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.”
I was surprised to hear him speak of her in such a familiar manner, but then I remembered that Dr. Winslow had said he was often overly familiar with people’s names—a side effect from his time spent at the Larkspur Retreat.
From the tone of his voice, it seemed obvious that Will did not know anything about Mary Wallace being missing. He was not concerned, nor did he seem frightened for her. So if he’d had anything to do with her disappearance himself, then either she was safe or he didn’t remember. The latter did nothing to cheer me; nor the former, for that matter. But could Will really have harmed a person and not remember it? It seemed so unbelievable. And yet Dr. Sloane’s accusation hung over it all like a pall.
“I was told she likes to stroll along the water. Is that where you two met?”
He nodded. “Miss Remmington introduced us.”
It was my turn to be shocked again. “When?”
Hearing the unease in my voice, he hesitated.
“I’m just surprised she never mentioned it, is all. She was telling me how much she liked Miss Wallace.”
He nodded. “I suppose I can understand that. I got the impression when she was forced to introduce us, oh, a few weeks ago now, that she was not happy about it. I thought it might be because of my time spent in the asylum, but then I realized it was also because she didn’t wish to share her new friend. After that I tried my best to avoid meeting up with them so that Miss Remmington would not feel I was intruding.”
As Will gave this speech, I realized that the sunshine and fair weather must have been having the same effect on him as it was me. He spoke more freely, more easily. And he smiled, albeit softly and slowly—something that had been rare even a decade ago during our drawing lessons—especially as he talked about Miss Wallace. I watched his expression closer.
“But you met her at other times?”
“Yes. We stumbled upon each other during our walks.” And when he said ‘stumbled’ I knew he meant that it had not been entirely by chance. “I know you would like her. She is kind and quiet, and she listens.” He tilted his head, contemplating me. “She’s a bit like you actually. You both have something that makes you hold back and observe rather than taking part. In you, I think people suspect it’s boredom or disinterest, and in Mary, they think it’s shyness, but they’re wrong on both counts. You simply don’t know how to participate without revealing the differences you so try to hide.”
I didn’t quite know how to respond to this speech. That Will had so much insight into who I was surprised me enough, but the fact that he had compared me to Miss Wallace, a woman who claimed to have the second sight and was now missing, bothered me more. Perhaps it shouldn’t have. A hundred years ago we might have been burned at the stake together. She because of her ability to see future events and me because of my ability to see into the heart of a person and render it in paint and ink. My unnatural stillness and “witch bright” eyes, as they’d been called by others in London, also did not help.
But Will wasn’t privileged to these thoughts, so he did not know how unsettled his comments had made me. “Kiera, you’re the same as you ever were,” he added with a crooked smile. “Just maybe a bit . . . sadder, lonelier. I’m sure your marriage to Sir Anthony Darby did not help.”
I sighed. “No. It didn’t.”
“Why did you marry him?”
I gave a huff of humorless laughter. “I didn’t want the bother of picking a husband, so I asked Father to find a match for me. My only stipulation was that I be allowed to continue painting.” I glanced up at Will, a wry curl to my lip. “Sir Anthony failed to tell any of us just why he was so elated with my artistic talents, or that there would be a condition to my being allowed to continue to paint portraits.”
“Your father was a good man, but he wasn’t, perhaps, always the most astute judge of charac
ter.”
I glanced at him in puzzlement.
“He hired me to be your drawing master that last summer, didn’t he?”
“Now, that’s nonsense,” I protested. “You were an excellent tutor. Quite possibly the best I ever had. Did you know that?”
“I doubt it,” he replied. “But, anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’ve become a fine artist. A brilliant one, at that. If you were a man, the royalty of Europe would be clambering for you to paint them. But I suggest you trust your own judgment in choosing your next husband.”
I opened my mouth to tell him there wouldn’t be a second husband, but his next words cut me off at the quick.
“I know my opinion hardly matters, but I like this Mr. Gage of yours.”
I couldn’t manage to say anything for a moment and then I spluttered, “Gage is not mine.”
Will gave me a chiding look that made my heart begin to beat faster.
“The man barely tolerates me,” I protested.
He shook his head. “Oh, Kiera, for a woman who is normally so astute, how can you be so blind?”
I frowned. “You’re wrong. If Gage were seriously interested in me in that way, I’d know.”
“Kiera, a man does not have to kiss you for you to know he’s attracted to you.”
I felt a blush burn its way up into my cheeks. I snuck a look at Will out of the corner of my eye, and, seeing him narrow his eyes like an outraged older brother, I decided it was time to change the subject before I was forced to admit to something I didn’t intend to.
“How often do you go for walks?”
He still eyed me suspiciously, but answered my question. “Whenever I can. Every other day or so if the weather is fine.”
“Does Mac always go with you?”
“Or Donovan.”
I studied his innocent expression. “Or you go by yourself?” I asked leadingly.
His jaw hardened in stubbornness. “If I can manage it.”
“Is that safe?”
Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) Page 26
