Page 102 of Ever After

“Is that true, then?” His eyebrows rise. “Does he recall the manner of his actual death?

“He remembers nothing.”

He sits back, his eyes narrowing. “How is that possible?”

“Do you remember yours?”

“Aye, of course. I took an ague.”

“Walking the cliffs in all manner of weather,” Jowan says, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “I told you then that the captain wouldn’t have approved.”

“To hell with that,” Xander flares. “I could not sit and do nothing. I knew he hadn’t left me willingly, because nothing on this earth and the next could have kept us apart.” He grimaces. “Only then it did.”

“That’s why I’m here.” I sit forward. “We hoped you might remember some detail that would help.”

He spreads his hands. “But I know nothing. Believe me, I have had centuries to rack my brains over that week, searching for some enlightenment. Bran was there one minute full of life and gone the next.”

“It could be something so small it doesn’t seem important. Please, can you cast your mind back?”

He nods, his eyes distant. “I think Bran vanished on the Saturday. It was the last time I saw him, anyway. He was taking a shipment of brandy and some silk over to Jamaica Inn. I usually did that route with him.” I bite my lip thinking of that particular passage in the diary, and he stares at me. Recognition dawns in his eyes and he gives me a sudden wicked smile. “Yes, as you know the journey was always worth my while.” I cough and pull my jumper away from my neck and he laughs. The sound is silvery on the air but also eerie. No human made that sound. It makes me shiver a little.

His smile fades. “He said he would come back to the hall that night, but he never did. I waited all night for him. At church the next day, the vicar pulled me to one side. He asked after Bran and said they were supposed to meet about contraband that was in the churchyard. Apparently, Bran never arrived to take the goods away.”

“The vicar… You mean Richard Boynton?”

“Yes. Is that useful information?”

“It is.” I hesitate, not wanting to lead him in any way. We need his unprompted memories. “He was Branok’s friend, wasn’t he?”

Jowan scoffs, making me jump. I’d almost forgotten he was in the room. “Friends? The vicar was always hanging around the captain. Boynton was an odd sort if you ask me.”

“Why?” I ask.

He seems to be searching for words. Eventually, he says, “He was too fierce in his ways. He used to look at you as if he could see right down to your soul and it made him hungry. It unsettled the people in the village.”

Xander nods thoughtfully. “Aye. ’Twas an odd friendship. Bran had no love for the church, and it always surprised me that they struck up such a kinship. Mayhap it was a shared love of learning. Bran was sent into the navy at a very young age, but he never lost his love of books and that curiosity he possessed. He was a fascinating man.”

“Why did their friendship surprise you?”

He returns his gaze to me. “I found Boynton… unusual.”

“In what way? Please don’t try to be polite.”

“I found him cloying.” He grimaces. “He could never have a conversation with me without touching me. I did not like that. It made me feel uneasy.” With a shiver, he looks toward the window. “But perhaps that was a fault in me. He was very intense, but was ever friendly to me, and he tried his best to help me in the week that Bran vanished. He would walk the roads with me, examining every hollow of the woods in case Bran had been set upon by footpads and injured. He never once lost his patience, and I must have sorely tested him. He only ever levelled harsh words at me once in our acquaintanceship and that was not over Bran.”

My heartbeat quickens. “Oh? What was it over?”

“It was all of a nothing.” He waves a careless hand. “I went over to the vicarage once. It was only a week or so after I took the title. I think I was hoping to see Bran there. I found him fascinating and was forever looking to spend time with him. I knew they often took luncheon together. On that day, Bran wasn’t there, and I disturbed the vicar in his writing.”

I sit forward. “What was he writing?”

“That I do not know.”

I lean back in the chair, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning again. “Boynton had a book in which he was always writing. He was very secretive about it, so I presumed it was where he wrote his sermons. He carried it everywhere in his satchel. Anyway, when I stepped into his study that day, he went to find his housekeeper to get me a drink. He left the book open on his desk. I admit I was curious, and I moved closer to take a peek. In my haste, I knocked it off the desk. I bent over to pick it up and Boynton came back into the room. He was very vexed and harsh words were said about my nosiness. He eventually calmed when I assured him that I had merely knocked the book to the floor and hadn’t looked at the pages.” He looks at me. “In truth, I was glad he came in when he did.”

“Why?”