Chapter 2

"Ithought you had no communication with them," I voiced in confusion.

"I don't," Lord Gage snapped, the sound loud in the still room. Loud enough to startle Emma, whose lip quivered for a moment as if she might burst into tears, before she settled again with her doll.

"Have they tried to communicate with you?" Gage asked, trying a different tack.

"Some years ago, yes. But not since…" His father broke off, turning away and leaving his thought unvoiced. "Not for some time."

I tilted my head, curious what he was originally going to say.

He glanced down at the letter in thinly veiled disgust. "I'm not sure why they're writing me now."

"You could open the letter and find out," I coaxed, supplying the obvious answer.

Lord Gage scowled.

I knew he was ashamed of his past. His relationship with his sons—and me—had taken a large leap forward when he'd willingly shared it with us. I suspected it was the first time he'd spoken of it to anyone in decades. His fear of his past being revealed and destroying his reputation was genuine, and that dread was not unfounded. The upper echelon of British society was notoriously fickle. A person could be feted one day and then utterly shunned the next. But Lord Gage had confided in us, nonetheless, trusting us to keep his secret.

However, just because he'd taken us into his confidence did not mean he'd confronted any of the darker emotions associated with that incident. The guilt of knowing his friend had been shot and killed by the same customs officers who had arrested him. The pain of his father's rejection. The anger at his grandfather and the Roscarrocks for exposing him to that life and not preventing him from coming to near ruin at such a young age. The shame of his having committed such a crime. In many ways, he was just as ashamed, angry, hurt, and guilt-ridden as he'd been at eleven; and those emotions had colored his life in ways he didn't realize.

For his own sake, his past needed to be dealt with, and his relatives—at least, those still living—faced. Otherwise, that past would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days, however long that might be. The trouble was convincing my father-in-law of it.

"You must be at least a little curious what the letter says," I prodded.

Lord Gage arched his chin. "Not in the slightest."

I realized I should have anticipated just such a response from the stubborn man, no matter the evidence to the contrary.

"Surely you're not intending to just toss it into the fire?" Gage queried with a furrowed brow.

I sat forward in alarm as my father-in-law dangled the missive between two fingers before him as if contemplating exactly that. "You can't do that."

Lord Gage arched a single eyebrow in sardonic challenge.

"What if it's important?"

He scoffed. "I doubt it."

"At least let me read it."

His second eyebrow joined the first.

"Or Gage." Perhaps that was more amenable.

Gage set aside his own letters. "She's right, sir. We should at least discover what it says." He held out his hand, urging his father to give it to him.

Lord Gage glowered at it for a moment before heaving an aggrieved sigh. "If it will silence you both, I will read it." He broke the seal with rather more force than necessary, crinkling the paper as he unfolded it. "Though, as I've said, I'm certain it's a waste of time."

I sat back in relief, trying not to stare as he began perusing the contents. Deep scores appeared between his eyes, etching his brow. His square jaw hardened, and his gaze bored into the paper like he was wielding a chisel. When he finished, lowering it to his lap to gaze at the rug before him, I'd barely digested two sentences from my sister's letter.

I didn't speak, though I was dying to ask him what it said. Clearly its contents had not been a waste of time. Not if the somewhat stunned expression on his face was anything to judge by. Stunned and agitated.

"What is it?" Gage prodded this time.

"My Uncle Branok…" his father began haltingly.

I glanced at Gage, recalling that Branok had been one of the names of his Cornish ancestors he'd jestingly suggested we name our child when I was still expecting Emma.

"He became head of the family when my grandfather passed some years ago," Lord Gage finished explaining, proving he was well informed of at least some aspects of his Roscarrock relatives' lives. "He died almost a week ago."

My first thought was that this was sad, but it didn't quite explain his reaction. However, he wasn't finished.

"They…" He gestured with the letter. "Aunt Amelia—his sister, not his wife. She…and I suppose some of the others…" He fumbled his words. Something I'd never expected to witness my stern, collected father-in-law do. Inhaling a deep breath, he plowed onward. "She believes he was murdered." His visage turned forbidding. "And she wants us to investigate."

My eyes widened in surprise. Even after having investigated over a dozen murders, I still never expected it. I didn't know whether that was a virtue or a failing on my part.

"May I?" Gage asked, not waiting for his father's permission before rising to take the missive from his somewhat reluctant grasp.

He sat down beside me so that I might peruse the letter with him. It wasn't long. Perhaps a dozen lines in a small, spidery script.

"She does more than ask," Gage said. "She essentially begs us to come. Clearly, she's aware of our presence here with you." There was a question in his voice.

"It's been reported in some of the newspapers," I replied. In supplements to their articles about Lord Gage's attack in Yorkshire and our subsequent inquiry to apprehend his assailants. It had been foolish to think the shocking incident wouldn't find its way into print, especially when it involved not only a man as powerful as Lord Gage, but also his charming son and scandalous daughter-in-law. Our exploits often ended up in the broadsheets and newspapers, among the society pages if not the front page.

Gage nodded at this explanation. "Though she gives few details about her brother's death and why she believes it to be murder."

Lord Gage made a rather rude noise beneath his breath as he pushed to his feet. "Because if it was murder, it was likely deserved. Probably a rival smuggler or some other disreputable undertaking."

Gage and I exchanged a speaking glance as his father turned to pace before the hearth, drawing Emma's interest. But Lord Gage was too caught up in his own unsettled thoughts to even notice his granddaughter's cooing.

"Do you know for a fact that they're still smuggling?" Gage broached carefully. "Perhaps they stopped after…" He broke off before saying the rest, knowing his father would know what he referred to.

"They never stopped," Lord Gage bit out crisply. "At least, I know they hadn't stopped as late as 1815," he conceded. "But I haven't kept abreast of it since then."

It was somewhat disheartening to hear the Roscarrocks had continued the practice even after a boy had been killed and another arrested, but then I didn't know how difficult it was to extricate oneself from such a business. Presumably there were a number of people involved in a smuggling operation—some of them less tolerant than others. Lord Gage's grandfather might not have been able to stop even if he'd wished to.

"From what I understand, the lower tariffs and new coastguard service have effectively curtailed smuggling along much of the coast," Gage said. "So perhaps those activities are now in the past."

Lord Gage halted in his pacing to pin his son with an incredulous look. "You don't know the Roscarrocks. If anyone was to find a way, it's them." He flicked his gaze up and down over Gage's appearance. "Where do you think you get your dogged perseverance from?" He turned away, muttering under his breath. "Where do you think I get mine?"

Emma's eyes followed him as he moved to stand before one of the tall windows flanking either side of the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. It was the posture I imagined he'd adopted at the helm of one of his ships when he was a captain in the Royal Navy, though now he was surveying his gardens rather than the rolling sea. Ostensibly anyway. It was more likely he wasn't seeing anything, his thoughts lying so deep in the past that he didn't even notice his granddaughter fussing. Normally, he would have run to soothe her, but now he seemed unconscious of it.

Gage's brow creased in concern, and I pressed my hand to his where it rested in his lap, urging him to go to his father while I collected Emma.

"What is all this commotion?" I murmured to her as I lifted her and Rosie, tickling her chin with the ragdoll. She giggled as I crossed to tug on the bell-pull. It was almost time for Emma's morning nap, and Mrs. Mackay would undoubtedly be anticipating my summons.

"Why do you think Great-Aunt Amelia is so desperate for our help then?" Gage asked his father. "Do you think perhaps the authorities aren't taking the matter of Great-Uncle Branok's death seriously because of the family's history with smuggling? Could the authorities be involved?"

This was an angle I hadn't yet considered, but it was worth questioning. After all, a preventive officer had shot Lord Gage's friend all those years ago. Might another have shot Branok Roscarrock, either with or without provocation?

If that was what Amelia suspected, it made sense she hadn't mentioned it in her letter. After all, she'd acknowledged her nephew's continued estrangement from the family and pleaded that he not make it his excuse for refusing to come to their aid. As such, she must be aware that any remark about customs officers was certain to dredge up unhappy memories and harden his heart toward them.

I didn't hear Lord Gage's response—if he even made one—for Mrs. Mackay arrived to collect Emma. "I saw that yawn," she whispered in her Scottish brogue as she retreated, prattling as ever to the child. "Off to dreamland wi' ye."

"I take it you wish to refuse?" I heard Gage ask as I crossed the room to join them.

Lord Gage turned his head sharply to glare at his son. "I cannot go back there."

I found it interesting to note that he'd said cannot, not will not.

"Even though this is what we do?" Gage responded. "Help people who have found themselves in situations where their loved ones have been harmed and may not receive justice. Even though they are still family—by blood, if not bonds of affection?"

Lord Gage's mouth screwed up in distaste. "You have a rather mawkish view of our roles as inquiry agents."

But neither Gage nor I took offense, recognizing this as an effort to distract us. Amelia's letter had dredged up all sorts of sentiments Lord Gage didn't want to confront, so he'd opted to lash out at us instead. To attempt to turn the focus to us rather than himself. It didn't work.

"Why are you so reluctant to return?" I posited.

Lord Gage turned to look at me as if I'd grown two heads.

"I mean, other than because of what happened there almost fifty years ago," I clarified. "But that's a long time. Half a century."

His glare turned glacial, but facts were facts. He would turn sixty before the end of the year.

"Surely most of the people involved in that incident are dead," I explained gently. "That, or they were too young at the time to remember much." I searched his features, trying to understand. "Or has something happened since?"

He turned away, directing his frosty gaze at the robin flitting from branch to branch of the shrub outside the window. "How would something else have happened? As I already told you, I haven't been in touch with them. Isn't their getting me arrested enough?"

I looked helplessly at Gage, uncertain what else to say. Fortunately, he'd grasped something I had not.

"I suppose Great-Uncle Branok was a key part of the smuggling operation." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the wall where one of the long, copper-colored damask drapes hung alongside the window.

Lord Gage gave a short grunt in response. "As eldest son and heir, he was always in the thick of it."

Gage's eyes shifted to meet mine, perhaps to check if I now apprehended what he did. His reluctance to return to investigate was as much about the victim as the place.

"I used to admire him," Lord Gage continued unexpectedly. "My father had no use for me, but Uncle Branok did. Called me clever." His lips curled almost into a snarl. "I was too young and foolish to grasp until it was too late that his interest was purely for selfish reasons."

I wondered if that were true. Or if the ending had cast a shadow over everything that had come before.

"Then perhaps you believe that, if he was murdered, he got what he deserved," Gage said, keeping his voice even and his expression neutral, as he often did to set a suspect or witness at ease. "That perhaps it was long overdue. And you're reluctant to stir up a possible hornets' nest for the sake of such a man."

Lord Gage plainly didn't like hearing this. "Don't use those interrogation tactics on me, boy," he growled. "Who do you think taught them to you?"

"That doesn't make what I said any less true," Gage countered, still refusing to be riled.

His father's contemptuous gaze flicked to me and then back again. "I take it the two of you think we should go haring off to Cornwall simply because my aunt cried foul."

"I think it should be considered." Gage shuffled his feet, turning to narrow his eyes out at the bright autumn sunlight. "And…I admit to a certain curiosity about my Roscarrock relatives. I have so few cousins, you know." Just three still living on his mother's side. "And I only met your parents once, when I was too young to remember. It would be…interesting to meet the Roscarrocks," he finished, choosing his words with care.

"They're not worth knowing," Lord Gage answered flatly.

"Even so."

He stared at his son's profile for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, Lord Gage turned to me. "And what's your excuse?"

I knew he wouldn't welcome my concern for his and Gage's well-being. My belief that Lord Gage needed to face his demons, so to speak. And Gage should at least be allowed to form his own opinion about his paternal grandmother's family. So instead, I focused on Amelia's plea.

"If a family member from which you've been estranged for almost fifty years is both desperate and courageous enough to write to you for help, then I think the request should at least be considered." My eyes met and held Gage's. "After all, your son received a similar request last summer from his maternal grandfather, the late Lord Tavistock. A request that, had we ignored, might have resulted in dire consequences." It also might have resulted in Gage never reconciling with his grandfather—with his entire Trevelyan family—or laying to rest some of the ghosts from his past.

"I suppose you're speaking of when my rapscallion nephew, Alfie, went missing and was found to be hiding at his lover's cottage," Lord Gage retorted, evidently unimpressed with this comparison.

"For good reason," I replied hotly.

"You'll recall, if Kiera hadn't found him and interfered with the killer's plans, Alfie would now be dead, along with his brother," Gage added quietly, the pain of that memory still reflected in his pale blue eyes. "And Alfie is no longer a rapscallion."

For one, he'd married that lover, whom I now considered one of my dearest friends.

The hard glint in Lord Gage's eye did not soften, but for once, he held his tongue rather than voice whatever acerbic remark sat at its tip.

I took the letter from Gage, skimming it once more with a frown. "I wish Great-Aunt Amelia had provided more details. We could write to ask for them, but a week has already passed, and you both know how time is of the essence in a murder investigation." I could only imagine they'd already buried the body, making the retrieval of any clues from the remains now impossible. Not that I would have relished examining a corpse in such an advanced state of decomposition.

When my father arranged my first marriage to the late anatomist Sir Anthony Darby, I hadn't known I would be regularly forced to stomach the assessment of weeks' old corpses. Sir Anthony had hidden well his intentions to compel me to sketch illustrations of his dissections for a definitive anatomical textbook he was writing. One that the parsimonious and vainglorious man did not wish to share credit for with a male collaborator. My skills as a portrait artist had made me the ideal target for his machinations, as well as my quiet, withdrawn nature and marked awkwardness among society. I sometimes berated myself for not having suspected ulterior motives during his courtship when he once asked me to draw his hand in detail, but the truth was, I had been completely oblivious to the oddity of the request until much later.

In any case, I had survived the three years of our marriage, and the subsequent scandal that had erupted after his death and the discovery of my involvement with his work. But it had taken me a long time to recover and enjoy life again. Gage had been a large part of that, as well as our collaboration as inquiry agents. Helping people who needed it, obtaining justice for those who had been murdered, putting the knowledge I had reluctantly accrued from Sir Anthony to good use had given my life and struggles purpose and fulfillment. And now that we had Emma, that added another dimension to my happiness.

"Yes, if we request more information, it could be another week before we receive a response, allowing that much longer for any evidence or witnesses to vanish," Gage agreed, eyeing his father.

Lord Gage huffed in aggravation, charging across the room toward the sideboard. "You do realize this could be a spurious claim. That Uncle Branok might not have been murdered at all." He removed the stopper from the decanter of brandy to pour himself a drink. I viewed his decision to indulge in spirits at—I glanced at the clock—half past ten in the morning as an indication of just how agitated he was.

"But what if he was?"

At his son's stark pronouncement, Lord Gage paused with the glass touching his lips, seeming to gather himself before tipping it back to take a healthy swallow. He set down the glass and turned to press both fists to the surface of the table. By the strain of the superfine fabric of his frock coat across his back and shoulders, I could tell just how rigidly he was holding himself even if I could no longer see his face. "Aye, there's the rub," he proclaimed in a voice so low I almost didn't hear it.

"I don't know how else to ascertain the truth than to travel there and find out for ourselves," Gage told him.

His father heaved a long, aggrieved sigh. "I see you are both determined to go."

Gage moved to my side, draping an arm around my waist. "You needn't accompany us." He turned to me, and I could see the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "We could investigate the matter. If you would but write us a letter of introduction…"

"No, no." He finally turned to face us. "When something goes wrong—as it inevitably will—I'll not have it on my conscience that I sent you there on your own. Especially not if you're determined to take my granddaughter with you."

Given the fact I was still nursing Emma, we had no other choice. Unless I stayed behind. And I was not about to do that.

Lord Gage's expression turned forbidding. "You don't know the world you're about to step into. You don't understand the people. The Cornish are a breed unto themselves."

I found this to be a rather surprising statement coming from my father-in-law, whom I'd always viewed as eminently logical. But his view of the Roscarrocks, and the Cornish in general, was also skewed by some fifty years of anger and resentment. Given that, I supposed it made sense he would endow them with a rather ominous guise. Though that didn't halt the feeling that a cold wind had just blown across the back of my neck.

"But I suppose you'll see soon enough," he declared gruffly before drinking the rest of his brandy and striding across the room toward the bell-pull. "We'll leave before dawn. It will take three days to reach the border of Cornwall. I'll write to my steward at Liftondown and have the house prepared for us so that we can break our journey there the third night. It also wouldn't be remiss to have the place ready to retreat to should matters turn unpleasant and require our hasty departure."

Before either Gage or I could get a word in edgewise, Bowcott appeared and Lord Gage began to issue orders to his butler.

I turned to find Gage's expression somewhat guarded. I realized then that Liftondown must be Lord Gage's childhood home. The estate along the border between Devon and Cornwall he had inherited upon his brother's death. Lord Gage's father had been naught but a minor baronet, and Lord Gage naught but a second child. But Sir Henry Gage had died, followed by his eldest son, who had never married, leaving his second son, Stephen, the heir. However, by that time, Lord Gage already had his barony and its seat in Warwickshire, so he'd hired a competent steward to mind Liftondown and had the house shut up.

Gage had never been there, so I knew his curiosity about the place must exceed my own, but perhaps also his wariness. After all, his father had spent much of the first eleven years of his life there, and from the little we'd gleaned from his remarks about that time, it hadn't been happy. Perhaps he feared those shadows would still cling to its corridors.

Whatever the case, there was no turning back. Not when Lord Gage was now fully engaged in setting our departure into motion. I only hoped we wouldn't come to regret it.