CHAPTER TWENTY

As Casey walked next door to the Yellow House to fetch Anderley on his behalf, Gage pulled me aside to ask me to remain at the abbey with Bree rather than join them. I could hear the concern in his voice as he explained how uncertain he was of what exactly they would find. There was every possibility they would be ambushed by a dozen men. Casey seemed reliable, but we couldn’t be certain the other men would not be rash enough to shoot first and ask questions later.

None of this was in the least reassuring, and I was tempted to demand he forget the bargain he’d made with Casey and go speak to Chief Constable Corcoran now rather than risk it. But I knew he would never go back on his word, especially when such a raid could jeopardize so many more lives than Casey’s. So I agreed, knowing Gage didn’t need my pair of eyes, nor the distraction of worrying about my safety. In any case, much as I wished to see the castle, this wasn’t a tourist excursion, and Homer’s warnings about the derelict state it had fallen into made me suspect I would only be distressed by the sight.

Gage did, however, want us to show him the location of the tunnel which led from the abbey. Casey confessed he had not taken that passage in some years, and could not recall its exact placement, so Bree and I agreed to lead the way. It would have been quicker for Casey to guide them through the tunnel that began at the Yellow House, but since our main objective was to solve the murders of Miss Lennox and Mother Fidelis, Gage felt it was important to see which route they had traveled.

Leaving the phaeton and horses at the abbey, Bree and I led them through the door by the gardeners’ cottages and along the abbey wall, past the pond, and up the hill to the wild cherry tree growing against the old stone wall. Now that we knew what we were looking for, it was easy to find the set of steps leading downward, shielded behind the blackthorn and spindle. Bree and I stood back to watch as they disappeared from sight, a lantern from the carriage guiding their way down into the dark tunnel. I felt a moment’s uneasiness when all evidence of them vanished, but I turned my back determinedly on the prospect and began striding toward the abbey.

The ground was still soft from a downpour of rain in the early morning hours—not long after the girl outside the window at the Priory had disappeared—so we made our way carefully. The workmen who had labored on the wall the day before could not do so while the ground was so saturated. So rather than return through the door by the gardeners’ cottages, we picked our way through the gap, attentive not to disturb anything. While I paused to wait for Bree, I glanced around me, examining the work that had been done.

It was then that I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, a swift flash of white against the brown and green of the orchard. Perhaps it had just been the startled flight of one of Miss Lennox’s birds, but I didn’t think so. Holding a hand up to forestall anything Bree might have said, I lifted the hem of my soft emerald green skirts and crept forward on the balls of my feet in the direction I had seen the white vanish, peering through the trees. Bree was at my heels, blindly following my lead as she did so often.

I reached up to brush a long branch laden with small yellow-green clusters of growing fruit. A bee buzzed past my hand, attracted by the sweet scent. Ahead of me sat a large rectangular wooden box on the opposite side of the next tree in line, positioned up against its trunk. I was certain I’d seen it before as we’d woven our way through the trees, but I’d not taken note of it. After all, it was normal to see such large trough-like containers as well as barrels spaced throughout an orchard. But I marked it now.

If one was in need of concealment, it was the perfect hiding spot. Particularly, if the people you were hiding from were not looking for you.

Was that why Miss O’Grady had not seen anyone fleeing from the murder of Mother Fidelis? She’d described hearing a noise, the reason why she’d set off in the direction of the wall in the first place. Had what she heard been the killer concealing himself? If so, did that mean our thinking was all wrong? Did the murderer not come from outside the walls, but within? Were they hiding here even now?

I felt a chill run down my spine at the prospect.

I glanced at Bree, pointing toward the box. She nodded and began to circle around the tree before us in the opposite direction even as I slowly moved forward. Reaching inside my reticule, I withdrew my pistol, ready to use it if necessary.

When we were within one step of seeing into the chest-high trough, we both paused, staring through the branches at each other. Then I cocked my pistol, and with a nod we sprang forward.

The girl inside shrieked at the sight of me leveling my gun at her. “Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot me,” she begged, clambering to the opposite side of the box. Old leaves and sticks crunched under the soles of her shoes.

I lowered my pistol to my side, uncocking it. My heart still pounded in my ears. “Miss Walsh, isn’t it?” I snapped in exasperation. The troublemaker. “What are you doing here?”

“W-why do ye have a gun?” she demanded with false bravado.

“Because I thought you were a killer.” I glared down at her. “Are you?”

“No! No. How can ye ask such a thing?”

“Then, I repeat, what are you doing here?”

She pushed unsteadily to her feet, brushing off the leaves and dirt clinging to her frock. Her eyes darted over her shoulder at Bree and then back to me as she rubbed her arm where she must have bruised it when she launched herself backward away from my pistol. “I decided to go for a walk.”

“While you’re supposed to be in class?”

She lifted her chin. “Aye.”

“And here of all places, where you know a murderer has already killed two women?” Fury tightened my voice as I tucked my gun back into my reticule. “I didn’t take you for a fool.”

Her spine stiffened. “I didn’t leave the walls. An’ besides, he killed two nuns. Not the students.”

Her callous retort made the skin on the back of my neck ruffle like a cat. “Yes, but Miss Lennox was dressed much the same as you, wasn’t she? Are you certain, should the murderer return, he would know the difference?”

This silenced her, making some of the peachy color of her complexion drain from her face. I almost felt sorry for speaking so bluntly. Almost.

“Miss Walsh, please be straight with us. Lies will not help you.” I stared daggers at her, letting her assume whatever she wished to think I meant by that statement. “Why are you here?”

Her shoulders drooped and her eyes dropped to the floor of the box. I followed her gaze to where a book lay half-concealed by leaves. The cover was nondescript, but it was obvious that whatever the contents were, she did not want me to see them.

“Do I even want to know what type of book that is?”

The fiery hue that suffused her cheeks told me all I needed to know.

I held out my hand, demanding she give it to me. She hesitated a moment before stooping to pick it up and thrusting it into my fingers. I saved her the indignity of examining it.

“Where did it come from?”

“Miss Kelly’s sweetheart snuck it to her durin’ his last visit.”

“Your sweethearts are allowed to call on you?” I asked in surprise.

She peered up at me through her lashes, some of her normal mischievousness sparking in her eyes. “If they say they’re our brothers.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or frown at this last pronouncement. No wonder the sisters had so many rules about silence in the halls and strict adherence to schedule. How else were they to keep these girls out of trouble?

“And is this where you all steal off to read it?”

“We can’t be keepin’ it in the dormitory, now can we?”

I arched a single eyebrow in scolding at the insolence that had returned to her voice. “Then one of you must have seen Miss Lennox and Mother Mary Fidelis leaving the abbey’s property?”

Her rebelliousness swiftly fled.

I stared at her in expectation, letting her know I was not going to dismiss the matter.

“Maybe,” she hedged.

“Tell me.” I glanced at the book in my hands. “And maybe I’ll fail to mention I found you with this.”

She stared at the book, and then asked hopefully, “Will you give it back?”

“No,” I snapped.

Behind her, Bree lifted a hand to her mouth and turned aside, hiding her amusement. The girl had cheek, I had to give her that.

She shrugged and sighed, dropping her gaze again. “We saw dem. Well, we saw Miss Lennox.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “We thought maybe she was just havin’ a tryst, maybe wit one o’ the boys from Nutgrove o’er the hill. One last fling before she gave herself o’er to the Lord’s service.” It was clear Miss Walsh was not destined to be a nun, for the manner in which she spoke of Miss Lennox’s impending profession was akin to sending someone off to their execution.

“I see. And you girls didn’t think to tell anyone?”

“We told Mother Fido after Miss Lennox was killed. But then she was killed, too.” Her gaze drifted to the side.

Under the circumstances, I allowed her use of what must have been the girls’ nickname for Mother Fidelis go without comment. “And you were afraid if you told anyone else, they might also be killed?” I guessed.

She nodded.

It formed a twisted sort of logic, particularly to impressionable minds. Except I knew that Mother Fidelis had already been aware of Miss Lennox’s ventures outside the abbey, and that she had not left to conduct a tryst.

I studied Miss Walsh, wishing there was some bit of advice I could give her that I thought she would heed, but it was clear my words would be wasted. The dark-haired girl was too lovely and obstinate for her own good. I only hoped some small bit of the sisters’ example and instruction influenced her for the better.

“Go on. But stay away from the orchard in the future,” I warned her. “At least, until this killer is caught. And tell the other girls that if they know something, they should speak to me now, before it’s too late for someone else.” The last was a bluff. We had no idea whether the killer intended to strike again. But I hoped as an intimidation tactic it would prove effective.

Miss Walsh nodded and leapt out of the box, dashing off between the trees.

Bree shook her head. “That girl is gonna find herself in a whole pile o’ trouble someday that she canna worm her way oot o’.”

I was inclined to agree, until I opened the book we’d confiscated from her. One look at the title page and I burst out laughing. “Or maybe not,” I managed to say, tipping the book for her to see.

“The Canterbury Tales. What’s that?”

“A collection of stories from the Middle Ages. And not as indelicate as we might have feared.” I glanced up toward where the girl had disappeared. “Perhaps there’s hope yet for our curious Miss Walsh.”

•   •   •

In the end, I couldn’t keep my encounter with Miss Walsh a secret from the mother superior. As we made our way through the gardens up to the abbey, I realized the girl had certainly been missed, and when she failed to appear in a timely fashion, the sisters would fear the worst. My suspicions were proven correct. For when the reverend mother and Mother Paul joined me in the parlor, their first concern was for the wayward girl. I hastened to reassure them that she was unharmed and should have returned to the abbey even before me. They exhaled a collective sigh of relief, and were further reassured by a message from another sister, informing them that Miss Walsh had finally appeared in class.

“What was her explanation for being there?” Mother Paul asked, irritation furrowing her normally smooth brow. “Curiosity?”

“Something of the sort,” I replied, having told the girl I would try not to tell them about the book.

Even so, it was evident Mother Paul wasn’t completely fooled, but she didn’t press the matter. “In this case, I think it might be time you contacted her parents,” she told the reverend mother.

“Yes. You may be right. It’s no longer an issue of simple tardiness anymore, but safety—hers and the other girls. We cannot have that.”

“She is rather willful, isn’t she?” I asked, not wishing to stick my nose into matters that didn’t concern me, but curious all the same.

“She is the constant subject of all our prayers,” she replied tactfully, despite the evident strain in her eyes. She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Now, I’m quite certain you did not come to see us today for the sole purpose of saving Miss Walsh from her folly.” Her gaze focused intensely on my face. “What have you uncovered?”

I should have known better than to think the reverend mother would have missed the restrained energy vibrating through me. Even so, it was not easy to deliver the news I had to tell her about both Miss Lennox’s and Mother Fidelis’s involvement in the tithe war. I felt certain the shock that registered across her face was genuine. However, Mother Paul was more difficult to read. She accepted the news as equitably as her mother superior, but her expression merely tightened with each new revelation, her gaze turned aside.

“I feel as if I should have known, or at least suspected,” Reverend Mother replied, shaking her head. “It is . . . troubling, to say the least.” Her thumbs tapped together in her lap. “I shall have to inform the bishop. He should be made aware.”

“What of you, Mother Mary Paul?” I inquired, turning to the other sister. “Did you have any idea what they were doing?”

She frowned. “No. Not really. But . . . I had misgivings. Unfounded, of course. Which is why I never said anything,” she told her mother superior.

“How long ago did you begin to suspect?”

She considered my question. “Perhaps a few weeks before Miss Lennox’s death. I found Mother Mary Fidelis searching for something in your office. A paper of some kind. But I noticed your latest letter from the bishop was open on your desk. You had shared some of its contents with me earlier that day, and then folded it and put it in the drawer of your desk. It talked about O’Connell, and the tithes protests, and his worries that more clashes like the one in County Kilkenny earlier that spring might occur. He asked for our prayers for the Lord’s guidance.”

“Yes, I remember,” Reverend Mother murmured. “And I understand why you didn’t say anything. But why did you suspect Miss Lennox was also involved?”

“I didn’t. Not until she was caught outside the abbey wall. Then I began to wonder.”

Mother Superior lifted a weary hand to her forehead. “Yes. That makes sense.”

It did make sense. And if Mother Paul had noticed, she might not have been the only one.

•   •   •

Gage and I were mostly silent on our drive home from the abbey, the subject occupying our thoughts too sensitive to discuss while speaking loud enough to be heard over the clattering wheels. The men had said very little upon their return from the castle through the tunnel, but I noticed their clothes were rumpled, including Constable Casey’s, and Anderley sported the beginnings of a black eye. He refused my attempts to examine it, mounting his horse and riding back toward what had become his customary post at the Yellow House.

I closed the door behind us as we reached our bedchamber, but Gage held up his hands, forestalling any questions. “Some of the men took exception to our visit, which resulted in a bit of a coat dusting. The worst of which you’ve seen. There’s nothing more to say on the matter.”

I arched my eyebrows at his testiness. “Did you locate any weapons?”

“No. Or they would have used them,” he muttered under his breath, tugging at his cravat. “Everything else seemed just as Casey described. If they’re planning a rebellion from that location, it will be a rather short-lived and slapdash one.” He winced as he shrugged his dirt-streaked coat over his left shoulder.

“You’re injured,” I gasped, moving forward.

“No, I’m not,” he snapped, twisting away. “Just a bit sore. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

I whirled toward the door. “Then I’ll wait for you in the parlor, shall I? Seems someone needs to lick his wounds.” The sound of its slam was rather satisfactory, but I paused halfway down the stairs, annoyed I’d forgotten to remove my pelisse. I set to unbuttoning it, pulling it from my shoulders as I rounded the newel post to find Marsdale standing in our entry.

At times, the man truly was a nuisance, showing up where he was least wanted and least anticipated. Though, in this case, I supposed his presence might prove to be helpful. He deserved to know what we’d uncovered about his cousin, and I was curious to hear his reaction to our revelation.

He caught sight of me standing there watching him and flashed me his usual impish grin, but something of my thoughts must have been reflected in my expression, for his humor faded.

“M’lady . . .” the butler began.

“It’s quite all right,” I assured him. “Could you have some tea sent up? Lord Marsdale, if you’ll join me in the parlor.”

I dropped my soft emerald green pelisse onto the back of the chair closest to the door and crossed over toward the windows which looked out onto the carriage yard. I rolled my shoulders to adjust the neckline of my matching gown, smoothing out the bows at the collar and brushing a hand down the skirt toward the decorative twists of fabric.

“You are distressed,” Marsdale remarked with more gentleness than I’d yet heard him use.

I glanced back to find him still standing near the door, as if uncertain how to proceed. “Not unduly.” I offered him a weak smile. “Do not worry. There won’t be any tears.”

He moved forward a few hesitant steps. “Is it about my cousin?”

I noticed then the pale cast of his skin. I didn’t wish to lie, but I also thought Gage should be present when we told him. “Partly,” I hedged. “But I suspect it’s more the weight of this inquiry vexing me.” I stared out the window at the brilliant afternoon sunlight. “It’s bound to happen at least once during every investigation.”

“Then why do you do it?”

I noticed he hadn’t pressed me to tell him what I knew of his cousin. Perhaps he was in as little of a rush to hear whatever had alarmed me as I was to tell it.

“Because someone needs to. Because I’m good at it.” Those words sounded almost trite, and I wondered if they were enough. But he didn’t press that either.

The tea tray arrived then, and I settled onto one of the armchairs, grateful for something to do. Marsdale seemed equally relieved.

When Gage entered the room a short time later, he found us both sitting quietly, sipping our tea like two of the most proper members of the ton rather than two of the most scandalous. We must have made quite an incongruous sight, for he stumbled to a halt after taking just a few steps into the room. His eyes traveled between us several times before advancing.

“Did you tell him?” he asked as I set my cup aside to pour his.

“I thought it best to wait for you,” I replied, dropping sugar into his cup and passing it to him.

He nodded, taking a seat in the chair next to mine. His hair at his forehead and around his ears and neck was still damp, and the collar of his jacket was folded up at the back. I reached over to brush it flat, and he gave me a quick smile.

“All right, out with it,” Marsdale declared, draping his arm over the back of the settee. “I’m riveted in suspense,” he drawled in a droll voice that did nothing to hide his nerves.

Gage took a sip of his tea. “It’s not as bad as we have made it seem. But it is . . . worrying.” He explained what we’d learned earlier that morning about Miss Lennox’s involvement with the tithe protest, her supposed information gathering, and even Mr. LaTouche’s somewhat contradictory claim the evening before.

Marsdale listened without comment until he finished, and then sank back into the cushions of the settee, his expression one of astonishment. “So someone is lying?” he finally muttered.

“It appears that way. Though I suppose it’s possible that your cousin was playing both sides, so to speak. She might have provided information to Casey and the other members of the tithe protest and, in the process, stumbled on to something that made her think there would be an armed revolt, and so asked LaTouche to warn Anglesey about it.” I frowned even as I finished saying the words.

“Yes, but then why didn’t she simply write to Wellington, or whatever family member was corresponding with her, and inform them of her fears? Why contact LaTouche at all?” Gage pointed out, and I could not answer him. He was right. It all sounded far too convoluted.

He looked across at Marsdale, who was scowling at the table before him. “Did anyone say anything pertinent after we left LaTouche’s yesterday evening?”

“No. Though LaTouche was quieter than I’ve generally observed. Bowed out of a hand of piquet, when everyone knows he’s mad for it. His son even seemed . . . puzzled by his behavior.”

“What of your cousin, Miss Lennox? Do any of her reported actions make any sense to you?”

He shook his head. “No. But then again, when you told me she’d converted and decided to become a nun, I was also completely shocked. Nothing I ever knew of her led me to believe she was particularly religious, or that she would ever defy her family in such a way.” He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling as if in remembrance. “Though as I’ve said before, she did often keep to herself, so perhaps I didn’t know her well enough to tell.” His brow lowered. “But I do know one thing. Harriet was fiercely loyal. Had she thrown her lot in with these protesters, she would not have betrayed them.”

“Not even if they were planning some sort of violence that might see innocent people harmed?” Gage pressed.

“Even then,” he insisted. “And certainly not to LaTouche, who is likely one of those Orangemen dead set against them.”

With each new thing I learned, my understanding of Miss Lennox became less clear. She had been described as quiet, humble, and meek, yet she’d defied her family to convert to Catholicism and join a convent. Then she defied her religious order and joined in the efforts of the tithe war. There was something inconsistent, something unreliable, in all of this, though I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Her conversion seemed so precipitous, as did her decision to help the tithe protesters, and Miss Lennox struck me as a person who was far more considered than that. Mother Fidelis had hinted the same as well.

Marsdale sighed, suddenly sounding very weary. “But what do I know? I haven’t spoken to Harriet in years. Not since my father tried to arrange a marriage between us.”

I looked up, pausing in my efforts to gather the tea items together and stack them on the tray. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Gage seemed just as startled by this pronouncement as I was.

He sat forward. “You were engaged to Miss Lennox?”

“Not officially.” He looked up from where he was plucking at the fabric of the settee, seeming to notice our watchful expressions for the first time. His scowl blackened. “What? I wasn’t ready to stick my neck in the parson’s mousetrap. And besides, I liked Harriet too much to wish to saddle her to my profligate ways. Being a duchess someday wouldn’t have mattered a fig to her, and that’s the only compensation our matrimony could have offered her.”

“It sounds as if you cared for her,” I said quietly.

“Of course I did. Harriet was a dashed fine girl.” His face tightened with some intense spasm of emotion before he could bring it back under control. He cleared his throat and rose abruptly to his feet. “Excuse me.”

Then before either of us could say another word, he disappeared from the room. His footsteps receded rapidly toward the entry and out the front door. We sat listening as he called for his horse and then followed the lad toward the stables.

“I think you broke him.”

I turned to Gage with a glower, unimpressed with his quip. “Marsdale may be a scoundrel, but even scoundrels have hearts.”

He smiled at me gently. “Ah. Even me.”

I arched a single eyebrow, assuming he referred to his reputation when we first met. “You were never a scoundrel. Just a very poorly disguised rake.”

Gage’s smile broadened and then dimmed as he glanced toward the window, where the sound of horse’s hooves riding off into the distance could be heard. “The question is, just how much of a scoundrel is Marsdale?”

I folded my hands in my lap, having no trouble following his line of thought, as the same thing had occurred to me. “His appearance in Whitehaven did seem far too coincidental.”

“Was he truly fleeing Lord Skipton and his daughter, or was he just returning from a visit to Ireland and seeing us ready to set off in that direction decided to tag along?”

“But what of his valet and luggage? They weren’t with him. He said they were trailing behind him.”

Gage shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe that was a lie he told, thinking it would make his story more believable. Maybe they were already at the inn and the message he left instructed his valet to follow after us the next day.”

“And so what? He traveled to Ireland to see his cousin in a convent and then murdered her? Why? What motive could he possibly have? And don’t say religion, because I do not for one minute believe Marsdale cares enough about that to kill someone over it.”

“No. But contrary to what he wants people to think, he does care about his family. You heard what he said on the boat about his brother, and you’ve heard the way his voice softens when he speaks of his cousins, especially Miss Lennox. Who, admittedly, it sounds as if he actually loved, whether or not he realizes it. Perhaps he only came to be certain she was well, but something set him off. Something to do with loyalty perhaps.”

“He does speak an awful lot about that, doesn’t he?” I considered what he’d said. “But then why didn’t any of the sisters recognize him?”

“Maybe he never came to the abbey proper. Maybe he wrote to her and met her by the pond, just as LaTouche claimed he did.”

“And Mother Mary Fidelis saw them together and confronted him, so he killed her, too?” I eyed him doubtfully.

His mouth flattened in chagrin. “It does seem rather far-fetched.”

“Everything about these murders seems far-fetched,” I remarked in discouragement, rising to my feet and crossing the room to stare out the window again. A squirrel sat in the middle of the carriage yard a few feet away, his red tail rolled up his back like a plume as he chomped away at some sort of nut he rotated in front of his mouth. Some sound made him still, glancing behind him, before he stuffed the rest of his meal in his cheeks and ran off into the forest.

A moment later I heard Gage rise to join me. His arms wrapped around me from behind. “I admit, when I joined my father in this private inquiry business, I never expected to be investigating the death of a nun, let alone two. But here we are.”

I tipped my head to the right, pressing it against his chin.

“However, the longer we investigate, the more I’m reminded they were just people. Perhaps they’d devoted themselves and their lives to the service of the Lord and the church, or were about to, but that didn’t mean their problems went away. I suspect whoever killed them, whatever their motive, we will find it is just as common as any other murder. Anger, jealousy, money, fear . . .”

“Love or hate,” I finished for him.

“Yes.”

“It seems the key lies in truly understanding what Miss Lennox, and consequently Mother Mary Fidelis, were doing. Was she helping or harming the protest?” I exhaled, feeling my frustration return. “Or does this have nothing to do with that at all?

“I don’t know. But the cattle fair is tomorrow, and I suspect one way or another it will provide us with some answers.” His arms tightened around me. “I just hope they’re not answers we would rather not have.”