The Highland Heist, page 19
“Very unaristocratic of you, my lord.” She teased, searching his face, her smile gentling a little. Had she borne the brunt of her sister’s ire in silence? Carried her subtle barbs without complaint?
Oh, how very different his life could have been if their marriage agreement hadn’t been turned on its head.
“How did you find Mrs. Lindsay?”
Grace blinked at his question. “Oh, she still hasn’t gained consciousness, but she’s alive.” She turned and slipped her arm through his. “And improving. Miss Cox is with her now for a little while, but I mean to take a watch.” She lowered her voice as they neared the stairs. “Wounded sleeping people with too much information are quite vulnerable to unexpected attacks that keep them from waking up and sharing that information, as we know all too well from poor Mr. Graham in Egypt. So I asked Detective Johnson to provide a watch over Mrs. Lindsay’s room through the night.”
“That’s an excellent idea, darling.”
She smiled her gratitude and then her expression fell. “Did you have any luck offering some insight to my sister?”
Frederick swallowed, his mind briefly flicking to the prickly exchange with Lillias. “Yes,” he said carefully, turning his focus back to Grace. “I was able to share a great deal of hard truths that she needed to hear.”
Grace’s gaze softened as they continued up the stairs, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you notice Mrs. James is still here?” Her brow furrowed. “That’s unexpected.”
“Unless she’s gathering further information.”
“Or trying to finish the job with Mrs. Lindsay,” Grace added and then frowned. “If Mrs. James is a culprit at all. I suppose she could be innocent. We’ve been wrong before, but she’s certainly suspicious.”
“Then it’s a very good thing an officer will stay the night,” he added, turning to start down their hallway when Miss Cox topped the stairs behind them.
“Thank you for sending the officer to take my place. Despite my father’s occupation, I’m not very comfortable with wounded people.”
Frederick offered a sympathetic smile, but couldn’t resist a little jest to lighten the mood. “Was spending time with Mrs. Lindsay better or worse than taking care of Thomas?”
Miss Cox’s cheeks reddened a little, and she offered a reluctant smile. “The babe is growing on me, my lord, so I’d prefer him.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you do.” Grace offered. “Because I believe my sister is ready to hire you as the new nanny.”
Miss Cox’s shoulders sagged slightly, but there was a softness in her expression that hadn’t been there before. “With that in mind, Mrs. Dixon is afraid to stay by herself tonight, what with the possibility of another attack still lingering.” She looked between them. “She’s asked if she can share the room with me, if you two don’t mind keeping Zahra with you for the night.”
Frederick fought the sigh that nearly escaped his lips. His carefully planned evening alone with Grace, one in which he intended to express just how much he appreciated her, was rapidly slipping through his fingers. “Of course. Make whatever arrangements you need to ensure Mrs. Dixon’s comfort. We have a settee in our room which will suit Zahra quite well.”
Miss Cox curtsied, a faint blush lingering on her cheeks as she made her way down the hallway toward her room.
He paused just inside the doorway of their bedroom, brushing a lingering kiss across her lips. Without hesitation, she responded with welcome enthusiasm. Perhaps there was still a chance for a little quality time with his wife?
Her smile was all warmth, and she held on to his jacket, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes. “I suppose we’ll need to make plans to travel to Scotland once the funeral is over.”
Frederick nodded, pulling her deeper into the room, his fingers tightening at her waist. “If we have any chance of finding the will before the time is up.”
“At least we’ll be much closer to Havensbrooke again.”
His smile split wide. He loved how she’d not only fallen in love with him but also with his home.
And being the budding detective she was, she seemed to deduce the direction of his thoughts, because she turned toward the bedchamber.
“Closer,” he said, backing her gently until her legs bumped the end of the bed. “But still hours away. I mean to wire Elliott and Blake to have one of them meet us at the dock. Another trustworthy soul would be good to have in this case.”
Her smile flashed wide, and she rocked on tiptoe to kiss him. “I love it when you talk sleuth.”
He chuckled and buried his face into her neck. “If that’s the case, my dear Lady Astley, let me regale you with a very thorough investigation of the many ways I can take your breath away.”
Chapter 16
Frederick stood by the window, his waistcoat half-buttoned as he gazed at the darkening sky outside. The air seemed to press in, thick with the promise of a storm, and he couldn’t help but feel that the weather’s temper mirrored his own. The time was slipping by far too quickly, what with packing for Scotland, helping Lillias with the last of the estate matters in Harrington, and finishing up whatever investigation they could with Detective Johnson.
The small inconveniences of having to order breakfast out and Lillias’ penchant for sleeping late into the morning didn’t help with efficiency, but at least the police officer had remained on watch the whole night and alerted Frederick that morning that Mrs. Lindsay had begun to make some murmurings toward wakefulness.
A good sign for the investigation, especially if she could identify her assailant and the person with whom Mr. Clark had been in conversation—perhaps the same person.
And an officer had stopped in to share that Mr. Barclay had awakened during the night. Not for long and somewhat confused, but he had stayed awake long enough to take a few drinks of water. The nurse reported it as a good sign that he would heal.
So perhaps they could truly leave for Scotland within the week. Frederick would feel much better with Elliott or Blake at hand. In fact, he planned to contact Jack Miracle too, just to see if he could gain any counsel in the matter. There was a good chance that Detective Johnson’s jurisdiction didn’t include Scotland.
“Did Detective Johnson take the dagger?”
Frederick turned toward his wife, who’d been sitting at the desk for a good half hour writing in her notebook. Zahra, curled up on the settee with her own pages, barely looked up from her scribbling.
“The dagger?”
“Yes, the one Lillias found in Tony’s chest,” she said matter-of-factly, her eyes not leaving her notes.
Grace’s directness always caught him off guard, just as it did now. He hesitated, glancing at Zahra, who gave him a slight shrug before returning to her work.
Frederick then answered, “Yes, as I recall.”
“Well, that’s one less loose thread in all this.” She tapped her pen against the notebook and looked up at him, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. He could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “So far, I have these clues:
1. Lillias and Tony were in debt and unhappily married. Lillias was selling family heirlooms for money, and Tony was gambling badly, in a vain hope of resurrecting the romance they had seemed to lose in their near-poverty.
Frederick stepped from the window, his lips crooking at her mixture of facts and creative narrative.
2. Fake Officer Clark is a gentleman with a network of spies—or at least one who’s managed to insinuate herself into the house to gather information for Mr. Clark’s dastardly deeds.
Grace raised her pen toward him. “My bet’s on Mrs. James, but her continued presence here, long after the will’s been destroyed, leaves me … uncertain.”
“She has an angry face, and she does not like the baby,” Zahra said, not looking up from her page.
“That alone raises enough red flags,” Grace muttered, tapping the pen again. “What kind of person doesn’t like babies?” She raised an eyebrow at Frederick. “What do you think?”
Before he could answer, Grace moved on:
3. Whoever hit you on the head, presumably Mr. Clark, has ties to Scotland. And I’m afraid his disguise—specifically the fake mustache—was as poor as his American accent.
Frederick couldn’t help chuckling. “Indeed. A man who fails both at facial hair and accents is hardly a criminal mastermind.”
His comment paused her response for a moment, just long enough for her to reward him with a grin.
“4. Mr. Barclay wasn’t attacked until yesterday, so our murderer didn’t know about the will—or who the solicitor handling it was—until then. They must have come to Virginia to stop us from getting to Scotland, and when they found out about the will, they decided to destroy it, hoping to end the matter once and for all.”
Frederick stepped closer, a thought forming. “Unless,” he interjected, “they—or their spy—overheard something that suggested there was another copy of the will hidden at Mosslea.”
“Which should then send him directly across the pond, shouldn’t it?”
“Unless they feel there is other information to clarify where the will is or—” He stopped, a sudden and unwelcome thought coming to mind.
“What?” Grace lowered her pen.
“They plan to eliminate any chance of you or Lillias getting to Scotland at all.” He held her gaze, hoping his vague explanation would convey the gravity of the threat.
Grace was quiet for a moment before she leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen thoughtfully. “That’s curious, Frederick. Detective Johnson mentioned Tony’s wound wasn’t made by a skilled hand. But it doesn’t take a great deal of practice to come up behind someone and clonk them on the head.”
“Do you have experience on that score?”
Her lips tipped at his teasing. “No, but I’ve imagined it, and I feel with the proper incentive, my aim could prove very accurate.” She frowned. “Though I’d hate the idea of hearing someone’s skull crack.”
“It is not a loud sound,” Zahra added. “Like a melon getting hit by a stick.”
Grace’s eyes widened as she glanced at Frederick. The casualness with which Zahra described that sound hit him with a pang. The very idea she even knew what it sounded like …
“Thank you for the clarification, Zahra.” Frederick offered a tight smile, and the little girl looked up at him with a whisper of a smile on her face.
“So we need to make sure the murderer—Clark, or whoever it is—doesn’t find out about the other will,” Grace continued, writing a few more notes before standing. “I should speak to Lillias. I don’t think she fully grasps the danger we’re in, and I need her to be on guard, especially around Mrs. James.”
“I’ll go and see about Mrs. Lindsay.” Frederick said, gesturing toward Zahra. “Would you like to come along, lamb?”
Without hesitation, Zahra placed her paper and crayons aside and skipped to Frederick’s side, taking his outstretched hand. He drew in a deep breath, embracing the moment. It was a sweet feeling. One he’d known with his daughter, Elizabeth, but he’d not allowed himself to embrace until now. Until Grace.
As they walked from the room, he cast a glance over at Grace, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of hope and determination. Once they were back in Havensbrooke, things would change.
And hopefully, he’d have a chance to make it right.
Grace’s mind swirled with questions about the entire case.
Too many things.
Why did Clark seek out Tony instead of Lillias if he truly wanted to stop them from claiming the inheritance? Why incapacitate Mr. Barclay but not kill him outright? Did he have another motive—or was he simply bad at murder?
She rapped on Miss Cox’s door first, assuming Lillias may very well be in there since she’d chosen to sleep there for the night. When no one answered, Grace pushed the door open. With the darkness of the sky, only the faintest afternoon light shone through the lace curtains to reveal an empty room. Grace turned the switch on the wall and illuminated the room with electric lights.
The beds had been made already.
By whom? Mrs. James?
Come to think of it, Grace hadn’t seen Mrs. James all morning. Her pulse shifted up a little. The crib stood in the corner, as usual. The dressers waited on each side of the two beds in the room, so why did her scalp tingle with warning.
She hadn’t seen Miss Cox at breakfast and had assumed she was taking care of Thomas. With a quick turn, Grace left the room and continued down the hallway to Lillias’ room. After a few unanswered knocks, she entered—and found the room just as empty as the first.
Bed made. As if not slept in.
Her pulse took an upswing. As if not slept in.
Grace rushed to the wardrobe, pulled open the door, and sucked in a breath. Empty.
No, no, no.
Lillias hadn’t done what Grace had feared.
Certainly not.
But as Grace took in the room, a single slip of paper waited on the desk by the farthest window. An envelope with Grace’s name on the front.
Grace didn’t need to open it. Her heart already knew.
But the lines penned in her sister’s hand confirmed her fears:
I left money with Mr. Broom at the funeral home yesterday to cover anything needed for Tony’s burial. I’ve given Mr. Arbor notice to end the lease we have on the house by the end of the month with significant payment and detailed directions to box up and ship all my belongings to me at Mosslea.
I loved Tony and, God help him, he loved me.
Don’t you see? It’s all my fault. His gambling, our estrangement, his death.
And with whatever I have left in me, I’m determined not to have Thomas grow up in a place where the only thing anyone will remember about their father is the shadows surrounding his death. We both need to start over, and this inheritance is my lifeline.
I will find the will if I have to tear the castle apart stone by stone.
I mean to take what’s been offered to us, a rescue Mother provided, even if I must frustrate you, Frederick, and Detective Johnson to do so.
My life in Harrington is over.
Forgive me, but I didn’t see any other way.
Lillias
PS Miss Cox is with me, and we mean to take the first ship out of port in the morning.
Anger proved an unfamiliar feeling for Grace.
She knew it, of course. Had experienced it, yes—but not often.
Right now, though?
All she wanted to do was tear this letter into a thousand pieces and scream into a pillow.
How selfish! How childish!
Did her sister have any consideration for anyone else in the world besides herself?
Could grief and desperation lead someone to complete and utter lunacy?
Grace spun away from the desk, crumpling the paper in her fist. Her eyes stung with an uninvited burn, the precursor to tears that always accompanied her fury.
No wonder sibling conflict was such a frequent plot device in fiction. King Lear, The Taming of the Shrew, the Greek gods—oh, and the very nonfiction rivalries in the Bible.
Her pace quickened as she stalked down the hallway, her fury propelling her forward.
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to kill her sister like Cain, but giving her a solid shake? That sounded like an excellent idea. Grace had never seriously entertained the notion of shaking her sister before, but it was oddly appealing now. The thought almost brought a smile to her face, which to her surprise, eased the tension building in her chest.
Of course logic returned just in time to remind her that she had far more pressing matters than shaking her sister like a marionette.
Just as Grace rounded the corner, she spotted Frederick and Zahra approaching. Frederick’s expression tightened the moment he saw her, a worried frown creasing his brow. Before she even reached them, he shook his head.
“She’s gone.”
Evidently, Frederick had also developed a form of clairvoyance where Lillias was concerned.
“They must have left in the night.” She gave him the letter.
He read it over, giving his head another slow shake.
A roll of thunder rumbled in the silence, and Grace’s body tensed. No! A storm at this moment? She couldn’t think clearly when thunder was involved. “How could she do this?” Grace’s voice squeaked as she tried to raise her volume over other incoming thunder. “We can’t keep her safe if she’s not with us.”
Frederick folded the letter, his expression hardening. “Because she knows we’ll follow her.” He held her gaze. “And we must follow her if you’re to claim the inheritance together.”
“Could she not have waited a few days?” Another rumble tumbled into the conversation.
“She’s desperate,” he said softly, his hand brushing Grace’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “And when people are desperate, they convince themselves they’re doing the right thing, even if it’s reckless and selfish.”
Grace stiffened as another growl of thunder rumbled overhead. She tried to distract herself with the mystery at hand. “And what of Mrs. Lindsay?”
“Awake.” Frederick glanced toward the kitchen. “The officer said she’s already named Mrs. James as the person speaking with Mr. Clark in the back garden. So now we know they’re connected.”
Grace edged a step closer to Frederick at the sound of the next thunderstrike. Christmas. Think of Christmas. It’s a beautiful, happy, joyful time with lights, greenery, presents, and mistletoe.
Her gaze slid to Frederick’s lips. Mistletoe was a very good thought.
“And—and has Mrs. James been kissed or, er, seen this morning?”
Frederick tilted his head, examining her. One eyebrow arched slowly. “No. When the officer went to check her room at six o’clock this morning, it was empty. The window was open.”
Waking up in Frederick’s arms. Now, that was a good thought. Nice and distracting. And in the past, when they’d been alone, Frederick’s excellent cuddling and kissing skills had served as the perfect storm distraction. But Grace glanced at Zahra.
