My eyebrows rose. Perhaps I had underestimated Mr. Young.
“I convinced my cousin to help us. And we realized that Hogmanay would be the perfect time. Everyone in the area attends Lord and Lady Rutherford’s ball, even Mr. Musgrave, and they’re often out until the wee hours of the morning.” His gaze dropped to his lap where his hands were fidgeting. “Plus Miss Musgrave told me that her father often overindulged. So by the time he woke up, we would hopefully already be married at the Old Toll House in Lamberton,” he explained. “It’s closer than Gretna Green.” The most notorious of all hasty wedding sights, particularly for eloping couples popping over the border from England to obtain a quick marriage.
“How did you arrange this?” I asked, wondering how Miss Musgrave had gotten away from her father long enough for them even to discuss it.
Mr. Young flushed. “We would meet at the abbey. There’s a walking bridge over the river not far from Miss Musgrave’s home, so she would convince her maid to let her walk there.”
“Did you and Lord Shellingham meet her there earlier in the day on Hogmanay?”
He nodded. “To be certain all was set.”
Which explained the pair of men Lord Buchan’s maid had seen that day, as well as the couple the Nun of Dryburgh had babbled on about. I suspected Miss Musgrave had also left a bundle of clothes at the abbey to retrieve before they eloped. Though I didn’t know why she wouldn’t have simply brought it with her that night. Unless she intended to bring more than one set of extra garments.
I shared a look of resigned frustration with Gage, feeling a bit like a fool for not seeing all of this before.
“Miss Musgrave was to pretend she was ill that night,” Mr. Young continued to explain. “So that she could sneak away and meet me at the abbey at midnight.”
“And you bribed one of the Rutherford footmen to meet you by a side door with your coats and hats during the ball, so that you wouldn’t draw any suspicion,” Gage supplied, relaying the information Anderley had uncovered for us.
Mr. Young nodded. “We arrived at the ball on horseback, and Shelly arranged for his valet to meet us with a hired carriage a short distance from the abbey. So we set out on foot to the abbey.” His face clouded with fear. “But about half a mile away, where the road curves north, we ran into these men. They pulled guns on us and . . . and told us they’d already killed one man that night, and that if we didn’t want to be next, we’d turn back.”
“Did you get a good look at them?”
Mr. Young stared down at the floor in front of him as if reliving the confrontation, so Lord Shellingham spoke up. “Well enough to recognize them when we saw them again at an inn just northwest of here.”
“When was this?” Gage asked.
“The night of that snowfall. We got caught up in it and stopped to warm ourselves before continuing on.”
“What were they doing? Passing through as well?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But they were pretty deep in their cups, and I suspect they’d been there for at least a short while.”
Gage flicked a glance at me before asking, “Were there any women with them?”
“There were a couple hanging about them. But I don’t know if they were barmaids or local women or lasses they called their own. I didn’t look very closely.”
“Do you remember the village name?”
Shellingham glanced at his cousin. “Was it in Allanton?” But Mr. Young just shrugged. “I think that’s right.”
Gage sat back with a nod, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed both men in contemplation.
“What happened to Miss Musgrave?” I asked, wondering how they could have returned to Clintmains Hall without at least checking to be sure she was safe. Surely they hadn’t simply left her to stand there in the freezing cold, not knowing where they were? What if she’d run into the body snatchers? They might have done any number of horrible things to her.
Mr. Young’s eyes saddened. “I don’t know. I know she made it home safely.”
“Safely” being a relative term.
“But now she won’t talk to me. It’s not my fault the elopement was botched.”
This time I shared a look with my brother, and it was obvious that he was just as disgusted by Mr. Young’s lack of chivalry as I was. I wouldn’t be speaking to him either if I were in Miss Musgrave’s shoes. In fact, I think I might just listen to my father and find another suitor.
“What of your friends Fergusson and Erskine and their sudden influx of blunt?” Trevor questioned them. “They both have relatives whose bodies were also dug up and ransomed. Are you going to tell us that’s all just a coincidence?”