He opened a door near the end of the passage and gestured me into a parlor of some sorts. I lifted my eyebrows and waited for him to enter first. He swallowed and nodded.
Clearly the room was one of the only in the manor being used. A fire burned in the hearth and two candelabras were lit and spaced about the room to provide more light on such a gloomy day. A table in the corner was stacked with dirty dishes from at least two meals, and a series of teacups and plates dusted with crumbs littered the other surfaces of the room. A game of cards had been begun and abandoned, both players’ hands discarded on the low table standing between two settees.
If I looked beyond the mess and clutter, I could tell that the room was lavishly decorated, with Chippendale furniture and sumptuous fabrics. The wallpaper was hand painted in shades of pale yellow and smoky blue. A small crystal chandelier even hung from the ceiling, its teardrops still glistening though it was unlit.
I settled in an elbow chair near the fire, welcoming the warmth as the cold of the weather and the wetness on my skirts had begun to seep into my bones. Gage directed both men to sit on one of the settees while he and Trevor sat across from them. My brother rested the rifle across his lap. A rather effective maneuver on his part, I thought, as Mr. Young stared down at it and swallowed.
“Before we begin, I want to warn you, we already know everything.” Gage gave both men a hard glare. “So it behooves you to be honest with us. Do you understand?”
Mr. Young nodded quickly and eagerly, while Lord Shellingham followed with a little more composure.
“Now, tell us how this began.” When neither of them responded, Gage prompted. “Whose idea was it?”
Mr. Young glanced at his cousin and then began to stammer out his reply. “I . . . I . . . I guess it was mine, sir.”
I was surprised to hear that. Mr. Young didn’t seem the brightest or most enterprising of the group, but looks and manners sometimes deceived.
“Why?”
“Well, I . . . I wanted to marry Miss Musgraves, sir. And her . . . her father wouldn’t agree to the match.”
Miss Musgraves? The girl we’d met in St. Boswells? Her father did seem like a tyrant.
“So you needed the money to convince him of it?” Gage queried.
Mr. Young’s brow lowered in confusion, and he glanced once more at his cousin, who appeared similarly baffled. “The money, sir?”
Gage scowled. “Come now. We know all about the ransoms. Lord Shellingham obviously needs the money for his estate and you need it to marry Miss Musgrave. Need I explain Mr. Fergusson and Mr. Erskine’s motives as well?”
The two young men turned to stare at each other, and it was Lord Shellingham who then spoke up. “Mr. Gage, I think there’s been some mistake. We don’t know anything about any ransom. And while Mr. Fergusson and Mr. Erskine are acquaintances, they had no dealing in this.”
Gage arched his eyebrows haughtily. “Then you didn’t hire a group of Edinburgh body snatchers to dig up your grandfather’s . . .” he nodded at Mr. Young “. . . and your aunt’s grandfather-in-law’s bones and hold them for ransom?”
If the subject matter hadn’t been so horrifying, their reactions might have been highly amusing. Lord Shellingham’s eyes widened and he jerked back into the cushions of the sofa, while Mr. Young leapt up from his seat, waving his arms wildly as they both spouted vehement protests.
Gage stood up, raising his voice to be heard over their commotion and ordered Mr. Young to sit down. When he had complied and their voices fell silent, he stood over them, gesturing toward the door through which we’d come. “If you’re not involved, then what they hell was that all about?” he roared. “You certainly didn’t almost shoot me in the head for no reason.”
“We . . . we thought you were them,” Lord Shellingham replied.
Gage narrowed his eyes. “And why would they be coming after you if you weren’t involved?”
“Because we saw them.”
Gage inhaled deeply through his nostrils, his patience growing very thin. “When?”
“During the Hogmanay Ball,” Mr. Young said. “And a few days ago.”
Gage turned to look at me, his face tight with the strain of not revealing his puzzlement. He backed away and returned to his seat across from them. “You’d better explain.”
“Well, like I said, I wanted to marry Miss Musgrave, and she wanted to marry me, but her father would not let us. So . . .” He glanced at his cousin, who nodded in encouragement. He swallowed. “We decided that we would elope.”