Sheridan tapped the page. “If he wanted the marriage kept quiet, Rupert wouldn’t have put all his official titles. But he was of the Palatinate-Simmern branch of the House of Wittelsbach. Simmern. Not exactly a standard Cornish name to be here otherwise.”
And R could be for Rupert. Beth scooted forward in her chair, closer to the table and the sheet of parchment he still held. “Briallen Carew.” She said the name softly, reverently. Was that the fair island lass whose tragic love story her mother had told, and hers before her, back through the centuries?
“Carew is certainly a name still present in the area.” Ollie tapped another line on another page, where presumably another Carew’s name was written.
Briallen. Beth let her eyes slide closed and tried to imagine what she would have looked like. What her name would have sounded like when spoken in a heated whisper by a Germanic prince’s lips.
When she opened them again a moment later, Sheridan’s gaze was fixed on her. Held hers for two beats before he looked away.
Her chest went tight. Or heavy. Or hollow. Did he really believe in love at first sight?
“So, is that the answer to that question, then?” From beside Ollie, Libby shuffled her own stack back into neat order. “It sounds convincing enough.”
“And gives credence to the oral tradition passed down through the Tremaynes’ maternal line. Including the line common to the letters.” Sheridan set the helpful sheeet of parchment back onto his stack.
“So then . . .” Emily slid the lovely key back onto the table and looked as though she’d like to fold in on herself and disappear. “Since we have the answer to that small question, are we ready to ask the one that’s been looming over us? How my brother knew to investigate Gugh? The reason the rest of us thought it a lead not worth pursuing was because Nigel couldn’t have known it, as he never saw those letters. But he was still there. So clearly we’ve missed something in the material to which he did have access.”
A moment of silence greeted her. And then Oliver sighed and looked to Beth. “Lady Emily is right. We need to focus on the material we know the Scofields have. I assume you know which pieces you sent to them for authentication and reference and which they’d have no way of knowing about, especially among the letters.”
“Of course.” She certainly hadn’t been willing to copy out each and every missive between Mucknell and his wife for them. “But don’t we also want to have the edge? To use what we know that he doesn’t to find this?”
“Yes.” Sheridan.
“No.” Everyone else.
Her eyes met his for another fleeting moment, a tentative smile passing between them. It seemed that in this, they were still the lone allies. But before they went off alone again and ended up with black eyes and broken noses, perhaps they ought to grant the others their say.
Sheridan huffed. “You all are forgetting that they have access to the archives that we don’t have. Could be . . . well, could be that they’ve found something and didn’t share it with Beth. Which would mean—that is, don’t we have to try to find it first? With what’s at our disposal?”
The others sighed and exchanged glances. Not exactly agreement, but not refusal either.
Beth shifted to Emily. She knew better than the others just how devastated her friend was by the telegram that had come for her a week ago, from her father. The one that had said, Nigel tells us you hindered his investigation and betrayed his trust. Patch things up. Don’t come pouting back to us until you have. It’s time you remember you’re a Scofield.
As if Em had ever been able to forget she was a Scofield. It had been a constant specter hovering over her, a third party in the room every time they whispered and laughed together during their year of finishing school. If Beth had suggested an innocent joke to play on another girl or a teacher, Emily inevitably met it with “Oh, I mustn’t! If Father found out, he would consider it a disgrace to the family name.” When all the girls were dreaming about romances and courtships, Emily would be the one who sighed and said, “I imagine my father will choose someone. The Scofields have always been very particular about their alliances, and my parents will make no exception for me.”
When first they met, Beth had envied the lovely redhead with her unending wardrobe and her enormous family estate and her stellar connections. But it hadn’t taken more than a month for her to pity her for those things instead. Lady Emily Scofield had lived her life wrapped tightly in the invisible chains of expectation, unaware that she even had wings she could spread and glide away on. She didn’t know what to do when a stout breeze blew, perfect for soaring. She had no Mamm-wynn whispering always in her ear, “You’re my little rosefinch, aren’t you, dearover? You will fly away, you will see the world, but you’ll always know to where you can come back. You’ll always fly home.”
Yet for all the stifling influences, all her seeming kowtowing to them, there was still something in Emily’s spirit that Beth’s recognized. Something that had made them move quickly from classmates to friends. Something that had insisted last week that Emily stand firm against her brother, defying every familial expectation.
She reached now for her friend’s delicate ivory hands and gave them a squeeze. “I don’t want to ask it of you, Em, but . . . Sheridan is right. They could have information we don’t. Or that they think we don’t. Is there any way to learn if he does? Could you ask your mother, perhaps?”
Emily’s wide, horrified eyes were answer enough. Her “Oh, she’d never tell me anything if Nigel’s said I’m not on his side. He’s the very apple of her eye” was superfluous.
“There’s likely someone from your home who would be more your friend than his, though.” Libby reached over to pluck her kitten from her brother’s lap, snuggling the cute little tabby under her chin. Even from across the table, Beth could hear Darling’s happy purr. He’d adjusted rather quickly to being a mobile cat, traveling in a basket from St. Mary’s to Tresco with her every other day.
Emily drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t think who. Our old nurse may have taken my side, but she’s no longer with us. And there’s Briggs, but she’s here with me.”
“Oh, but that could well be your answer.” Smiling, Oliver brushed his hand in a caress over Libby’s. Really, they were so sweet it might give Beth a toothache if she weren’t so ridiculously glad that her brother had found someone. “Briggs.”
Emily frowned. “What about her? As I said, she’s here with me. Not there to overhear anything.”
“Yes, but she’ll have friends among the staff who are there to overhear. Why don’t we ask her if she’d be willing to test those waters for us?”
Emily looked genuinely baffled. “Friends.”
Beth snorted a laugh and stood up. Obviously, Emily had not grown up idolizing the housekeeper’s daughter and being best of friends with everyday people. “You do know your maid is an actual person, right? With feelings and thoughts and relationships?”
Emily’s cheeks flamed pink. “Yes. It’s only that I never paused to wonder what they may be.”
Beth shook her head. In most of her acquaintances within society—which were few, granted—she found such attitudes maddening. But she had the distinct feeling with Emily that her thoughtlessness about the people in her family’s employ was incidental, not deliberate.