CHAPTER NINETEEN

I inhaled a deep breath of bracing air and boosted myself up on top of one of the exposed pieces of granite to survey the moor laid out before me. Gage had said the view on top of White Tor was a lovely one, and he was right. My lips twisted in remembered aggravation. If only he’d seen fit to tell me what his plans were for today, he might have enjoyed the sight with me.

We’d mostly avoided each other since our quarrel the day before. I’d even retired early to our chamber in order to avoid speaking with him, though I’d still been awake when he entered my bedchamber and climbed into bed. My heart had softened when, after a moment’s hesitation, he’d rolled over to curl his long, warm body against my back and wrapped his arm around my middle to pull me close. I had felt his fretting, his uncertainty, and unable to endure it, I turned to face him. But before I could speak, the ache in his eyes had arrested my words. So instead I’d kissed him.

The fervency with which he kissed me back had surprised me. There was an urgency to it different than he’d ever displayed before, and I had been helpless to resist it. I think in that moment if he could have consumed me and made me permanently part of him, he would have. Whether it was painful memories or fear of the future, I didn’t know, but I knew without hesitation he had been trying to communicate with his hands, his mouth, and his body what he couldn’t find the words to say. So I’d responded in kind. Words could wait until morning.

Except morning had come, and when I reached over to touch him, all I’d found was the cold depression where he’d lain.

With the light of a new day, and a good night’s rest, I realized I’d been rather insensitive to Gage. After all, who wants to hear talk that their mother was killed as some part of a curse, let alone seriously consider it? I prided myself on my intuition, my perception, yet I’d ignored the signs of Gage’s distress. I well knew he closed off his emotions when he was upset or threatened. I should have raised the subject more delicately, and allowed him to retreat for a short time to mull it over before addressing it again. Then I might have been able to coax the information out of him.

At least then I wouldn’t have been seated on this cold rock by myself. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to the sun as it broke through the clouds, welcoming the warmth of its rays up on this blustery tor.

When after I’d prepared myself for the day Gage had still not returned to our chamber, I’d gone searching for him. I’d thought I might find him with his grandfather, but instead I stumbled into the end of an argument between Lord Tavistock and Rory. Neither man could tell me where my husband was, and I’d quickly taken myself off, deciding I didn’t need to be in the middle of their altercation no matter how curious I was what had caused the charge in the air between them. Hammett also protested ignorance of Gage’s location, though his stilted response made me suspect he had a guess, but one he was unwilling to share.

Thus thwarted, I’d abandoned my quest and decided to go for a walk. If nothing else, it would help me clear my head and sort my thoughts. The day was a fine one, and I figured if I remained close to the manor I wouldn’t risk becoming lost even if the weather began to shift.

Since I’d yet to climb White Tor, I set off in that direction first. From my vantage at its top, I could see the western edge of the moor stretched out before me across to Great Mis Tor and up to Cocks Hill and the expanse of nothingness beyond.

I still couldn’t puzzle out what Alfred had been doing out here that day he vanished. Could he have been meeting someone? But if so, wouldn’t he have chosen a recognizable marker? Perhaps the Langstone? But then why had he continued on beyond it out into the moor where his coat was found? Surely if he were just out for a stroll, he would have taken a different route.

Maybe he’d needed space to think, as I was doing perched up on this tor. Somehow being above it all made my thoughts clearer. I’d learned that fact when I was but a girl. It was why I’d so often retreated to the attics at Blakelaw House, my childhood home. Why I’d turned the loft in the library at my brother-in-law’s Highland castle into my own personal sanctuary during the months after Sir Anthony’s death and the ensuing scandal that had erupted.

But perhaps Alfred thought better while moving. Perhaps in his distraction, he’d tripped and fallen, striking his head somehow, and become muddled. But then why couldn’t we find his body? Had a bog truly swallowed him whole, leaving no trace?

“Oh, good morning.”

I blinked up at the sandy-haired man who had rounded the shattered granite stack I was seated on. I’d been so absorbed in my own reflections that I’d failed to note his approach.

“Good morning,” I replied, tilting my head in recognition. “It’s . . . Mr. Bray, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “It seems we’ve had the same idea this fine morning, Mrs. Gage.” He gestured toward me. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” I smiled in invitation and slid over to make room for him next to me.

“Where is your husband?” he asked, settling beside me. “Out making more inquiries?”

“Yes,” I lied, not wanting to admit I had no idea where he was. “He’s concerned for his cousin.”

“Understandable. He is family, after all.”

I found it interesting he should phrase it as such, narrowing in on the aspect of it being more of a duty rather than a matter of familial affection. But then I remembered he’d grown up with them. They’d run across the moor together, likely climbing this very tor. And, of course, there was that other matter with the dagger. In the interaction I’d observed between them, Mr. Bray hadn’t seemed to harbor any ill will toward Gage, but I wasn’t about to dredge up the affair.

I studied the amiable man out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Bray might be an invaluable resource of information about the Trevelyans without my having to ask the Trevelyans themselves.

“My husband says you used to play together as boys.”

“Oh, aye.” His lips curled upward in a broad grin, revealing deep dimples. “He and I more than Langstone and Rory. Those two were a might too high in the instep for the likes of us at times. But that was fine by us. It was usually more fun without them.”

“I’ve heard that same refrain quite often about Langstone. It seems he liked to lord it over everyone.”

“Comes from his mother. From what I remember of his father, he would never have tolerated such behavior had he lived to see it.”

“But his grandfather hasn’t stopped it.”

“I think he’s tried.” He sighed. “But Langstone just refuses to listen. Always has.”

“Do you think that’s what got him into this trouble? Whatever this trouble might be,” I added in exasperation.

Mr. Bray’s eyes were sympathetic. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe he pulled his high-handed routine with someone he shouldn’t have. Maybe they drew his cork for it. Or maybe he made empty promises to the wrong person.” He fell silent, his brow furrowing. “Or maybe he took something that wasn’t his.”

I straightened in surprise.

“I don’t mean to imply he’s a thief,” he hastened to explain. “At least, of anything more than a woman’s virtue. But . . . he’s taken things before.”

I hesitated to say the words, but the question had to be asked. “You mean the dagger?”

He gazed solemnly out at the moor where cloud shadows raced across the billowing heather. “We knew all along that Langstone had been the one to take it, and Gage was merely the scapegoat.” His eyes lifted to meet mine, dulled by cynicism. “You’ll recall I knew them. I knew how Langstone was.” He turned away. “And I had some inkling of what it was like for Gage in that house.” His scowl deepened. “But how does one tell Lord Tavistock you know he’s lying, that his heir is lying?”

“You think Lord Tavistock knew the truth?”

The look he cast my way was rife with skepticism. “If not, he was willfully allowing himself to be fooled.”

I hadn’t considered the possibility that the viscount had been aware of Alfred’s cruel trick, but Mr. Bray was right. Gage’s grandfather seemed to have deliberately turned a blind eye to some of his heir’s actions. I’d witnessed as much since our arrival. And yet he was so hard on Gage. I wondered if Gage had noticed this contradiction.

I grimaced. But of course he had. How could he not?

I felt a pulse of empathy for Gage, and another stab of fury at his rotten family.

“One of the old women in the village mentioned a family . . . well, I guess you would call it a curse,” I said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

“That those who rebel within the family will suffer a terrible fate?” He nodded. “I’ve heard it before. It’s the reason why, in addition to his notorious reputation, it’s never made any sense to me that all the local girls should be so eager to fall prey to Langstone’s charms.”

I could answer that. It was the thrill of the forbidden, the lure of danger. It gave Alfred, who was already reputed to be attractive, an even more heightened allure by turning his rakehell persona into one of possibly tragic destiny. I suspected we could blame Shakespeare for that.

He shook his head. “After all, I know they’ve all heard the legend of Stephen’s Grave.”

“That the woman he fell in love with was Alice Trevelyan, Lord Tavistock’s sister?” I asked in confusion.

“Aye. And the reason he killed her and then himself was the curse. It made him do it, for she’d dared to defy her parents’ wishes by agreeing to run away with him. And then he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”

I stared wide-eyed, shocked to have my vague suspicions confirmed with so little prodding. “And Gage’s mother?” I murmured weakly.

He winced, as if he’d forgotten whom he was speaking to. “Her, too. Though in her case, it certainly took its time enacting itself.”

True. Gage had been eighteen when his mother died, nineteen years after she’d married Stephen Gage and rebelled against her family. But perhaps death by slow poisoning was far more terrible than a quick demise.

I frowned. Poison. Was that what connected them all? Even Alfred?

Miss Galloway had given him a tincture for a stomach complaint, as well as a bundle of herb bennet for protection, particularly against poison. Rory had reported that Alfred had suffered from some sort of ailment in the days before he vanished. Had he been poisoned and finally succumbed? But if so, once again, where was he?

I stared across the moor toward Great Mis Tor rising in the distance. From this vantage, I couldn’t see Miss Galloway’s cottage, for it was hidden behind another rise that concealed the lower slopes of that tor. However, I believed I could make my way safely there. It was not so far, even on foot, and I’d been there before.

Taking my leave of Mr. Bray, I set off across the moor, following the track Gage and Rory had speculated Alfred might have taken when they’d believed he might have gone to visit Miss Galloway the day he disappeared. It wasn’t so difficult to follow, for their description had been good, and soon I was at her door.

There was no sign of life as I approached, no twitch of the curtains like the last time we’d called. And when I rapped on the door three times, there was no answer. I tested the handle and the door easily opened.

“Miss Galloway,” I called, peering inside. “Miss Galloway.”

The cottage appeared much as it had before, though the fire was banked. She must have gone out to run an errand, perhaps visiting a village or gathering more herbs. I glanced in every direction from the porch to see if I could spot her, and even peered around the corner into the garden, but she was nowhere to be found.

Hesitant to venture into her home uninvited, I paused on the threshold. In the tumult of the last few days, hunting for Alfred, I wasn’t certain if anyone had informed her about the bloody coat. I’d meant to come sooner, but then it had slipped my mind. I didn’t want to leave without letting her know, so I stepped inside. Leaving the door open, I tentatively began to search through the drawers in the cabinet by the door for a piece of paper and a pencil so I could leave a note.

I located the sheets of foolscap in the second drawer, but as I pushed them aside to see if a pencil lay underneath, something gold caught my eye. It was a shiny button with ornate swirls. One, I realized with a start, that I’d seen before. It was the missing button from Alfred’s coat. But what was it doing here?

I tried to tell myself there was a perfectly rational explanation for its presence at the bottom of Miss Galloway’s drawer, and for the fact she hadn’t brought it to our attention. He could have dropped it during a visit prior to his going missing. Or she could have found it on the moor and not realized who it belonged to. But those explanations didn’t sit quite right.

I stared at the button, uncertain what to do. Should I take it with me, or leave it here and hope she mentioned it during our next meeting? In the end, I elected to put it back, as sort of a test. After all, the button wasn’t evidence of wrongdoing. But if she remained silent about it, even after I mentioned it on my next visit, then that would tell me more than direct confrontation.

I jotted down a short message, along with a promise to call again soon, and left it on the table. But just when I’d turned to go, a soft thud came from the direction of the bedroom.

I slowly straightened, feeling the skin along the back of my neck prickle as if a stray draft had blown across it. “Miss Galloway, is that you?”

I inched forward in the heavy silence that followed my query, eyeing the gap below the closed door. “Is anyone there?”

I paused with my hand hovering over the knob. Should I grab something to defend myself with? I’d left my reticule and the percussion pistol tucked inside back at the manor. But then, if it was only Miss Galloway in distress, I would feel foolish for scaring her.

My breath fluttered in my chest as I turned the handle and thrust open the door.

I gasped as an orange tabby cat leapt off the bed and streaked past me. Pressing a hand over my pounding heart, I laughed.

I knew full well what mischief-makers felines could be. I’d left my own cat, a gray tabby I’d dubbed Earl Grey, under the care of my sister’s children in Edinburgh. There were times when I missed his companionship, but it had been for the best that I’d left him behind. Earl Grey would have despised the boat trip to Ireland and the journey here. And I could only imagine the look the dowager would have given me if I’d arrived at Langstone with a cat on my lap. Although further contemplation almost made me wish I’d done so.

The orange tabby leapt up on the chair nearest the hearth, circled once, and curled into a ball to go to sleep. I smiled. Obviously he was comfortable here.

My smile faded. I didn’t remember seeing him during my last visit. Maybe he’d been outside, lolling under the garden flowers in the sunshine.

I glanced into the bedchamber, but there was nothing there. Nothing that hadn’t been before, anyway. However, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling I wasn’t alone. Something seemed to fill the space behind me with an almost audible silence.

I closed the bedroom door and crossed back through the cottage, allowing my gaze to trail over the contents. It was all as clean as it had been before. No cup unwashed by the basin. No embroidery set to the side with the needle poised for its next stitch. No shawl draped over a chair. I wished I were familiar enough with Miss Galloway to know whether she was always this fastidious.

Feeling I’d outstayed my welcome, and vaguely guilty for prying despite my discovery of the button, I left the cottage. I closed the door firmly behind me and stood at the corner of the porch to survey the small vale in which the home was set. All was peaceful, with nothing but the wind and the trickling water of the River Walkham in the distance to break the silence. I looked up the slope at the mammoth granite outcroppings at the peak of Great Mis Tor and decided now was as good a time as any to climb it. I imagined the views from its heights were even more impressive than those of White Tor.

By the time I reached the top, I was panting from the exertion. But it was well worth it. My suspicions had been correct. Not only were the granite formations massive, spilling over each other like towering stacks of crumpets, but the panorama was breathtaking. Now I understood why Miss Galloway, and her mother before her, were willing to live on the lower slopes of this isolated spot. To be able to have such a vantage point almost on your doorstep was ample compensation.

I slowly circled the outcroppings, examining the fall of light over the landscape below, and enjoying the view across the moor from different angles. So when I paused to gaze out toward the north over Greena Ball and the bleak desolation of Cocks Hill, at first I was shocked to find I wasn’t alone. From this distance, I couldn’t see very clearly, but there was definitely a man with no hat striding across the moor from west to east, moving deeper into the moor. His dark hair—the only recognizable feature—ruffled in the wind. Instantly I thought of Alfred, and in my astonishment, I called out to him.

The man swiveled to look up at the tor where I stood, shielding his eyes from the sun. Whether he saw me or recognized what I was saying, I didn’t know, but he lifted his hand and then turned and continued on his way.

I called out again, but he didn’t stop. Perhaps he couldn’t hear me at such a distance, but I thought it unlikely he hadn’t seen me when he looked up at the tor. I was wearing a bright maize yellow gown, which should have stood out starkly against the gray, brown, and green landscape.

Whatever the reason, he moved away swiftly to the east. If it was Alfred, I wasn’t about to let him get away.

Lifting my skirts, I dashed down the slope of the tor as fast as I dared. Every twenty or thirty feet, I continued to call out, until I was too short of breath to do so. At the base of the tor, the rocky ground gave way to deer grass and heath, and I was able to stretch out my stride, almost running in my haste. The earth was soft beneath my feet, squelching with each step, but I paid it little heed. I had gained on the man slightly, and I was intent on catching him.

So oblivious was I to everything else around me that I didn’t hear the person behind me until their arm snagged me about the waist, wrenching me to a stop and driving the air from my lungs. I gulped, trying to inhale as I sagged back against the man who had grabbed me. I thrashed weakly, attempting to free myself from his grasp, but he held on tenaciously.

“Have you lost your mind?! That’s Mistor Marsh you were about to blunder headlong into,” Rory scolded, and then proceeded to ring a peal over my head for my foolish recklessness while I struggled to regain my breath and my faculties.

When finally I could speak, I lifted a hand to point in the direction I’d been moving. “But the man. He’s getting away.”

Rory glared down at me as if I were talking gibberish. “What man? What are you talking about?”

I turned to look, lifting up onto my toes in my eagerness, but he’d vanished. “What? Where did he go?” I continued to scan the horizon, wondering if somehow I’d gotten turned around. “He was just there! Didn’t you see him?” I demanded, not understanding how he could have disappeared in such a vast expanse of nothingness. There were no valleys or hills for him to hide behind in that immediate direction. No large rocks or tall vegetation to duck behind.

When I glanced back at Rory, it was to find him watching me with a strange light in his eyes. His anger mellowed into something more guarded, more wary.

“I’m telling you, I saw a dark-haired man striding across the moor in that direction. I thought maybe somehow it was your brother, and . . . and I didn’t want him to disappear again.” I broke off, scowling up at him in frustration. “You don’t believe me.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s only . . . I don’t think it was really a man.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I see.” My words were clipped. “I’m hallucinating, then, is that it?”

“I . . . I think you were being pixie-led.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what the locals call it. They believe pixies inhabit these lands, and sometimes they like to make mischief—playing tricks on travelers out on the moor, leading them into trouble.”

I frowned, not knowing what to say to that. I felt vaguely insulted. My mind was perfectly clear, as were my eyes. I knew what I’d seen. And yet, I’d grown up with tales of pixies and sprites, bogies and selkies, and the fae. Just because I’d never encountered them didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t exist.

I turned to look back across the marsh toward where I’d seen the man. How had he vanished so quickly? If he was real, then where was he?

Rory’s feet shuffled backward, gurgling the boggy ground beneath our feet. “I don’t know if I believe that. But . . . Dartmoor is different. The usual rules don’t apply here. Maybe it’s the light, or the peaty soil.” He shrugged. “Who knows? But strange things do happen here.”

I understood what he was trying to say. This mysterious place did feel different. The moors were almost a place out of time, somehow older than the rest of Britain, than the rest of the earth. If I stood still, and the wind stopped blowing long enough, I just might hear it humming beneath me, sharing its secrets.

Or maybe that was the pixies.

“Well, thank you,” I told him, recognizing how close I’d come to literally stepping into a quagmire. “Had you not been here to stop me . . .”

I didn’t finish the thought because the consequences were too dire. But also because I couldn’t help but wonder why he had been here. Was he following me? Was he the one I’d sensed at Miss Galloway’s cottage?

The look in Rory’s eyes said he knew what I was thinking, but he didn’t address it. He merely tipped his head in acknowledgment and offered me his arm to lead me out of the bog.

“If you should ever feel you’re being pixie-led again, they say if you turn your coat inside out, that’ll break the spell.”

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or in earnest. What I did know was that, despite his saving me from, at the very least, some troubling difficulties, I didn’t trust him. That, if nothing else, was quite clear.

“Good to know.”