Page 99 of The Bachelor Spy
“Yes, does that name mean anything to you?”
Frederick went absolutely still, his back tensing slightly. “Crawford,” he repeated slowly. “I remember Crawford. Or rather, I remember the scandal. How old is this Private Pennington?”
“Early twenties, I think. One of the usual sort we get at the hospital.”
“Then the timing fits.” Frederick tightened his grip on her hand, turning even more to face her. “Crawford was dismissed from service over twenty years ago. I was only a boy—perhaps seven or eight—but I remember it causing quite an upheaval in the household.”
Grace’s pulse quickened at Frederick’s confirmation.
Treasure? Mysterious tunnels? Spies? Good heavens, she’d desperately missed a good mystery! So long as no one got caught in quicksand—unlikely—or nearly drowned in a flooding cavern—also unlikely since Havensbrooke wasn’t by the sea—then all they’d really have to worry about was someone setting the house on fire or a man with a gun.
But since she was fairly certain Blake and Evie both had guns, at least they were covered on that front with a few prepared individuals.
All they were missing was a rope.
She made a mental note to remedy that oversight.
“What was the scandal?”
“Something was stolen from the family.” Frederick’s gaze grew distant. “Though I can’t recall precisely what. My father was furious about it—more furious than I’d ever seen him. Crawford was the prime suspect, but nothing could be proven.”
“Was he arrested?” Grace asked.
“I don’t think so.” Frederick shook his head. “Which infuriated my father even more. Crawford maintained his innocence, but there was enough suspicion that he was dismissed without a character reference. Father made certain he’d never work in a respectable household within Derbyshire again.” He paused, his mouth tightening. “At the time, I thought it rather harsh. But Father was convinced Crawford had stolen something of great value.”
“Which is precisely why we need to speak to your mother. With her excellent memory, I’ve no doubt she could provide answers.” Though, to be honest, Grace always felt a bit uncomfortable in Lady Moriah’s presence. Besides the fact that the woman had never forgiven Grace for marrying Frederickorfor having red hair, she’d also been party to a horrible scandal of her own that had placed her under house arrest for the remainder of her life.
It was an odd sort of reality to have a mother-in-law who was once an accomplice to a murder.
Grace prayed for her every day. Prayed the woman would find some peace. Would forgive others and herself. Would realize that Grace and Frederick truly did wish to repair the relationship.
But her heart seemed so cold. So distant. Harder than anyone Grace had ever known.
“Mother will know, and hopefully she’ll be amenable to sharing the information with us.”
“Thebeing amenablepart is always the challenge, I fear,” Grace sighed.
The motorcar pulled to a stop in front of the gray stone dower house Frederick had purchased to allow his mother to remain close enough to Havensbrooke for him to attend her, yet near enough to Astlynn Commons for the authorities to keep watch. It had been a leniency granted due to her age and cooperation with the authorities in prosecuting the murderess Celia Blackmore Percy, Frederick’s sister-in-law.
Their families were certainly filled with interesting and broken characters. But Grace supposed every story had them, whether about an earl or pauper. Some ended in judgment. Others in redemption.
She preferred the latter, of course, especially for a living story, but as far as fictional, she didn’t mind reading either type of ending.
“Perhaps the sad state of my current position”—he waved toward his eyes, his smile curving—”will dispose her toward compassion.”
“If anything can, that would be it.”
They were led into the sitting room, a space much smaller than Lady Moriah’s previous accommodations, but still well-appointed with some of the latest furnishings and decor. Grace had never imagined a “prison” could appear so pleasant, but house arrest certainly made the situation tidier. Still, Grace wouldn’t like being trapped in the house and grounds of one place, never to travel again. Or to go into town on her own. Or to disappear into the forest occasionally.
It wasn’t the worst of prisons, but Lady Moriah’s freedoms had certainly been stripped along with much of her pride. Though one wouldn’t know it from the way she entered a room: cane tapping, head raised, grimace at full wrinkle.
Lady Moriah’s gaze swept over them as she entered, lingering on Grace’s middle with an expression that might have been disapproval or—Grace couldn’t quite tell—something softer. Regret, perhaps?
She would cling to the idea of regret. It made Lady Moriah a bit more approachable.
And how was it that everyone seemed to recognize she was with child? The obviousness paired with her obliviousness still stung.
Then the lady’s attention shifted to Frederick, the faintest look of alarm tensing her features. “What is this?” She waved the cane toward him. “Why are you home and donning such ridiculous spectacles?”
