Chapter 9

The hamlet of Trelights, comprised of little more than two or three dozen stone rubble cottages with rag slate roofs and a dissenters' chapel, lay a short distance to the south across rolling fields and down narrow lanes lined with hedges. Villagers had to venture two miles north to Port Isaac for most businesses, including a pub. However, Dr. Wolcott lived in a home that was slightly larger than those around it, boasting what appeared to be a newer addition to the original cottage, as well as a square outbuilding dug into the side of a mounded hill.

The physician was younger than I'd expected—probably only a year or two my senior—and possessed a lean physique with a strong profile, and a shock of yellow hair. He didn't seem surprised by our appearance on his doorstep, and we soon learned why as he shook Tristram's hand. "Heard there's to be quite the doings at the manor tonight in honor of your guests."

"Aye. Seems word is spreadin' fast," Tristram agreed.

A young woman with blue-black hair and dainty features peered around the corner as we were ushered inside, her hands resting over her rounded stomach. "Well, it's not every day we get to meet new relations and enjoy the Roscarrocks' hospitality." She eyed us all curiously as Tristram introduced us.

"My wife, Anne," Tom Wolcott contributed as Tristram finished, though the hand he'd placed on her back had already made their relationship plain. "We can talk in my study," he told us, evidently already aware of the reason for our visit.

I approached Mrs. Wolcott, allowing the men to go before me. "Congratulations."

She glanced down at her abdomen self-consciously. "Oh, thank ye, my lady."

"Your first?"

"Aye." She laughed lightly. "How could ye tell?"

"My daughter is seven months old, so not long ago, I was in very much the same condition."

"Ah. I look forward to meetin' her."

"Anne," Dr. Wolcott turned to say, his eyes soft with affection. "Perhaps some tea for our guests. Will you tell Mrs. Durdle?"

"Aye," she told him before dipping a brief curtsy. "Excuse me."

I followed the men into Dr. Wolcott's study, relieved when the physician didn't object. At times, medical men proved to be the most stringent opponents, both because I was a lady and because of my scandalous involvement with my first husband's work with anatomy. Either Dr. Wolcott was more open-minded about such things or he wisely recognized that if my husband and father-in-law didn't object to my presence, then it wasn't his place to do so.

Unlike most gentlemen's studies, I found the room to be rather inviting. Perhaps because, in many senses, it resembled more of a sitting room. The white walls were covered in colorful watercolors of plants and flowers, and the drapes had been pulled back to allow sunlight to spill into the room. A comfortable settee and two armchairs were arranged near the hearth, while a small desk and cabinet sat at the other end of the chamber. Though physicians most often made house calls, I wondered if Dr. Wolcott also sometimes consulted with patients here.

He gestured for us to be seated, before choosing one of the armchairs for himself. "Now, I surmise you're here about Branok. Nanna Killigrew has been very vocal about her belief that his death was murder." He spread his hands wide. "But I don't know what else I can tell you."

"You examined the body?" Gage prompted.

Dr. Wolcott dipped his head. "Aye. There were a number of lacerations and contusions, as well as broken bones. All injuries you would expect from such a fall. Nothing to raise undo concern." His brow furrowed lightly, and I could tell something was niggling at him.

"Except what?" I prodded.

He glanced at Tristram before continuing. "The only wound that gave me even a moment's hesitation was found in the middle of the back." He gestured behind him. "Just below the fourth rib. There was a laceration, a puncture, about three quarters of an inch in depth. But the rocks where he fell are sharp, and all sorts of debris washes up from shipwrecks and the like. Given the wound's shallow depth and rough edges, any number of things could have caused it during his fall." He leaned forward slightly, as if to convince us. "It wasn't the cause of his death."

"What was?" Lord Gage's voice was pitched low, making me suspect he wasn't entirely unaffected by the evidence of his uncle's injuries.

"Severe trauma to the back of the head."

"Then he would not have remained conscious for long?" I asked, wanting to ease my mind that Branok had not suffered much beyond the initial fall.

Dr. Wolcott's eyes glinted with something akin to regret, perhaps at causing me distress. "I suspect he was dead or, at the very least, insensible before he reached the bottom."

Tristram pushed to his feet, striding toward the window, where he stood rigidly, looking out at the front garden. This was obviously not easy for him to hear either.

"The trauma he suffered to the back of his head," Gage began, keeping a watchful eye on both his father and Tristram, as well as the doctor. "Is there any way to be certain it was caused by the fall and not, say, a blunt object swung at Branok from behind." The implication being that the blow had then propelled Branok over the cliff.

Dr. Wolcott shook his head. "There were so many injuries caused by the fall, particularly to the head. There's really no way to determine if one was delivered by a blow rather than the impacts of the fall. Not when they would have happened almost simultaneously. At least, not that I'm aware of."

It was true. The wounds from the fall would have almost certainly obscured any evidence of a strike. Thus, there was no way to conclusively confirm or refute the possibility.

Lord Gage scowled. "Did you mention this at the coroner's inquest?"

Dr. Wolcott straightened, frowning defensively. "No, because it's not my place to do so. I present the evidence, as I find it. It's up to the constable and the jury to interpret it."

He was correct. The parish constable should have been the one to examine the site of Branok's death and note that an accidental fall was questionable. He was the one who should have investigated the potential that a blow had been struck before the fall. So why hadn't he?

"Did you perform an autopsy?" I asked deferentially, not wishing the physician to take further affront and refuse to answer any more of our questions. "Were you able to tell if something natural might have provoked his fall?"

"I did not," he replied. "It seemed unnecessary. And at the time, Nanna Killigrew seemed distressed by the notion. It was only later that she became suspicious."

I found this statement to be interesting. I wondered what had made Amelia change her mind. Did she suspect someone in particular? Perhaps someone from her own family? That might explain her failure to make a bald accusation. Maybe she wanted to be sure before she took such a drastic step, and that's why she'd asked for our help. Though not entirely impartial, we were more objective than most, including their own parish constable.

I glanced at Lord Gage, where he sat scowling down at the wooden floor. Or at least, Gage and I were fairly objective. I didn't think anyone would classify my father-in-law as impartial. Not about the Roscarrocks.

"What of Branok's health otherwise?" I queried. "Did he suffer from heart problems like his sister?"

This provoked a reflexive grin from Dr. Wolcott I didn't at first understand. "I take it you are unacquainted with Branok Roscarrock, my lady. The only way he would have solicited a physician's advice is if he were on his deathbed, and perhaps not even then."

Tristram grunted as if in agreement.

"But he was nearing eighty years old, so it seems likely he suffered from a number of complaints. Though he didn't share them with me."

The tea tray was brought in then by a short, pleasant-faced woman of about forty, so all talk of death and autopsies ceased. I'd not had the opportunity to ask Dr. Wolcott about Branok's mental state, but then I supposed he'd already answered it. If Branok were in pain or struggling otherwise, he would not have shared it with his great-grandniece's husband. There was a chance Dr. Wolcott might have observed something in the older man's demeanor, but I decided he was far more prone to share it with me if I asked him privately, either later at the party or another time.

So instead, I agreed to the physician's request that I pour, and set about preparing everyone's tea.

If Dr. Wolcott was all that was gracious and accommodating, Mr. Cuttance was the exact opposite. We managed to track down the parish constable and preventive officer on the western edge of Port Isaac.

Having left Trelights by following the narrow tracks that served as roads, we traveled north toward the sea—its expanse an endless deep blue horizon beneath billowy, white clouds. Though they and the ocean all but disappeared as the lane descended a steep hill where roadside hedges and overarching trees bursting with autumn colors swallowed riders in their cool shade, only to spit them out almost in the heart of the warren of terraced buildings that formed the seaside village of Port Isaac. The white and natural stone structures were constructed right up to the harbor's edge, where boats rested off-kilter on the sand as the tide was out.

Our horse's hooves clattered over the cobblestones as Tristram led us toward a junction with a street leading east, but we stopped short before a handsome edifice that bore a sign telling us this was the Golden Lion. "That's him," Tristram said over his shoulder, nodding toward a man who had strolled out of the tavern and paused to adjust his trousers around his rounded gut. "Officer Cuttance," Tristram called to get his attention.

Cuttance checked his footsteps, lazily scrutinizing us before swaggering in our direction. "Well, young Killigrew, what 'ave we 'ere." His gaze sharpened as he inspected first my father-in-law and then my husband. "This wouldn't be Stephen Gage return to Roscarrock, and his son, by the looks of it."

"That's Lord Gage to you," my father-in-law replied as he dismounted.

"Aye, I'd 'eard," Cuttance replied without correcting his error. He scratched idly at the bristles dusting his jaw, nodding once to a passing villager who eyed us all with curiosity. "Though that don't change who ye are." He leaned forward. "Or what you've done."

I felt my ire rising as the odious man baited my father-in-law, and decided then and there that I wouldn't be dismounting. As a lady, it was my prerogative, and I fully intended to exercise it. Gage had turned to help me do just that, but one glimpse of the tight moue of my mouth and he lowered his arms.

"I'm afraid we're less concerned with such inconsequential ancient history," I pronounced, arching my chin, "than the events a fortnight past."

Cuttance's beady eyes narrowed up at me. "Aye, I know why yer here. Branok. But the jury at the coroner's inquest ruled his death to be by accident or misadventure. So I don't know what ye hoped to achieve by muckin' in matters that ain't yer business. Ye've no authority here." He grimaced. "But I do."

"I wonder if your magistrate would say the same." Lord Gage turned to Tristram. "Who is that again?"

Cuttance's face reddened. "And I wonder what yer friends in London would make of your smugglin' history should the papers catch wind of it."

I struggled not to react, knowing Lord Gage feared just such a disclosure being made public. Even Gage seemed unsettled by the threat, stepping forward to decry, "Now, see here—"

But his father cut him off. "There's no need for that, Sebastian." Neither his voice nor his face betrayed the smallest hint of agitation. "Mr. Cuttance knows his family has as much to lose from such a revelation as I do," he continued, his words coolly clipped. "Perhaps more." He tilted his head, his scrutiny of the man as slicing as I recalled it being on our first meeting. "I must wonder if you have the same arrangement your father did."

Tristram's horse suddenly snorted in protest, tossing his head. While Tristram acted swiftly to soothe the gelding before he could harm anyone on the narrow thoroughfare, I spared a moment to ponder what had triggered the steed's behavior in the first place. It was true, it might have been something as simple as the pressing crowd and tight space, or even a sting from an insect, but it was clear from the glance Lord Gage darted Tristram's way that my father-in-law suspected something else.

Cuttance, meanwhile, appeared apoplectic. A reaction that seemed extreme given the circumstances, but then, his demeanor had been abrasive and antagonistic from the start. Unmeritedly so, if the cause of his contention lay fifty years in the past.

Unless the reason for his hostility was not Lord Gage, but the Roscarrocks. That might have explained why he barked at Tristram in parting rather than Lord Gage. "I'll only warn ye once, Killigrew. Keep your family in line, or I'll be forced to do it for ye." Then he stomped off, shouldering his way past a pair of men who had lingered to watch our exchange.

"That could have gone better," Gage quipped dryly.

Lord Gage grunted. "Having known his father, I can't say I didn't expect just such a welcome." He turned his penetrating gaze on Tristram. "But I suspect Uncle Branok believed he had his uses."

Tristram scowled. "Well, I'm not Branok, and he certainly didn't take me into his confidence. If you've got somethin' specific ye want to ask, you're better off speakin' to my father or Mery," he snapped, remounting his horse, and turning its head back in the direction we'd come.

Gage and his father exchanged a speaking glance before following suit.

The source of Tristam's frustration seemed evident to me. After all, he and his family lived and worked on an estate he didn't own, at the sufferance of first his great-uncle and now his cousin. Having witnessed his father endure the same fate his entire life, he must have no delusions what this meant. Perhaps if a relative had provided him with a small annuity or inheritance, or had bought him a commission in the army or Royal Navy, he might have been able to forge a different life with better prospects for his wife and three children. But the Roscarrocks seemed to prefer to keep the family's power and wealth concentrated in the hands of the heir. Unless someone forced their hand, as in the situation with Lord Gage.

Given all this, I couldn't help but feel empathy for Tristram. For his circumstances and for Mr. Cuttance's blustering threats. Threats that only heightened my suspicion of the constable.

As far as I could tell, the most glaring reason for Cuttance to oppose our investigation of Branok's death was because there was something he feared we would uncover. Something he wanted to keep from being known. Unfortunately, that could be a number of things. Perhaps he'd bungled the inquiry? Perhaps he'd taken a bribe from someone? Or maybe he'd murdered Branok himself? Until we knew more, we were merely guessing.

Only one thing was for sure. We wouldn't be getting any assistance from the man. We could contact the local magistrate, but given the little evidence of foul play we'd gathered so far, that seemed premature. After all, just because circumstances seemed to indicate the fall was unlikely to have been accidental did not prove it was murder.

Regrettably, I feared that even if a murder had occurred, it was already too late to prove it. That the evidence we needed had been washed away by the tide or decomposed with the body. Unless something unexpected came to light, I wasn't sure what more could be done.