Page 57 of The Bachelor Spy
“You’ll leave at the end of the week,” Grace said. “That gives you time to collect your things and to say goodbye to the other staff. Brandon will arrange your wages through the end of the month.”
“Yes, my lady.” Jane wiped her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget your kindness.”
The emotional weight settled over Grace as soon as Jane left the room, and Grace sank down into the chair again, forcing her own tears to stay away. It was a hard thing to make such choices between good and right. Grace and justice.
And then the realization struck her.
If Jane stole the painting and the candlesticks, who stole the chapel sketch? Neither the painting nor the candlesticks were in Frederick’s office.
Had Jane broken in there as well?
Or did Havensbrooke still hold one more thief?
“That was very generous of you, my lady,” Brandon said into the quiet. “Some might say too generous.”
“Perhaps.” Grace looked up, studying his face. “Do you think I made the wrong choice?”
Brandon paused, that familiar thoughtful look pinching his brow. “I think Lord Astley would be very proud of you. And I think Jane will remember your mercy for the rest of her life. Whether it improves her character …” He lifted one shoulder in a gentlemanly half shrug. “That lies with her now.”
“Yes. I suppose that’s all any of us can do—choose kindness and hope it lands well.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling her child flutter faintly. “Though I sometimes wish kindness came with clearer instructions.”
“Indeed, my lady.” Brandon stepped toward her, his grin peeking at one corner of his mouth. “And if I may say so, it is an honor to serve you.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears—again—and she managed a watery smile. “Thank you, Brandon. That means more than you know.”
He paused but didn’t move toward the door, his expression tightening again, as if he had more to say but was uncertain.
“What is it, Brandon?”
He hesitated before taking a few steps forward. Mr. Brandon had become one of her dearest confidants since Frederick left for the war. Her father’s age or older, he seemed to consider his duties as butler to include serving as quiet guardian over Grace and Zahra. She had noticed his keen watch, his careful redirection of people on days when she’d not felt as well as on others.
He was the dearest of men, even if he straightened like a tree every time she impulsively hugged him—though she was certain he didn’t mind nearly as much as he pretended.
“You look quite troubled,” she said, gesturing to the chair Jane had vacated. “Would you like to sit?”
Brandon remained standing, as he always did. “I hesitate to trouble you with what may be nothing, my lady, but there is a matter that struck me as … peculiar.”
Oh dear. Peculiar enough forBrandonto mention was rarely a small thing.
“Peculiar how?” Grace leaned forward, her detective instincts immediately prickling to attention.
“It concerns one of the patients. Private Smith.” Brandon clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you recall him?”
“Of course. Arrived just over a month ago. Nurse Wilson described his injuries as quite severe—shrapnel, nerve damage, nearly bedridden.” She winced. “Poor man can barely walk even now. He requires Nurse Wilson or Nurse Rivers’ constant care.”
“Precisely, my lady.” Brandon paused, choosing his words carefully. “However, last night, when I did my final rounds …” He paused, shaking his head. “I … truly don’t wish to—”
“Go on, Brandon.” She leaned forward in anticipation.
“I seldom walk the west wing of the house because it has been closed up since the renovations, but … Mrs. Powell had discovered footprints near the garden door on that side of the house, so I went to investigate before retiring. I had just turned the corridor when I saw a silhouette moving quietly toward that door. In the moonlight, the profile was unmistakable.”
Grace’s breath hitched. “Private Smith?”
“Yes, my lady.” Brandon’s voice lowered. “And walking quite normally. No limp. No hesitation. No sign of pain whatsoever. He moved with considerable … purpose.”
Grace’s heart dropped.Another man pretending to be wounded?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, was there a sign on Havensbrooke that read “Spies and impostors welcome! Please use the servants’ entrance”?
