The corners of Trevor’s mouth turned up in a tight smile. “No, Kiera.” He sat down next to me and patted my hand. “I am well.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, avoiding his eyes by continuing to pet Earl Grey. “There’s nothing troubling you about the estate?”
Trevor gave a short laugh. “There’s always something troubling me about the estate.” He offered me a reassuring smile, but it did not reach all the way to his eyes. “But nothing in particular.”
I suspected he was lying, but it was clear he didn’t wish to confide in me, and I could not force him to. But there was something else I could ask him about.
“You know you are welcome to invite Lord Wilmot or any of your friends to visit. I don’t mind.”
His face immediately creased into a frown. “No, I cannot.”
My stomach clenched. “Be . . . because of me.”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
Feeling a burning begin at the back of my eyes, I dropped my gaze to my feet and wrapped my arms around my churning stomach. Though I had suspected this was the reason, I hadn’t expected my brother to confirm it so baldly. He must truly be ashamed of me then.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought,” I murmured in a low voice.
“Why are you apologizing?” Seeing my confusion, he elaborated. “You couldn’t have known what a bad lot Lord Wilmot is. Could you?”
“Bad lot?” I blinked against the wetness in my eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. “You mean, you’re not ashamed of me?”
“Of course not,” he declared, and I felt the ball of dread that had gathered inside me release.
“So you’re not embarrassed to introduce me to your friends?”
His gaze turned sad. “Oh, Kiera. If I’m embarrassed of anyone, it’s myself.”
“Why?”
He paused, as if considering what to tell me. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turned to stare out the glass wall of the conservatory. “I fell in with some bad people a few years ago. Gentlemen I’m not proud to be associated with.”
“After the scandal broke over my involvement with Sir Anthony’s dissections?” I guessed, and he nodded. “They shunned you as well?”
He sighed again. “Not at first. But after going one too many rounds of fisticuffs in defense of your honor, and calling one of the society matrons a shrew, well, you understand.”
“Oh, Trevor.” I gasped, oddly touched by his poor behavior.
He held up his hand. “I could have ignored their spiteful words. I should have. But I was too angry with them all. With myself.”
I reached over to link my arm with his, sinking my head down on his shoulder.
“When I was no longer welcome at society’s best events, I started attending those that were more questionable. Which is how I fell in with Wilmot and his cronies.”
“Are they really so terrible?” I ventured.
“Yes. They’re scoundrels and reprobates. And I don’t want you to have anything to do with them.” He glared down at me until I agreed. “I pity this Miss Holt. Even if she’s as supercilious as Miss Witherington, she deserves a better husband.”
I smiled. “Ah, so you’ve noticed that as well?”
“How can one miss it? She clearly has a bee in her bonnet where it concerns you.” Then he muttered under his breath, “I seriously hope Andy has considered what he’s in for if he marries the chit.”
I squeezed his arm and he looked down at me.
“Do we understand each other now?”
I offered him a smile. “Yes.”
He nodded and turned to stare at my easel. “I have questions for you about your Mr. Gage. But I suspect you don’t wish to answer them now, do you?”
My cheeks began to heat at his description of Gage as “mine,” and I cursed my fair complexion for being such a telltale.
He only grinned at my discomfort. “We’ll save that for another time then. But don’t think I’ll overlook it forever.”
I scowled. “I know you won’t. Though, I admit, I was surprised you left us alone to question the villagers and the Nun.”
He shrugged. “How much trouble could he get you into on the way to St. Boswells and back?”
“We could have stopped at an inn,” I goaded him.
He arched his eyebrows in chastisement. “I already know you did. I was aware of the plan, remember. And our coachmen kept me abreast of your every movement.”
I shook my head. I should have suspected as much.
“Just doing my duty by you, my dear.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As we’d all slept late into the morning, Trevor, Gage, and I did not gather in the dining room until almost a quarter after noon. While the footman cleared away my remaining breakfast things, leaving the tea, at my request, Gage began to lay out all of the facts we had so far, which were disturbingly few.
“We know that on the night of Hogmanay a group of four men who spoke ‘oddly’ dug up the late Earl of Buchan’s body and stole his bones, leaving everything behind, save maybe a golden torc. In the process of exhuming Buchan’s body, it’s likely they were disturbed by the Dryburgh groundskeeper, whom they shot and killed to keep silent.”
“Very succinct,” Trevor quipped. “What of Kiera’s drawings?”
“Well, we knew that more traditional body snatchers have worked in the area before,” I interjected. “So these could be the same men working on their own, or under someone else’s direction.”
Gage nodded in agreement. “We also have that bundle of lady’s clothing we found in the Chapter House to consider. Though I can’t see how they fit in.”
I sat back to contemplate the matter, sipping from my cup of sweetened tea. I could make no sense of the clothes either.
Trevor tapped his fingers on the table and leaned forward. “And what of the connection with the body snatching of Sir Colum Casselbeck? Is it too early to have heard anything from your friend with the Edinburgh City Police?”
Gage crossed his arms over his chest. “I suspect it’ll be at least two more days before I receive word from him. He’ll need time to investigate. Depending on the families involved, these crimes may not have been reported.”
I groaned. “We’ve learned almost nothing new.”
“Patience,” Gage soothed. “Sometimes that’s the way investigations are. They’re not always solved in three or four days. Most of my inquiries last weeks or months. There’s no reason to become discouraged until we’ve exhausted all lines of inquiry.”
I inhaled deeply and nodded. He was right. There was no reason for me to become so frustrated. We would find Dodd’s killer and the late earl’s body. It just might take a little more time than I was accustomed to. As confusing as this inquiry was, it was infinitely preferable to my two previous investigations, the first being a race to prove my innocence and find a killer before he struck again, while the second had been to find a missing girl and prove my friend Will Dalmay was sane and not a murderer.
“Now, I suggest we start by searching other local graveyards to see if any other graves have been disturbed. Lord Buchan’s might not be the only one.”
I agreed, grateful to have something to do to distract me from more unpleasant thoughts.
However, two fruitless days of searching turned up nothing. We could find no evidence that any of the other local graveyards had been disturbed by body snatchers in recent years. We even stopped by the tiny cemetery in Elwick, though I insisted I would have noticed if anything there was amiss. I showed Gage my parents’ graves, and we spent a long time talking under the branches of the old oak standing sentinel over their final resting places.
More often than not, it was just Gage and I who made these excursions. Trevor would excuse himself, saying he had estate matters to attend to, but sometimes there was a look in his eyes that made me wonder if there was more to his absence than that. Regardless, I was pleased to see that my brother seemed to trust Gage, or that at least he was giving hi
m the benefit of the doubt, for my sake.
And Gage was giving him no reason to regret it. True to his professed intentions, he behaved like a proper suitor. Well, most of the time. He did sneak in a kiss here and there. But I would have expected no less. And truth be told, I would have been disappointed had he not.
They were lovely, golden days, and even our lack of progress in the investigation did not dim my quiet joy. But they would not last forever.
It was late in the afternoon, and Gage and I had just returned from our walk to Elwick. The sun hung low in the sky behind us, casting long shadows on the road in front of us. I remarked on the odd flatness of the sky that evening, wondering if we might receive a dusting of snow soon.
Trevor heard us come in, and emerged from his study as I was removing my cloak. I could tell from the look on his face that something had happened.
“Trevor, what is it?”
He lifted a folded piece of paper. “It’s from Lord Buchan. He’s received a ransom note.”
• • •
“Just two days. That doesn’t give us much time,” my uncle exclaimed, pacing back and forth before the hearth in Lord Buchan’s drawing room. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him more agitated.
Gage looked up from his perusal of the ransom note. “I would surmise that was intentional.”
“Do they honestly expect Lord Buchan to have that much cash readily available on such short notice?” Uncle Andrew bellowed. “It’s preposterous.”
“Do you?” I asked the earl, who had sunk into one of the Chippendale chairs next to the wall of windows looking out on the lawn. Cold rain drummed against the glass, accented by the sharp ping of sleet.
He looked up from his dejected perusal of the Aubusson rug. “I do.”
Uncle Andrew grumbled under his breath, but did not cease pacing. I suspected he was more agitated by the fact that such a crime was being committed in his jurisdiction than anything else.
“Under the circumstances, that’s a very good thing,” Gage said, handing me the note where I perched on the settee in front of where he stood. I ran my fingers over the paper. It was made from very good stock, though embellished with no markings. I opened it to read it while the conversation continued to flow around me.
“Why? You’re not actually going to pay the ransom?” Uncle Andrew said.
“How else am I going to get my uncle’s remains returned to me?” the earl argued.
Quality paper it might have been, but the handwriting was atrocious. I didn’t know whether this was an attempt by the sender to disguise his identity or the general state of his penmanship. I suspected a mixture of both. The words were sloped and cramped, and the grammar was generally good, but here and there a word choice or phrase seemed off. Another thinly veiled effort at concealment, or the writing of a less educated man?
“That will be Lord Buchan’s decision to make,” Gage interjected, rounding the settee to sit down beside me. “But either way we are going to be there to meet that horse in two days’ time, and we are going to at least make the thieves think we’re paying the ransom.”
The earl frowned. “What do you mean?”
Gage leaned forward over his knees. “The ransom note has given us very specific instructions. We’re to place the money in two leather satchels and strap them to a horse that will be waiting for us at Shotton Pass. But I’m not about to send that horse on its way and not attempt to follow.”
“But they said they’ll be watching. That they’ll know if we try to track the horse.”
“How exactly? If they can see us, then we’ll also be able to see them.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“My lord, this may be our only chance to catch these men, to bring Dodd’s killers to justice,” Gage argued, sitting taller in his seat. “Had they merely stolen your uncle’s body, I might be more open to persuasion. But they’ve already proved themselves willing to commit murder. And given the fact that they’ve likely done this before, and are apt to do so again in the future, I think it’s imperative that these men be apprehended before they can cause more harm.”
“So you think these are the same men who ransomed Sir Colum Casselbeck’s body?” I asked.
There was a deep well of restrained anger behind his eyes. “Yes. The planning and the pattern of movements are too similar. Though they have moved the timetable up a bit. The Casselbecks had almost a week to gather their ransom money.”
“But their exchange was conducted over water,” I pointed out simply for the sake of argument.
“Because Musselburgh is near the forth. Maybe they thought asking Buchan to travel to the forth was too far away. Or perhaps we came too close to catching them the last time. I don’t know. But I must say I prefer this payment location to that of one over water.”
“Yes, but the ease of this location is deceptive,” my brother murmured, tapping his fingers against the arms of his chair.
Our uncle nodded in agreement, finally settling into a chair near the warmth of the fire.
“Shotton Pass is at the edge of the Cheviot Hills, and that Border terrain is riddled with old reiver trails. It’s broken country, dreary and desolate. Easy to lose your way and wander into a moss or a bog if you don’t know where you’re going. There’s no way to know which trail the horse will have been trained to follow.”
Gage’s brow furrowed in frustration. “Yes, but surely it’s been mapped.”
Trevor shook his head. “They’re all incomplete. How do you think the Border reivers were so often able to evade the wardens and each other? The terrain and twisting passes are known only to those who live on it. That’s how it’s always been. And that’s how they mean to keep it.”
“Then I suppose we’ll need someone to ride with us who knows the area.”
Trevor nodded to me. “Kiera and I have both ridden through the Cheviots. Though we’re by no means experienced enough to claim we know the terrain, especially in the dark. I’ll ask around. See if I can find someone willing to guide us.”
I was both surprised and pleased that Trevor and Gage were not trying to leave me out of this part of the investigation, as I’d fully expected them to. I supposed they thought me safe enough trailing a horse through the desolate loneliness that was the Cheviot Hills. That or they simply recalled how little good it did to leave me behind. In both prior investigations, I had been left behind for my own protection while Gage and others pursued important leads, and yet I’d still ended up in danger.
“I’m sure my son and some of my nephews would also be willing to ride out with you if you think it would help,” Uncle Andrew offered.
Gage rubbed his chin in thought. “No. I think four riders are plenty. Many more and we might just become confused in the darkness. After all, to follow the thieves’ horse, we may have to rely more on the sound of the horse’s hooves than on sight.” He flicked a glance at me. “When we happen upon the culprits, we’ll proceed with caution. If there are too many for us to safely apprehend, then we’ll simply have to follow them or set a watch over their location.” He turned to my uncle. “But if your son and nephews would be willing to wait at an inn close to the location of our initial exchange, then we could send word to them should we need assistance.”
He nodded. “It will be done.”
Gage shifted in his seat so that he could better see Lord Buchan, who had been quietly listening to our plans. “I’ll need you to position some men around the abbey on the evening of the exchange and for several days and nights after. When Sir Colum Casselbeck’s ransom was paid, his bones were returned to the church attached to the graveyard where he was exhumed.” His jaw hardened. “If they somehow manage to elude us while the ransom is being paid, perhaps we can catch them when they return the body.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Though the light of day had not yet completely vanished from the sky, the waning crescent moon already shone on the horizon as we crested the ridge of land that would lead us down into Shotton Pass. O
nce the pale pink and yellow light of dusk faded from the sky, there would be little natural light to guide us. The thieves had chosen their time well.
I shivered as the wind whipped through the valley between the two rises. The rough land was speckled with scrub and rocks and bracken. If not for the unpleasant reason behind our visit, I might have found the vista before us rather beautiful, in a bleak and melancholy way. The sky above was streaked with low wispy clouds tinted red by the setting sun, and the almost desperate loneliness of the Cheviot Hills stretched out before us. Even the bitter gusts of the winter wind rattling the skeletal branches of the low-lying scrubs added to the landscape’s desolation.
I huddled deeper into my royal blue woolen riding habit and brown fur-lined cloak. The rain had finally ceased a few hours before, and I was grateful to only be contending with the cold and not the wet. I could not say the same for Figg, my strawberry roan filly, whose pale legs were already coated in icy mud.
Figg seemed to pick her way along easily enough, despite the shifting, uneven ground beneath her hooves. Her ears twitched from side to side occasionally as the stumbling sounds of our progress echoed between the ridges, but she remained calm and collected following behind Trevor’s bay stallion. Gage and his beautiful chestnut gelding brought up the rear.
Being a market day, my brother had been unable to find a guide to lead us into the hills on such short notice. A fact I was certain our thieves had also counted on. These men were far too intelligent for my comfort, and so I rode on deeper into the wilderness with some trepidation.
Trevor reined in his horse as we rounded a curve in the pass, allowing us to pull up beside him. Up ahead in a sheltered nook stood the yew tree the ransom note had described, and next to it, with her leather reins twisted in the branches, stood the sorrel mare nibbling at the tufts of grass at her feet. We all scanned the ridges above us, looking for any sign of someone watching from above, but the light was fading fast. It would not have taken much effort to remain hidden.
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