Chapter 25

We rejoined Lord Gage at the crossroads where the trail south led to Trelights and the lane north led back to Roscarrock House. He told us that Mr. Cuttance had veered off toward the village, apparently deciding to speak with Dr. Wolcott and actually view the body this time before approaching Mery and the Killigrews. So we carried on to the manor, intent on pressing the occupants for information one more time before the constable arrived to conduct his own interrogations. However, when we arrived, we discovered with surprise that no compulsion was necessary.

One of the grooms informed us that Great-Aunt Amelia was waiting for us in the library, and a footman stood by the door, waiting to direct us to her before I could even pause to make repairs to my appearance. Mindful of the mud clinging to my boots and the hem of my riding habit, I avoided the rugs when I could. I wondered for a moment if we were about to be asked to leave, but then I realized that would be rather an abrupt reversal of her pleas for us to stay the previous evening.

I'd not had much occasion to enter the library and, in all truthfulness, found it to be rather uninviting. With only one small window to let in the sunlight and no hearth, the room was neither bright nor cozy. As usual, several of the walls were lined with bookshelves, though these were far from full. At first glance, one might have assumed this was because the Roscarrocks had not espoused reading, but books were not cheap, and just because a library was well stocked with numerous volumes did not mean they were read. I had strolled through libraries in the grand manor houses of some of the nobility that had contained over a thousand books, suspecting not even a tenth of them had ever been opened. Though, I had to concede, if any of these books were being read, it was probably not in this chamber.

Amelia perched on an oak settee upholstered in goldenrod damask positioned near the window which overlooked the drive, so she must have seen us return. Joan sat beside her knitting, but she set it aside as we joined them.

"Well, here we are," Lord Gage announced as we crowded into the entrance of the room behind him. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. "And Cuttance will be along soon."

If this was meant to prod them into swift speech, it didn't work. Instead, Amelia gestured toward the sagging sofa opposite. "Have a seat."

We did so somewhat reluctantly, hovering at the edge so as not to sink so deep into its cushions that we could not extricate ourselves gracefully. My husband and his father might have also given some consideration to the mud splattering their lower extremities, but I'd decided the sofa was already beyond redemption.

We waited as Amelia seemed to struggle with herself. Or at least, to give the appearance of it, for if she'd called us here, she must already know what she intended to say. "I didn't know at first that my brother 'ad faked his death," she finally began. "I didn't know 'til after he was already buried. Then he chose to reveal 'imself to me." Her hands had lifted to clutch something beneath the lace collar of her dress. I suspected it was a cross or a crucifix.

"That must have been quite a fright," I empathized. If I'd learned anything since being here, it was that many of the Cornish still believed in the old superstitions. After all, the plaster next to their windows still bore the traces of witch marks, and their droll tellers still weaved tails of mermaids and giants roaming the land.

"It was," she conceded. "?'Til I accepted he was real." Her lips twisted. "Then I wanted to box his ears for pullin' such a trick. For keepin' it from me."

Judging from the crease that had formed in her forehead upon making this last statement, I suspected that was what bothered her most. Not the fact Branok had feigned his death, but that he'd not informed her of his plans.

I didn't look at him, but I felt a pulse of renewed irritation at Gage for not telling me of Anderley's ruse with the smugglers. It was not even close to the level of deception Branok had perpetrated, but it still vexed me. Recalling the anxiety and distress Anderley's behavior had caused me, I could only imagine the grief and pain Amelia had suffered in those days before she learned the truth. It was a wonder she hadn't killed him herself. Unless she had? But I didn't think so. At least, not for this alone.

"Why did he reveal himself?" Lord Gage queried when what I wanted to ask was why he hadn't. Undoubtedly, it was the same sort of rubbish about her not having an authentic reaction.

When Amelia didn't answer, instead eyeing him with misgiving, I guessed the truth. "He needed you to write to your nephew."

My father-in-law didn't react beyond the smoldering anger in his voice deepening. "He knew that of any of the members of my mother's family still living, the pleas of her sister were most likely to influence me."

Amelia at least had the grace to flush.

"But I still don't understand why," Gage stated impatiently. "Why did he need you to trick my father, trick all of us into coming here? What was so urgent that simply inviting us to come for a visit would not do?"

Joan scoffed. "Ye wouldn't 'ave come for a visit."

Amelia laid a quelling hand on her daughter-in-law's arm, but it was too late. We had already seen a glimpse of the animosity that festered beneath her seemingly indifferent fa?ade.

"Perhaps my father would not have wanted to, but Kiera and I were already curious about you," Gage told them. "How could we not be? After all, fifty years is a long time. Things here might have been very different from what Father remembered."

I couldn't tell from Joan's expression whether she believed us or not, but Amelia nodded her head as if she'd suspected this all along.

"Branok didn't want to risk it," she said. Her pale gray eyes shifted to meet her nephew's. "He needed Stephen to come, and he decided feignin' his own death and makin' it look suspicious was 'is best bet."

"But why…?" I began and she held up a quelling hand.

"Because he is…" She broke off, swallowing. "He was convinced that only Stephen knows where the treasure is hidden."

The room fell silent as we all seemed to struggle to digest this information.

"What treasure?" Lord Gage demanded after a few seconds.

"From the ship that wrecked against the rocks offshore near Rumps Point," Amelia told him, her raspy voice shaking slightly. "You and Jago were movin' part of it the night he was…he was killed, and ye were arrested."

Lord Gage's eyes were wide with incomprehension. "No, we weren't. Those casks and barrels were filled with gin and brandy and silk, and all the usual contraband."

Amelia shook her head. "Not accordin' to Branok."

"I wasn't even here in Cornwall when that ship wrecked," Lord Gage protested firmly. "Though I do remember everyone talking about it."

"?'Twasn't then, but later," Amelia insisted. "Ye were shiftin' it from its original hidin' place."

Lord Gage exploded up from his chair, scraping his hand back through his gray hair as he paced toward the door and then back. "No, I don't believe it. We were just boys. They wouldn't have trusted us to transport something so valuable." He came to an abrupt stop. The range of expressions that flitted across his countenance in those brief seconds told me his thoughts were much the same as mine. "Of course they would," he finally muttered in disgust.

Because two young lads were far less likely to be stopped or pursued than a pair of men.

"What was the treasure comprised of?" I asked.

"Gold and jewels and such." Amelia shared a look with Joan. "Branok was one of the few men still alive who knew exactly what, but from what little he revealed, it seems 'twas fairly a king's ransom."

I arched my eyebrows as I sardonically suggested, "The King of Portugal?"

It hadn't escaped my notice that the droll teller's tale about the wrecked ship and its treasure bore marked similarities to their claims. It also explained why the Killigrews had shown such pointed interest in Lord Gage's reaction to the story.

"Nay," Amelia replied, carefully studying her nephew, who stood stone-faced in the middle of the room. "Though we did 'ope the droll teller's tale would jog your memory."

"And what?" Lord Gage bit out. "I would lead Bevil to the treasure."

"Aye," she answered softly.

Lord Gage was almost purple with rage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. I couldn't blame him for his fury. I was angry, too, on all of our behalves. Though I was also battling the nerves and panic that always constricted my chest when faced with such raw ferocity. It helped that it wasn't directed at me, but it was all I could do to remain seated and keep my focus on the problem at hand.

Gage reached over to grip my hand, evidently sensing my uneasiness. "So that's why we're here? That's the reason for all the subterfuge?" His voice was taut but tempered. "But why didn't you simply try asking my father about it?"

"Branok was certain he wouldn't tell us." Amelia's wariness shifted to aggravation, an emotion Joan hadn't even bothered to hide. "And ye wouldn't 'ave, would ye?" she demanded of her nephew.

"No. Because whatever treasure there was—if there even was any—was confiscated by the customs officials," Lord Gage retorted. "We never made it to our intended destination. Jago was killed, you'll recall. And I was beaten, trussed up, and arrested."

I flinched at his revelation of these additional details.

"Branok claimed you and Jago set off with a cart and eight casks, and the preventives only seized two," Amelia countered.

Lord Gage scoffed. "Then they lied."

But Amelia persisted as if he'd not spoken. "That before Jago died, he'd indicated that once you'd realized ye were bein' followed, you'd stashed what cargo ye could before they caught up to ye and then ye tried to run."

All of the color seemed to drain from my father-in-law's face, and he staggered back a step. Alarmed, I reached for his hand, guiding him back to the sofa, which he sank down onto with a thud.

"You remember now?" Joan asked, misunderstanding. There was a subtle undertone of snideness in her voice.

"Jago was still alive when they reached him?" he stammered.

"You didn't know?" I replied gently, clasping his cold fingers between mine.

He shook his head, staring blindly at the worn rug. "They…the officers…they told me he was dead. Maybe there was more, but I…I can't recall."

"There was nothing you could have done," I reminded him. Not if he was being beaten and bound.

"I might have fought harder."

It was a feeble notion, but one I knew he would stubbornly hold fast to.

"One eleven-year-old boy against three or four men?" Gage interjected. "They would only have beaten you more severely and possibly killed you, too."

"You…you were insensible for a time," Amelia admitted. "They let me into your holdin' cell long enough to bind your wounds," she said. "But once ye woke, they wouldn't allow any of us to return. Though Father and his solicitor put enough of the fear of God into the magistrate and the preventives to deter 'em from ever touchin' even a hair on your head again."

I could tell by the look on Lord Gage's face that he had never been told any of this before.

"How long was he insensible?" Gage asked.

"Oh, but a few hours," Amelia replied, feebly attempting to make light of a matter that was far from it.

"Then he might genuinely not remember what happened to the contraband they were transporting," I said, still clutching Lord Gage's hands. "If he suffered a blow to his head—and the fact that he was rendered insensible for a time suggests that he did—he might not recall that night or the events surrounding it clearly. He might quite literally have lost his wits for a time."

I could tell from my father-in-law's frown that he didn't appreciate my efforts to explain his forgetfulness about such a critical event, even fifty years hence.

"If there really is lost treasure," Gage countered doubtfully, "surely they've searched for it. There can't be that many places two boys could have hidden it on that stretch of coast. Especially if they were being pursued by riding officers."

"They 'ave," Amelia said.

"And?"

"They've not found more than a dozen gold coins, and all those washed up on the beach, probably from the original wreck."

"In nearly fifty years searching they've only found a dozen coins?" Gage reiterated, meeting my gaze.

"Aye."

"And Branok is the only one who claims this treasure even truly existed?"

"He's the only Roscarrock from that time still alive." Her brow furrowed. "Or rather he was. But my father and my husband—God rest their souls—both knew about it. And I remember the storm. I remember the wrecked ship. And there are a number of Grenvilles still livin' who do as well. A number who saw the treasure." She scowled ferociously. "Though don't be countin' on 'em to tell ye the truth of the matter. Not when they're just as anxious to find it and keep it for themselves."

Joan agreed. "?'Tis why Tamsyn…" she nearly spat her name "…is so determined to stir up trouble." Her eyes narrowed. "The Grenvilles want that treasure for their own, and doubtless, they killed Branok to make sure of it."

Lord Gage's fingers tightened where I still clutched them and his brow lowered, making it clear what he thought of these accusations. "Seems to me, she's the only one who's been honest with me since I arrived."

"Only 'cause it benefits her," Amelia replied. "?'Tisn't out of the goodness of her heart."

Joan shook her head. "You always were blind to her and all of their wiles. 'Tis what came of allowin' ye to associate with 'em so much."

Lord Gage opened his mouth to argue, but Joan wasn't finished.

"What if I told ye 'twas the Grenvilles who betrayed you and Jago that night. 'Twas them who informed the preventives of Granfer's plans to move the treasure. They just didn't know it was to be you and Jago to do it."

"What reasons would they have to do so?" Lord Gage argued. "Part of that treasure was theirs?"

"Aye, but not the lion's share." Joan picked up the knitting she'd laid in her lap. "They made a deal with old Cuttance. He and the other preventives could keep the bulk as long as the Grenvilles still got their cut."

"I don't believe it," Lord Gage replied, shaking his head.

"Then you're a fool," Joan said, her needles clacking together loudly.

Amelia reached over to rest a hand on Joan's leg, staying her. "Ye can't blame 'im, Joan," Amelia told her calmly. "Tamsyn may have lost much of her beauty, but she's still an artful woman." She sighed. "I would forswear the entire matter completely, but we cannot let the treasure fall into their 'ands." Her hand tightened into a fist, and she pounded her leg in emphasis. "Not if they killed my brother in order to get it."

"Even if ye did forswear it, Mery wouldn't give up so easily," Joan groused, her eyes still fastened on her clacking needles.

Amelia's expression turned grim. "He's nearly as obsessed as Branok was. He must see it as his legacy."

Joan snorted. "More like fair game and less work for him."

Listening to their exchange, it would be easy to fall prey to these convenient suspicions they'd woven for us. After all, the Roscarrocks' feud with the Grenvilles was common knowledge. Dolly and Imogen had mentioned a young lad—possibly Jago—had been killed several decades ago because of a dispute between the two families. There was also no denying that ostensibly Mery did have the most to gain from his grandfather's death. However, their banter had the quality of a stage play. One enacted for our benefit. And I was suddenly quite certain that everything they'd just said had been in a desperate effort to save the Killigrews' skins. It would have been tempting to ignore their accusations entirely, except for the fact there were some grains of truth.

I was glad to hear they weren't persisting in Bevil's allegations that Lord Gage was the culprit, but then again, that didn't mean they wouldn't tell Cuttance or the magistrate something entirely different. Or hold it over his head as a threat if he didn't lead them to this treasure.

In any case, at least now we knew why we'd been lured here. As such, it was time to reassess our situation. A number of Amelia's revelations—the ones that rang true—had plainly rattled Lord Gage, and I was anxious to speak with him privately, but before I could make our excuses, he jumped to his feet.

"I knew we shouldn't have come here. I told you what they were like. I told you they couldn't be trusted." He stormed from the room, forcing Gage and I to hurry after him. I didn't bother to apologize to Amelia or Joan for our hasty departure. They didn't deserve it.

"Father," Gage called after him as he strode through the adjoining room and out to the inner courtyard. "Father!" he shouted again, grasping his arm.

Lord Gage rounded on him. "I told you something would go wrong. Didn't I? But you knew better." His disdainful gaze shifted to me. "Well, now you see."

I did see, but not necessarily what he wanted. I saw that he was not only angry but confused and dazed and hurt. The pain of the past that he'd thought he'd put behind him, the grief for the friend he thought he'd mourned, even the truth he'd believed he'd known about himself and his mother's family—all of it had been overset and dredged up inside him, swirling about in a bewildering vortex. So rather than allow his fury to keep me at a distance as it normally would, I stepped into it. I stepped into the vortex and embraced it and embraced him.

At first, he stiffened, clearly not having expected such an action. I was prepared for him to thrust me away or to demand that Gage remove me, and I hugged him tighter, breathing through the terror that bristled across my nerves at being in such close proximity to an irate male. His chest heaved in and out, and his muscles tensed as if for flight. But then he did an equally unexpected thing, though it was exactly what I'd hoped for. His shoulders drooped, his arms raised, and he embraced me back.

Ridiculously, I felt my throat grow tight and my eyes begin to burn. He was nothing like my father, and yet, hugging him was a little bit like hugging my father all the same. And it had been a very long time since I'd been able to do so. Nearly five years.

I had just fully settled into his embrace, feeling the constriction in my chest ease and release, when he loosened his grip, taking a half step back. He didn't disengage completely, keeping a firm grasp on my arms lest I not be steady, but I could sense his discomfort in having shown so much emotion.

Or perhaps it was mistrust instead. Mistrust of the eyes that might be watching us. His gaze lifted to the upper story, scrutinizing the windows. However, the angle of our vantage made it difficult to tell if anyone stood behind the oily glass.

I turned to Gage, expecting him to be studying our surroundings with the same suspicion, but I found instead that his eyes were fastened on me. The tenderness written there warmed me from within.

"Amelia's revelations were quite the shock, weren't they?" Gage ventured, returning to the reason for all of our conflict.

Lord Gage's flinty stare shifted from the edifice to his son.

"You truly didn't know about the treasure, did you? Or the rest?" I murmured gently. There was no need to put the disclosures about Jago's death into words. Not when they'd already caused him enough pain.

His attention dipped to me, and the furrow in his brow softened. "No."

Lord Gage had toyed with the concept of truth often enough in the past that it was difficult to take him at his word, but this time I believed him. His reactions had simply been too raw, too sincere. However, that didn't mean he wasn't still withholding information.

"Is everything that occurred that night hazy, or is there more you haven't shared with us?" I asked. He had already resisted answering a form of this question, but I had suspected that was from a desire to avoid the pain of remembrance. Since that had already been thrust upon him, I hoped he might prove more cooperative.

His gaze darted to the windows above again, and I wondered who he was most concerned might be watching. "Not here."

"Your sitting room, then," I suggested, but he was already shaking his head.

"I need to speak with Tamsyn."

"Now?" Gage replied somewhat incredulously.

His father turned to glare at him, his jaw set. "Yes."

Gage glanced at me. "Then we'll come with you."

His father turned his head, already striding toward the exit to the stables. "No. It's better if I go alone."

"Better for whom?" I challenged.

He stopped, turning to scowl at me.

I still wasn't certain he wasn't using Tamsyn as an excuse to escape our questions, but whether or not that was true, considering the allegations Amelia had just made about the Grenvilles, marching off alone to speak to her seemed the height of folly. Not to mention the fact his perspective seemed to be skewed when it came to the subject of his late friend's cousin. His view of her was clouded by the past and the complex swirl of emotions remembering it all evoked. He would be better served by taking someone with him who could remain objective. Someone the Grenvilles might think twice before harming.

Lord Gage must have been conscious of at least some of these points, though he chose to focus on the most apparent. "I would sooner trust Tamsyn than I would any Roscarrocks."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't make her trustworthy."

His scowl deepened.

"Kiera's right," Gage told him. "At least take one of us with you. If not me, then Kiera. She might be the better choice anyway. She sees the world differently than you or me."

I knew that he meant this as a compliment, but having my differences pointed out always smarted, no matter the source or their intentions. It stemmed from being scorned and derided as unnatural for too much of my life.

However, Lord Gage couldn't argue the truth of this statement, nor how beneficial this fact had proven to be in past inquiries. So he begrudgingly gave his consent, urging us to follow through the arch in the curtain wall and out into the outer courtyard. There, our attention was diverted by the sight of Anderley speaking to a man next to the squat tower which housed the malting floor.

Given their ruse that Anderley was an incalcitrant servant who had been shirking his duties, Gage could hardly pass by without saying something. He drew up short, scuffling the dirt beneath his boot heel. "Anderley," he barked. "A word."

Anderley's dark gaze flicked to us, settling into a deep scowl. One that would have set my stomach churning had I not now known the truth, but I was careful to affix my features into an expression of mild affront and concern. The man standing with him in laborman's garb melted away, but Anderley maintained his belligerent fa?ade, trudging toward his employer.

Gage lowered his voice, turning his head to speak over his shoulder to me. "It might be best if you left this matter to us." His eyes met his father's, seeming to realize he wouldn't be able to force him to join me, that he would have to inform him of Anderley's ploy as well. "We'll send for you when we're ready to depart."

I nodded, backing away, but not before Anderley's gaze caught mine. I could sense distress beneath his insolent stare, though I didn't know if that was due to my presence or something else entirely. It blunted some of the anger I felt at his having lied to Bree, and I found myself wishing I could offer him some sort of reassurance to ease his mind. I turned away before I could give in to the impulse.