“That is your christened name,” Gwendolyn said. “Robert. And from that, Robbie.”
“If it is true. How do I know I’m not making up the memories?”
“We will find out,” Gwendolyn assured him.
“What do you suggest? Should we ask Lady Middlebury? Accuse her husband of murder? Corner poor, befuddled Lord Middlebury?”
“We will find a way to confirm what did or didn’t happen,” she answered. “We just have to keep our ears open.” She turned back to the births and deaths. “Here is Ellisfield’s brother,” she murmured. He, too, was at the house party, as was Lord Ellisfield’s sister—although it wasclear to anyone they were not of any importance. Their brother, the heir, was the person everyone watched and gathered around. She kept going and found the information she wanted.
“‘6 June 1790, the death of Catalina Marianna Borromeo Chaytor, Fourth Marchioness of Middlebury, by drowning.’ Below it is the entry of your death.” She looked up at Beckett. “Even though they never found the body, they have you listed here.”
Beckett took the book from her and studied the passages. He shut the ledger and sat a moment. Gwendolyn kept a respectful silence. She could not fathom how he felt. These events were so traumatic. His child’s mind had shut them out to protect him.
“I’m not this person,” he said as if trying to understand his reactions. “I’m not Robert.” He stood.
“Actually,” she answered, “you are.”
At that moment, Mr. Tucker appeared in the doorway. “How is the research going?”
Gwendolyn forced a smile. “We are done.”
Beckett—or Robert... or, actually, Lord Middlebury—turned and walked into the sanctuary to return the book to its shelf.
“What did you learn?” Mr. Tucker asked.
Gwendolyn made a little face. “Nothing,” she lied. “There is no mention of his family. We had hopes, but you know how family lore is. Memories are never reliable.”
“True,” Mr. Tucker agreed heartily. “Here, let me help you put back these chairs. I’m donecutting around graves. I have to do it every week. Keep the place tidy.”
Beckett joined them. His expression was impassive; however, she was beginning to know him well enough to realize how good he was at hiding his true emotions. “Thank you for letting us look at the registry.” He offered the man a coin.
“No need for that, sir. Well, I suppose, yes. Thank you, sir.” The coin disappeared into Mr. Tucker’s pocket. “You are welcome, sir.”
Beckett offered Gwendolyn his arm. “We should return to Colemore. Reverend Denburn claims the breakfast is worth being at the table.”
His voice was distant as if he was distracted. She gave one last smile to Mr. Tucker, and they went out into the day. The sun seemed very bright after the dimness of the church.
However, Beckett didn’t move toward the horses. Instead, he let go of her arm and began walking among the graves.
Gwendolyn joined him, taking another line of graves instead of the ones he searched. She knew what he was looking for.
Mr. Tucker left the church and watched them for a few minutes. Then he called out, “Is there something else I can help you with?”
To Gwendolyn’s surprise, Beckett said, “The marquess’s family plot? Is it here?”
Mr. Tucker frowned, and Beckett quickly explained, “We heard a ghost story.” He said this as if they were curiosity-seekers.
The warden made a dismissive noise. “The singing marchioness. I imagine the current LordMiddlebury wishes that story would go away. And yet,” he confided, moving closer to them as if not wishing to be overheard, “they say Middlebury himself hears her often. Reverend Denburn wouldn’t like me telling you this. He calls it gossip. Course, he gossips plenty.”
“Has anyone else in the village heard her?” Beckett asked.
“I best let that alone, sir.” He started to back away. “I’ve said too much already.”
“Understood,” Beckett said as if it was of no matter. “However, we would like to see the graves. Even if the story isn’t true, it is a matter of curiosity.” Another coin appeared in Beckett’s hand.
Mr. Tucker slipped that one in his pocket to join the other. “Follow me, sir.”
He led them around the building. The headstones on this side were larger and better cared for. Some tombs, especially the ones covered with lichen, were dated almost two hundred years ago. Mr. Tucker directed them to three relatively new headstones. One was proudly in the open, next to the family monument. The other two graves appeared almost hidden. They were located under the overgrown branches of a giant hemlock tree.
