The Highland Heist, page 18
“No,” he murmured, stepping forward.
Grace clung to his arm, her face pale. “Oh, poor Mr. Barclay.” A sudden sheen filled her eyes. “All of this … just because he was connected to our inheritance.”
“It does seem to be the common thread,” Johnson said grimly as he approached the desk. Then he stiffened, leaning closer. “Wait—he’s breathing.”
“What?” Frederick rushed forward with Grace just behind him.
Johnson checked Barclay’s wrist, nodding. “There’s a pulse.”
“Was he attacked?” Frederick leaned in, noticing the swelling at the back of Barclay’s head.
Johnson tilted the man upright, revealing a pale, slack face. “Looks that way.”
“Oh, thank God.” Grace exhaled, some tension melting from her shoulders. “What is it about this case? Everyone’s getting hit on the head and then run off on. It’s becoming a theme.”
Johnson’s lips twitched. “Do you expect assailants to wait politely for apprehension, Lady Astley?”
“It would be considerate, wouldn’t it?” Grace arched a brow, a light flickering in her eyes. “It’s just that there seems to be an awfully lot of head hitting of poor, unsuspecting people who’ve done very little to deserve such attacks.” She sighed. “Though I suppose I’ll settle for not having another funeral on our hands.”
“Whoever was here is gone now,” Todd said, reentering the room from the closet.
Frederick approached the fireplace, where a faint warmth still radiated. A small flame flickered among charred debris. “And they didn’t leave long ago. The fire’s fresh—someone’s been burning …” His voice trailed off.
“Paper,” Grace said sharply, already at his side. She dropped to her knees with a swish of skirts, her parasol clattering to the floor. “Oh no, Frederick.”
Her exclamation tugged him down beside her. The faintly acrid smell of burned parchment filled the air as Grace began sifting through the remains. The fragments were small, curling at the edges as if they were trying to retreat from discovery. A blackened scrap revealed the word testament, and Frederick’s stomach knotted.
Pulling out his handkerchief, he carefully fished through the debris. Among the ashes, he unearthed a corner of parchment bearing the words inheritance and legal transfer, their meaning unmistakable even beneath their charred edges. Another piece bore the faint remains of a signature ending in Ferguson.
“Those were the copies Barclay brought for Lillias and me to sign tomorrow,” Grace whispered. Her finger traced the singed edge of what remained of her mother’s signature.
Johnson loomed closer, his shadow dark against the flickering light. “Someone destroyed them,” he said grimly, scanning the room as though the culprit might suddenly materialize. “Judging by the state of things, they didn’t want to leave anything behind.”
“Whoever it is must be after the estate.” Grace stood abruptly, her gaze sweeping the chaotic room. “If Lillias and I don’t claim it in less than a month, it will go to auction. Mr. Barclay said that there were already buyers waiting in the wings to purchase it.”
“And your sister knew about the inheritance as well?” Johnson’s tone sharpened.
“She only found out about it from us yesterday afternoon and learned specifics from Mr. Barclay today.”
“With the alibi Officer Todd confirmed, your sister is cleared of further suspicion.” Johnson shrugged a shoulder. “And without documents to confirm your inheritance, the risk to you, your sister, and anyone associated with you should be reduced.”
“Not necessarily, Detective.” Frederick’s response brought all eyes back to him, even Grace’s.
“What do you mean?” Johnson asked, his gaze snapping to him.
Frederick turned to Grace, his palm moving to her arm. “These were just copies, weren’t they?”
Grace blinked. “Yes, of course.”
“Then there’s another copy of the will and the legal documents linking you and your sister to the inheritance,” Frederick’s gaze steadied on her.
Johnson tensed, suddenly on alert again. “And where are these papers?”
Grace met his eyes. “Scotland,” she said. “Inside Mosslea Castle.”
“The will was destroyed? No.” Lillias surged from her chair, pacing toward the window like a wind-up toy on its last frantic rotation. “Everything hinged on that inheritance! Thomas and I were finally going to be free—free of Harrington, free of its shadows. A new start, a new home, a life unburdened.”
Grace pressed her lips together so tightly they might have sealed shut. It took a Herculean effort not to retort with the obvious—that Mr. Barclay, now unconscious thanks to an assailant, had rather larger problems than the postponement of her sister’s plans. But after all Lillias had endured—her husband murdered, finances obliterated, their cook comatose—it hardly seemed the moment to provoke a fit.
And when Lillias had a fit, if they were anything like the ones she used to have when they were younger, the entire house knew about it.
Father had called them “episodes,” as if labeling them lent sophistication to what were, in truth, well-timed performances that ended whenever Lillias got her way. Grace had often escaped into a book, letting the tirade dissolve into the background.
“Things are not lost, Lillias.” Grace looked over at Frederick. They’d discussed options on their drive from the hotel, where they’d left Detective Johnson, Officer Todd, and a few other officials combing through Mr. Barclay’s hotel room and interviewing various other people regarding the poor man’s attacks. “We both have some money laid aside from Mother which, if the figures that Mr. Barclay gave us are still accurate, should help you create a fresh start wherever you go.”
“Yes, I made certain to withdraw mine this afternoon while you two were off playacting as detectives.” She added a derisive sniff for good measure. “Why you can’t leave this ugly business to professionals is beyond me. Meanwhile, I’ve had to manage the stress of this wretched situation alone.”
Alone? Grace frowned, agitated heat climbing her neck. Lillias had a much bigger flare for dramatics than Grace did, and that was impressive. Miss Cox, Zahra, and the doctor had been here all afternoon. Of course Thomas couldn’t be counted—he was hardly useful as an infant. Mrs. Lindsay was unconscious, and Mrs. James might well be a suspect, but alone? Hardly.
And playacting as detectives? Grace sat a little straighter at the offense. Jack Miracle had praised their work, even inducted them as detectives in their own right. How did Lillias always manage to make her feel so insignificant? It seemed deeply unsisterly.
“Our playacting, as you so charmingly call it, likely kept you alive.” Frederick’s sharp tone cut through the air, pulling Lillias’, and even Grace’s, attention. “Had it not been for our help, I sincerely doubt you’d have gotten those funds or the information about the inheritance as quickly as you have.”
The words landed like a hammer, and for once, Lillias faltered. Her gaze dropped. Grace blinked at Frederick in astonishment. No one had ever come to her defense where Lillias was concerned, let alone stood up to her sister with such measured ferocity.
Frederick, all affronted dignity, was an even more magnificent sight than usual. Grace realized that, although the elder sister, Lillias Dixon may not very well be the stronger, cleverer, or more resilient of the two of them.
And that thought was completely new to Grace.
It somehow made her want to smile a little.
Which would have been inappropriate considering the circumstances, but it still didn’t stop her from wanting to.
“So much good your detective work has done us,” Lillias muttered, breaking the spell. “The will is destroyed. And even the funds Mother left will run out eventually. I’ll need to find someone.”
The murmured words barely made it to Grace’s ears, and she wasn’t fully certain she comprehended them. Find someone else? Grace shot Frederick a look, and even his brows rose in surprise.
“Find someone?” Grace echoed, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“To marry,” Lillias snapped. “What else can I do?” She turned back to them and marched to the tea table, pouring herself a cup with a hand shaking as badly as Grace’s ever did. “Father has no money, Tony is … gone”—her voice wavered on the word—”and I have a child to provide for. I must find a husband willing to take us in.”
“I don’t know how long Mr. Barclay may remain unfit to travel or when all your affairs will be in order so we can do so.” Grace stood, almost as much in surprise at her sister’s statements as in the need to solve this dilemma. “But the inheritance isn’t lost to us yet, Lillias.”
Lillias froze, teacup halfway to her lips. “What?”
“There’s another copy of the will at Mosslea,” Grace explained. “Mr. Barclay mentioned it. If we get there within three weeks, and if he’s well enough to travel, he can help us find it. “That is, if we want to continue with seeking to claim the inheritance at all.”
Frederick raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a way that seemed to question her very use of the word if. Grace nearly smiled back. It was true—wasting Tony’s sacrifice, the faint chance of another will, and the excitement of another mystery seemed downright reckless.
The teacup clattered onto its saucer as Lillias stared. “Another copy?”
“Don’t you remember? Mr. Barclay told us this afternoon.” Grace nodded. “He said there was a safeguard—a second copy—hidden somewhere in the castle. And he seemed to know exactly where.”
“And if Mr. Barclay isn’t fit to travel,” Frederick added, his gaze meeting Grace’s with an approving glint before shifting to Lillias, “will you allow us to playact a little longer to help find it?”
“There’s clearly no time to waste.” Lillias sent him a glare and placed her cup on the table with a decided clink. “I say we leave for Scotland in the morning.”
“In the morning?” Not that the idea didn’t sound thrilling, but how on earth could they do it? Grace frowned. It seemed rather strange to be the one advocating for reasonable thinking. “Lillias, we’re hardly in a position to set out immediately. Mr. Barclay isn’t conscious, your cook is wounded, and there’s Tony’s … arrangements to consider.” Grace softened her tone. “We need at least a few days.”
“If Mr. Barclay cannot accompany us, we will need all the time we can to search for the hidden will,” Lillias shot back. “So not only must we travel across the ocean and find Mosslea in Scotland, but we’ll also have to search a castle for a will hidden somewhere in its walls.” Lillias pressed a hand to her forehead and dissolved into the nearest chair. “Oh, heavens. I sound like I’m quoting the plot of one of your ridiculous novels.”
It really was sad how unappreciated good novels were in her family.
Frederick, however, took up the mantle with a grin. “Precisely why you should be reassured. Grace has an uncanny knack for using fiction to solve real-world problems.” He stepped to Grace’s side, the playful glint in his eyes softening as he addressed Lillias. “We’ll do everything in our power to secure the inheritance—and to keep you safe. But this only works if we cooperate, Lillias.”
The use of her Christian name landed stiffly from his lips, but Grace saw the effort. He didn’t trust her sister—Grace couldn’t blame him—but he was trying, and that was something.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and Grace turned to see the last person she expected. Mrs. James. The sight of the housekeeper threw Grace’s assumptions into a whirl. If the will was destroyed and with that any possibility of Grace and Lillias signing it on this side of the Atlantic, then why would Mrs. James still need to serve as housekeeper while working for Clark?
The young woman looked from one person to the next and dipped her head. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Dixon, but the doctor is on his way out and refused to leave without speaking with one of you.”
Lillias sighed as if exhausted by the request, so Grace moved to the door. “I’ll see to him, and perhaps you could help Lillias with the necessary arrangements in the meantime?” She paused, her expression softening as she addressed Frederick. “I have no idea how to plan a funeral, but I’m afraid you’ve had an unhealthy amount of experience with them.”
Lillias sent a look to Frederick, and Mrs. James’ brows rose before Grace followed her out, plucking up her parasol on the way out of the room.
“She has the very best heart, I am sure, but I can’t imagine having to live with her and not become exasperated every day.” Lillias sighed, studying Frederick with those pale blue eyes of hers.
He’d once contemplated those eyes would belong to his future wife.
Once hoped a real romance would grow between them, even if they’d been resigned to an arranged marriage.
But God had chosen better for him. He’d never have contemplated marrying Grace. She’d been too much outside the realm of what he thought he’d needed for Havensbrooke and his legacy.
But she’d been everything God had known Frederick had needed for his heart, soul, and future. And he was profoundly grateful.
“I’ll be happy to assist you in any of your funeral plans, if I can,” he said, curbing the sudden edge in his voice. “I’m sure you must be feeling overwhelmed.”
His distaste for her previous statement didn’t go unnoticed. One of Lillias’ golden brows arched. She didn’t speak, but her silence was heavy as she walked back to the tea table, warming her cup with another pour of the amber liquid.
“It seems neither of us got what we wanted for our futures,” she remarked. “I settled for a poor banker and ended up a widow, cast out from polite society.” Her voice wavered slightly, betraying emotions she clearly wanted to suppress. “And you’re stuck with my silly sister—her fictional whims and her lack of refinement, which I’m sure, have already blighted your social standing.”
“Refinement?” Frederick choked out a laugh. “Is that truly the greatest concern you have about my marriage to your sister?”
“Oh, I cannot even imagine what you’ve had to endure with her disposition.” Lillias shook her head and offered a look of mock sympathy. “An earl of all things! She may have a sweet heart and, at times, engage in interesting conversation, but as a meaningful life partner for aristocracy?” Lillias waved her hand toward Frederick and scoffed. “She’s a disaster. A child. No wonder you regret what’s happened.”
“Regret?” Frederick face went hot. “I’ve never regretted anything less in my entire life.”
His statement brought Lillias’ gaze up and put her body to a stop.
“If that’s the sum of your thoughts on my wife,” Frederick continued, deliberately lingering on the word my to emphasize his connection and acceptance, “then you never really knew her at all.” A fire smoldered in his chest, deepening his voice. “Grace may be unconventional and naive at times, but she is far from silly. Her lack of refinement is the least of my concerns because she is not only a willing student to learn new things, but her kindness has overcome many of the social obstacles placed before her. You not only dismiss her advice but underestimate her intelligence and strength of character—qualities I value deeply.”
Lillias’ eyes widened, a sudden sheen filling them despite the curl of her lips into a frown. “You—you love her.” She shook her golden head and pointed toward the door where Grace had just exited. “Her, with her ridiculousness and nonsense talk of books and solving mysteries.” Her voice shook. “And no doubt, she’s been an embarrassment among your acquaintances, a laughingstock to your mother, and fumbled who knows what else.” Her gaze hardened as she stepped forward. “Things I had been trained for. The life I could have lived with you.”
“Do you hear yourself?” A derisive laugh burst from his lips. “Grace’s small idiosyncrasies are nothing compared to the real embarrassment you nearly brought on your family by attempting to deceive me into marriage. And now? Not only are you behaving with jealousy toward your own sister, but the scandal around your husband’s death, his notorious gambling, and the gossip surrounding your marriage has brought much more disgrace to your family than any of Grace’s decisions. Your past ingratitude for a husband who buried himself in debt to please your whims, and your current ingratitude for a sister who would risk her life to save you from your own mess—those are the only shocking things I see here.”
Frederick took a deep breath, his voice lowering. “Grace Percy has one of the purest hearts in the world, and I would be a fool to not cherish such a love. I know exactly what I’ve been given, and I will not take it for granted again. Let her have her adventures and mysteries, for I’m more than happy to embrace them with her.”
He took a final, deliberate step back, then gave a formal bow of his head. “Excuse me.”
He’d barely made it out of the room when he met Grace coming toward him, her smile slowly sinking as she examined his face. “Are you all right?”
Frederick forced himself to unclench his fists and release a slow, controlled breath. If Grace had endured such veiled criticism her whole life, no wonder she thought she was always causing trouble for him in one way or another. He gave his head a shake at the pain in the thought and without hesitation—without caring who might be lurking in the hall—he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him, catching her gasp with his lips. Her smile spread beneath his assault, and she wrapped her arms around his neck with her delightful abandon, lengthening the embrace.
As he drew back, her smile bloomed.
“In the hallway, Lord Astley?” Grace’s beautiful eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, and she wiggled her brows. “How scandalous.”
He hadn’t been the only one with a past that shaped his opinion of himself. But he’d not continue the deplorable pattern set out by Lillias. Oh no! He was learning a great deal about love and gratitude, and it began when Grace entered his life.
He slid a thumb over her cheek, wrangling his emotions into a steady control. “Scandal is vastly overrated.”
