Chapter 26

Not knowing how long Gage intended to speak with Anderley, I knew I couldn't venture far. But there was one matter I could see to.

Passing through the parlor, I spied a maid through the dining room door, straightening the tablecloth. When I asked if she knew where I could find Bree, she directed me to the walled garden.

Crossing the raised terrace, I descended the steps into the rectangular lower garden surrounded by a squared ashlar border. A riot of late-autumn blooms battled with foliage in shades of burning reds and golden yellows, masking Bree's position until I neared the far end, where a small outbuilding stood surrounded by beech and rowan trees. It was a lovely, secluded spot, and I found Bree sitting on one of a pair of benches nestled beneath the bower of trees, a tartan shawl draped around her shoulders as she stared rather forlornly into the distance at the overcast skies.

She turned at the sound of my approach, and her eyes widened as she surged to her feet. "Apologies, m'lady. I didna think you'd be returnin' for some time yet. Did ye send for me?"

"No, no. Sit," I said, perching on the stone bench beside her. "It turned out we didn't have far to search for Mr. Cuttance."

"Aye. He arrived at Dr. Wolcott's just as I was leavin'. What did he say?"

I filled her in on what the constable had told us, and then shared what Great-Aunt Amelia had claimed about the treasure. Bree's pale, freckled cheeks regained some of her color as I spoke, and her eyes sparkled with an interest I almost regretted having to dim. But she needed to hear the truth.

"Have you heard any of the staff speaking about such a treasure?" I asked, trying to ease my way around to the topic I most wished to address.

"No' since the droll teller weaved that tale o' a wrecked ship." She narrowed her eyes. "Was that on purpose?"

I cast her a sardonic look. "Supposedly to jog Lord Gage's memory."

She scoffed. "Seems a rather convoluted way to go aboot it."

"I agree, but then there are quite a number of things about the Roscarrocks I don't understand." Such as, why all the secrecy when plain speaking would achieve better results? I understood they were mistrustful of outsiders, and Lord Gage in particular, but their stubborn furtiveness bordered on imprudence.

"I'll see what I can find oot aboot any treasure or wrecks from those on the staff who'll talk to me." Bree's brow furrowed. "But ye might ask Mr. Gage to have a word wi' Anderley aboot it as well." She grunted. "If he'll listen."

I cleared my throat. "Speaking of Anderley." I turned to peer around at the rest of the garden to make sure we were still alone, and then lowered my voice. "He's pretending. Mr. Gage asked him to ingratiate himself with the men on the Roscarrock staff who also act as smugglers. To gain their trust and…insinuate himself into their crew." I wanted to reach out to her in sympathy, but the way in which she'd straightened, her back turning ramrod stiff, I knew she wouldn't welcome it. "I'm sorry. I just found out."

She searched my features, slowly nodding. "Aye, I ken you were just as concerned as I was."

This wasn't strictly true, for I knew how Bree felt about my husband's valet. I knew her emotions toward him were more than lukewarm, even if she had been reticent to give sway to them completely. Just as I had seen how his behavior since the evening of the party had hurt her.

"I suppose his ramshackle behavior was his way o' showin' hoo much he despised ye and hoo little he cared for your, for any o' our good opinions," she deduced, preventing me from having to explain it. Resentment glinted in her eyes. "An' let me guess. He and Mr. Gage didna trust us to be skillful enough actresses no' to give him away."

I didn't bother to hide my own still-simmering irritation. "You would be correct."

She crossed her arms. "Weel, then. Perhaps I need to show him just hoo good an actress I can be."

Hearing the biting malice in her voice, I decided I was glad I wasn't Anderley.

"As long as it doesn't risk placing him in greater danger," I cautioned. "After all, I know how much he cares for you, and we don't want him breaking character."

Her nostrils flared in anger, likely wondering as I had how a man who cared for her so much could fail to consider her feelings before agreeing to undertake such an assignment. But then just as swiftly as it sparked, her fury abated, the embers dimmed by her obvious concern.

This time I didn't stop myself from reaching for her hand. "Gage won't let anything happen to him," I assured her, praying my husband wouldn't make a liar out of me.

She stared down at our joined hands for a moment. "I'm sure Anderley kenned the risks when he agreed to such a task." She looked up at me. "Mr. Gage would no' have forced him to do it. Just as you didna force me to take on that task in Argyll when I was poisoned."

My hand squeezed hers in memory of that horrible night, when she'd nearly died.

"My point bein', we ken what risks we shoulder workin' for you and Mr. Gage. We willingly accept them." Her gaze dipped briefly before she forced it to meet mine again. "But that doesna mean it's easy to accept them on another's behalf."

With this, she pushed to her feet and walked away, leaving me to stare after her.

She wasn't wrong, and I knew it. Very well. After all, how many times had I found my fear of the risks Gage undertook greater than those I did? Somehow it was easier to stomach such danger when you yourself decided to face it rather than when a loved one made that choice. I suspected it had to do with the nature of power and control. As human beings, we always wanted to be the ones to exert it, and when it was exerted on us or in spite of us, we resisted.

Bree also wasn't wrong that with every inquiry we investigated, we placed everyone in our household at risk—be they family or staff. While we never hid this potential for danger from our servants—and, in fact, had gained several employees at least partially because of it—were we not just a little bit selfish for not giving greater consideration to how our actions affected them all? Yes, they could always find employment with a more mundane household, and we would happily supply them with a reference to do so, but wasn't that merely absolving ourselves of responsibility in another way?

Where was the line between a proper amount of concern and stifling productivity? Particularly considering we didn't take on these murderous inquiries for our own edification, but more often than not to achieve justice for the deceased and safeguard the security of the living.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, recognizing these were not questions that were going to be answered today. Not when there were more pressing matters to contend with. I made my way back toward the house, climbing the steps to the terraced garden and turning toward the side door when I spotted a flash of color out of the corner of my eye. It had come from the direction of the granite-topped gate piers, and I elected to divert my course out of curiosity.

As I drew closer, I could hear voices conferring softly. Female voices. I slowed my steps, curious if I could make out what they were saying. But autumn was not the most conducive season for stealth. Not when over half the trees had already divested themselves of their foliage. Even damp leaves squelched. Their voices abruptly silenced, and there was nothing for it but for me to reveal myself, lest they think I was deliberately spying. One glimpse around the old piers and they would see me anyway.

"Kiera," Dolly exclaimed as I rounded the corner. She pressed a hand to her chest. "Ye gave me a fright."

"My apologies," I murmured, uncertain exactly what I was apologizing for. They were standing just outside the garden, in the open, and there hadn't been time for me to overhear anything before they realized I was near.

My gaze shifted to Morgan. Her ash-blond hair fell over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she clutched an empty basket in her hands.

"Delivering apples?" I guessed. Or at least utilizing it as a pretense.

She didn't flinch from my questioning gaze, though her stoic expression revealed little else.

Instead, Dolly answered for her. "Aye. Mrs. Hicks intends to bake them into pasties." Her voice was just a shade too bright, which only made me even more curious about what they'd been discussing. But if I asked about it, I knew Morgan would prevent Dolly from answering.

So I bided my time, settling on another topic of interest. "Amelia told us about the treasure."

Dolly's pert nose wrinkled in what appeared to be confusion, and even Morgan's brow creased slightly, though I couldn't tell if this was out of annoyance or puzzlement.

"The one Branok was searching for," I explained further. "The reason he lured all of us here under false pretenses."

Dolly's mouth formed into an O as her cousin replied. "We didn't know Branok 'ad faked his death. We were just as shocked as you were."

I searched Morgan's hazel eyes, intrigued to discover they were very similar to Mery's. Not only in shape and color, but in the acuity and guardedness that swam hand in hand in their depths.

"I know," I said, adjusting the drape of the train of my riding habit over my arm. As necessary as they were to preserve one's modesty while riding sidesaddle, they were annoying to manage when not mounted. "But I wondered if either of you had heard about the treasure. After all, nearly fifty years is a long time to keep such a thing secret. Especially when you haven't been plotting all that time to feign your death to trick your estranged nephew into returning."

Dolly appeared slightly stricken by my blunt speech, but Morgan remained unmoved.

"Of course we've heard the rumors," Dolly admitted. "Though the men tend to avoid talkin' about it in our company." She glanced at Morgan either in confirmation or to ensure she wasn't saying anything she shouldn't. "I know they've gone out to search for it from time to time. I suppose whenever someone suggests a new hiding place, or it strikes their fancy. Or rather, Branok's fancy. He's always the instigator."

"When isn't he?" Morgan muttered dryly, bemusing us both given her previous apathy.

After a few moments' silence, Dolly continued. "It's always been obvious there are things they're not sayin', but that's true of just about everythin' in this family." Her sigh was one of resignation but also frustration. "I've never been sure whether they think they're protectin' us, or they don't want to risk our opinions weighing on their conscience."

Morgan didn't try to answer or correct this assertion, perhaps because it was too astute not to simply let it stand.

Dolly shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know anything more. Though I am sorry for the way this 'as all been handled. You've been nothin' but 'elpful." Her expression turned wary, and I could sense there was more she wished to say, though she didn't seem to know how to voice it. "How did Branok die?" she finally settled on.

I remembered then the way she and the others had looked at me the previous evening, knowing I was about to go off and examine Branok's corpse—to touch it and do who knew what else to it. Like most people, her fear and disgust warred with her curiosity. There had been no dissection or autopsy, but as there was no polite way to say this, I was forced to convey it in a different manner and hope she understood.

"He was stabbed in the back. The cause of death would have been obvious even to the untrained eye."

Tears glimmered in her round eyes and her throat worked as she swallowed. "Would…would he 'ave suffered?"

"Not for long."

There was no way I could have known this for certain, and from the look on Morgan's face, I could tell she realized this. But it seemed the kindest answer, particularly given Dolly's distress.

"You 'ad a long night and an early mornin', dearest," Morgan crooned to her cousin. "Why don't ye go lie down and 'ave a rest."

Dolly swiped at her cheeks with one hand while she draped the other around her stomach. It rested there for no longer than a second or two, but it was enough to make me believe that her maid Cora's suspicions had been correct. Dolly was expecting another child.

"Perhaps I should," she agreed before excusing herself to make her way back to the house.

I remained behind with Morgan, filtering through the possible implications of this discovery. If there were any.

"Ye lied," Morgan said once Dolly was out of earshot.

I turned to look at her.

"About Branok not sufferin'."

It wasn't a challenge, but a statement, and I answered in the same reserved tone. "Maybe."

She didn't press, but I could tell that her regard for me had just increased.

"Do you know anything else about the treasure?" I asked, taking advantage of it. After all, Morgan was Joan's daughter, and even though she no longer lived here, she had spent the first approximately twenty years of her life at Roscarrock House, and I strongly suspected she still held her mother's confidences.

She turned toward the lane, and I fell in step with her. "Only that Branok was determined to find it even after all this time." She frowned. "The older he grew, the more preoccupied he seemed to become by it."

I pondered this for a moment as our feet sliced through the overgrown grass. "What about your husband? Was he party to Branok's intentions?"

Morgan waited for me to meet her gaze. "Nay. But ye already know that." She arched her eyebrows, daring me to contradict her. "What ye really want to ask about is my husband returnin' early."

I wasn't surprised she'd deduced this. I even appreciated her blunt speaking. "I understand he returned from St. Austell yesterday afternoon."

She nodded. "He did. Came straight home."

"After a meeting with Mr. Cuttance."

This succeeded in shocking her. Her head whipped around to stare at me, and I was hard-pressed not to feel a sense of satisfaction, though I at least tried not to let it show.

Morgan scowled. "I warned Mr. Knill that man couldn't be trusted. Cuttance would give up 'is own son to save his skin." Her lip curled in disgust. "I presume he needed an alibi."

"Which also provides your husband with one."

"Why would he…?" She broke off, scrutinizing me unhappily, before turning away. "I see. Then I suppose ye want one for me?"

"Do you have one?"

"Not unless my staff and the apple trees count."

"I'm afraid not." Employees' silence could be bought or compelled. And apple trees…well, as far as I knew, they'd yet to develop the ability to see or talk.

"Then I'm a suspect." She sounded more disgruntled than troubled by the idea.

"Did you kill Branok?" I asked, deciding to offer her the same courtesy of bluntness.

She halted, turning to glare at me. "Nay."

"Did you have any reason to kill Branok?"

"Of course no—" Some of her affront faded and she answered me honestly. "Aye."

"Because you and your husband were informing Cuttance about Branok's smuggling operations."

Morgan flushed guiltily before arching her chin. "Aye," she stated defiantly. "?'Twas the right thing to do."

"Because you're dissenters?"

She scowled again. "Because Branok was reckless and riskin' the lives and livelihoods of everyone on 'is crews." She huffed. "Smugglin' has gone on for far too long along this coast, largely unchecked, save for the incident with your father-in-law and his efforts to destroy the Roscarrock fleet back durin' the Peace of Amiens. But it carries on to this day, to no one's benefit. 'Tis time it was put to an end once and for all."

"Can it be stopped?" I asked, and then cut her off when she would have offered me a glib response. "Really and truly stopped?"

Her mouth fell shut, evidently sensing I had a point.

"After all, just because no one around here is benefiting doesn't mean someone else isn't."

"Ye think someone else is fundin' the enterprise?" she asked, quickly grasping my implication.

I turned the question back on her. "Is there?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead turning to gaze out over the rain-dampened fields as she turned the matter over in her mind. "Maybe," she eventually murmured, and for a moment I thought she was mocking my response to her query about Branok's suffering. But then she scraped a hand down her face before admitting, "Probably. Though I have no idea who they could be."

I believed her. "Who is in charge of the smuggling ring now that Branok's dead? Mery? Your father?"

I could tell that Morgan was deeply troubled by this question. "Mery inherits everything, but the men don't respect 'im. Which leaves my father as the most likely leader." A deep furrow split her brow. "Unless one of the Grenvilles angles to take over."

"Which Grenville? Gil?"

"Maybe. But with his gammy leg, 'tis more likely to be…Tamsyn." She grimaced. "Ye might have noticed she's also more charmin' than Father."

I wasn't as surprised by this notion as perhaps I should have been. I think the realization that Tamsyn was much more than she seemed had been percolating at the back of my brain for some time. It was evident in the way she held herself, in the way others addressed her, in the way the other Grenvilles deferred to her. Some of the Roscarrocks might not like it or her. They might be happy to belittle and scorn her behind her back. But they were aware she was not one to trifle with. She was also far too knowledgeable about everything around her not to play some significant part.

And yes, she was definitely more charming than Bevil. I'd noted his awkwardness on multiple occasions, his lack of sociability. Which, regardless of fairness, played a role in those chosen as leaders and those who were not.

Mery, on the other hand, was made to seem more influential, more menacing than he really was. He might be the heir, but as I'd suspected, he was naught more than a bit player.

"Then why does everyone keep pointing the finger at Mery?" I asked, suspecting that of all the Roscarrocks and Killigrews—past and present—Morgan was the most likely to give me a straight answer.

She turned away, but not before I could read the shame in her eyes. "I think ye can guess why."

Because of the inheritance. Because all of it went to Mery and none to the rest of them. No matter that it was also their home. No matter that they did the majority of the work to keep it running. It was not a noble admission, no matter how unfair it was, so I didn't press her further.

She carried on down the lane, the clouds scuttling across the sky ahead of her. I watched her until she disappeared over a rise and then turned to trudge back toward the house. Gage and his father would undoubtedly be looking for me by now. In truth, I would be lucky if my father-in-law, in his impatience, hadn't insisted they set off without me. And I suddenly wanted very much to hear what Tamsyn Grenville Kellynack had to say for herself.