed, glancing at Mery again, who kept his thoughts to himself. "It was damp, but I don't recall if it was underwater." When Mery added nothing to these claims, Bevil asked me, "Why did ye want to know?"

"I was just curious how far the tides had come in, and when, in particular, they might have reached the watch."

He nodded, though he still didn't look like he understood.

But Mery did. "To help tell you when he died."

"Or at least give us a more accurate indication," I conceded, but my suspicions were aroused, and I couldn't leave it at that. Not when there was an easy way to test them. "Perhaps if we could examine it." I looked to them hopefully.

Bevil began rubbing the back of his neck again. "I believe 'twas all burned or thrown out. Along with his clothes. None of it was salvageable, and it seemed best to be rid of it."

"Oh," I replied simply, turning to Mery to see if he would add anything, but he kept his eyes trained forward. Even when he held the garden gate open for me, he kept his gaze carefully averted. For good reason.

Because they were lying! Dr. Wolcott had said he'd given them the watch to be buried with Branok, yet neither of them remembered this? I found this impossible to believe. Which meant that Dr. Wolcott had almost certainly also lied. But why? It didn't make any sense.

Something I reiterated to Gage and his father when we found ourselves with a few moments alone before the evening repast. We had been informed this would consist of lighter fare, as the main meal of the day had occurred following church, but we still felt compelled to dress for it. Lord Gage and I hovered near the warmth of the fireplace in the small sitting room adjoining his bedchamber, eager to ward off the chill that had settled in with the passing rain, while Lembus finished arranging Gage's cravat.

It had taken all of my forbearance not to demand to know why his father's valet was helping him to dress and not his own manservant. A forbearance I could tell, from the sharp-eyed looks my father-in-law continued to send his son's way, he was not going to continue long. For once, I was glad of Lord Gage's critical nature. Because my husband certainly didn't seem concerned with Anderley's continued absence or in explaining why.

"Clearly, Dr. Wolcott is hiding something," Lord Gage pronounced. "Though whether that's his having a hand in Branok's death or merely his incompetence in failing to note rigor mortis remains to be seen."

"Perhaps," I acknowledged, knowing it was a distinct possibility, and yet still feeling oddly unsatisfied with that conclusion. The trouble was that every time I felt we'd uncovered a reasonable explanation for Branok's death and the circumstances surrounding it, someone had to do or say something to complicate matters. If Bevil and Mery had not seemed so baffled by my mention of the pocket watch, and had they and Dr. Wolcott not made contradictory statements as to its current location, I might have been ready to dismiss the entire inquiry and declare Branok's death an accident, for we had no concrete evidence to the contrary. But now I was forced once again to reexamine every statement and discovery.

"What of this feud between the Roscarrocks and Grenvilles that Dolly and Imogen mentioned?" I crossed my arms over my pink watered-silk bodice, determined to have an answer from my father-in-law. "It seems to be long-standing, but you didn't mention anything about it."

"Because it seemed inconsequential," he replied with maddening apathy.

My eyebrows arched high. "Even after Tamsyn made her accusations?"

His jaw tightened as if refusing to even deign to give an answer to this query.

"Come, Father," Gage interjected as Lembus finished. "You know it's a legitimate question."

Lord Gage transferred his glower to his son before speaking to Lembus. "You may leave us." He waited until the door clicked shut before speaking again. "What I think is a legitimate question regards the competency of your valet, Sebastian. I heard what happened at the party, and Mr. Anderley has been conspicuously absent since. Yet, as I understand it, he's still in your employ."

Annoyance tugged downward at the corners of Gage's lips. "All will be revealed in time. You needn't concern yourself."

This piqued my curiosity, but I knew better than to press the matter until we were alone. Especially knowing Lord Gage was using it as a diversion tactic. Something Gage stressed.

"You are straying from the point. You've gone haring off, yon and hither, risking your health and injury searching for Branok based purely on the word of a woman who may have ulterior motives to make such a claim."

Lord Gage plainly didn't appreciate being scolded by his own son and drew himself up to his full height to retort. But not only was Gage an inch or two taller, he wasn't finished.

"A few months ago, you nearly died not once, but three times," Gage's voice cracked. "And I do not care to repeat the experience." He inhaled a ragged breath. "But if my plea isn't enough, then I beg you to at least think of Emma. She would not understand if you were no longer here."

This effectively took the wind from Lord Gage's sails, for his chest deflated and his brow furrowed with something akin to regret.

"Will you at least consider our feelings before you go charging off into the rain or start leaning precariously over cliffsides?"

I turned to my husband in alarm. Was that where he'd found his father that afternoon? Dangling over a cliff?

"I was searching for a cave," he protested.

Gage's pale eyes lost none of their intensity or appeal.

His father's jaw worked. "But yes. I shall take more caution."

Gage nodded once, clasping his hands behind his back. "And this feud?"

He sighed. "Yes, of course, I was aware of it. Though, obviously, not the events that have taken place over the last fifty years."

"Did Tamsyn explain the full extent of what happened to her brother?" I asked.

"That they left him stranded at the base of a cliff with the tide coming in?" My father-in-law's voice was tight with censure. "Yes."

"Then you understand why she might crave revenge, one way or another?"

His eyes flashed. "That doesn't mean she took it."

"No. However, it does mean her words should bear greater scrutiny. After all, she isn't unbiased."

"Perhaps." Lord Gage crossed the room to examine his appearance in the old mirror hanging on the wall to the left of the door. He adjusted the diamond stickpin nestled in the folds of his cravat. The hard glint in his eyes matched the gem's brilliance. "But I still find myself more inclined to trust Tamsyn than any of the members of my family. For good reason."

Gage and I exchanged a speaking glance, both uncertain whether his father was capable of viewing anything with impartiality when it came to the Roscarrocks and their kin.

"Have you spoken with Great-Aunt Amelia?" Gage queried.

His father's movements faltered as he straightened the lapels of his black evening coat, telling me that in his obsession with locating Branok alive he'd forgotten. "No. But I will."

My silk skirts rustled as I moved closer to him, knowing that he wouldn't like what I had to say next. "Dolly also mentioned that a boy was killed several decades ago because of a disagreement between the families." My father-in-law's eyes riveted on me in the reflection of the mirror. "Could she have meant Jago?"

He turned away abruptly, but not before I saw the fierce frown that creased his handsome features.

"Was there some sort of quarrel that precipitated the events that led to you being arrested and Jago being shot?" I turned to Gage for support as his father kept his back to us. "What exactly happened that night and the days leading up to it? You've never gone into detail."

It was the same question I'd asked on the road yesterday. The same question he'd brushed aside as inconsequential. But I was beginning to believe those details might be more important than any of us realized.

When still Lord Gage didn't speak, Gage prodded gently. "Father?"

"Not…" He rounded on us, raising his voice and a gesticulating hand, but turned only so that we could see his profile. His hand fell to his side, slapping his leg as he struggled for composure. "Not now," he stated in a more even voice once he had himself in hand.

We stared at him for a few moments before Gage replied, "Of course."

"They will be waiting for us," Lord Gage declared after inhaling a calming breath. He turned to offer me his arm.

I accepted it, willing to make peace, acknowledging he was right. Now was not the best time to broach such a topic. Particularly given his emotional reaction. But his continued resolve not to discuss it only made me more intent to find out why.