Chapter Seven. An Unexpected Party Guest

C HAPTER S EVEN

An Unexpected Party Guest

SPEAKING with Andrew Lennox left me with even more questions than I had answers. I entered my room, unpinning my handsome olive-colored cloche and set it gently down on the dressing table. If I could determine why Lucy brought us all here, then perhaps I could understand who wanted her dead. Not that it was any of my business who killed her—I ought to leave it to the authorities, and yet I’d pulled her body from the lake. She wanted to tell me something.

And because of those two simple facts I could not let it rest.

I tugged off one calfskin glove, when I heard voices from the adjoining room. I walked over and opened it, half expecting to discover Captain Lennox chatting with Mr. Owen, but instead I froze on the spot, not believing my own eyes for the second time in as many days.

Ruan Kivell.

“What are you doing here?” We both spoke the words at the same time, staring at each other.

Ruan looked different from when I left him back in Cornwall, though his eyes remained the same—that pale green with the gray mark in the left. Partial heterochromia . I’d looked it up after we’d met. Though having a name for it failed to make the effect any less arresting.

In truth, I’d spent far too much time digging around in ancient books looking for an explanation for both Pellars and Ruan Kivell, all of which turned up fruitless. The man was a mystery—as was the uncanny connection between us.

“Ah yes. Ruby came along with me. Didn’t I tell you?” Mr. Owen asked as he slid something back across the table to Ruan. Quick as a flash, whatever it was disappeared into Ruan’s broad palm and was secured into his green waistcoat pocket. His hand lingered there, protecting the contents from my curious inspection.

“No,” Ruan grumbled. “You didn’t.” He did not look away from me, nor I him. The pair of us caught in some bizarre trance cataloguing the thousands of tiny changes that had occurred in the handful of weeks we’d been apart. He’d grown a beard and cut his dark curls. Instead of falling in a riot about his shoulders, or being pulled back into a knot, he now wore his hair above his collar and slicked back. It was an altogether gentlemanly look and I hated it—utterly despised the way such a simple thing as cutting his hair made him resemble all the other men of his age.

“You look well.” His voice was hoarse as his keen, witch’s eyes lingered on the scar above my brow—a wound he’d stitched with his own hands—before moving lower on my face, pocketing away every detail for further reflection.

“You do too…” My mouth grew dry with the dawning realization I’d missed the damnable man. Now that was unexpected.

With a sigh, I pulled my attention away from him, folding my arms beneath my chest in a failed attempt at disinterest. “What brings you here? I can’t imagine you’ve heard about the dead medium already.”

“I sent for him, lass. I needed some medicines—”

That familiar divot between Ruan’s brows appeared again. He’d been fretting—not an altogether unusual circumstance—as Ruan was a great mother hen. Brooding and worrying for other people were some of his most endearing traits. Oh well, I suppose it didn’t matter why he was here. Only that he was.

Ruan smirked as his eyes met mine.

Damn. I guess he’d heard that. I’d have to remember to guard my thoughts around him. With Ruan near, none of them were private. While it ought to bother me that the man could hear the inner workings of my mind, it did not feel a violation. It felt… like for the first time in a very long time that I was a little less alone.

The corner of his mouth tugged up in response, and I struggled not to show him how much his unexpected arrival pleased me. “Have you told him about our problems here?” I asked Mr. Owen, kicking myself from the doorframe and walking deeper into the room.

Mr. Owen frowned, pouring himself a drink from his cut crystal decanter. “A bit.”

“What do you make of it?” Ruan asked me—and I spotted it at once—that familiar flicker of excitement in his eyes. I’d noticed it in Cornwall when we worked together to find Sir Edward’s killer. Ruan Kivell enjoyed a puzzle nearly as much as I did. “It was all the talk at the train station this morning.” He went on. “Then I overheard the inspector questioning a young girl—dressed all in pink—the one that looks like a strawberry tart.”

I let out a startled laugh. “That’s Lady Amelia. I swear she must have the corner on the pink fabric market. It’s enough to make one ill. Her mother is Lady Morton. Awful woman.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the brown wool of his trousers. “They’re saying the old woman killed herself. Is that so?” He looked from me to Mr. Owen.

So, that bit of news had not traveled yet. I checked over my shoulder to ensure I’d closed my own door before resting my hip on the arm of Mr. Owen’s chair. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. I was speaking with Captain Lennox this morning…”

Ruan drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening slightly at the name. How very odd.

“Andy’s still here? I’d have thought he’d have gone home by now. What did he have to say? You didn’t mention him last night,” Mr. Owen said with surprise.

“We had coffee earlier. He agrees she was murdered before being pushed into the lake.”

“What do you mean, murdered?” Mr. Owen growled, turning to face me full-on. “You told me yourself last night that you found her in the lake drowned. But I still cannot understand why she was out there at all. Or what possessed you to wander the grounds late at night. And on a full moon.”

I hesitated, dragging my locket along the chain at my neck. “She was waiting for me.”

“The devil?” Mr. Owen’s expression darkened. “What do you mean she was waiting for you? I insist you tell me everything, right this instant. No more of this running about trying to figure things out on your own. I won’t have you risking your neck and certainly not here of all places.”

I held up a finger and darted back to my room, returning with the note she’d left me, and handed it to him. “Do you have any idea what to make of that?”

Mr. Owen unfolded the paper and read it to himself, before handing the page to Ruan.

“Why does she think I’m in danger?” I longed to ask him what they’d been discussing in here the day she died, or to ask who Mariah was and how the two women were connected, but there would be time enough to ask him all these questions later.

Mr. Owen’s eyes grew cloudy as he stared at the paper in Ruan’s fingers. “You must tell no one of this, Ruby. Do you understand me?”

“Why?”

He slammed his fist on the table, glasses rattling. “Because I said so. You shall not pursue this. You shall not meet anyone on bridges. You shall not—”

“I shall do as I please, Mr. Owen. I am not your child to command!” I snapped back. “And it’s a fine thing for you to tell me who I shall and shall not meet when you were meeting with her yourself in this very room and lied to me. You lied to me. Again .” The words burnt, but they were true, and he needed to hear them.

His eyes widened. “How do you—”

“Because I’m not a fool. I smelled her perfume in here. Now will you tell me why? And for that matter why your brother was also with you the very night she was killed, storming out of here with murder on his face? I know you do not like speaking of your past, but you are going to have to tell us the truth. Even the unsavory bits.”

Mr. Owen closed his eyes and shook his head. “Malachi would not harm her. He’s angry, but harmless. He cared for Lucy, in his way.”

I arched a brow. “He seemed rather capable of murder last night.”

Mr. Owen pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Ruby… there is only one person in all of Scotland that my brother wishes dead and that is me. Lucy had nothing to fear from him.”

Something in his tone gave me pause.

Ruan cleared his throat, interrupting our little spat. “Owen said you found the body. Did you see anyone else last night, anyone at all when you were out there?” Ruan ran his wide palms over his trousers, smoothing the fabric.

Grateful for the interruption, I shook my head. “Not a soul, I am beginning to wonder if Lucy was bringing everyone here for a reason. Do you have the letter she wrote you at first? I want to look at it.”

Mr. Owen stood, rummaging around in his valise and pulled out the folded letter, handing it to me. I opened it, comparing the two and laid the two pages down side by side. “They don’t match.”

Mr. Owen and Ruan leaned closer, both studying the script on the pages.

“Not at all.” Ruan mused. “These were written by two different people, but who… and why?”

Bile rose in my throat as I remembered my missing coat and shoes. I folded up both letters and tucked them into my pocket. “That is the question.”

“Well, we do have another interesting visitor at the castle to make things more muddy.” The dear familiar divot formed again between Ruan’s brows and my thumb itched to smooth it. But instead I clenched my hands tighter. “The White Witch is here.”

“What?” Ruan growled, springing to his feet.

“She’s one of the Three Fates, or at least that’s what they’re calling themselves. The three mediums who performed the séance last night. I still don’t entirely understand why she’s here, but I get a sense that she did not care much for Lucy and the other medium. She’s helping me. At least I think she is.”

“The White what? Ruby, heavens, what nonsense have you gotten into now?” Mr. Owen started before shaking his head. “Never mind it. I don’t care. Would you mind entertaining Mr. Kivell in your room? I’m afraid I have a headache. It’s come fast and I need to rest.”

His quick turn of mood was startling, but it had been like this ever since we arrived in Scotland. One moment he’d be himself and the next he’d turn bearish and snarling. “Do you have your medicine?” I ignored Mr. Owen’s grumbling and laid a hand on his brow. Cool. Damp. I didn’t like that—not one bit.

“I have some powders. And Ruan brought me one of his tinctures. I’ll be fit in the morning. Just… I think it’s the strain of the last day. That’s all.”

It had been a trying twelve hours, I’d give him that. Ruan and I hastily fled to the safety of my room and I pushed the door closed before walking over to my dresser and pulling out the stopper from a decanter of Scotch. “Want some?”

“No, thank you.” He settled himself in a floral armchair. I’d forgotten he didn’t drink. I poured myself two fingers, taking a sip, letting the peaty liquid burn its way down my throat. I wasn’t a fan of Scotch but when in Rome…

“You said the White Witch is here?” Ruan asked, glancing to the closed door behind me.

“Mmm. She is, and I don’t know what she wants, but she’s seemingly trying to help me.”

“ Help you?”

I shrugged. “That or she’s afraid of me. I’m not sure which is better, but beggars cannot be choosers. If she isn’t trying to frighten me away, I may as well make use of her.”

Ruan didn’t laugh. “It’s never good when the old ones are afraid.”

“Is she truly what she claims to be? A witch?”

I wasn’t quite sure I wanted the answer, and Ruan did not give it. “Shall I go find her for you? See what she wants this time?”

Most certainly not, she’d be incandescent when she learned he was here. “She still thinks I’m going to kill you, by the way. Probably for the best if you keep your head down or else she might stop being cooperative.”

Ruan took a step closer, reaching up and touching my cheek softly with his thumb. His strange greenish eyes fixed upon me as if he were seeing me for the first time. My breath caught in my chest as he sighed and shook his head. “It’s the strangest thing…”

“My face? I assure you it hasn’t changed that much since we saw each other last.”

He let out a startled laugh. “No. My…” He lifted his hand helplessly before it fell back to his side. “I can scarcely hear you here. It’s odd.”

Now that was a shock. My lips parted slightly. “Do you think your… abilities are tied to Cornwall somehow?”

“Not at all. It’s actually the opposite. Ever since arriving on this estate, everything is too loud. I hear everything . My head aches with all the voices clamoring for my attention. I cannot focus upon you. Upon anything.” He rubbed at his temple with his left hand.

Despite the way he described it, it wasn’t sound he spoke of, but his ability to hear people’s thoughts. He had once said that it was akin to being at a crowded train station, catching bits of conversation and a general sense of something coming, with the odd word here or there. If it was worse now, I could only imagine what a burden it was.

After leaving Lothlel Green I scoured every book I could get my hands on, absorbing every word I could find about Pellars—which were not terribly many—they were born, not made. All the books seemed to agree on that part—with only the seventh born of a seventh born possessing these specific gifts. Yet in all my books and all my studies I learned no more than what Ruan had told me himself. How far we’d come, he and I, from when we first met on the shores of Tintagel and he told me the story of the poor troubled mermaid who gave her power to the very first Pellar—some distant ancestor of Ruan’s. Granting that nameless soul the ability to break curses, to heal the sick, and find stolen goods. It seemed such a charming tale then, but as with all fairy stories the truth behind it is always a bit grimmer—especially after the White Witch’s revelations. And as I got to know Ruan Kivell, I saw what a toll those gifts had taken upon the man himself. I yearned to help him, to find something to unlock the secret to what he was. And more, why he and I should be so closely linked. An American girl born an ocean away, on the very same day as he.

A part of me was glad he couldn’t hear me as well here, especially as wayward as my thoughts had grown when it came to him.

“Ruby,” he said softly, bringing me back to the task at hand. Right. Lucy Campbell.

“There is one thing I didn’t tell Mr. Owen or his nephew.” I reached into my trouser pocket and placed the identification disc between us on the table. The green one only, the red having been taken when the soldier died. “I found this on her body. Lennox is the name of Mr. Owen’s nephew. Do you have any idea who this belonged to?”

Ruan touched it gently and closed his eyes. “Ben.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Ben? As in Mr. Owen’s son, Ben?”

“The same.”

Mr. Owen must have given the tags to her sometime before she was killed. It was a good thing I’d taken them from her body. The ceiling creaked with the footsteps of someone the next floor above. “How is he a Lennox and not an Owen?”

“I do not know. But I knew Ben. I met him briefly after the war. I was on the hospital ship the night he died. We were all coming home together…”

I could see the weariness return to his expression at mention of the war, but I wasn’t going to press him. Not now. “Mr. Owen said that Lucy had brought him here to relay a message from Ben. But during the séance, the spirit that spoke to us was that of a woman. A Mariah. I meant to ask Mr. Owen about her, but he hasn’t been well and you know how he can be when pushed.”

Ruan nodded, placing the disc in my palm, folding my fingers around it, his hand remaining there a second too long.

“You don’t happen to know who Mariah is?”

His hand was warm over mine as he shook his head. “Who else knows of this tag?”

I looked down to our clasped hands. “Only you.”

“Best keep it that way.”

My thoughts exactly. “What about Mr. Owen’s nephew? Shouldn’t he know?”

The muscle leapt in Ruan’s jaw as he struggled to keep his tone even. “Absolutely not.”

“You know each other then?”

Ruan frowned. “We do. But back to matters at hand. You fished the dead woman from the lake. Made certain she was dead. We’re at what? Approximately half past twelve?”

I was rather impressed at his ability to piece this together—even if he was prickly when it came to Captain Lennox. “Then I ran back to the castle grounds for help. I hadn’t the strength to carry her back and well… she was dead already. I didn’t see the point in it.”

“What then?” His eyes sparkled, as if he were enjoying this far more than a man ought to.

“I came to the castle half-frozen, and ran into Mr. Owen’s nephew. He’d been in the gardens and I bumped into him coming up the steps from the lawn.”

Ruan arched a dark brow. “What was he doing in the garden at that time of night?”

“Walking, I suppose. He’d been smoking a pipe.”

“But you ran into him…” Ruan eyed the borrowed dinner jacket still lying over my chair, piecing together bits of the night, and I wondered precisely what incorrect assumption he’d added up in his head.

“It was a long night,” I snapped, before softening my tone. “But yes, I came back to the house, he found some blankets, warmed me up and went with some servants to bring the body back.”

“Stay away from him, Ruby.”

“From who?”

“Andrew Lennox. Stay far away. He’s a dangerous man. I cannot stress to you how important this is for you to understand. He is not to be trusted.”

I let out a strangled laugh. The fellow who gave me his jacket and cosseted me like a small child. Dangerous? It was laughable really. My housekeeper, Mrs. Penrose, was more likely to be a murderer than he. “Why on earth would I? He’s Mr. Owen’s nephew and has shown himself to be a perfect gentleman.” I reached out, taking the identification disc, and stuffed it into my pocket. “And why, pray tell, do you think he’s dangerous? You’ll have to be a bit more forthcoming and stop sitting there glowering at me like my great-aunt Prudence.”

Ruan smirked. It seemed Mr. Owen’s habit of inventing distant P-named female relations was rubbing off. “I know… you’re your own woman…” He ran his hand over his beard, drawing my attention to his full lower lip. “Promise me, Ruby… Promise me you’ll be careful. Ben trusted him and look what happened.”

Now that brought my thoughts back to the present. “Wait… is that why you’re here? Does your presence have something to do with Ben?”

Ruan nodded. “I’m afraid it may. Mr. Owen sent me to bring him something of Ben’s that he’d left with me for safekeeping.”

I eyed his pocket.

“Don’t ask questions I cannot answer. It’s Owen’s story to tell. Not mine.”

“I dislike your discretion. You know that, don’t you?”

The edge of his mouth quirked up. Arrogant man.

I toyed with the disc in my pocket. “Why do you hate Andrew?”

“Because I believe he either killed Ben or allowed him to die that night. That’s why.”

I stared at Ruan, struggling to make sense of his accusation. “That’s… absurd. He’s been nothing but the picture of kindness. He doesn’t seem like a murderer to me.”

“And you are the best judge of such things?” he shot back.

Ruan’s words stung.

He swore beneath his breath, and stepped forward, taking me by the arms. “Promise me, Ruby. You won’t go risking your life on this. First Ben… now this medium… and Andrew Lennox is sniffing about the estate? Something isn’t right about all of this. If Lucy had his tags when she died, perhaps it’s because whoever killed him wants that secret to stay buried too.”

I searched his face for answers. As if he were some oracle and not simply an exhausted Cornishman who’d arrived on the overnight train. “I just… I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“I don’t either.” He reached up, touching the scar on my brow with two fingers. “At least not yet. But I’m not risking your life trying.”

My stomach jumped at his words—at his touch. This was terrible. Just terrible. I opened my mouth to say something witty. Clever even, when someone knocked at my door.

“Go on,” I whispered, tilting my head to the door connecting my room to Mr. Owen’s. “You can make sure he’s all right before you find your room.” The very last thing I needed was Ruan Kivell to be found in here with me. I had never been discreet regarding my bedfellows back in London, or in Exeter for that matter, and did not care a bit about what people thought of me for my own sake. I did, however, care a great deal for Mr. Owen’s good name, and as it turned out, Ruan’s too.

He nodded, recognizing the wisdom in my train of thought. I waited until he was safely behind the closed door before answering my own.

A young maid stood there, one I’d never seen before. She wasn’t dressed like the other Manhurst servants who wore a lovely shade of deep blue. Instead she was in old-fashioned black with a white cap, which meant she must have worked for one of the other guests. “Miss Vaughn?”

I nodded, arms folded tight across my chest. “Yes?”

The maid kept darting her eyes back to the hall. “I’ve come from my lady, miss. She asked that you come to the orangery to meet her. She says there isn’t much time.”

“When?” A second clandestine meeting in twenty-four hours. This did not bode well.

“Now, miss. She said her mother is being questioned, and she isn’t sure how long she has.”

I blew out a breath. Lady Amelia. It must be. Now this was a twist I’d not expected. I could hear the soft rhythm of voices coming from Mr. Owen’s room and I wondered how much Ruan was telling him of our discussion. I’d speak with them both later, but for now I grabbed my room key and set out to find out what the girl had to say that couldn’t wait.