Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) (23 page)

Craggy Donald shook his head. “’Twas too far off.”

Gage thanked him and we started back up the path at a speed too quick for me.

“Slow down,” I gasped.

He complied, but without so much as an apology for making me winded. He was too deep in thought.

“How much would you wager that Mary was on that boat?”

“I’m not wagering anything,” I told him, though I did feel a surge of hope that we might be able to clear William after all. But our chances of finding Mary Wallace were looking slimmer and slimmer. “In any case, we need to talk to the ferrymen.”

Gage turned to me with a bright smile. “No bet, then. But if those ferrymen don’t confirm that Miss Wallace never crossed the river that day, keeping her far away from Dalmay House, I’ll . . .” his eyes lifted skyward, as if searching for inspiration “. . . eat a haggis for dinner.”

I felt a swirling in my stomach. One that I knew was due to Gage’s rising confidence in Will’s innocence rather than any nausea at the idea of eating haggis.

* * *

A
nd as expected, Gage did not have to choke down the traditional Scottish dish. None of the ferrymen had seen Miss Wallace on Thursday, and they knew her well. It appeared she had something of a routine, and rarely crossed the river on Thursdays. So they promised they would remember the oddity of such a departure from the usual. There was absolutely no reason to doubt their truthfulness. So it was with a lighter heart that I began our ride back to Dalmay House, though my thoughts were still troubled over the whereabouts of Miss Wallace.

The trail wound in and out of the forest that bordered the firth, giving us glimpses of the water and then taking it away. But all the while we could hear the soft roaring of the waves as they approached the shore. Sycamores and elderberry trees lined the path with pale white asters sprinkling the ground between their trunks. Here and there stood patches of bramble bushes, reminding me that this was where Miss Remmington and Miss Wallace first met, and where they often strolled together. It was a lovely little wood, allowing just enough sunshine through the canopy above so that it did not feel isolated or confining.

I glanced at Gage, who seemed to be puzzling through something—his brow furrowed, his body loose and swaying to the gait of his horse. He had not spoken since asking his questions of the ferrymen. I knew there were things we needed to discuss, questions I needed to ask, but I was almost reluctant to voice them. I had not slept well again, my mind too full of worries and fears I dared not speak aloud. This was the most serene I had felt since arriving at Dalmay House—no, since leaving Gairloch Castle, when my sister promptly fell ill a mile into the journey—and I was reluctant to end it. Whether it was the peaceful setting or the mounting evidence that Will could not have had anything to do with Miss Wallace’s disappearance, whatever had exerted its calming influence on me, I knew it would end the moment I addressed the secrets between us.

I wanted to pretend they weren’t there. I was so tired of fighting with Gage. I tried to tell myself that whatever he was keeping from me couldn’t be that bad; that I didn’t need to know. But I did. I knew I did. And it would nag at me, affecting everything I did until I had the truth.

I gazed across the short distance between us at Gage’s profile, watching the light and shade shift across it. I was weary of all the secrets. He needed to either tell me or leave me be.

“I know,” Gage surprised me by saying.

I worried for a moment I might have spoken aloud.

He turned his head to look at me. “I know we need to talk. But first . . . there’s something I want to ask you.” He paused, his eyes heavy with some strong emotion, and I realized he was waiting for my response.

I frowned, uncertain what he needed to ask me. “All right.”

His eyes turned forward again. I wasn’t sure whether he didn’t know how to phrase his question or if he was working up the courage to ask it.

When he spoke, it was slow and hesitant. “Are there really no romantic feelings on your part for Will?”

I scowled at him in irritation. Why did he continue to persist in this?

“I know it’s impertinent,” he told me. “I just . . . need to know.”

I studied him, trying to understand why my answer seemed so important to him. Was this because he’d kissed me? Was he worried he was trifling with another man’s woman? Particularly since Will was Michael’s brother, and hardly in a state to defend my honor, if necessary.

“Gage,” I spoke softly, leaning forward to try to catch his gaze, “I care for Will, I do. But there is nothing romantic between us,” I assured him.

When I finished speaking those words, he finally looked up at me.

I shook my head. “I am never going to marry William Dalmay, even if he asked me.” It was my turn to look away, to gaze out at the strip of sea emerging through a gap in the trees. “I don’t suspect I ever will marry again,” I murmured. I’m not sure what made me add the last, but if we were going to be honest with each other, I suppose I decided to lay it all before him.

I turned back and, seeing his expression—which I read as somewhat pitying, though perhaps it was meant to be sympathetic—I smiled tightly. “Now,” I declared, jumping straight into the fire to hide my embarrassment, “where have you seen Dr. Sloane? Did you meet him somewhere?”

Gage adjusted his seat on his saddle, making his horse snuffle. He reached down to pat the gelding’s shoulder, and when he looked up again, it was as if he was on his way to face the gallows. His expression did not reassure me.

“When I was finishing up my last investigation in Edinburgh,” he began, “I received a letter from a man needing my assistance with a tricky matter. I agreed to meet with him, though I was none too pleased with the information he had to give me or the matter he asked me to investigate.”

I felt a gnawing sense of dread, making it difficult to breathe.

“He said he was concerned for the safety of one of his former patients and the people around him. The patient had turned violent while in his care and murdered a girl, but the family would hear nothing of his concerns when they demanded his release into their custody. I hesitated to take on the inquiry,” he said, glancing at me warily. “It seemed wrong, disloyal. But then I realized that if I didn’t agree to investigate, he would find someone else to do it. Someone who was far less discreet, or less disposed to see the accused in a favorable light.” He began pleading with me then. “You see, I
had
to take the inquiry. I couldn’t leave it for someone else, someone less understanding, who could care less for the Dalmays or what harm they suffered because of it.”

“This man . . .” I began, unable to complete the sentence.

Gage nodded slowly. “Was Dr. Sloane.”

I stared down at my horse’s mane, too overcome by hurt and anger to speak. I felt as if I were choking on it. To think I’d begun to believe the bulk of Gage’s deceits were behind us. But this . . .
this
was even worse than his refusal to share his reasons for dismissing my doubts during the murder investigation at Gairloch.

“Say something,” Gage urged. “I know you must be upset . . .”

“Upset!” I gasped in disbelief. “Upset? I’m bloody furious! How could you? Michael trusted you.
I
trusted you. And all the while you’ve been investigating for—for
that man
.” My horse whinnied and danced to the side.

“Kiera, please. I had no choice. How do you think another investigator would have treated them?”

“I don’t know,” I spat back, leaning over my mare and trying to soothe her. I knew she was reacting to my agitation, but I couldn’t control that. “And right now, I don’t care. Why didn’t you tell us?” I shook my head. “I
knew
there was another reason you were here. I knew you were
lying
to me. Do you ever tell the truth?”

“Of course,” he replied, actually having the audacity to sound hurt.

“When?” I demanded. “Because all I seem to ever get from you are evasions and half-truths. I can’t trust you.” The admission hurt like a knife stabbing into my very heart.

“Kiera, that’s not true.” He frowned. “You’re overreacting.”

“Oh, am I? Tell me one time, just
one
, when you have been totally honest with me.”

He opened his mouth to reply but I spoke over him.

“Even the way you present yourself is a lie.”

His mouth snapped shut and he scowled.

“You’re not a rake.” He looked like he was about to argue, but I cut him off again. “Just because you slept with a few widows doesn’t make you a rake. It makes you a man. I understand how the world works. But you flirt and pretend you’re one.”

His voice was hard. “It’s an image I have to cultivate.”

“For your investigations?” I replied derisively.

“Yes. It’s no different from the things you let others assume about you because of how awkward and aloof you seem in public.”

“But I don’t deliberately set out to deceive them. If they got to know me, they would see it’s not the truth.”

“It’s the same with me. If they got to know me . . .”

“But you
don’t
let anyone get to know you!”

He fumbled over his reply. “Well, you don’t let anyone get to know you either.”

“I let you.”

Gage fell silent, and that look I couldn’t decipher was back in his eyes. Was it sympathy? I turned away, feeling sick.

“Kiera,” he murmured.

“No! Just . . . don’t.” My horse shied underneath me again and I struggled to bring her around. I wanted to let her break free to take me away from there. “I can’t listen to you right now.” I loosened my hold on the reins and tightened my knees against Dewdrop’s flanks. “Don’t follow.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
he horse shot off like something had stung her on the flank. I leaned low over her neck, letting the wind whip at my clothing. I felt my jaunty little hat rip free of its pins and go sailing into the firth, but I didn’t stop to worry about it. My hair began a cascade, and soon all of it was billowing down over my shoulders and behind me.

We had emerged from the trees and the trail was running directly alongside the shore now. I let Dewdrop veer toward the firth to gallop in the surf. The water she kicked up was cold against my ankles, and I knew the hem of my gown would be soaked, but I didn’t care. The wind tasted sweet and salty on my tongue, washing away the bitterness Gage’s revelations had left behind, and it dried my tears almost before they had a chance to fall. I couldn’t even be sure whether my eyes were watering because of the wind or because of Gage’s betrayal, although from the continued ache in my chest I suspected it was the latter.

Banbogle Castle loomed up ahead, its craggy walls dominating the landscape, and I set it as my destination. I had not heard Gage follow, and I was glad he’d listened for once. Thankfully he understood that I did not play coy. I truly couldn’t be around him right now. I was too angry, too . . . hurt.

How could he do such a thing? Take on an investigation for Dr. Sloane? Perhaps he hadn’t known about the man’s ill treatment of William at first, but surely it was obvious that if a doctor was making such claims, his institution was shoddy at best. In any case, what kind of man tries to get back a patient who has been removed from his care? Gage must have seen there was more to Dr. Sloane’s eagerness to see William returned to the Larkspur Retreat than a simple concern for the safety of the public. There had to be something he was afraid would become known, something he was worried that Will had already revealed or might reveal in time. And Gage had agreed to help silence him.

How could he look Michael in the eye knowing he was being so disloyal? I was half tempted to tell him about Gage’s perfidy, but I knew it would only hurt him. To think we had believed he was our ally when all the time he had been working for the enemy.

I had heard his claim that he’d done it for the Dalmays, fearful of what another investigator might do, but I could not accept it. Couldn’t he have simply warned them of Dr. Sloane’s intent? Why all the subterfuge?

Unless he thought Dr. Sloane’s claims might be true—that Will
had
killed a woman? It would explain his extreme aversion to my spending any amount of time with Will from the very beginning. If that was the case, what did today’s revelations mean? That he no longer suspected Will of foul play, be it to Miss Wallace or this woman at Larkspur Retreat?

I could hardly turn back and ask him the answers to those questions now, not after riding away from him in such a fury. I would just have to save them for later.

For a moment I had an irrational fear that I would return to the manor to find him gone, disappeared from Dalmay House like he had from Gairloch, without giving me any answers. But then I realized he couldn’t leave. Not with this investigation still hanging over his head and the fate of Miss Wallace unknown. He was trapped there by his duty, and by whatever sense of obligation he felt in his friendship with Michael. He couldn’t escape me so easily this time.

I checked my horse’s gait as we neared the crumbling castle and was surprised when I passed a bit of overgrown scrub grass to see Mac standing there watching my approach. William was perched on a rock from a tumbled section of the wall not far away. Now that they had seen me, I couldn’t ignore them and ride off. And, I realized, I didn’t want to.

I turned Dewdrop toward the pair, pushing a hunk of fallen hair out of my eyes. I’m sure it looked a ratty mess, but I knew they wouldn’t care. William was grinning, and so I couldn’t help but offer him a smile in return.

“Good afternoon,” I said as Mac took hold of my reins. “Enjoying the fine weather?”

“It’s not quite the same from my bedchamber window,” Will replied.

“No, it isn’t,” I agreed.

Mac guided Dewdrop over to a flat stone to be used as a makeshift mounting block, and I unhooked my left leg from the pommel of the sidesaddle and slid off the horse’s back. On the beach, not far away, there were the charred remains of a fire. I wondered if Mac had built a blaze here on a recent excursion to keep Will warm. Will scooted over, offering me part of his rock. I sighed as I settled on the hard surface, and then breathed deeply of the fresh air. It was a lovely prospect. If only Will’s ancestors had kept the castle in good repair it might have been their family home still.

“You’re distressed,” he said, and I was taken aback by his perceptiveness.

“I was,” I admitted. “But I’m calmer now.”

“What happened?”

I considered lying to him, but then I realized that would make me no better than Gage. I could try evading the question, but that seemed just as bad. He was looking at me with such steady patience that I decided it couldn’t hurt to confide in him. He’d always been a good listener. There was no reason to think he wasn’t now just because of where he’d spent the last decade.

“Mr. Gage and I had a fight.”

He searched my face. “About me?”

“Partly.” My answer was deliberately unclear. I didn’t want to have to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to tell him about Gage having been hired by Dr. Sloane. There was no telling how he would react.

In any case, Will did not seem to mind my hazy response. He turned back toward the sea, seeming to take pleasure in the way the waves rolled up onto the sand and pebbles, leaving foam in their wake. It was such a soothing sound, the wax and wane of the ocean. Only the kittiwakes crying overhead disturbed the tranquillity.

And Will’s next words.

“Kiera, I’m well aware of the risk I pose to you and everyone else. You cannot blame Mr. Gage for wanting to protect you.”

I frowned, unhappy to discover what Will believed I meant by my vague reply, and displeased to hear him admit so readily that he was a danger to others. “This wasn’t about protecting me.”

“Are you certain of that?”

The candor in his voice made me look up.

“To a man, the protection of those he cares for is of the utmost importance. It’s ingrained in us at birth, and our training as gentlemen only amplifies it. To see someone we think of as ours suffer, be it physical or emotional pain, because we failed to protect them from something we should have, well . . . it diminishes us. It . . . tears at who we are.”

His gaze had turned inward, his words pensive, and it made me think that he was talking about himself as much as Gage. Who had Will failed to protect? The soldiers under his command? Or had it been someone in the asylum? I thought of the girl Dr. Sloane had accused him of killing. Did he feel guilt because he had been unable to protect her from whatever had happened to her? The idea that he might be carrying around such a burden wrenched my heart.

His soft gray eyes were clear again when he arched his eyebrows at me in gentle chiding. “It’s plain to see that the man cares for you. And therefore your safety and security are very much on his mind.” The corners of his mouth tipped up in the semblance of a smile and a teasing light entered his eyes. “I know you dislike being cosseted, but give the poor chap a chance.”

Was that it? Was Gage really just trying to protect me? From what? The pain his lies had caused me? Well, he’d certainly failed in that regard.

I scowled at the sea, still smarting from the sting of his most recent betrayal. How was I supposed to continue working with Gage when I couldn’t be certain he was being honest with me? How was I supposed to look him in the eye knowing I’d let him kiss me, even
wanted
him to, all the while ignoring the indications that I shouldn’t trust him?

Yes, there had been contradictory information. Philip and Alana both believed in him and had urged me to do so. But as highly as I regarded their opinion, I also recognized they didn’t have all the facts, nor did they risk so much by taking the man into their confidence. Though, as far as I knew, Gage had not betrayed the information I had shared with him about my past, nor Will’s, for that matter. And he’d proven quite ably that he would risk his life to protect mine. Even now, angry as I was with him, I couldn’t seem to quiet the instincts that told me I would be safe with him.

The man was beyond infuriating! Why couldn’t he just have been honest and forthright with me from the very beginning?

I turned to find Will again contemplating the sea. I was surprised he could derive so much enjoyment out of it even knowing Inchkeith Island was out there. Did it comfort him to stare across the cold, choppy, sometimes violent waves of the Firth of Forth and know they stood between him and the asylum? Or was he drawn here, unable to turn his back on the place that had caused him so much pain, either out of lingering fear, morbid compulsion, or disbelief?

“You like to come here, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I grew up here. Michael doesn’t remember it much, and Laura was born at Swinton Lodge, but I spent the first decade of my life in this drafty, old castle.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the crumbling tower. I hadn’t thought of that. Sometimes I forgot that he was fifteen years my senior, even with the gray hair at his temples. He had lived his entire childhood before I had even been a speck in my parents’ eyes. My gaze snagged on the crenellated battlements, reminding me of something his brother had told us.

“Michael talked about your ancestor Sir Roger Dalmay and his dog. How the hound howled at his death.”

“And how he howls at each subsequent laird’s death?”

I turned to him, surprised by the unconcerned tone of his voice. “Doesn’t that bother you? That a dog will supposedly foretell your demise one day?”

“No.” Seeing my anxious expression, he offered me a tight smile. “I’ve been waiting for death a long time now, Kiera. It no longer has the power to frighten me.”

I wasn’t certain I liked hearing that, yet, under the circumstances, I thought I understood. But I desired to change the subject anyway.

“What was it like living here?”

He looked a question and I hastened to explain.

“I’ve spent a good deal of time with my sister at Gairloch, but it’s been so modernized that sometimes it doesn’t feel much like a castle. Banbogle has hardly seen any renovations.”

He sighed. “Cold, drafty, damp, smelly. Chunks of the ceiling used to fall sometimes, and once the north stairwell caved under the weight of a footman.”

I gasped, but he merely smiled.

“But it was home. And great fun when we’d play King Arthur or Rob Roy.”

I looked behind me again at the castle. Moss and lichen had nearly overtaken the walls on this side of it, and a great gaping hole opened into the ground floor, one a person could walk straight into, if she wasn’t afraid of the rest of it coming down on her head.

“It’s too bad it’s no longer safe to explore,” I remarked, twisting further around to see what the object was that had caught my eye.

“Oh, I can still move around in there.”

I snapped my head back to look at him in wide-eyed shock.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m careful. And I don’t do it often.” He nodded to where Mac stood, one leg propped up on a rock as he stared out to sea. My horse stood nearby, her head bent to nibble at the grass growing along the verge of the path. “Mac doesn’t like my clambering about the ruins. Worse than an old nursemaid, he is.”

As if he sensed we were talking about him, Mac turned to look at us. He watched us for a moment, a contemplative look on his old, grizzled face. And then it was gone and he was striding toward us. “Time to return?” he asked Will.

“Aye,” Will replied, imitating his thick brogue.

Mac nodded, not reacting to his employer’s jest, and turned back to gather the reins of my horse.

Rather than taking the time to bustle the train of my riding habit, I draped it over my arm and rose to walk with Will down the path back toward Dalmay House. Mac trailed behind us, leading Dewdrop.

The afternoon was so fair, with its bright blue sky and the blazing autumn foliage, that it suddenly seemed absurd to believe Will was capable of anything nefarious. I was aware that Michael and Gage might not be happy with me for doing so, but it felt like the height of ridiculousness that we hadn’t simply come out and asked Will about Mary Wallace. What was the worst we could uncover?

So I did just that, starting by asking if he knew who she was. I heard Dewdrop snuffle behind me, as if Mac might have pulled on her reins too hard, but I ignored the old man.

Will smiled warmly. “Oh, yes. We’ve met a time or two. Lovely girl. Do you know her?”

I felt a sudden chill, not having expected him to answer in the affirmative. And then I scolded myself for it. So he knew her. That meant nothing.

“Uh, no. But I spoke with her father recently,” I answered with care, uncertain how much he knew about Miss Wallace’s disappearance, if in fact he knew anything at all. “He seems like a very nice man.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure. But Mary speaks of him with great affection.”