Gage’s brow creased in confusion. “Was it harsher? Coarser? More genteel?”
She shrugged, as if the matter no longer interested her. “Tell me, have you seen Sir Godfrey?” She turned to stare out over the dark cloister, her voice fading. “I’ve been waiting for him so long.”
My eyes widened, but I shook my head when Gage’s uncertain gaze pleaded with me to make sense of her words and I could not.
“No, madam,” he replied hesitantly. “I’m afraid I have not.”
She sighed with such heartbreak that I wished there was something I could do for her. Something I could say. How had she come to this?
But before I could offer her any comfort, she began to murmur under her breath. “Young lovers, young lovers everywhere. But mine is lost to me.” Then she lifted her gaze and spoke more directly. “They’re a plague, you know.”
“Young lovers?”
“Yes.”
“They come here?”
“Some do.”
I thought of the bundle of lady’s clothing we’d found that morning. “Do they go to the Chapter House?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gage’s stance sharpen in interest.
But the Nun’s attention had already wavered, and she was staring forlornly off into the distance. I opened my mouth to ask again, but Gage shook his head, moving forward to take my arm.
“Thank you for your time, madam,” he told her politely, recapturing her attention. “If you think of anything else, well . . .” He paused, clearly recalling the difficulty of receiving communication from her. “If you can get word to Lord Rutherford, he’ll let me know.”
She nodded slowly and I reluctantly allowed Gage to turn me away.
“Hold him close,” she spoke to my back, and I stopped to look over my shoulder. Her serene face was creased into lines of worry. “That one has a shadow hanging over him.”
My heart stilled at the pronouncement, but before I could ask more, she was gone, disappeared back into the darkness of her vault.
“What was that?” I asked Gage as we climbed the stairs into the ruins of the abbey church.
“Nonsense.” His voice, like his footsteps, were sure, unshaken by the Nun’s words.
But I didn’t feel so confident.
? ? ?
In contrast to the dark shadows of the abbey, Clintmains Hall was bright with light when we returned. I welcomed the glow of the warm candlelight and the heat of the fires, still trying to shake away the chill of the night and the Nun of Dryburgh’s words. We were invited to stay for dinner, which we were told would be quite informal, saving us embarrassment since we had no evening clothes to change into.
We informed Uncle Andrew of our discoveries, which were few. It was frustrating to know we’d achieved almost nothing but to confirm information we already had, and wheedle some unclear statements about the body snatchers’ odd manner of speech from the Nun. The day felt wasted.
I hoped to steal a moment alone with my brother, but he seemed determined to avoid me. Whenever I entered a room, he was drawn to another one, or asked to turn the pages of my cousin Gilly’s sheet music, or requested as a fourth for a hand of whist. There was no obvious evasion on his part, but some deft maneuvering was made, nonetheless. It only made me worry all the more that I had missed something important while so preoccupied with my anger and grief. I considered questioning our uncle, but this was a private matter between Trevor and me. He deserved the chance to tell me before I expressed my concern to anyone else.
At dinner we passed around the sketches I had made of the body snatchers from the innkeeper’s recollections. No one remembered seeing them, but my cousins did have fun speculating on the criminals’ more interesting features, with Jock offering the wildest conjectures, of course, despite our Uncle Andrew’s efforts to turn the conversation.
“Now, look at that knob. Must’ve walked into a door lintel.”
“Nay. His wife probably corked him wi’ a frying pan.”
“Are you daft? That face is too ugly for a wife. I bet he got kicked by a horse.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Miss Witherington gasped eagerly.
I looked up in surprise, not having expected her to join in the conversation. Even the others fell silent, slightly startled by her pronouncement.
She smiled at her fiancé and then the rest of the table. “Did I tell you I received a letter from Miss Holt? She’s just become engaged to Lord Wilmot.”
“Why, how delightful,” Aunt Sarah replied, while the rest of us lost interest.
I even caught sight of Jock rolling his eyes and had to stifle a laugh in my napkin. Which somehow Miss Witherington failed to miss, for her eyes narrowed to slits. She pointedly turned to Gage with a calculating gleam in her eye.
“Did you know that Miss Holt is the cousin of Lady Felicity Spencer?”
“Is she?” Gage replied, forking a bite of pheasant.