A Grave Matter

by Anna Lee Huber

  I glanced at Anderley, who was watching the others with the same mixture of dread. Our best option was to retreat, but if we did so, we might never discover what happened to Gage. That was a choice I wasn’t willing to make. We had to get one of these people to talk to us, perhaps one of the women. But before I could approach one of them, our decision was made for us.

  Two men at the edge of the crowd joined the barkeep in yelling at Trevor, gesturing wildly with their hands. Anderley advanced to help him, and while I was momentarily distracted, another man snuck up on me.

  He was surprisingly stealthy for a drunkard. He grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me to him. His breath reeked of ale and onions as he leaned down into my face. “Well, whatdawehavehere? Alasscometehplay.” He slurred his syllables together so that his sentences sounded like one long word. With his thick brogue, they were nearly indecipherable.

  “Release me at once,” I ordered, pulling against his grip.

  His fingers only bit deeper into the fabric around my arm. “Nay. Ithink’llkeepye.”

  I cringed away from his dirt-smeared, stubbled face as he moved closer, presumably to kiss me. I heard a crash from the area of the bar, but I had no time to spare as Onion Breath doubled his efforts.

  Fortunately, I was not without defense. The cocking of my pistol’s hammer and the hard press of its barrel against the man’s gut were enough to make him still. A rather comically shocked look suffused his features.

  I glared up at him, letting him know I meant business. “Now. You tell your friends to stop, or I’ll bury this bullet in your gut.”

  “Stop!” He gulped. “Stop! She’sgottabloomin’gun.”

  Several of the patrons halted their shouting and turned toward us, but the principal fighters near the bar were not listening. I didn’t dare take my eyes from Onion Breath, but I could hear the smacks and thumps of a fistfight.

  I pressed the pistol deeper into his stomach. “You’d better try harder.”

  “Stop!” he shrieked like a girl. “Stop, ye buggerbacks! She’sgonnamuckupmeinnards.”

  The sounds of fists smacking against flesh ceased and the room fell relatively silent, but for the shuffling of feet and the sound of a man collapsing against a table.

  “Trevor? Anderley?” I tried to see them out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t.

  “Yes. We’re well,” my brother replied, breathing hard.

  I refocused on Onion Breath, narrowing my eyes farther. “Now. Tell me about the men from Edinburgh who were in your village earlier tonight.”

  He shook his head.

  I jabbed the gun even harder into his flesh, losing patience. I knew it was only a matter of time before one of the men decided I wouldn’t really shoot. Men always seemed to underestimate women.

  “Tell me!” I barked. “They attacked a man and dragged him off with them.”

  But Onion Breath only shook his head harder. “I dinna ken. I swear.”

  “Then who owns the sorrel mare your Edinburgh friends have been borrowing?”

  If possible, his eyes widened even farther, but he didn’t speak.

  I really didn’t want to kill this man—wasn’t even certain I could—but if I didn’t follow through with my threat, how were we going to get any information out of these people? Somehow I had to make them believe we were more dangerous to them than those Edinburgh thugs; otherwise they would remain closemouthed out of fear.

  “How about the rest of you?” I snapped, growing frantic. “Does anyone want to talk? Because I will shoot your friend if I must. Those men from Edinburgh kidnapped my fiancé, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get him back.”

  I could feel sweat drip from the base of my neck and run down my spine, but I continued to hold the pistol firmly to Onion Breath’s stomach. I offered up a prayer that someone, anyone, would speak up, but they all remained quiet.

  “Kiera,” my brother murmured.

  I shook my head once to shush him, never removing my gaze from Onion Breath’s. “I guess no one cares for you,” I told him, attempting one last bluff, already knowing I would never be able to pull the trigger, no matter how desperate I felt. “So be it—”

  “No! Wait!” a woman exclaimed, moving forward to stand just over the man’s shoulder.

  A trembling breath of relief filled my lungs, though I tried my best to hide it.

  “Bess, no!” the man told her.

  “Shut yer gob,” she ordered him angrily. “I’m no’ gonna let ye be killed for this.” Then her defiant gaze swung to meet mine. “They’re stayin’ at the ole Selby farmstead at Pawston Lake.”

  I studied the young woman, trying to decide whether to believe her. Onion Breath’s cringe as she relayed this information seemed proof enough, for I doubted the man could act so well, especially foxed, but I wanted to be certain. When her gaze never wavered from mine, I nodded. “Thank you.”

  She returned my nod, and I slowly began to back away from her brother or lover, whoever the man was to her. I heard Trevor’s and Anderley’s footsteps creak across the floor behind me, trusting they were watching my back.

  Once we were through the door, we swiftly mounted our horses and rode west out of town before any of the villagers decided to stop us. I had a vague notion of where Pawston Lake was located—somewhere west of Kilham and northeast of Shotton Pass. It must have been hidden from our eyes by the ridges as we galloped deeper into the Cheviot Hills from the pass. Dixon agreed to lead us to Pawston Lake and then travel on to Shotton Pass, on the chance that he could intercept my uncle and cousins before they made for Kilham.

  We rode silently in pairs through the bleak, moonlit countryside, traveling as swiftly as possible, though we didn’t dare press our already fatigued horses too hard for fear they would stumble. My heart pounded in rhythm with the horses’ hooves, anxious to see Gage with my own eyes, to know that he was alive and well. Too much time had passed for my peace of mind. What if they’d tried to extract information from him, and find out what we knew? What if they’d abandoned him beaten and bound somewhere in the Cheviot Hills? Or worst of all, what if they’d already decided he was too much trouble to them alive?

  I shook my head, refusing to contemplate the possibility. We would find him. Alive. We had to.

  Gage had rescued me at Gairloch and again at Banbogle Castle. I would not fail him. I could not. The alternative was too awful to bear.

  We soon found ourselves in a narrow space between two ridges. With each quarter mile, the amount of vegetation increased, until the path was bordered by tall grasses, shrubs, and a few trees. When the boggy smell of mostly stagnant water assailed my nostrils, I knew we were close. We passed around the side of a hill and there before us lay the lake—its dark mass shimmering in the moonlight.

  We carefully followed the trail around the southern side of the lake to the farmhouse standing in the shelter of the hills at the southwest corner. Nestled in a small clearing behind a strand of yew trees, we dismounted and tied our horses off so that they could munch on the grass at the lake’s edge.

  Dixon turned south away from the lake, searching for a trail that would lead up over the ridge toward Shotton Pass while we surveyed the shadowy outline of the house. It was decided we would have to creep closer to discover exactly what we were dealing with before a plan could be formed. In a single file, we moved as stealthily as we could through the tall grasses, hoping the shuffle of our feet would not be heard.

  As we moved nearer to the house, it became evident there were actually two buildings—a two-story farmhouse and either a one- or a two-room cabin. Only one room at the front of the farmhouse was lit, but the cabin was ablaze with light, which appeared through the cracks at the door and windows, and even between several loose boards. I had a strong suspicion that was where the Edinburgh body snatchers were keeping Gage. Just as I was about to say so, the cabin door opened and a man emerged.

  I knew immediately who it was, and from the manner in which Trevor tensed be
side me, I suspected he knew as well. Mr. Stuart began to cross the yard toward the farmhouse in long angry strides when another man emerged from the cabin and called out to him. Mr. Stuart halted and swung around to face him, his posture stiff, his arms tight at his sides. As the other man approached him, I noticed he’d left the cabin door open a crack, but frustratingly we could not see inside.

  The man said something Mr. Stuart did not like, and they began to argue. However, whatever the man said next silenced Mr. Stuart. His back went rigid as the other man glared down at him. Then the man turned to amble back to the cabin, clearly feeling no threat from Mr. Stuart. Once the door to the cabin was closed, Mr. Stuart turned around and marched the rest of the way to the farmhouse.

  Anderley, Trevor, and I backed up a few feet and huddled together under the deep shadows created by a copse of birch trees.

  “Our best option is to ambush Mr. Stuart at the farmhouse, and hope he’s alone,” Trevor said, reading my own thoughts. “Then maybe we can convince him to give us more details about what is happening in the cabin, and how many men are there.”

  “He will,” I replied confidently, thinking of the handkerchief tucked in my pocket that I was now certain he’d tried to warn us with. I suspected that whatever Mr. Stuart’s original intentions had been for these body snatchings and ransoms, his plan had gone horribly awry. I only hoped I wasn’t greatly underestimating him.

  Trevor frowned. “Let’s hope.”

  “What of the others?” Anderley asked. “Lord Rutherford and your cousins. Shouldn’t we wait for them?”

  My brother glanced at me. “I’m afraid if we do, it may be too late.”

  My heart twisted hearing someone else admit to his own fears over Gage’s condition.

  The valet nodded grimly.

  Then Trevor leaned in to tell us his plan.

  • • •

  The back of the farmhouse was surrounded by a low wooden fence, presumably to keep animals inside when the property had actually been used for such a purpose. I did my best to open the gate quietly, but it squeaked shrilly on its hinges, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I squeezed through as small a gap as I could manage, leaving it open behind me, and began to inch my way around the yard, clinging to the shadows as best I could. When finally I reached the wall of the house, I pressed my back against the cold stone and counted to ten, slowly. When there was no indication that I’d been either seen or heard, I exhaled forcefully.

  I took a moment to calm myself and my rampaging heart, and then brushed a hand down the front of my cloak to smooth it out. Deciding enough time had passed to allow the others to get into position, I moved forward and rapped softly on the back door.

  At first nothing happened, and I began to worry that in the time it had taken me to circle the house, Mr. Stuart had returned to the cabin. But as I reached up to knock a second time, I heard footsteps cross the floor inside toward me.

  Now was the moment of truth. Would Mr. Stuart answer the door or one of his minions from Edinburgh?

  I clasped my hands together tightly in front of me and tried my best to look demure, despite the pulse pounding in my temple. The lock clicked and the door inched open with a groan. Apparently none of the hinges had been oiled for a very long time. But I was inclined to forgive that when I saw it was Mr. Stuart who peered cautiously around the frame at me. I nearly sagged in relief.

  “Lady Darby,” he gasped, pulling the door fully open. “Wh-What are you doing here?” I opened my mouth to offer him my rehearsed excuse, when he stepped forward to peer to the right toward the cabin. “Hurry, please come inside.” His hand on my elbow helped propel me over the threshold.

  As soon as he had me inside, he closed and locked the door. He leaned back against it, his breathing ragged. It was then I realized how truly scared he was.

  “Didn’t you get the handkerchief?” he demanded.

  “I . . . yes . . .” I stammered, surprised by the forcefulness in his voice. “But—”

  “But Mr. Gage ignored it,” he interrupted with an angry huff. He swiped a hand over his brow. “Please, come into the kitchen,” he urged, guiding me to my left, toward the corner of the house farthest from the cabin. I didn’t mind so long as he avoided the front rooms.

  A single candle was lit and sitting on the table. Mr. Stuart bustled around the room, twitching closed curtains that were already shut. With nothing left to do, he turned to face me, his back pressed against the basin for washing dishes. His eyes were wide and white in his face, and his hands gripped the stone behind him.

  Trevor might be mad, but I decided rather than offer him the flimsy excuse we’d concocted for my being here, I would simply tell him the truth. It would save time, and he already seemed to be aware of it anyway from the resigned way he stared at me.

  “Is Mr. Gage next door in that cabin?” I asked him.

  He nodded and swallowed. “Yes.” Then he hastened to explain. “I tried to warn you, with the handkerchief. I didn’t know what they intended to do until it was too late. I told them to harm no one. But . . . but they do not listen.” He stood taller, gesturing agitatedly with his hands. “First that caretaker and now Mr. Gage.” He buried his hands in his fair, thinning hair. “Everything is going wrong.”

  His mention of Dodd, who was dead, in conjunction with Gage made my heart rise into my throat. “Is Gage alive?”

  He nodded, but his eyes were panicked.

  “Are they hurting him?”

  His face screwed up as if he might cry, and he nodded again.

  “Trevor,” I called anxiously, hoping my brother was already in the house.

  Mr. Stuart’s eyes widened as Trevor and Anderley both appeared out of the shadows in the doorway leading toward the front of the house.

  My brother nodded, having deduced what Mr. Stuart had not said out loud. “How many men are with him?”

  “Th-Three,” he stammered.

  “Where’s the fourth?”

  “Gone to Beckford to deliver the bones.”

  We could only hope Lord Fleming and his men would capture that one.

  “Is there another way into that cabin besides the front door?” I asked hurriedly.

  Mr. Stuart shook his head.

  Trevor frowned. “Then we’ll just have to lure them out.” He glared at Mr. Stuart. “And you’re going to help us.”

  I thought for a moment Mr. Stuart would turn coward and refuse. But the martial gleam in Trevor’s eye and the panic in mine must have convinced him otherwise. “What should I do?”

  • • •

  I sat tall on Figg’s back, staring down from the ridgetop at the farmhouse, waiting for our signal. Anderley’s horse danced sideways beside me, sensing our anxiety.

  I wished Trevor would have let me be the one to crouch below the cabin window listening for trouble, but he’d absolutely refused. He wanted me as far from the thugs as possible, in case our plan didn’t work. In the end, it took him pointing out that he was the better shot for me to relent. If one of the men tried to kill Gage before fleeing, someone with accurate aim needed to be there to stop them. Inexperienced as I was, in close quarters I was just as likely to shoot Gage as I was his attacker, and I certainly didn’t want that.

  So I’d taken the reins of his stallion and driven both him and Figg up the ridge with Anderley to await our part in the charade. I only prayed this worked, or else the body snatchers would have control over both the man I loved and my brother.

  My nerves stretched as the minutes ticked by, each one a moment longer that Gage was in the criminals’ custody, a moment longer than I could bear. I bit my lip against the desire to scream in frustration and fear.

  “Is it true then?” Anderley asked, pulling my attention though not my eyes from the scene below.

  “Is what true?”

  “That you are engaged to Mr. Gage?”

  I darted a glance at the valet, seeing his eyes were also trained below, his expression carefully neutr
al. I wondered if he’d learned that trick from his employer.

  I supposed he was referring to my comment in The Black Bull. Though it wasn’t really his business—not yet—I felt he deserved an answer. After all, he cared for Gage, too.

  “It will be,” I told him, and then added more soberly. “If he’ll still have me.”

  I didn’t expect Anderley to answer, but after a moment of silence, he muttered a single syllable. “Good.”

  I looked at him again, and this time his gaze met mine. A mutual understanding seemed to pass between us, and for the first time I felt more than a general tolerance for the fastidious man. Perhaps it was the cut on his forehead that he’d refused to have tended, or the bruise blossoming across his left cheekbone from the pub brawl, but I thought it was more likely the affinity we seemed to share in our affection for Gage.

  I returned my attention to the scene below, just as the door to the cottage opened, casting a ray of light out over the yard. I forced myself to count to twenty, and then declared, “Time for the cavalry.”

  Anderley and I set off down the hill with the three horses, urging their hooves to make as much noise as possible.

  At that very moment, Mr. Stuart was warning the body snatchers of the impending arrival of a gang of angry men from the west, and urging them to flee. Anderley and I were supposed to be that gang. We hoped the body snatchers would prove cowards and panic instead of standing to confront us. It all hinged on how stirred up Mr. Stuart could get them, and how much noise Anderley and I could make with just three horses.

  Fortunately, the rough downhill descent was not exactly conducive to a stealthy approach. The horses’ hooves slipped and thumped, sending rocks cascading down the slope. I pulled hard on Trevor’s stallion’s reins—apologizing as I did so—to make him squeal loudly in protest. The sound echoed through the darkness.

  Anderley and I had no way of knowing whether our plan had worked, so we continued the charade up until the moment we reached the farmhouse. “Check the house,” he shouted while I remained quiet, lest my female voice give us away. We cantered the horses down the property, waiting for some indication of what was happening at the cabin.