Gareth
He neared Camelford square and veered off on the road toward Havencross.
“Mr. Kemp?” a man called, approaching him on horseback. In the darkness, all Gareth could make out was a silhouette. It wasn’t Chiverton—not enough arrogance. It sounded like John. But that was impossible. Unless, of course, Gareth was dead.
It was not beyond the realm of possibility that he’d fallen off his beast in the fields and now lay dying and this was all an illusion playing out in his mind.
“What are you doing?” It wasn’t John. It was his father, Mr. Cardinham.
Cardinham rode up to him. “Goodness, Kemp. You look like death.”
This neither confirmed nor denied the possibility that it was all in fact one big nightmare brought on by loss of blood and the very real possibility that he was already in purgatory in the next life. Or maybe his purgatory had come early.
“Mr. Kemp?” Cardinham moved his mount even closer and reached out, taking hold of Gareth’s animal’s bridle. “What happened to you?”
“I’m looking for Elaine,” he said.
Mr. Cardinham’s eyes narrowed. “At the devil’s hour?”
“She must not marry Chiverton.” This was what mattered most. He reached for the threads drifting in and out of his mind, but they eluded him. There was more to say, but he could not think of it.
“Sir,” Cardinham said, “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask. “You’re injured. I’m on my way to Dr. Woodbury even now. Mrs. Cardinham’s sister has taken a turn for the worst. You’d best come with me.”
Cardinham unstopped the lid and handed Gareth the tin flask. It had the Cardinham symbol etched on the front. Gareth put it to his lips and tossed down a gulp. Then another. Then another. The liquid burned as it went down, coating his belly with the fire of Hades. But the sting did wonders to clear his mind. He took one more swallow, then handed it back.
“I can’t,” Gareth said. “There is no time. I must ask, do you know where Miss Cardinham is? I believe she is in danger.”
Mr. Cardinham eyed him through slits for a moment, taking in his disheveled hair, his complete lack of appropriate attire, the woman’s stocking stained red, keeping his life from leaking out. “She stayed the night with Miss Tippet.”
“Miss Tippet?” This proved his suspicions about Mr. Tippet and the Landguard. What better place to keep her hidden away. It was a clever excuse on Chiverton’s part. “How do you know?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but she walked into Camelford yesterday and didn’t make it home before the weather closed in. She sent us word that rather than trouble with a carriage, she’d stay with her friend overnight. You know how girls are.”
Gareth had little knowledge of how girls were, but he knew how Elaine was. It would take nothing short of a typhoon to deter her.
“Does it seem like Miss Cardinham to let weather keep her from home?”
Cardinham shook his head. “No, I suppose not. But she and Miss Tippet are friends.”
“Sir,” Gareth said. “Chiverton is not what he seems. He is involved deeply in the gang responsible for John’s and my father’s death.” Gareth pointed at his leg. “It was he who shot me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Chiverton is not even from these parts.”
Chiverton had everybody fooled. “I’m telling you he is involved. I know this of a certainty. I beg you to believe me. He is the man financing the smuggling, and now he has come to Cornwall to be closer at hand. He does not care about Elaine; he only wants Havencross for its location.”
At last, it seemed he was getting through. The man’s eyes widened. He released the bridle of Gareth’s horse.
“Wait.” Gareth kicked his one good heel because he could no longer move his injured leg, urging his horse to come alongside Mr. Cardinham’s. “There is more. Squire Stroud is also involved.”
At this, Cardinham balked. “Impossible. I know the squire well. He is a friend and magistrate.” Cardinham eyed him again. “How do I know you’re not the one who’s been turned to the smugglers? After all, you’re the one out skulking in the middle of the night.”
“Are you suggesting I killed my own father?” He’d given Cardinham more credit than that. “You must see how preposterous that sounds. Instead, consider this: Why has nothing been done to find the real murderer? Why has the Landguard accomplished nothing to stop the smuggling? Why has the squire let the matter go on and on unsettled? He reported to me many times that he was doing his utmost, but now I see that he was doing nothing because he was responsible for the killings in the first place.”
Cardinham was listening. Gareth could see doubt prowling his brow.
“I was as surprised as you to discover the squire’s involvement. But I have just come from his house, where I was a prisoner held captive because I had discovered the truth.”
“Perhaps you are right. It does make some sense. But I cannot wholly agree until I see for myself. For tonight, at least, what matters is my daughter.”
In this, he was right. Of first importance was Elaine and prying her out of Chiverton’s hands. If they found her, Cardinham would see the truth soon enough. But he still had to mention his suspicion of Tippet.
“I believe Miss Cardinham may indeed be at the Landguard office,” Gareth said, “but not visiting her friend. Rather, under the watch of Tippet and Lord Chiverton.”
“Now you accuse Tippet as well? Come, man. Even you must see how ridiculous this sounds.”
“It is a large and well-funded gang of smugglers,” Gareth said. “I’m sure there are many more involved than even these.”
Cardinham shook his head in disbelief.
Gareth had used up his strength.
Elaine. He must not lose sight of his top priority. He would waste no more time trying to convince her father. “Off to the Landguard, then, but we cannot go barging in unprepared.”
“That won’t be a problem.” Cardinham patted a rifle looped onto his saddle. “I’m not fool enough to ride out without some protection. Besides, he wouldn’t dare harm a gentleman.”
Meaning, of course, that the life of Gareth and his father were valued less. He hadn’t even realized his implication, so naturally had it fallen from his lips.
Cardinham pushed his horse faster. “If Elaine is in trouble, that’s all the reason I need.” He turned his mount down the lane that led into Camelford. If she wasn’t at Havencross, the Landguard was as good a place to check as any. Chiverton was not fool enough to send a letter to Havencross detailing his hostage’s true location. But with the right kind of persuasion, they might still be able to get Tippet to talk.
Free at last only to follow Cardinham back to the door of the wolf.
The Landguard office was situated across the River Camel. As they neared the bridge, a ragged form rose up in front of them. Cardinham’s horse reared, but he managed to keep his seat. Gareth pulled on the reins, swinging his mount in a tight circle to keep it from doing the same.
It was Broken Betty. She hissed at the horses, then turned to Cardinham and mumbled something.
Elaine was right. Gareth’s Cornish was greatly lacking, for he understood nothing of what she’d said.
“Out of my way,” Cardinham grumbled as he maneuvered around her. “I don’t have time for this.”
The woman reached up with her gnarled hands and grabbed the bridle of Gareth’s horse. She had several tattered shawls tied around her shoulders and a face like an ancient seaman. She said something again, but Gareth could not make it out. Perhaps something about Saint Piran.
She said it again, pointing across the fields. “Mires orth Sans Pyran.”
Look at Saint Piran. Or so he thought. He didn’t have time for this either, but when he tried to move on, she wouldn’t let go.
“I’m on urgent business,” he told her.
Broken Betty hissed at him, shaking her head and showing the few brackish teeth she had left. “Sans Pyran,” she insisted.
“Yes, yes. Saint Piran.” Patron saint of Cornwall—or at least patron saint to the tin miners. The church in Camelford was Saint Piran’s.
And then it hit him. Chiverton’s entire scheme depended on marriage to Elaine. All the banns had been read. Elaine was of age. By law, the ceremony must take place between nine and noon, but what was that if Chiverton or Squire Stroud had steel against the vicar’s throat. Records could be falsified. A special license forged.
He should have studied his Cornish better, despite Elaine’s teasing. “Uh . . . Miss Cardinham? Sans Pyran?”
Broken Betty hissed and spat off the side of the bridge. A great glob that glistened in the eerie light and then plunked into the slow-moving water. Gareth’s empty stomach churned.
She let go of his horse, melting back into the night.
“I think I know where she is,” Gareth called out to Cardinham, who waited for him on the other side of the river.
“We all do.” He motioned at Gareth to cross the bridge. “That’s why we’re headed to Tippet’s place.”
Cardinham did not fully understand what he was up against. He had not seen the extent of Chiverton’s wrongs and still thought Tippet could help. The truth would hit him hard when Tippet opened his door with his saber drawn.
Gareth couldn’t wait that long. If Broken Betty was right—and he couldn’t believe he was taking a lunatic’s word for it—there was a marriage taking place at this moment. He had no time to waste. “She’s at Saint Piran’s.”