Page 32 of The Bachelor Spy
Yet it must have held value tosomeone.People didn’t go around stealing things simply for amusement … did they?
Even if itwasa particularly lovely sketch, from what Blake said.
Grace couldn’t remember it.
In any case, it was far better to occupy herself with fresh air and a mild investigation than to sit about waiting for her appointment with Dr. Ross in the morning. Fresh air, after all, was supposed to be good for nearly every ailment she might possibly possess. And the ruins were only a fifteen-minute walk from the east wing of Havensbrooke. She could be there and back within an hour.
Assuming one doesn’t get distracted,she thought, frowning a little at that inevitable possibility.Or kidnapped.
The path spilled into a clearing where the air cooled, touched by moss and the sweetness of damp leaves. And through a clearing ahead, the chapel rose—a modest relic of gray stone softened by ivy and time … and perhaps a sweet drop of sunbeam. Its roof sagged gently at one corner, and the stained-glass windows were half shadowed by vines, but the place radiated quiet dignity and a charming sense of fairy stories.
Her gaze trailed heavenward.Or something much truer and lasting than fairy stories.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Grace whispered, though she couldn’t have said why she felt the need to lower her voice. It just seemed the appropriate thing to do.
“It is very old,” Zahra said, ever the pragmatist.
Just on the forest’s edge, looming a distance behind the chapel, stood the ruins of the former Havensbrooke Hall. A place Grace held in special memory because it was the first time she’d experienced the value of ropes when she’d had to rescue her dear Frederick from being man-napped.
Grace smiled. “Just on the forest’s edge there—see those ruins behind the chapel? That’s the former Havensbrooke Hall. Your papa says it’s nearly three hundred years old.” She chuckled. “Though compared to what you’re used to in Egypt, that may seem positively modern.”
Zahra’s grin twitched. “Old looks different in sand than in forests.”
“That is so very true,” Grace agreed, resting her hand on the heavy oak door handle to the chapel. “And I suppose the weather does play its part in preservation.”
The hinges groaned as they entered. Afternoon light spilled in through the windows, creating variegated sunrays cascading throughout the space. It was a small nave and chancel, but it had been a medieval artist’s canvas of columns, stonework, and archways. There was a sense of age and hallowedness within the walls and the scent of earth, dust, candle smoke—Grace paused mid-step as Zahra passed her by.
And spice?
Cinnamon? No, too sharp. Cloves and cedar. Was that a gentleman’s cologne?
She inhaled again.How curious.
And why on earth would the scent of recent candle smoke be in the air?
“It feels like peace here,” came Zahra’s voice from up near the chancel. “Peace and”—she studied the stained glass—”stories.”
Grace’s heart gave a fond little squeeze. For a girl she hadn’t birthed or raised, Zahra had a remarkable way of echoing her sentiments. “Your papa’s grandparents were married here,” she said, wandering down the aisle. “For all their grandeur, they wanted to begin their story in this simple, quiet place.”
She breathed in again. The spice scent was still hovering—fresh.
Someone had been here recently. A male someone. And she’d smelled that particular scent before, but where?
She’d hardly left Havensbrooke in months. Which meant the owner of that scent must have comefromHavensbrooke.
“There is a good sitting spot up there,” Zahra said suddenly, pointing to a small window set high in the wall near the ceiling at the top of one of the columns.
Grace followed her gaze. “Up there?” It looked scarcely large enough for the birds, much less a human. Scaling up there would certainly be a feat of … Her gaze landed on Zahra. “You’ve been up there?”
Zahra nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Papa has much land, but I have not seen so many trees. It feels safe here.”
Grace felt a little envious at Zahra’s ability to climb into the most remarkable of places. But with the curious events of the past week, perhaps Grace ought to encourage Zahra to stay near Havensbrooke as much as possible.
Yet the little girl had lived on the streets of Cairo, and she would hardly quail at a tumble from an English beam. Besides, Zahra might very well wilt a little beneath such an edict. After all, the chapel was only a short walk from the house. When Grace was Zahra’s age, she’d disappeared for miles from Whitlock or Rutledge House to explore.
Grace compromised. “If you must wander, bring Zeus next time.”
Zahra frowned at the dog, whose head poked through the chapel doorway. “He is not very good at climbing.”
