Chapter 15 #2
“Pennington, my lord?” Brandon repeated. “Private Pennington, you say?”
And as Frederick sifted through the papers—holding them close to his face to make out any familiarity among the print, contracts, or architectural designs—Grace divulged the full history. The military button. The theft suspicions. Pennington’s relation to Crawford. The Astley jewels.
Brandon’s eyes widened with each new revelation.
Then he nodded repeatedly as Grace continued, clearly growing increasingly apprehensive. Which was no wonder, given Grace’s ability to dramatize even the most mundane pieces of information.
At one point, Frederick wondered if the man might need a chair.
“My guess is that Pennington came in here alone tonight,” Grace said, turning toward the window. “So he’s likely still out there somewhere—in the garden or the woods—unless someone inside let him back in like last time.”
“Last time?” Brandon repeated. “You believe Mr. Pennington was the thief before?”
“Oh, certainly.” Grace nodded. “But I don’t think he’ll return to the house this time if he found what he was looking for, because he’d return with added injuries he’d have to explain.”
“Pardon me, but do you mean to say that Private Pennington is lurking about the grounds somewhere this very moment?” Brandon asked, his usual composure slipping. “In order to … re-steal the Astley jewels that were stolen by his grandfather?”
“Indeed.” Frederick nodded toward the butler. “But keep this under your hat for now—about the tunnels, I mean.”
“Of course, sir.”
“In the meantime, once the patients have been counted, organize a few small search parties. Tell them they’re merely in search of Pennington as a thief, nothing more.
Pairs only—no one goes alone. Search the grounds thoroughly, paying particular attention to the western woods and the path down to the chapel and ruins. ”
“Yes, my lord.” Brandon moved immediately toward the door, already straightening to his full height with renewed purpose.
“And, Brandon?” Frederick’s voice stopped him at the threshold. “Tell the men to be cautious. Whoever did this is desperate enough to break windows and flee bleeding. He may be dangerous.”
And there was also the matter of what Blake and Miss Montgomery might be dealing with elsewhere in the house. Multiple dangers converging at once.
“Understood, my lord.”
Grace turned toward Frederick as soon as the door closed behind Brandon. “Whether they find him or not, Pennington will have a hard time getting into the tunnels beneath the chapel without a key, won’t he?” She paused, studying him. “Frederick, do you think he’ll even know about the key?”
“I can’t say what Pennington may or may not know.” He raised another paper close to his eyes, squinting. “But I’m rather certain what he stole from my case will give him an excellent head start.”
Grace moved to his side. “It has to do with the chapel, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “An architectural drawing of the chapel—the nave, the chancel, and most importantly, the foundation and the tunnel entrance beneath. It’s the most detailed architectural drawing we have of that site.”
“Oh, that’s right. The sketch would have given him only a general idea,” Grace whispered. “But the architectural drawing will show exactly how to access the tunnel.”
“We still have the upper hand, however.” Frederick glanced toward the window, the cool evening breeze blowing through the gaping broken glass. “We have the key.”
His wife’s smile spread so wide her eyes gleamed, and he could almost make out her customary twinkle. “Then it seems our very next plan is to locate it.”
“We have two garden houses to search.” Frederick felt his own lips curve despite the gravity of their situation. “First thing in the morning?”
“Why wait until morning?” Grace’s enthusiasm was palpable. “It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“Because, my darling wife”—Frederick reached out and found her hand, pulling her close enough to see her properly—”you are with child, it’s dark, and there’s at least one desperate man loose on the grounds. Possibly more, if Blake’s mission has gone sideways.”
Grace sighed dramatically. “Why are you always so remarkably sensible?”
“Someone has to be.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Besides, if we’re going into those tunnels tomorrow, we’ll need proper supplies. Rope, lanterns, bandages—”
“Oh!” Grace’s eyes lit up. “I knew we were missing a rope earlier. I’ll have Brandon add it to the list.”
Frederick raised a brow. “You made a mental list of adventuring supplies?”
“How can you doubt it? One must always be prepared for mysteries, Frederick. I thought you’d learned that by now.”
Despite everything—the break-in, the danger lurking in the darkness outside, Blake and Miss Montgomery facing heaven knew what elsewhere in the house—Frederick found himself smiling and drawing Grace’s warmth back toward him.
His lips found hers, the familiar touch yet ever new. Each time. Each taste. His darling Grace.
She drew back from him. “Do you think Blake will be all right?”
Whatever his cousin was hunting—or whatever was hunting him—it was deadly serious.
“Blake’s one of the most capable men I know,” Frederick said honestly. “And if half of what I suspect about Miss Montgomery is true, he’s in excellent company.”
Grace leaned against him. “Still. We should pray for them tonight.”
“Certainly.” Frederick wrapped his arms around her, feeling the slight swell of their child between them. So much at stake. So many people to protect.
But standing here with Grace—planning their next move despite his damaged eyesight, despite the dangers converging on Havensbrooke from multiple directions—he felt something he hadn’t felt since returning home.
Useful. Capable. Needed.
Not despite his wounds, but with them.
“Though, Frederick, we have to take Shams outside tonight before bed anyway,” Grace whispered between another kiss. “It would be a shame not to take advantage of a good search.”
Ah, she’d been scheming while he kissed her. Clever woman.
“And it’s possible Pennington could be long gone by morning.” Her smile spread as she looked up at him with those large cobalt eyes of hers. “After all, you see best in the dark.”
They’d barely stepped out of the study when Evie turned toward Blake and grabbed his hand, drawing him into a shadowed alcove near one of the back doors. Away from everyone.
Away from curious listeners or possible traitors.
The moonlight from the nearby window bathed her face in pale light. His breath paused in appreciation. She was wonderfully clever. And almost painfully beautiful.
Of course, Blake didn’t mind either of those things, but now that they’d become dearer over the past few days—now that he’d actually allowed himself to feel what he’d been denying for months—it just hurt worse to think of what they were getting ready to do.
What they might not survive.
“This would be the perfect opportunity for Smith and Rivers to make their escape, during the commotion,” she whispered, already loosening the ribbon of her maid’s apron.
There would be no use for it after this. Tonight, it all ended.
“If I’d known …” She looked up at him, regret shadowing those violet-blue eyes. “I should have taken those papers from her room this afternoon. I thought we had time. But if she escapes with that intelligence—”
“You got photographs at least. Better than nothing.” Blake’s hand came up to still hers, his fingers closing over the ribbon. “Though you’re right—she’ll either run tonight or strike, and my bet is she’ll dash off to protect what she’s found.”
Evie didn’t pull away from his touch. Instead, she let him take the ribbon from her fingers and carefully untie the apron himself—a strangely intimate gesture that closed off his throat and warmed him from fingertips to hairline.
When had removing a housemaid’s apron become more enticing than any of the dozens of times he’d helped a woman out of far more elegant attire during a mission?
Because this wasn’t a mission anymore. Not entirely.
This was Evie. His partner. His … heart, if he was being honest with himself.
And despite his eclectic life and mysterious adventures, he’d never felt anything remotely close to this.
“We must get to Rivers before she acts,” Evie said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Those photographs I took will only prove what she’s done, but they won’t stop her from passing intelligence tonight.
” Evie’s jaw tightened. “She has more, Stephen. I’ve been hovering near her room since we met her earlier, and I heard it—not an hour ago. ”
“Heard what?” Blake folded the apron carefully, a habit born of months of maintaining cover.
“A wireless receiver.” Evie’s throat worked as she swallowed.
“It must be a crystal set—small enough to hide in her trunk. I heard the clicking through the door. Morse code.” She closed her eyes briefly, the memory tightening her features.
“She was sending and receiving. Arranging a meeting, certainly, to hand off what she’d learned.
And it must have come from somewhere close—the wireless she’s using can’t receive transmissions beyond ten miles. ”
The informant Smith planned to meet at the ruins, perhaps? Someone in Astlynn Commons? Even Dr. Ross’ hospital might be close enough.
Blake’s hands fisted. This information would only expose their troops more. Destroy more lives.
Evie held his gaze. “If she gets that information to her contact before we stop her, hundreds of soldiers could die. Likely more.”
“Entire operations could be compromised,” he said quietly.
His hand found hers again, threading their fingers together.
He shouldn’t—they needed to focus, to move—but the thought of losing her tonight, of one of them not making it back …
All he wanted was to suspend time. “Any confirmation where the meeting might be?”
But he already guessed, even as she said, “I only deciphered one word. Ruin.”