tea. “Someone must have told him.”
“But who? And why?” Gage frowned. “If he was lured down there to be killed, then why? The things he was threatening to reveal about Helmswick are horrid, and would be embarrassing to Lady Helmswick. But it seems fairly common knowledge that he had multiple mistresses, and an earl isn’t about to be charged with a crime for inducing his mistress to rid herself of her unborn child, if such a thing could even be proven. That is, if that part of the tale was even believed. So I don’t see how Renton’s story would be worth killing him to keep quiet.”
“If he is the victim, there must be more. There must be something we’re missing.”
Trevor nodded in agreement as he chewed his last bite of bacon. “You asked me to find out if anyone remembered his hair color. Sandy light brown was the concurrence. And . . . he had a chip in his front tooth.”
Gage’s gaze met mine grimly. “It’s him.”
I nodded. “You’ll recall, the butler remarked on his being drunk, and given the signs of liver damage, I suspect that might have been a perpetual state for him.” I set my cup aside, sinking deeper into the cushions of the sofa. “But I still don’t understand why he was wearing Helmswick’s boots.”
Gage shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe they weren’t his after all.”
“Someone certainly thought they were. They were stolen, remember.”
He conceded this. “Then, maybe they were given to him. Or he stole them. I don’t think we’ll know the answer to that until we uncover the reason he was killed.”
We both fell silent, lost in the haze of sifting through our own deductions and observations. But Trevor wasn’t finished.
“I have one more gift for you,” he declared, pulling a folded slip of foolscap from the inner pocket of his coat.
“Well, aren’t you a fount of blessings this morning,” Gage remarked, accepting the paper.
He reclined, propping his ankle over the other knee. “It’s a talent.”
I did roll my eyes at this.
Gage’s mild amusement faded as he opened the note.
“What is it?” I leaned toward him, and he held out the paper so I could read the nearly illegible scrawl along with him as he said it aloud.
“He is hiding beneath the castle’s nose.”
“Who is hiding?” Trevor asked as Gage and I shared a bemused glance.
“Surely, they must mean Colum Brunton,” I said.
He nodded in agreement.
“But what precisely does that mean?”
“I presume he, or she,” Gage amended, “is suggesting that Mr. Brunton is concealed somewhere on the estate, if not within the castle itself.”
I cradled my right arm close to my abdomen, considering the idea. “I suppose it’s possible. There must be dozens, if not scores, of buildings on the estate, and didn’t Tait tell us upon our arrival that the castle has close to three hundred rooms.”
“And nearly as many servants,” Gage replied in exaggeration, but only slightly. “I find it difficult to believe he would have dared hide within the castle itself without being discovered while Sunlaws was filled to its rafters with guests and their additional staff for the Twelfth Night Party. The only place that would have remained deserted was the doom.”
Trevor’s eyes widened. “The lad would have to be either mad or desperate to have stayed down there.”
“And have the constitution and fortitude of a Highland cow,” I chimed in.
Gage gestured with the refolded note. “Don’t forget, we didn’t see any footprints in the dust, or any signs of human passage beyond a certain point when we searched down there.”
“So not the doom.” Trevor scowled. “And not the brewery.”
I agreed. Remaining concealed at the bustling brewery for nearly four weeks now would have been even more foolhardy than attempting it at the castle. A gamekeeper’s cottage, equipment shed, fishing shelter, barn, or even the mausoleum would all be better bets. But I had another thought. “Someone must be taking supplies to him. Perhaps if you follow his friends, they might lead you to him.”
However, Gage wasn’t listening, his expression forbidding. “There is one interpretation we aren’t considering. Notice, the message doesn’t say he’s alive, merely that he’s hiding here. He could as easily be buried. Though the simplest interpretation would be to think he’s been stashed in the catacombs like Renton’s body, but we searched that as well.”
“I suppose he could have been murdered and hidden there in the three days since our search, but I can tell you don’t believe that. And neither do I.”
He nodded. “I think it