CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m not sure who was more shocked by his blunt answer—myself or Gage. Regardless, we both stumbled to a stop.

“Do you think that’s what happened?” Gage pressed, finding his words first. “Do you think your mother was either persuaded to help Alfred or pushed him to hide herself because some . . . situation arose where she deemed it necessary?”

“I trust you mean because he’s done something that would have infuriated Grandfather, not that he’s killed a man or some such thing?” Rory remarked.

“Yes.”

He shook his head in bafflement. “I don’t know. I doubt they would have qualms about doing just such a thing. But Alfred hasn’t angered Grandfather. At least, no more than usual. There’s been no reports of misdeeds or irate visitors.” He glanced between us. “If he’s done something for which he needs to hide, I’m not aware of it.”

Gage began slowly pacing forward again, considering his cousin’s words.

“Perhaps he doesn’t know about it yet,” I suggested, falling in step beside Rory.

“It’s possible,” Rory admitted, though his eyes remained trained on Gage’s perplexed profile. “Does this mean you don’t think Alfred is really missing?”

“We don’t know what to think,” he replied honestly. “We’re merely attempting to explore every possibility, and everything I know of Alfred tells me he’s capable of such a ruse.”

Rory nodded.

“And someone utilized the same rope-and-knot trick on our bedchamber window that Alfred used to terrorize our tutors.”

And possibly stood over us, watching while we slept. Though I hadn’t yet mentioned that to Gage, for surely it must have been naught but an eerie dream.

Rory’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You think it was my brother?”

“Maybe,” Gage replied, watching him as closely as I was. “Or someone else familiar with it.”

It was Rory’s turn to stumble to a stop as he realized what Gage was implying. “Me?” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Rory frowned at the tightness in Gage’s voice. “I did no such thing. I have no reason to.” His brow furrowed angrily. “Unless you think me a thief.”

Why this statement caused Gage to recoil as if he’d been punched in the stomach, I didn’t know, but an entire conversation passed between the two men without either of them saying a word.

“No,” Gage finally answered aloud, turning away. “But I had to ask.”

There was a new stiltedness in their demeanors as we pressed onward uphill across the moor. The ground here was spongy with peat, and I was beginning to make out the shapes of large rocks nestled among it on the ridge before us. Several sheep from a larger herd milled about the stones, grazing on the tall grasses.

Though I was curious about whatever secret lay behind their silent altercation, I was not sorry for the hush that fell so I could reflect on my surroundings. I was a portrait artist, so landscapes had never been my specialty, but I could well see that Dartmoor was rich fodder for painters of that type. Especially on a day like today when the heath was speckled with vibrant colors—pink heather, yellow gorse, and the amber-tipped grass waving in the wind—and the canvas of the sky was dotted with puffy clouds for contrast. The sun shone bright, almost making me wish I’d left off my cloak, but the clear, cool air brushing my cheeks made me glad for it. Just being there among it all, my artist’s muse awakened and stretched. My mood lifted with each step I took deeper into the expanse of the moor and away from that oppressive house.

Unfortunately, Gage did not seem to share my contentment.

“To be honest, I was surprised to hear that Alfred was even staying here at Langstone Manor.” His voice was subtly laced with challenge. “I presumed he’d still be in London, pursuing all the pleasures it has to offer, and steering clear of Grandfather’s watchful eye.”

I was relieved when Rory didn’t take up the gauntlet Gage’s barbed comment had thrown down, but instead answered with something close to weariness.

“Yes, well, I suspect he’s only here for the summer.”

“He doesn’t usually leave town like the rest of society,” Gage replied more tamely.

His cousin kicked at the grass before his feet. “I also think it has something to do with the fact that he’d heard you would be returning to London, with your fascinating new bride in tow.” He flicked a glance at me. “He never could stand to be outshone. And you seem to do it at every turn.”

Gage didn’t attempt to respond to this, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he agreed or he was stunned by Rory’s answer. Perhaps a little of both.

We’d been prepared for the interest our marriage would draw among London society. After all, Gage was the handsome and charming golden boy while I was a scandalous outcast. Our union had caused no small amount of shocked and perplexed speculation. We’d been subjected to a degree of unwanted attention and conjecture in Edinburgh during the three months of our engagement and marriage when we’d lived there, but we’d known it was but a taste of what was to come in London. I was not looking forward to such scrutiny.

As we drew closer, I could see that the rocks before us were large indeed. And what seemed to be a random pattern began to take on a definite shape. These had quite obviously been moved here.

The first stone we encountered also happened to be the biggest. The menhir would have stood about nine feet tall had it not fallen out of its socket into the soft peat. It was the end point of what appeared to be a row of smaller stones. A short distance away, the other large stones—most of which had also fallen—formed a stone circle, a rather forlorn formation among the vast emptiness of the moor.

Gage paused next to the menhir, propping one foot on it. “This is the Langstone.” Removing his hat, he let the wind riffle through his hair and narrowed his eyes against the sun to survey the rest of the site. “Hence the name of the manor.” His arm swept from left to right. “And this area is called Langstone Moor. It stretches up toward Cocks Hill and over to the River Walkham and the bogs and marshes of Greena Ball. A bit to the southeast you can see the granite outcroppings of Great Mis Tor.” His arm continued its arc, gesturing to the landscape south of the manor. “That hill further in the distance is Roos Tor.” His hand moved past the manor to point toward a mound a quarter of a mile or so to the west. “And then, of course, this is White Tor.”

To the north and east, I could see a few farms and pastures, but from northwest around to the south stretched only the expanse of the bleak moor and its enigmatic tors. “What lies beyond?” I asked, wondering what existed past my line of sight.

“A few miles to the south, there are a few towns and settlements. Princetown and its infamous prison are about five miles away as the crow flies. But that way . . .” He gestured toward the brow of Cocks Hill. “You could walk for days without encountering another soul. And if you became lost . . .” There was no need for him to finish that statement.

Despite the warm sun beating down on my back, I shivered at the thought. I now better understood what Gage and his grandfather had meant when they said that men had become disoriented and vanished, never to be seen again. Even in sunny weather, I could imagine the difficulty. But if rain, or snow, or fog hampered your visibility, it would be impossible to know where you were or in what direction you were headed.

Rory’s mind seemed to have followed the same track, for his voice when he spoke was somber. “If, for whatever reason, Alfred set off in that direction, I’m not sure we’ll ever find him.”

We all fell silent, I supposed contemplating the sobering and terrifying possibility.

Then Gage inhaled and straightened. “Well, first we need to figure out just where he was going. Just because the gardener saw him headed in this direction doesn’t mean he didn’t change course or double back.” He turned to his cousin. “What was Alfred doing before he set off on his walk? Who was he with?”

Rory’s gaze had strayed to the southwest in the direction of Great Mis Tor, and his thoughts seemed to have followed, for it took him a moment to respond. “Oh, um, I don’t know. I remember passing him in the hall on my way to review some correspondence with Grandfather a short time before he must have set out. I asked if he was feeling better, but he didn’t reply, just continued walking. He seemed . . . distracted.”

“Had he spoken with Grandfather?”

He shook his head. “Not for several days, if I recall correctly. Not since his stomach complaint had begun.”

“And how did he seem after that interview?”

“Well, he left the manor, and took his horse and rode off hell-bent for somewhere, if that’s any indication. But that wasn’t uncommon.”

So there could have been an altercation of some kind, one that perhaps Rory wasn’t privy to. But if that was the case, if that was the catalyst, then why hadn’t Alfred disappeared that night? Had he needed to make arrangements? Had his stomach ailment prevented him from following through?

Or had something unexpected truly befallen him, and all of this speculation was for naught?

I glanced at Gage, curious how he wanted to proceed.

“Before we do anything further, I want to climb White Tor and get a better view of the land surrounding the manor. I suspect you’ll appreciate it, too, Kiera.”

I eagerly agreed and we set off toward the west. But before we’d even taken a dozen steps, there was a loud snap and I stumbled, almost tumbling into the peat. Gage’s arm shot out to clasp my elbow, keeping me upright.

“Are you well?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

“Yes,” I replied uncertainly as I recovered myself. “I . . . I think it was my boot.”

We bent to examine my right foot and found the lace had broken. Too neatly, to my mind.

“I don’t think it can be fixed,” Gage said, examining the cord. He began to pull at the longer lower part of the lace. “But I think I can tie this part around your ankle to keep the boot on your foot. It won’t be the most comfortable fastening, but it should allow you to walk back to the manor rather than be carried.”

I sighed. “Do it.”

I could sense Gage’s frustration as he wound the cord twice around my ankle and knotted it with a hard tug.

“How is that?” he asked, rising to his feet again.

I tested my foot, moving forward gingerly. The boot slipped as I walked, the leather gaping, but there was nothing else to be done. I dropped my skirts back into place. “It will have to do.”

My husband moved to my side to take my arm. “Then I suppose White Tor will have to wait . . .”

Pressing a hand to his bicep, I cut him off. “There’s no reason you and Rory shouldn’t continue. I can see the manor from here. I can make my way back alone.”

Gage’s expression brightened in eagerness, but still he hesitated, out of concern for me. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” I assured him, and then set off by myself before he could argue. “Now go on.”

“We won’t be long,” he called after me.

I waved my hand in acknowledgment and continued my shuffling steps back toward Langstone Manor. I could already feel my spirits, which had been lifted by the walk on the moor and the sunshine, lower again. It was partly disappointment at my not being able to climb the tor, and partly the dread of returning to that dreary house.

Irritation also pricked me, for I had a dawning suspicion that someone at the manor was determined to cause us difficulties and discomfort. First the trunks, then the open window, and now my bootlace. I supposed the trunks and bootlace could simply be coincidences, but combined with the window, I had a difficult time believing that.

Bree was nothing if not careful and efficient. She would have known I intended to use my walking boots while I was here, and she would have inspected them as she polished them this morning. In any case, I had seen the crisply severed edges of the lace. Only one strand of the cord seemed at all stretched. It had not frayed over time, but appeared to have all but snapped in one fell swoop. Such things did not happen. Not often, anyway.

By the time I reached the manor and found my way through the labyrinth of corridors to my bedchamber, I was in something of a rage. So rather than ring for Bree, I marched into Gage’s connecting chamber and tugged the bellpull there. It was only a matter of minutes before Anderley answered the summons.

“Back so soon, sir. I thought you’d be . . .” The valet’s voice trailed away in surprise at the sight of me glaring at him instead of his employer.

“Mr. Anderley, I want you to tell me the truth this instant. Are you up to no good?”

I didn’t care what Gage’s assurances were; I wanted to hear straight from his valet’s mouth that he wasn’t playing pranks again. Gage might trust him with his life, and likely for good reason. After all, I’d witnessed their cool coordination when a situation grew serious or potentially dangerous. But that didn’t mean I believed Anderley always behaved with our best interests in mind.

“I . . . I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

He seemed genuinely confused; however, I also knew him to be quite a good actor when the situation called for it.

“Are you playing pranks because you’re unhappy to be here?”

His eyes widened. “No, my lady. Of course not.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it.”

His mouth opened and then closed, and then he voiced a question of his own. “Are you talking about the trunks?”

“As well as our window being opened during the middle of the night. And now my bootlace snapping.” I gestured down to my foot hidden beneath my skirts.

“I’ve had nothing to do with any of that,” he replied adamantly. “Mr. Gage mentioned the window, but he alleged his cousin might be responsible.” He tilted his head. “I take it he’s not.”

I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing his expression, trying to tell whether he was being truthful. “He says not, and I’m fairly certain he’s being honest.”

Anderley nodded, gazing back at me uncertainly. He didn’t rush to add further assurances, which swayed me. In my experience, liars often provided too many details.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, given your past actions, you can’t blame me for suspecting you.”

His shoulders lowered a fraction, sensing my mistrust was waning. “I suppose it serves me right. Miss McEvoy warned me this would happen one day if I did not stop my mischief.” His nose scrunched up as if he didn’t like admitting Bree had been correct.

I lowered my arms, crossing toward the escritoire where Gage’s traveling desk still sat open from when he’d penned his letters this morning. “Yes, well, perhaps it was precipitous of me to assume there’s one person behind all of these things,” I admitted, wondering if I had been somewhat rash now that my temper had cooled. “Maybe the misplaced trunks and my bootlace snapping were both accidents.” I frowned, still unhappy with that explanation. “But there’s something decidedly odd about it all.”

“Yes, well, maybe not so odd.”

Suspicion gleamed in the valet’s dark eyes.

“You know something.” He didn’t reply, but I could tell I was right. “You believe you know who is behind all this.” When he still didn’t answer, I arched a single eyebrow, letting him know I was not going to be fobbed off. He was well aware I was no ordinary society wife, and that my and Gage’s marriage was not of the traditional sort.

His scowl darkened. “Lord Langstone’s valet, a rather repugnant toad named Cooper.”

“You sound as if you are acquainted.”

He gave a single sharp nod. “We’ve been forced to endure each other’s company more than we’d like. Though, truth be told, once is one time too many.”

“From what I’ve learned of his employer, I can only imagine, but what in particular makes Mr. Cooper so objectionable?”

“He can’t abide the fact that Mr. Gage is considered more attractive and fashionable than his employer, that Mr. Gage’s attendance is courted above Lord Langstone among members of society in London.” His lips creased into a humorous smile. “Perhaps you don’t realize, but a good valet prides himself on his employer’s appearance and presentation. If he is not turned out to perfection, then it’s a reflection on us. And while we have no control over our employer’s charm, or wit, or ability to act like a gentleman, we still take credit for it nonetheless.”

I was not familiar with all the particulars of the life of a valet, but having already realized that my appearance was either a credit or discredit to my maid’s abilities, none of this came as a surprise. If Mr. Cooper was intent on comparing his abilities to others, it must have been doubly insulting that Gage’s company should be preferred over his employer’s, given the fact that Lord Langstone was higher in rank and would presumably inherit a greater fortune.

“And this is why you think he’s determined to make our stay uncomfortable?”

“What other means does he have to retaliate?”

As a valet, not many.

The idea that Alfred’s valet might be responsible for all of this both relieved and aggravated me. In one sense, I was reassured to hear all of it might only be the work of an aggrieved servant. But that same suggestion also made me angry and affronted that he would carry out such petty actions.

It also raised some interesting questions.

“Do you think Mr. Cooper knows anything about his employer’s disappearance?” I asked, curious to hear his opinion. I’d presumed since Alfred had left his clothing and his valet behind that he was not involved, but perhaps I’d been too hasty.

Anderley clasped his hands behind his back. “My impression is that he does not, simply because Cooper has never been any good at hiding his thoughts. He seems far too frustrated and out of humor to be parcel to any scheme. I would have expected him to be more twitchy.” He cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “But just to be sure, I’ve asked Miss McEvoy to do what she can to convince him to share what he knows with her. I would attempt the matter myself, only I’m certain Cooper would rather don a sackcloth than confide in me.”

My lips quirked at the notion.

“As for the damage to your bootlaces, I’ll help Miss McEvoy keep a closer eye on your garments, as I’ve been doing with Mr. Gage’s. I didn’t think Cooper would sink so low as to tamper with a lady’s attire, otherwise I would have said something before.”

“Thank you,” I replied and then hesitated, another thought having occurred to me. In truth, I’d been lucky my bootlace had snapped where it did. Had I been further out on the moor or descending a staircase, the situation might not have turned out so well. Such a realization made me uneasy, especially when coupled with my troubling dream and the open window. “You don’t think he’s . . . capable of violence, do you?” I asked as casually as possible.

I appreciated the way Anderley paused to consider my question.

“Not directly. He might slash the dresses in your wardrobe, but he would never have the stomach to assault another person.”

I nodded, wishing I felt more comforted by his answer.

Anderley seemed to sense this, for he offered me a reassuring smile. “Allow me to handle him, my lady.” His eyes hardened. “And if it turns out he’s not the one causing trouble, I’ll find that culprit, too.”