Chapter 14 #2
“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 Frederick or for 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.”
“The being amenable part 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?”
“I have been wounded by chlorine gas, Mother.” Frederick kept his tone calm, but there was an edge beneath his words.
He had struggled a great deal to forgive his mother for the part she had played in the deaths of his father and brother.
A crime that led to Frederick inheriting the earldom of Havensbrooke.
But Grace knew he was trying. Praying. Asking God to help him grasp grace with both hands and share it with others, even those who seemed to neither care for nor deserve it.
Wasn’t that the very essence of grace?
“Are you blind?” The question came so abruptly that it startled Grace.
“No, but currently my vision is not what it was,” he answered with some resignation in his voice. “My doctor, however, is optimistic for a near-full recovery.”
“Hmm.” Lady Moriah studied him a moment before turning her gaze on Grace.
“So, the news is all over the village,” she said without preamble, her cane tapping once against the floor before she sat regally before them.
“You’ve finally come to gloat about your condition, I suppose. Flaunting the Percy heir?”
“We cannot know if it is a boy or not yet,” Grace offered, attempting to keep her voice light.
Catch the spider with honey, not vinegar, Grace!
Though she had to admit, she’d been trying honey for quite some time with very little progress.
Vinegar might be Lady Moriah’s preference, if one judged by her typical sour expression.
“But Dr. Ross believes the baby should arrive just after Christmas! Won’t that be exciting? ”
The woman’s expression flickered with uncertainty before she looked away. “I’m too old to feel excitement, girl. All it does is raise expectations that will never be met and end in a case of the vapors.”
Frederick groaned and leaned forward. “Then perhaps we should get on with our visit, since you seem indisposed to charitable conversation.”
“I would be more charitable if you moved me back to my home at Havensbrooke.”
“We’ve already discussed this, Mother.” Frederick’s body tensed for the familiar fight. “The nature of your situation requires you to be near town for—”
“Very well …” She waved away his words with an impatient hand. “I do not need you to recount the pitiful state of my life at present. Share your reasons for being here so I may return to my exile.”
“Why don’t you embrace the good you have left in this world?
” Grace couldn’t help the question. Couldn’t help attempting to verbally shake the woman.
“We are not your enemies. We wish to be a part of your life. The reason you’re here is due to your own choices.
But you get to choose how you finish your days and how you leave this world. ”
The woman turned away, the slightest weakening of her chin the only sign Grace’s words had made any mark.
Frederick gave a small shake of his head—a warning to leave it be. “We’ve come to ask you about a former employee of Havensbrooke. Someone who worked during Grandfather’s time but was dismissed during Father’s. His name was Crawford.”
The change in Lady Moriah was immediate. Her knuckles whitened on her cane, her already pale face going ashen. “Crawford.” She spat out the name. “That thieving wretch? Why on earth would you want to discuss him?”
Well, that certainly matched with what they’d heard.
“Because new information has come to light regarding him,” Frederick answered carefully. “We’re in need of clarification.”
“The scoundrel.” Her palm went to her throat.
“Do you realize he stole the Astley family jewels? Heirlooms that belonged to your father, to me. Precious treasures that not only would have displayed our importance but, should we ever need additional funds, could serve as insurance for Havensbrooke. And that rogue, after earning years of trust within this family, stole them.”
So Pennington was after the Astley family jewels? Grace looked over at Frederick, but his expression gave nothing away.
“And what was done to retrieve them?”
“Everything!” His mother scowled, eyes glinting with old malice. “Police, investigators … everyone was employed to find those jewels and prove Crawford—the sniveling footman—as the ungrateful thief he was. But nothing was ever recovered, and they were lost.”
“So he wasn’t found guilty of the crime?” Grace asked.
“Of course not!” Lady Moriah hissed. “He refused to admit his guilt or share the location where he’d hidden the jewels. Naturally, we dismissed him. Made certain he’d never work again.” Her mouth twisted. “A fitting punishment for such a man.”
Which left Crawford ruined—his reputation destroyed, his family … destitute? No wonder Pennington was angry. And desperate.
“And during the search for the jewels,” Grace asked, “did they look in the old ruins or, perhaps, the chapel tunnels?”
“Why on earth would anyone wish to look there?” Lady Moriah sniffed dismissively. “The ruins are nothing but crumbling stone, and the tunnels, I should think, are half collapsed by now. Your father sealed them up years ago. Too dangerous, he said.”
So the jewels could still be there!
Grace tried very hard to keep her expression neutral. She’d witnessed other people find treasures but hadn’t discovered any herself, which seemed a true disappointment since she’d spent a great deal of her fictional time learning precisely how to do so.
Though in all honesty, she did get to find a few hidden jewels in Scotland, so perhaps her fictional prowess wasn’t wasted after all.
And since those were family jewels, it only made her more skilled to find more.
“Even so,” Frederick continued, “I haven’t been in those tunnels in years. Do you recall the entrance?”
“Wherever it was, your father had them sealed up and locked.” Lady Moriah narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you need to know about the entrance?”
“Because someone believes the jewels are hidden there, and we mean to find them before he can.”
A dry laugh escaped the woman. “The jewels? There?” She shook her head. “I cannot imagine anyone risking their life to place anything of value in those death traps.”
Frederick’s hand tightened on Grace’s. “The entrance, Mother. Please.”