Emerson and I exchanged alarmed glances. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Geoffery Godwin? Nefret, my dearest, Geoffrey is—”

“Dead!” she snapped. “But his influence, his power, did not die with him. He told me a great deal about his family, things I never repeated to you because he professed abhorrence of their activities and assured me he had separated himself from them forever. They were, and are, the scourge of Cornwall, lawless and unprincipled. They feud among themselves, but if an outsider threatens one of them, they close ranks and go after this enemy with unbridled ferocity. It must be Geoffrey’s family members behind these attacks. They meet your criteria, and Geoffrey did mention that they fancied themselves gentlemen because they wore monocles. They are wealthy because they take what they want from the people they terrorize, and they never forget or forgive a perceived injury.”

“That would explain why Ramses and I have been the only ones attacked,” I mused. “I was the one who exposed Geoffrey as the villain he was, and Ramses—good heavens, they must consider Ramses to be directly responsible for Geoffrey’s death! Ramses’s blow sent Geoffrey tumbling into the pit and incidentally saved my life. But Ramses tried to pull Geoffrey back. He chose to let go of Ramses’s hands.”

“True,” Ramses said without expression, although I knew he was still troubled by his involvement, even if it was warranted. Despite the cruelty and violence that he witnessed in his young life, he has maintained a tender heart. Many of his sworn enemies have survived solely due to his aversion to the taking of a life.

“Those of us nearby were the only ones who saw that,” Emerson said. “To someone at a distance it might have appeared that Ramses was trying to pry Geoffrey’s fingers loose.”

“That is how Geoffrey’s family would interpret it,” said Nefret, her upper lip curled in contempt. “Altruism and mercy are alien concepts to them.”

“Hmph,” Emerson said. “I believe you have hit the nail on the head, Nefret. If we were in England, we could mount an expedition and rid the shire of the Godwin tribe. Under the present circumstances, our best course is to deal with the assassins themselves. How many of the bl—er—villains are there, do you suppose?”

“Five,” Nefret replied as she sat down at the table.

Emerson stared at her. “How do you know that?”

Some of the color had left her cheeks and her voice trembled. “Geoffrey had five brothers, or half brothers, to be precise. Their names . . .” She frowned, her mouth pursed. “Oh yes, how could I forget? Judas, Cromwell, Absalom, Guy, and Flitworthy.”