I shivered at the thought of a ghostly dog presaging my death, but Michael seemed to relish the tale.
Philip was not so easily distracted. “Then what of this missing girl? Is it true that William is not acquainted with anyone from Cramond, or was that also a lie?”
Michael frowned and looked as if he would like to protest his friend’s harsh words, but he must have accepted that the question was justified. “As far as I know, he is unacquainted with the people of Cramond, and I have no reason to suspect otherwise. William did not move here with the rest of us when Dalmay House was completed in 1817, choosing instead to remain at Swinton Lodge. And he seemed to have no memory of the building when I brought him here from Larkspur Retreat nine months ago.”
“He could have met the girl during one of these escapes,” Philip pointed out, somewhat needlessly, I felt.
“Yes. Yes, he could have,” Michael admitted. Worry crinkled his brow.
“Now, just wait a minute,” I interjected, surprised by their willingness to jump to conclusions. I glared at all three of them in turn. “There is no evidence to suggest that William has done anything wrong. So he escaped. I would think all of us would chafe under the confines placed around him, no matter how necessary or well-intentioned they are.” Michael shifted guiltily in his seat. “You are making wild suppositions to suggest he sought out this girl and did some kind of harm to her before . . .” I waved my hands, trying to find the right words “. . . disposing of her body. Or do you think he’s keeping her locked away somewhere, since no one can even say for certain that she is dead?” I added scornfully.
Gage arched his eyebrows at my tone, telling me just how little he was impressed by my scolding, and Philip seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. Only Michael appeared the least bit contrite, staring forlornly down at his feet.
I scowled at the gleaming wooden surface of the tea table, furious with each of the men before me. Why had Michael decided to lie? I could understand his desire to protect his brother, but all of this deception . . . it only compounded the problem. How could any of us know now whether he could be trusted? I had been counting on his support, his dependability, as I tried to help his brother, but how was I to trust that another of his half-truths wouldn’t turn around and bite me?
And then there was Philip and his protective measures. Could he not see how unjustified his stance was? A year and a half earlier, had he and my brother made half the assumptions about me that they were making about Will, based on hearsay and conjecture, they would have gone along with Sir Anthony’s friends and the rest of London’s fickle mob and seen me hanged. If Philip was going to condemn Will, he should do it with fact, not fear and speculation.
As far as Gage was concerned, I simply wished he would stop interfering. He had walked away two months before without looking back, but now he wanted a say in how I conducted myself? He had sacrificed that right, if indeed he’d ever had it, when he climbed into his carriage and drove away from Gairloch. There had been no promises made between us, no intentions made clear, only the camaraderie of our investigation and the brief flare of attraction. He refused to share himself with me, and yet he continued to force his protection on me. Did he not realize how frustrating that was, how inappropriate? How it continued to tie me to him in a way I could not understand?
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Gage said, breaking the silent standoff.
I followed his penetrating gaze to Michael, who sat hunched forward in his chair. He was eyeing Gage warily out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”
“There’s another reason you felt you should bring this to our attention. Lady Darby’s right.” He nodded to me. “You would not have doubted your brother’s innocence with evidence as flimsy as this.”
Philip sat forward, plainly believing Gage had a point.
I studied Michael’s haggard face. It was obvious he had gotten as little sleep as Philip and I that night, maybe less, and I began to suspect he’d had many such nights. His complexion was wan, his features drawn, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He’d appeared healthy enough the previous evening, but another night of disturbed slumber had reclaimed its toll on his appearance. If I felt the weight of my own sleeplessness dragging at me, how much more so did it pull at Michael?
He shifted in his chair again, his leg twitching in time to his thoughts. “I’m simply worried for my brother. Lady Hollingsworth’s words last night rattled me.”
“As did Lady Darby’s interaction with William?”
Michael’s gaze, wide with panic and uncertainty, darted to Gage.