Gareth
Elaine looked like she’d seen the devil himself. Not to mention the state of her gown, torn and filthy. Her boots soaking wet. Her hair windblown and tangled.
“John,” she whispered repeatedly, wildly. Then her strength seemed to give out, and her knees buckled.
Gareth held her up. She clung to him so tightly he could feel her heart hammering against his chest.
“Come now. What has got you so upset? Are you hurt?” He’d heard her cry from outside the cave.
She shook her head. “Gareth,” she whispered. “I found John.”
She had lost her senses. “John is gone. You know this.”
“No, no, no. I found his body.” She pointed into the depths of the cave where the tunnel bent out of sight. “Not his body. His bones.”
“What?” He peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but rock.
She nodded as if unwilling to repeat her words.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She waved her hand down the tunnel. “Go and see for yourself.”
He left her there with her arms wrapped around herself and shivering in the cold. Around the turning, he found the remains. One could hardly miss them as they lay half slumped against the wall. Garish white bones covered with all damp growing things. A few slick strands of hair clinging to the skull.
He bent for a closer look and felt a hand on his back. It was Elaine leaning over his crouched form, her palm resting on his back as she peered over his shoulder.
“See there.” She pointed. “The quizzing glass. Remember how he used it to examine every rock and insect until we were sick and tired of waiting for him?”
Gareth lifted it from the corpse and turned it in his hands. “Yes. I believe you’re right.” He carefully lifted the chain over the skeletal head and stood.
“The moment I saw that, I knew.” She looked up at him the way she used to, before she’d left for London. “I know it is him, Gareth. It is John.”
“Elowen.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into it. “What a fright you have had. What a horror. And then to discover it is your own brother.”
Most women would be in hysterics by now, trapped in a cave by a rising tide with the body of a dead man. And not just any man but the bones of her brother. He drew her close again. She did not protest, so perhaps she was more hysterical than he’d supposed.
This coast was riddled with caves. Hundreds of them exactly like this. Many of them much easier to get to. “How on earth did you find him here? What possessed you to climb the cliffs to this exact spot?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“What?”
She stepped away. “It was the woman I met before. Gwen. Remember? She led me here.”
“Gwenevere.” He remembered well that day a few weeks ago when she’d come banging on his door for help. He’d doubted the soundness of her mental capacities, but today had changed his mind.
Elaine shrugged. “I don’t know who she is. But she knew John was here and led me to him.”
Gareth slipped the quizzing glass into his waistcoat pocket. “We will take this to your father. And notify the magistrate, Squire Stroud. But first we must get you out of here before we are trapped for the next twelve hours waiting for the tide to go out. Lord Chiverton is looking for you.”
Elaine took one giant step away, bumping her head on a low part of the cave. With that one mention of Chiverton, she transformed into a different person. Back into the new Elaine who lived in London and was engaged to marry one of the finest bachelors in the country. Elowen to Miss Cardinham in the blink of an eye.
“How is your head?” he asked as she rubbed it.
“It’s fine.” Her hand came down. “We must hurry.” She turned and led the way back to the entrance of the cavern.
Rain poured down. Hopefully Beaford had made it back to the carriage with his wife by now. Mrs. Beaford was all too frail to be out in weather like this.
The sea lapped at the rocks below. If Elaine’s attire hadn’t already been ruined, it would be now. And Gareth’s boots. Again. Perhaps he’d send a bill to her father, for this was the second pair he’d waded through saltwater in for Elaine’s sake.
“I’ll go down first, then you climb down to me. Can you do that?”
She nodded, pulling her hair out of her face as the wind flurried it about.
Gareth maneuvered his way down the rocky cliff face. When he secured his footing, he called to her.
She made her way slowly. As soon as he could reach her, he put a hand around her waist, easing her onto the small landing where he stood.
“Well done. You always were the best climber.”
She smiled at him. “And you were always the worst. Too impatient to be cautious.”
Her words were too true. He wholeheartedly believed his impatience had been his downfall when it had come to Elaine Cardinham. He’d jumped the fence far too early, she’d rejected him, and he’d come down hard on the wooden spikes.
Gareth took her hand, steadying her as they teetered from rock to rock, making their way toward the small beach underneath the castle. They were almost knee-deep in water by the time they rounded the cliff edge.
“Ho, there!” Chiverton waved at her. “We found her,” he shouted over his shoulder to Beaford, who was searching along the old dock carved out of the rock centuries ago.
Chiverton waited on the edge of the lapping water, keeping his Hessians out of the sea.
When Elaine was close enough, Chiverton reached out to her. She immediately let go of Gareth’s hand, and he released her. Handing her over to a man not willing to dampen his boots for his betrothed.
Elaine was safely returned, and that was that.
He tried not to see the way she leaned into him for comfort. He certainly looked away when Chiverton’s hand slid around her waist. And he definitely did not see when Chiverton placed a gentle kiss on her wet and worried forehead.
Gareth hurried ahead of the love-struck couple to meet up with Beaford. “Where is Miss Tippet?” Gareth asked when he caught up.
“They are waiting in the coach.” Beaford indicated up the hill near the town of Trevanna. “How is she?”
For a moment, he thought Beaford meant Miss Tippet, but no. His inquiry was for Elaine. “Cold. She had quite a fright.” Gareth started up the lane toward the carriages, and Beaford fell in step beside him. “She somehow found her way to a cave in the cliffside.”
Beaford glanced over at Gareth.
“Inside the cave, she came across human remains. Bones and rotted clothing. And this.” He took the quizzing glass from his pocket and held it out to Beaford.
The man took it from Gareth’s hand, turning it this way and that.
How well-acquainted Beaford was with John, Gareth could not say. As Mrs. Cardinham’s brother-in-law, he must know most, if not all, the details of John’s disappearance, though he seemed uncertain about the origins of the glass.
“That there is John’s quizzer,” Gareth said.
Beaford’s eyebrows shot up. “John Cardinham? My nephew?”
“Aye. Miss Cardinham found it on the skeleton.”
Beaford came to a stop. He gazed at the glass, then up at Gareth. “Are you telling me Elaine discovered the corpse of her brother?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . anyone could have taken this. Stolen it or . . . The body could be anyone.”
Gareth set off walking again. “It could be, but I believe it to be John. The clothes—what was left of them. The situation that led to his discovery. All of it inclines me to believe it is John.”
They climbed higher up the steep hill that led away from the castle ruins. “What do you mean, ‘the situation’?”
Gareth wasn’t sure what held him back, but he hesitated to mention the mysterious woman. He skirted the details while still giving way to the essence of the matter. “Think about it. Look around you. Elaine could have gone anywhere, but something drew her to that particular cave. She was very close to her brother, as you know.”
Beaford nodded. “Yes, she was. As I recall, John wasn’t the only boy she was close to.” Beaford’s gaze turned away, up the dirt lane to the village and its ancient houses. But Gareth didn’t need to see his face to catch his meaning. He had no idea what Elaine may or may not have shared with the rest of her family. If she’d confided anything to Mrs. Beaford, her husband undoubtedly knew of it. But if Beaford was merely fishing, Gareth would not so easily supply.
Gareth nodded. “Yes, I believe you’re right. There was a dog, I think. A hound she was quite attached to.”
Beaford snorted. He handed the quizzer back. “Here. You should be the one to take this to Francis. He respects you, I think. For whatever reason, I can’t understand. Good thing he doesn’t know about the hound.”
Beaford was too close to the truth for comfort, though Gareth still got the impression the man was only feeling the waters. It was all five years in the past, and he’d not open that door again, not with Elaine’s uncle.
Gareth tucked the quizzing glass back into his pocket. “I’ll come directly. After I take a moment to make myself presentable.”
By the time they reached the waiting carriages, the rain had slowed. Beaford opened the door to the coach his wife and Miss Tippet were waiting in and peered inside. He exchanged some words with his wife but Gareth could not hear them in the wind.
Down the lane, Elaine and Chiverton followed, leaning close. Chiverton had draped his coat around her shoulders. Gareth wanted to spit into the gorse bush. She had no business connecting herself to a man like that. A London man. He didn’t blame her for wanting more than he had to offer; he was, after all, a lowly foreman’s son—or he had been back then. But he couldn’t help this nagging feeling that she deserved better than the Earl of Chiverton.
For all her protestations about the West Country’s disadvantages compared to the glories and wonders of London, she was not a city girl. She was a girl of the heath and hedgerows. That she’d lasted five years utterly amazed him. Perhaps she really did love that peacock of a man, even if he was a few knots off from center.
Chiverton must have made some sort of joke, for she turned her face up toward him and smiled, the curve of her mouth tipping up the corners of her eyes just enough to produce a few lines of laughter across the bridge of her nose. Not that Gareth could see these details from his position; he simply knew them by heart.
He turned and spat into the gorse for real this time, aiming carefully at the yellow flowers wedged in among the needle-sharp spines. A ridiculous shrub good for nothing but inflicting pain.
“Everything all right, Kemp?” Beaford asked, his eyes darting to the forms of Elaine and Lord Chiverton.
“Yes, sir.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “Just a bit of saltwater still caught in my throat.”
“Perhaps you should come home with us to Havencross. Even in your current state.” Beaford nodded toward Elaine.
She turned her head, and the distress on her face became clear. Though she’d been grinning only moments ago, the shadow of her discovery lingered behind her eyes. It would be better to deal with the incident sooner rather than later.
Beaford leaned close and whispered, “I assume you are aware of the circumstance which took them from London?”
“I am.”
“Good. I don’t believe she has spoken to her father since her arrival at Havencross.”
That was hard to imagine.
“For what it’s worth,” Beaford whispered even more softly, “I don’t believe the accusations are entirely true.”
Gareth looked up sharply. “How do you mean?”
But by this time, Elaine and Chiverton had joined them, and Beaford said no more.
“Elaine.” Beaford stepped forward and reached for his niece’s hand. “Why don’t you ride home in my carriage with Rose? It’s warmer and out of the rain. Mr. Kemp can take the phaeton with Lord Chiverton.” He gave Gareth a devious grin as he loaded Elaine into his coach.
That man saw far too much. Or maybe it was his wife who did the seeing and passed it all on to him. Mrs. Beaford, with her kind and trusting face, seemed to prompt people to talk. Add to that her confinement to the chair and she came across as the gentlest creature on earth. Who wouldn’t confide? Yet keen intelligence lurked beneath her delicate facade.
“Where is the footman?” Beaford asked.
“He went up to the village,” the coachman said.
Gareth peered up the steep lane. The man was not in sight. Mr. Cardinham should have him fired for this.
“We cannot wait,” Beaford said.
The coachman nodded.
When the coach door closed on the Beaford carriage, Gareth climbed onto the high seat beside Chiverton.
“Ever been in a high flyer before?” Chiverton asked.
Gareth shook his head. Of course he hadn’t. The only folk in these parts who rode in them were those who valued their lives at naught. The seat box was perched well above the carriage wheels, making the center of balance too high. Chiverton had the folding top pulled closed to keep out some of the rain, but this was really a fair-weather carriage.
“Wait till you see the beauty of these steppers. No two horses pull faster or more smoothly.”
“I’m sure it will be the high point of my year.”
Chiverton gave him an exhilarated grin. “Hold tight, old man.”
He cracked the whip, and the horses lunged forward, bravely taking on the hill out of Trevanna village. Beaford’s carriage dissolved out of sight. At this rate, he’d be to Havencross in only moments. Or tossed over the hedge into the newly sown fields.
Chiverton’s horses were top-notch, but his driving left much to be desired. He took every bend and bump in the road at top speed. Tossed over the hedge was becoming more and more the probable outcome. Gareth leaned and rolled, sometimes coming to his feet to counterbalance the rig as they careened around the corners.
Chiverton’s warning to hold tight was superfluous as blisters formed on Gareth’s hands from clinging to the side rail. If this was how Chiverton always drove, it was a miracle he was still alive. Gareth would not have wasted all that time wishing ill upon him from the cliff’s edge had he known Chiverton’s driving was already suicidal.
The horses barely slowed as they approached the final bend leading up to the Havencross lane. Chiverton clucked them on, barreling into the turn.
Fool and double fool. Only a blockhead would drive like this on unfamiliar roads. On the other side of the turn, hidden by the hedge, a puddle always formed when it rained, leaving a large hole in the ground. Every driver west of the Tamar knew better than to round a blind corner at breakneck speed. There was a reason it was called breakneck speed.
Gareth readied to make a dive for it. Whatever happened to Chiverton’s phaeton was not going to happen with him inside it.
As Chiverton leaned into the bend, Gareth leapt from the seat, taking advantage of the low-hanging branch of a stunted oak tree. The rig whizzed past under his dangling feet and rounded the bend.
He heard Chiverton let out a curse just before steel ground on rock with a splintering crash. The horses whinnied, and a large phaeton wheel careened into sight, smashing into the hedge. A handful of crows squawked and fluttered into the sky. Then all was quiet.
Gareth dropped to the ground, his hands bleeding from the rough tree branch.
He ran around the bend to find Chiverton sitting in a puddle of mud beside the pieces of his high flyer. The surprise on his face was worthy of a kingdom. Sadly, however, he seemed unhurt.
“Tough luck, old man,” Gareth said, striding over to calm the horses. Chiverton had never looked better. Gareth spoke to the animals, rubbing their necks until they stopped pawing at the earth.
Chiverton stood, trying to brush the mud from his buckskin breeches but mostly just smearing it. “There go my new boots.”
Yes. Too bad he’d wasted his opportunity to ruin them by helping his future wife instead. Now he’d just ruined them in an act of lunacy.
Gareth swatted some twigs off Chiverton’s back. “I should have warned you about the roads here in Cornwall.”
Chiverton shook his head. “It wouldn’t have helped.”
At least the man was honest. “You all right?”
“Nothing injured but my pride, as they say.” Chiverton surveyed the ruins strewn across the rocky ground. “And my high flyer.” He picked up a wheel, with its red spokes, then he tossed it aside and picked up the padded driver’s bench. It was as if he didn’t know which piece to mourn most.
“We’ve got a man over in Camelford who’s a wizard with carriages. I’m sure he can fix it in no time.” Gareth bent over and unhitched the horses from the rig. “Havencross is only a quarter mile on. Best get these boys safely stabled.”
Chiverton took the lead of one of the animals and set off, walking with a noticeable limp in his left leg. It seemed there was a just God after all.