Not by Sight (29 page)

Agnes nodded. “Just until we finish the hay, miss, if it’s all right with you. I so enjoy the peacefulness of the country.”

Grace smiled. Agnes had been much happier here than in London. “You are a free woman, Agnes. You should chart your own life as you see fit.”

“Is that another saying in the suffrage movement?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Grace looked around the small kitchen. “I’ll miss you all very much,” she said before her gaze resettled on Mrs. Vance. The woman had been as close to a mother as she’d had since losing her own. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“Oh, posh!” Mrs. Vance said, blinking back tears. “It was Lord Roxwood’s threat hanging over our heads. And your hard work. I did nothing.”

“But you did. Even when he overrode your authority, you still treated me well.” She arched a brow. “Maybe you’re happy now you bent those rules?” Grace recalled how much Mrs. Vance enjoyed dancing the night away in Mr. Tillman’s arms.

“Perhaps.” Ida Vance smiled, reading her thoughts.

Grace said to Becky, “I don’t know when we women will get the vote, but remember, no one can take away our dignity. You’ve a great sense of humor, Becky, and you’re one of the hardest workers I’ve had the privilege to know. I predict great things for you one day, like that bakery you’ve been dreaming of. Or perhaps even our first woman prime minister!”

The others laughed while Becky smiled, chewing on her biscuit. She swallowed and said, “Thanks all the same, Grace. I’d still rather open a small shop in my village and help Pa take care of our family.”

“What? No grand pastry shop?” Lucy asked, and more laughter circled the table.

“A bookshop,” Becky said, surprising them. Her eyes shone with gratitude. “For when Grace writes her novel. I want to sell lots of her books.”

Grace smiled at her with watery eyes. “That’s wonderful, Becky. Thank you.” To Lucy she said, “And you—leaving soon for the north to work for the Earl of Stonebrooke!”

“Now who’s going to be a duchess?” Becky said, and they all laughed.

Lucy nodded, despite a worried look on her face. “I’m grateful for all you’ve d-done, Grace, but I’m not sure I can do this.”

Grace pinned her with a firm look. “Lucy, God gave you a special gift. You must believe in Him, and yourself too, and you’ll accomplish whatever you set out to. I have every faith that one day we’ll be standing in the midst of Britain’s first woman veterinarian.”

Lucy’s eyes glistened. “I hope so.”

“I know so,” Grace said with a wink.

“Grace, I leave for Stonebrooke next week. Will you c-come and see me?”

“If I can.” The idea of another chance meeting with Jack—and his new wife—at Stonebrooke was too painful at the moment to consider. Speaking of which . . .

“I need to go and perform my last duty as chauffeur.” Again she eyed each of them. “I know you all need to get down to the farm, so I’ll say good-bye.”

Each woman rose and came around the table to embrace her, with tears flowing freely, smiles, well-wishes, and the promise to pray for her brother.

———

Grace pedaled her bicycle along the graveled drive toward the manor and thought of her WFC sisters. When the war was over, she planned to put on a grand tea party at Swan’s and invite them all. Perhaps by then Clare and Daisy could join them, and surely Lucy could leave Stonebrooke long enough to travel down from the north.

Her pulse quickened as she neared the house. Spending a few more precious hours with Jack was a temptation impossible to resist, despite the heartache she knew would follow once she left. Would he take her in his arms and kiss her one last time before she departed forever?

Sir Marcus’s Pierce-Arrow sat parked alongside the front steps, and Grace was seized with affection as she realized Jack had already contacted his friend to help in finding her brother.

She knew Clare would be pleased to see Sir Marcus and felt a bittersweet ache, happy for her friend despite her own circumstances. He was not only a kind man, having helped Lucy, but Grace believed Sir Marcus would accept Clare Danner for what she was. Her friend just had to believe in love again.

Grace decided to postpone fetching the Daimler and instead rang at the door. She was anxious to learn of any news about her brother.

Knowles answered her summons. He seemed surprised, but then a look of warmth crept over his crusty features. “Miss Mabry. You look quite fit for your journey.”

She surveyed her tailored blue traveling suit, the same clothes she’d worn on her arrival to Roxwood. “Thank you, I think,” she said, smiling.

“Indeed.” He cleared his throat. “You have been like a ray of sun in this dark place, my lady.” His rheumy eyes gleamed. “And you will be missed.”

“Thank you, Knowles. I shall miss you, too.”

The old butler stood back to allow her entrance. “His lordship awaits you in the study.”

“Patrick Mabry . . . arrested?” Jack swayed on his feet. His first instinct—to crow with delight—was tempered by the knowledge that Grace would be devastated. He tightened his grip on the feather. “You’ve got proof?”

“Irrefutable,” Marcus said. “We intercepted a letter yesterday. Our Room 40 people found a coded message using invisible ink inserted between the written lines. The code
breakers were able to decipher information about the port at Richborough—”

“Not possible!” Jack pushed away from the hearth. Cold dread shot through him. “Grace is innocent, Marcus.”

“You’ve been deceived.” His friend stood from behind the desk. “Look, Jack, I didn’t want it to be true, either. I’d hoped you were right and she was merely an innocent victim.” He withdrew an envelope from his tunic. “I’ve got a warrant—”

“Give me that!”

Jack strode to the desk and snatched the envelope from Marcus’s surprised grasp.

“What the devil . . . ? You’ve got your sight back?”

“Just this morning.” Jack dismissed his friend’s look of shock as he opened the envelope. “Though I think it might have started to return when Strom was here.”

“That’s incredible. And welcome news, old boy,” Marcus said softly.

Jack was already scanning the arrest papers. The happiness he’d felt upon waking had begun to unravel. “This states she wrote the letter. You’re absolutely certain it’s Grace?” He looked up, already knowing the veracity of his friend and the Admiralty.

Marcus nodded. “I’m sorry, Jack. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Where is the letter now?”

“New Scotland Yard has the original, but I managed to get a photograph of the last page,” Marcus said. “Knowing your feelings for her, I thought to at least give Miss Mabry the chance to verify ownership before . . .”

“Before you arrest her and throw her into prison?” Jack said. “Let me see it.”

He wanted to laugh at the irony of his own words. Through some miracle he hadn’t asked for, he was given back his sight.
And what did he demand but to view the evidence condemning the woman he loved.

Marcus withdrew from his satchel a large photograph. Jack studied the picture of the letter, easily recognizing the insidious dark brown code written above the elegantly scribed words. The words sounded so much like Grace, regaling her father with tales of her success in the WFC, digging ditches and sewing tarps. She wrote of the women she worked with and their kindness to her. She also mentioned the mysterious Tin Man and the rumors surrounding him, and Jack’s face heated.

“None of this makes sense,” he said. “Grace came to me yesterday and confessed to being at the ball the night of the explosion. She apologized for giving me this.” He held up the white feather. “She seemed to feel responsible for my injuries.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d met her before?”

“I didn’t know it, not until yesterday. She arrived at Lady Bassett’s costume ball dressed as Pandora.” He grimaced. “I thought her the most beautiful creature, and when she surprised me with this feather, I was so amused I lost track of Chaplin for a few moments. He was leaving the ball when I realized I’d missed the exchange of information.” He glanced at his friend. “It didn’t occur to me in hospital to tell you I’d bungled my assignment.”

“I think ‘Pandora’ was there for that reason,” Marcus said. “Her distraction allowed Patrick Mabry to make contact with Chaplin without being seen.”

A chill coursed through Jack at his friend’s logic. It would have made for the perfect scheme. Had he been so swept up in passion yesterday, and with finding her again, that he’d missed the signs? “If that’s true, why did she tell me her part in it, and beg my forgiveness?” Jack was still unconvinced. “Why not simply remain silent?”

“Perhaps she learned of Mabry’s arrest yesterday and panicked,” Marcus surmised. “Grace Mabry is an intelligent woman. Telling you her version from the night of the ball might induce you to champion her cause, in the event she’s implicated with her father. As heir to Stonebrooke, you would be a powerful ally in court.”

“Yes, but she’s returning to London today. Why . . .” Jack let his voice trail off and stared at his friend. “Grace told me she was contacted by her cousin, Dr. Strom, the physician I told you about. He received news her brother is missing in action.”

“It’s possible,” Marcus said. “And I’ll gladly check it out. But if she is aware of Mabry’s arrest, it could just be a ploy in order to make her escape.”

Jack swore under his breath.

“Jack, it is possible that Grace Mabry was entirely manipulated by her father, from giving you the white feather on the night of the ball to writing this letter.” He pointed to the photograph in Jack’s hands. “However, it doesn’t lessen her guilt.” He paused. “Have you any idea where she is?”

“I sent for her.” Jack’s gut ached. “But if what you say is true—”

A knock at the study door brought them both around.

“Miss Mabry, milord.” Knowles’s muffled voice sounded from the hall.

“Send her in,” Jack barked. Then to Marcus, “Say nothing of my improvement.” He thrust the photograph back at him. “I prefer to remain blind awhile longer.”

Marcus nodded. “Keep your advantage for as long as possible.”

What advantage? Jack had begun to believe that despite the difficulties of his betrothal to Violet Arnold, he might have a chance at happiness, to share his life with someone who saw past the scars to the man he wanted to be.

Instead, he’d become more of a laughingstock—the Tin Man Grace wrote about in her letter. A creature so desperate for love, he’d allowed himself to be duped by Mabry’s daughter.

Jack strode back to the hearth while he struggled to shore up his pride and reconstruct the shield around his heart. The future seemed darker than even his blindness had been. Each day as he resumed the dismal monotony of his life, he would know the cost of surrendering his trust.

———

Grace entered the study to find Sir Marcus behind the desk. Then her gaze sought the blond, broad-shouldered man standing by the mantelpiece. Her pulse leaped at the sight of him. “Jack?” she called softly.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away from her to face the small fire burning in the grate. Dread filled her. Was it Colin, then?

“Miss Mabry, come in.”

Sir Marcus stood beside Jack’s desk. Grace noted his uniform and his grim expression. “What’s wrong?” She darted a glance back at Jack. Why didn’t he acknowledge her?

“Please take a seat.” Sir Marcus rounded the desk and offered her one of the leather wing chairs.

She refused. “Do you have news about my brother?” Alarmed, she clasped her hands tightly together. “Is Colin hurt?” Panic seized her as she considered the worst. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead!”

“I wouldn’t know, Miss Mabry. I am here for another reason entirely.” Sir Marcus’s features remained implacable. “Now, please, sit.”

This time she did as he asked, perching on the edge of the chair. She glanced to see Jack had turned around, standing with feet braced apart. He remained still and distant; the only sign
he wasn’t made of stone was the hand at his side, fingering the white feather she’d given him.

“Jack, what’s going on? Why am I here?”

“The matter involves your father,” Sir Marcus supplied. “And you.”

“Me?” Grace turned to him, rising from the chair. “Something has happened to Da?”

“Did you know Patrick Mabry was arrested yesterday on charges of suspected treason?”

The room seemed to shift. Grace fell back against her seat. “What?”

Sir Marcus handed her a photograph. “We’ve also discovered his accomplice.”

“No . . .” she whispered. What was he saying?

“Do you recognize this?”

She took the photograph from him with trembling hands.

It was a picture of a written letter. Grace felt the hair rise along her nape as she recognized the handwriting. “This is part of a letter I wrote to my father.” She observed a series of stained numbers and letters above her written words. “What are these marks?” She glanced up at him. “And why do you have it?”

“I’ve a warrant, Miss Mabry.” Sir Marcus ignored the question and took back the photograph. His brown eyes hardened like flint. “By order of the Admiralty and New Scotland Yard, you are under arrest for treason.”