“Steady, lad, no one’s accusing you of murder.”
“She is,” Caspian said with a jerk of the head towards Mertensia.
“Yes, I rather think I am,” she replied.
“You damned, beastly—”
“Now who’s being insulting?” she asked with a triumphant air.
“You are both being tiresome,” Tiberius pronounced. “And, Mertensia, with all due respect, the greater sin lies with you as you are the elder.”
“By a considerable amount,” Caspian put in.
Her upper lip curled. “Prick my vanity if you like, boy, but it means nothing to me. Our values, my dear Caspian, are nothing alike. I care for the land and the people here, the history, and the life we lead. You will never understand that.”
“You’d better hope I do, or when I am master here—”
Mertensia leapt to her feet, pointing an accusing finger. “There it is! An admission of your ambitions.”
He jumped up, squaring off to face her over the tea table, nearly upsetting the dish of clotted cream. “I merely said—”
They shouted for a little while, hurling invective at one another over the scones as Tiberius and I watched. Stoker sat, contentedly eating his way through the sandwiches before moving on to a rather appetizing-looking cake decorated with marzipan.
“Should we stop them?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Why bother? This has clearly been brewing for a while. Perhaps it will clear the air.”
“It’s not helping us to find Malcolm,” I pointed out.
“That doesn’t seem to be anyone’s priority,” he observed.
At the mention of Malcolm’s name, Mertensia and Caspian fell silent, both of them looking slightly abashed. “Poor Malcolm,” Mertensia murmured. “I wonder where he can be?”
Tiberius took the opportunity to seize the reins of conversation. “While we were in his room, we examined the traveling bag. He was quite right about it. It was most definitely Rosamund’s and full of what seem to have been her most prized possessions.”
Stoker and I had carefully hid the traveling bag back in the priest’s hole before restoring the panel. There seemed no reason to take the evidence from its place of concealment as it seemed far safer there than elsewhere.
“Where is it now?” Mertensia demanded.
“There is no call for you to know that at present,” Tiberius replied, every inch the lord. “Now, in Malcolm’s apparent absence, I shall remind you that I am the highest-ranking man on this island. Furthermore, I am the lord magistrate for my country estate and I am no doubt more familiar with the law and correct procedure than anyone else here, unless you have some constable or judge tucked away you’d like to produce?” He looked from one blank Romilly face to the other. “No? Good. Then let us be clear. I am taking control of this matter. I will authorizean island-wide search for Malcolm Romilly. Not a stone will remain unturned while we look for him. My brother and Miss Speedwell will assist me, and the pair of you will either help or keep bloody well out of my way, do you understand?”
Caspian merely nodded but Mertensia clenched her fists against her skirts as emotions warred upon her face. Tiberius’ tone turned silken. “You must forgive me, but I am afraid I could not hear your replies.”
“Yes, my lord,” Caspian said swiftly.
Mertensia gave a sharp nod, seemingly against her will. “Yes, my lord.” Her voice was harsh and two spots of bright color burned high in her cheeks.
“Excellent. Now that my brother has demolished that entire cake, I suggest we make our preparations and begin the search, as we will get nothing more to eat here.”
•••
Under Tiberius’ capable direction, the entire island was searched. The fishermen and villagers scoured the buildings and fields, not omitting the various nooks and crannies and smugglers’ caves that were inevitable in such a place. Mertensia and Caspian formed an unlikely alliance and made a careful search of the grounds of the castle. Tiberius remained in the library with the understanding that anyone who discovered anything of note would report immediately to him, and Stoker and I were left with the task of searching the castle itself.
“It’s a ridiculous notion,” I muttered after we had climbed our fourteenth staircase and inspected what felt like our twenty-seventh empty bedchamber. “He might be anywhere. Has anyone even counted the boats? He might have sailed to one of the Three Sisters.”
“Impossible,” Stoker replied as he poked his head into a mercifully empty water closet. “He knows these waters. He would never have attempted such a suicidal act.”
I stopped what I was doing and leveled my gaze at Stoker.
