Elaine
Mrs. Kemp paced to and fro in the drawing room.
Elaine cleared her throat to catch her attention. “Mrs. Kemp.”
The woman spun around gracefully. Her bonnet was askew, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. She must have hurried to get here.
“Miss Cardinham.” She gave Elaine a little curtsey. “Thank you so much for seeing me.”
“My pleasure.” She would never refuse to see Gareth’s mother.
“I’m looking for my son. Have you seen him?” There was an edge to Mrs. Kemp’s voice, a frantic undertone. She’d always been a worrier.
How many times had Elaine, John, and Gareth come home from their adventures only to be forced to listen to Gareth’s mother enumerate in great length all the ways they could have died or been injured or gotten lost or been drowned or gotten run over by the harvest wagon.
“Is he not at the mine?”
Mrs. Kemp shook her head. “No. I had Tomas check there first.”
“I’ve not seen him since yesterday.” Not since he brought home her brother.
Mrs. Kemp nodded. She gave a smile, but it was a fleeting and fretful thing. “He got home late yesterday evening but disappeared again. Didn’t sleep in his bed and didn’t come for breakfast. I thought maybe with him being so fond of you, he might be here. Or perhaps you might know of his whereabouts.”
Good heavens. Was she implying that her son was here with her all night? No, of course not. But did she know about what had passed between them? Hopefully not.
“I’m sure he’s out working somewhere. Or perhaps he went to town. Lord Chiverton had a carriage accident yesterday. I think it very likely he’s off helping him find the carriage maker to get started on the repairs.”
That seemed to bring her some relief. She smiled and sat down. “Yes, of course. I had not thought of that. Lord Chiverton did call late last night. That must be where he is. Though he’s going to feel the back side of my spoon when he gets home.”
Gareth Kemp was a grown man capable of handling himself perfectly well in the world. Wherever he was, surely he was fine.
“Thank you, Miss Cardinham.” She stood and made her way to the door, already preoccupied with this new notion.
“Good day, Mrs. Kemp,” Elaine called after her.
The front door opened, and Elaine heard some chattering—her parents greeting Mrs. Kemp as they returned from the vicarage. She also recognized a third voice, Squire Stroud.
She waited for them in the drawing room. Her mother entered first, eyes red-rimmed and face wilted. It must have been a hard morning at the vicar’s. She handed her bonnet to Mr. Winkleigh and dropped into a chair by the fire.
Her father came next.
“Why is the squire here?” she whispered at her mother.
Her mother shrugged her thin shoulders. “He wants to find out what happened to John, I suppose.”
Her father gestured for the magistrate to enter the drawing room, then he ordered tea from Mr. Winkleigh.
The man’s large round belly entered the room first, followed by his large mustache, bald head, and ruddy cheeks. He had bright, clear, youthful eyes in great contrast with the rest of his body. When she was younger, his vast size frightened her. But since then, he’d proved to be a kind but serious man who took his responsibilities as magistrate earnestly.
Elaine dipped her head at him. “Squire Stroud.”
Before they’d left for London, the squire had frequently dined with them. He was a widower with no children of his own. Sometimes, during the Sunday service, he would bring John and Elaine a strawberry pastille, sneaking it to them when their parents were not looking.
He lowered himself into a chair that groaned with his weight, or perhaps Elaine had groaned in sympathy.
“The squire is here to inquire about the discovery of John’s remains,” her father said.
As magistrate, it would be up to the squire to determine if there needed to be an inquest regarding John’s death. And if there was an inquest, well, that was only one more reason to postpone the wedding.
Squire Stroud nodded. “I understand you are the one who found the . . . him.” His blue eyes watched Elaine with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.
“Yes. I found him in one of the caves near the ruined castle of Tintagel.”
The squire considered this for a few moments. “How did you find him?”
“I found him long dead.”
Her father snorted, then quickly cleared his throat.
Squire Stroud’s lips did not even twitch. “I mean, how were you able to locate the remains, considering that area is one frequently explored by excursionists and locals both? How had he not been found before? After all this time, how were you alone able to find him?”
She feared this would be his question. She would never mention the woman in green. If the squire found out there was a mysterious woman haunting the coast, no doubt there would be a search. Gwenevere would be a suspected accomplice in John’s death, the death of Mr. Kemp, and the other deaths Elaine had since heard about: the fisherman, the widow, and the Gribbin lad. Or perhaps Gwenevere would vanish again, never to return. “I can’t explain it,” Elaine finally answered. “Something drew me there.”
“And what did you find?”
“A long and narrow cave. As I went deeper, I stumbled upon the bones of a man.” She continued her story, describing her shock, then her realization that it was her brother, based on what was left of the clothing and the quizzing glass.
“And you were with Mr. Gareth Kemp?”
That was another area she did not care to elaborate on. “The tide was coming in, and I was trapped by the water. Mr. Kemp, Lord Chiverton, and my Uncle Charles set out searching for me. It was Mr. Kemp who finally found me.”
“How was it that Mr. Kemp knew where to look if the cave itself was so hidden and remote?” Squire Stroud was leaning forward now.
It was clear he’d already formed an opinion of what had happened to her brother and that he was simply waiting for her to speak the words to confirm it. A fox lying motionless in the bracken, waiting for the rabbit to fall into his trap.
But there was no trap. It had been five years. Nothing could be done. The squire did raise an interesting question though. How had Gareth been the one to find her—and so quickly?
“He knows that area better than anyone.” Certainly better than Lord Chiverton and her uncle.
Squire Stroud leaned back into his chair as if his trap had sprung.
“What is it you suspect?” her father asked.
The squire pursed his lips. Though he was the magistrate and it was his duty to deal with matters such as these, he was not the highest-ranking man in the parish. Her father was. But her father had been happy to waive his right to magistrate. The position had been offered to the squire.
Squire Stroud had no part in the tin mines, and Elaine thought he’d always resented what he called easy money. He believed a man’s wealth should come from the ownership of land, not the funding of mines. For this reason, Elaine did not entirely trust his objectivity regarding Gareth.
“We know young Master John has been gone these past five years,” the squire said. “Most likely his death, like the others, came at the hands of the smugglers.” He paused as if waiting for the rest of the room to catch up.
Apparently none of them did, as she, her mother, and her father all stared at him, wondering what he could possibly mean.
He gave them all an exasperated look. “The young Mr. Kemp has come into a great deal of money over the last several years.”
Elaine was already shaking her head. It was clear as day where he was headed now.
“Owner of Polkreath Mine. A carriage. That kind of money does not come from honest work. Not so quickly.”
“You’re saying Gareth Kemp is a smuggler and killed our John?” Elaine’s mother spoke for the first time. Squire Stroud’s story had stilled her knitting needles, and she was on the edge of her seat. If her mother believed for one moment that Gareth was capable of this, Elaine didn’t know her at all.
“It makes sense, does it not?” The squire settled back into his chair. “Young Master John discovers his friend’s doings. Gareth stops him any way he can. Gareth knows the alcoves and hidden places along the coast and leaves the body where it will never be found.”
“No.” Elaine was on her feet. “That is simply not possible.”
Squire Stroud watched her carefully, as if every move of her body could be the final piece of evidence he needed to arrest Gareth.
Gareth and John had been the best of friends. The very idea that Gareth might have been at all involved in John’s death was utter madness. That he was a smuggler, preposterous.
“Are you also accusing Mr. Kemp of killing his own father?” Elaine asked, her voice rising. “Did the elder Mr. Kemp also discover his son’s underhanded activities and have to be dealt with? Absurd.” Elaine glared at her father. He should know better.
“It does seem rather far-fetched,” her father said. He’d come to her aid, but he did not seem wholly convinced of Gareth’s innocence.
The sound of shouting came from the back garden. Elaine peered out through the glass but could not see what the commotion was.
A few moments later, Mr. Winkleigh entered. He set out a tray of tea and scones with cream and preserves.
“Thank you, Mr. Winkleigh,” her mother said.
“What’s going on outside?” her father asked.
The old butler’s eyes went to Squire Stroud, then to Elaine. “Two local lads in a bit of a mix-up,” he said.
The Williams? She thought they were long gone.
Mr. Winkleigh did not leave the room. Though he addressed her father, his eyes kept going back to her. “Got into a scrap of trouble is all, sir.” There was something he wasn’t saying.
“I’ll see to it, Father.” At the very least, this would give her the opportunity to get out and away from the squire’s half-witted theories.
She followed Mr. Winkleigh into the corridor. “What is the trouble?”
When the door to the drawing room closed, Mr. Winkleigh said in a quiet voice, “The lads were caught stealing.”
“Stealing?” Good heavens. After all she’d done for them. There must be some mistake. “I gave them the food; they did not steal it.”
“It’s not the food, miss.” He motioned for her to proceed him down the hall toward the kitchen.
She strode along, and he followed on her heels, still offering nothing of what the boys were accused of. “What is it they have stolen?”
He cleared his throat, then quietly answered. “A piece of Master John.”
Elaine stopped. She stared at Mr. Winkleigh. “Do you mean . . . a piece of his . . . a bone?”
The old butler simply nodded.
Why on earth would either of the Williams do such a thing? She’d only ever shown them kindness. After all her warnings about respect for the dead, that he was her cherished brother, not just a pile of sticks and stones, they dared to pilfer a piece of him. It was unthinkable. And also a little bit disturbing.
Elaine hurried on, entering the kitchen with her lips pursed tightly.
The two boys stood in the center, heads hanging low. Sandy Will’s knees quaked, and Willie White-Top’s hands twisted and turned as he held them in front of him. They’d better be scared; she was not going to let them off lightly.
She planted her hands on her hips. “What have you got to say for yourselves?”
The lads did not look up.
Mr. Winkleigh intervened. “I think you should see this.” He held out a long curved bone. A rib, it looked like. “This is the piece they took.”
She looked back at the boys now trembling harder than ever. “Why?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure if she was asking the lads or Mr. Winkleigh or the world in general. None of this made sense.
“Look closer,” Mr. Winkleigh said. “Here.” He pointed to some dark markings on the bone.
Elaine leaned in. A figure had been carved into its surface. She did not touch the bone, but she pulled Mr. Winkleigh’s hand holding it closer. It seemed to be some kind of symbol. A bird, like a crow or a chough, with what appeared to be a lantern hanging from its beak.
She looked up at Mr. Winkleigh. “This looks like a smugglers brand.”
Mr. Winkleigh nodded.
“Are you saying John was somehow involved in smuggling?” She could not believe it.
The squire’s theory about Gareth rang in her ears, but it could not be true. It was hard to tell who was involved in smuggling rings and who wasn’t, so secretive was the whole scheme.
But this was all nonsense. Neither of them was a smuggler of any kind. They could never have hidden that from her.
Mr. Winkleigh shook his head. “I’m not saying any such thing.” He placed the rib back on the table in the spot it would have been during John’s life. The smuggler’s brand came to rest over what would have been John’s heart. “Just thought you should see it.”
In any case, this mark had been made long after his death. If John had been involved in the smuggling and not simply a victim, why bother to carve this symbol above his heart after his flesh had rotted away.
“We should show this to my father, but after the squire leaves.” No sense adding fuel to the fire that stoked Squire Stroud’s far-fetched ideas, but her father should definitely know.
Which brought her back to her first question. She stood in front of the boys again. “Why? Why did you take this bone?”
Willy White-Top shook his head. “We didn’t know it ’ad that on it.”
Of the whole pile of bones laid out on that table, they’d happened to select the one with the marking on it? Never.
Unless there were more that had been branded. “Mr. Winkleigh, could you please check the bones that none others are marked.”
“Already done so. Couldn’t find nothing else.”
Elaine turned back to the boys. “Do not lie to me. Why are you after this bone?”
A long moment of silence followed, then a faint whisper from Sandy Will.
Willy White-Top’s elbow landed hard in Sandy Will’s side.
“What was that?” Elaine bent forward to listen.
“He’ll kill us.” His little voice barely made a sound.
That was probably the most truth she’d ever gotten out of them about the whole affair. This explained much about the two wandering children. They did work—not down in the mines, not at the fisheries, not with the bal maidens, but with the smugglers. Along with their parents, no doubt. A part of her didn’t want to know who they belonged to anymore. It was so much easier when the smuggling went on beyond her sight. Now the lads were caught up in something that could very well lead to their demise.
“Who?” she asked again, but both sets of lips remained shut tight. “You must tell me. It could lead us to the man who killed my brother. The man who killed Mr. Kemp.”
“What are you talking about?” Her father stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
At last. “Is the squire gone?” she asked.
He gave a nod.
“Come and see this.” Elaine motioned him over to the table, and Mr. Winkleigh lifted the shroud. She pointed at the mark, and her father bent close to study it.
He lifted the rib, and all three of them peered at it.
“A smuggler’s brand?” he asked.
“I believe so,” Elaine said.
“Have you ever seen this before?” he asked the butler.
“No, sir. Not this one.”
“Why is it on the rib?” He ran a finger over the mark at the same time a click came from behind them.
Elaine spun around in time to see the door swing shut and nothing of the two Williams. She ran to the door and flung it open just as the lads reached the edge of the lawn. “They’re getting away!” she cried.