Page 7 of The Secret of the Three Fates
Mr. Owen paused outside what looked to be an iron gate leading into a walled garden. Something large rose up from within. A grave perhaps, or a monument? From this distance it was hard to tell which. My patience had worn thin and I didn’t care a jot about what it was. I was simply grateful he’d slowed down long enough I could catch my breath.
I found the old man seated on a bench at the far side of thewalled garden. His shoulders slumped and his head was buried in the palms of his hands. The sight of him evaporated any remaining annoyance from chasing him halfway across Scotland.As usual.Weak and tenderhearted thing that I was.
The beast merely has to look at you, Ruby, and you will make a home for it in your heart.My mother’s gentle chiding suddenly came to mind and I brushed her voice away.
“Mr. Owen…” I drew nearer. “What happened back there?”
He didn’t answer. His dark eyes remained fixed on the gravel path before him, leading toward the marble obelisk. The foxes were truly carrying on now. A second screeched, sending a chill down my spine.
Drawing in another breath of bracing night air, I tried again. “Mr. Owen, please. Talk to me.”
Still nothing.
“Mr. Owen, for God’s sake,say something,” I grumbled, running a muddy hand through my tangled hair. I must have lost my headscarf when I took a tumble in the grass. A problem for morning, as I hadn’t a hope of finding it in the dark.
“Uncle. There you are!”
Uncle?I turned quickly and found myself face-to-face with the same fellow from the séance. Not the straggly haired one, but the younger man who’d sat beside him. The one with the cane and familiar patrician features. Well, that certainly explained things.The man was thin and slight, and of a height with me.
“Ah, Andy, did Malachi send you to scold me for returning to Scotland as well? I didn’t think you ever put much stock into those old rumors.”
Mr. Owen’s nephew laughed and drew nearer, his limp pronounced as he heavily favored one leg. “I am only surprised it took Father that long to dredge up the murder accusations. I fear last time you were here he’d started into them well before teatime. Perhaps time finallyissoothing his temper?”
Mr. Owen let out a dry laugh, rubbing his hands together, staring into his palms. “Doubtful.”
I looked warily at Mr. Owen’s nephew. Up until this moment I had no idea he even was in possession of a nephew, nor a brother for that matter. Mr. Owen had always guarded his secrets closer than gold.
Then again, ifIhad a sibling accuse me of murder in front of a room of more than a dozen people, perhaps I wouldn’t speak much of them either.
“Miss Vaughn. Meet my ill-begotten nephew, Captain Andrew Lennox. Andy, this is my… this is Ruby Vaughn.”
Captain Lennox made a slight bow, shifting his weight onto his cane. “Miss Vaughn.” His eyes grazed over my exposed shoulders, and he quickly shrugged out of his dinner jacket, offering it to me. Ordinarily I bristled at such outmoded displays of chivalry, but as I was wearing little more than a few damp scraps of silk and lace, I was too damnably cold to care.
“Ruby works at the bookshop and lives with me in Exeter, taking care of the things that I’m too old to be bothered with.” Mr. Owen gave his nephew a meaningful look that I could not quite decipher.
“I’d seen something of it in the papers about a month ago. It sounded like you’d gotten into a spot of trouble in Cornwall, Miss Vaughn.” He was a decent enough–looking fellow with short cropped auburn hair and features that put me in mind of the cliffs along the seaside. Craggy and sharp-hewn. It was a wonder I’d not noted the resemblance between the two men immediately. They had a similar set to their shoulders in addition to the uncanny physical resemblance. Mr. Owen might have had forty odd years on his nephew, but beyond the lines in the elder’s face the only substantial difference was that Andrew had broken his nose at some point in time.
“It’s been in the papers that you’d been spotted here as well, Miss Vaughn. It was how I knew my uncle couldn’t be far behind. I wouldn’t put it past Sharpe to have let them know you were coming in order to build excitement for tonight’s spectacle. Though Uncle Owen seemed to have taken the limelight all on his own.”
“Nor would I, my lad. He’s a bit of an eccentric from what I hear,” Mr. Owen grumbled, continuing to rub his hands together between his knees.
“Have either of you ever met this Mr. Sharpe? I’ve been here for two days and I’m beginning to think I’m the only person in Scotland whohasn’tmet him.”
Mr. Owen grimaced. “He’s an American, lass. What more do you need to know?”
My brows rose in mock surprise. “Indeed. Two of us all the way out here?”
Captain Lennox laughed, a hoarse, rusty sound. “My father and I live nearby. We’ve not spent much time in his company but from what little I’ve witnessed, Sharpe is a perfectly affable fellow—American or not. I hear he made his fortunes at the card tables. The luck of the devil and a consummate showman.” Andrew turned to Mr. Owen and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure that’s all it is, Uncle. He likely paid the Fates extra for that bit of drama.”
Mr. Owen harrumphed again.
“Rather cynical of you. Besides, why are you certain what happened at the séance was false?” My mind went back to the way the medium’s voice sounded and the liquidity of her movement—neither seemed natural. “It certainly seemed real enough to me.”
“To me too, lass.” Mr. Owen patted my arm through the coat sleeve. “But Andrew comes by his skepticism honestly. Men of our line are terrible cynics. Always thinking the worst of everyone. Would suspect the motives of a saint. Speaking of the saints,how is my dear half brother? Shouldn’t you be off soothing his delicate nerves instead of bothering with an irredeemable old devil like me?” Mr. Owen flitted his gaze between the two of us before turning his attention back to the monument.
“He’ll bide. Besides, after that outburst I don’t care to speak to him myself. You know my father, all temper. I’d not even meant for him to learn you were here, thinking to avoid a spectacle like tonight—but you know how he can be.” Andrew’s attention drifted to the monument. Neither he nor Mr. Owen able to look away.
“As much as I’m enjoying this lovely family reunion, could one of you please tell me what happened tonight? Who is Mariah and why are we out here in the cold instead of nice and warm inside Manhurst?” My teeth chattered together, despite the meager warmth provided by my borrowed dinner jacket. The sweet scent of roses flooded my senses, then disappeared again.
