Sweet Surrender (36 page)

Jackson’s scowl deepened.  Duncan was always broke and in fiscal trouble, and when money was involved, he’d proved himself capable of any nefarious conduct.

But as quickly as the thought occurred, he shoved it away.

Grace wasn’t a swindler, and Duncan wasn’t an accomplice.  She was exactly who she seemed to be, and so was Duncan.

"I’m sorry," he said, "but I don’t believe you."

"I figured you wouldn’t," Beatrice replied, "so we had her sign a confession."

"When?"

"After Mr. Rafferty confronted her with the facts.  He had so much evidence against her, she couldn’t deny his accusations." 

"She confessed…" Jackson mumbled like a dullard.

Beatrice gestured to the papers.  "Read them.  You’ll be stunned and angry, but you’ll realize I’m telling the truth."

He did as she’d requested, pouring through a complex account of treachery and deceit.  Old habits died hard, and he’d spent the prior decade, distrusting women and deeming them proficient at perfidy.  So his initial reaction was one of fury. 

How dare Grace mislead him!  How dare she betray him!

Yet as swiftly as the condemnation arose, he tamped it down.  He perused the confession again.  He’d never seen Grace’s handwriting, so he had no idea if she’d signed it or not.  But the text painted a picture that was totally at odds with the person he recognized her to be.

He remembered her at the small table in the kitchen, stitching cuts and distributing salves and tonics.  He recalled his bout of jungle fever, how she’d stayed with him day and night until the worst had passed. 

She had the heart of a healer, and she graciously helped people without expecting anything in return.  Could that type of female have perpetrated the scheme Beatrice alleged?

"Where is Grace now?" he asked.

"She stuffed her hundred pounds in her purse and left."

Susan added, "She was quite smug about it, too."

"Where did she go?" he pressed.

"Who knows?" Beatrice mused.  "She admitted her crime and fled.  As I was not concerned over where she was headed, I did not inquire as to her destination."

"Why pay her?  If she’s a liar and fraud, why not have her arrested?"

"She wasn’t worth the bother of arrest, but she had to be silenced, which is why I paid her.  If you check the last paragraph, the terms act as a bond to ensure her discretion.  Should she gad about, besmirching our good name, she
will
be detained and prosecuted."

"Where is Michael?  Did she take him with her?"

She and Susan exchanged a worrisome glance, then Susan said, "We haven’t seen the boy since she departed, and we’re assuming she took him."  Susan smirked.  "And you shouldn’t refer to him as Michael.  If you read paragraph eight, you’ll discover that his real name is David."

"David?" Jackson scoffed. 

"She found him in London.  On the streets, picking pockets."

"Really?"

The more they talked, the more convinced he was that they were engaged in mischief. 

He shouldn’t have left Grace alone at the estate, but he’d always been a hot-head.  When he’d learned about Duncan’s elopement, his only thought had been to stop him.  Any fears about Grace staying behind with Susan and Beatrice had been lost in the fog of his desire to pummel Duncan into the ground.

He’d gone to rescue Eleanor who hadn’t needed rescuing.  In the process, Grace had been unprotected and in jeopardy.

His pulse began to pound with dread.  What might these two witches have done to her?  How could he find out?  She could be anywhere.

"What was your detective’s name?" he asked Beatrice.  "Rafferty?"

"Yes, Mr. Rafferty."

"I must speak with him at once."

"I’ll send for him."

He stared at Susan, at Beatrice, at Susan again.  She’d always been easy to manipulate, and she was a bad liar, too.

"I am very fond of Miss Bennett," he told her.

"We had heard that you were," Susan said.

"From who?"

"The servants.  You know how they gossip."

"Yes, I do.  I wonder what they’ll tell me about events that transpired while I was away."

He glared at her until she started to squirm in her chair. 

But she received a stern, warning glower from Beatrice, and she straightened and firmly claimed, "They’ll have no information that’s relevant."

"We’ll see, I suppose."  He drummed his fingers on the desktop, stewing, fretting.  He had to plot a course of action, and he pushed himself to his feet.  "Would you excuse me?"

"Certainly."  Beatrice stood, and Susan did, too.

"I must make inquiries of the staff."

"About what?" Beatrice snapped.  "You’ve read the confession, and I’ve given you all the necessary details."

"Have you?"  He frowned at Susan until she fidgeted again. 

"You’re awfully nervous, Susan," he pointed out.

"Me?  No, I’m not nervous."

"If something has happened to Grace, I’ll be very upset."

"Nothing has happened to her," Susan insisted.  "She took her hundred pounds, her false boy, and she departed."

"You realize, don’t you, that I’ll determine what occurred?  If she was harmed, I’ll be very, very angry with the person who harmed her."

"As you should be," Susan blithely replied, but she was a tad pale.

"Before I question everyone, is there anything you’d like to confide?"

"What would I have to confide?  Beatrice told you everything you need to know."

He grinned a lethal grin.  "I have to tell you, Susan, that my mother has never told me everything I need to know.  Not in all my thirty years of living."

He came around the desk, and they both scampered out of his path.  He shook his head with disgust. 

On the journey home, he’d persuaded himself to do the mature thing, the Christian thing, and forgive them for their sins.  Yet they would never change, and he was a fool.  Christian forgiveness be damned.  They were like a pair of poisonous snakes.  In his dealings with them, he had to always be wary lest he be bitten.  He couldn’t forget that fact.

He stormed out and was proceeding to the foyer to locate the butler when the front door banged open.  Michael and Percival ran in, Michael in the lead.  On observing Michael, Jackson’s rage flared. 

Beatrice had sworn Michael left with Grace, but if he hadn’t, what other lies had she spewed?

"Uncle Jack!  Uncle Jack!" they cried in unison.  

"Boys!"

"We saw you ride in," Michael said as Percival added, "Are we glad to see you!"

"It’s Miss Bennett!" Percival anxiously declared.  "Wait until you hear what Grandmother did to her."

Jackson halted in his tracks and fumed, "Your grandmother?"

"Yes, and she was going to do it to Michael, too."

"Percival hid me," Michael explained, "so I am safe, but Grace has disappeared, and we’re very worried about her.  Will you find her for me?"

"Yes, Michael I’ll find her.  Right away.  Don’t fret."

His fury bubbled up like soup in a pot.  He whipped around, and Beatrice and Susan were hovered together in the hall by the library. 

As they realized what Percival and Michael had divulged to Jackson, they looked guilty and complicit and genuinely alarmed.

Jackson started toward them, and they leapt into the room, slammed the door, and spun the key in the lock.

DC

"Don’t leave me here."

"Sorry, Miss Bennett, but there is no other end available to you."

Her eyes pleading, Grace stared at Mr. Rafferty.

"You could release me.  I promise I’ll never return to Milton Abbey."

"You never should have shown your face there in the first place."

"I understand that now.  I just wanted some financial assistance for my ward.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble."

"For someone who didn’t
mean
to cause trouble, you definitely caused your share of it."

They were in London, at the docks.  Tall ships stretched down the river, their masts poking up into the sky.  The smell of rotting fish and fetid water sickened her.

They were outside what seemed to be a warehouse, but there was a heavy gate across the front.  So it might have been a prison.  It was difficult to guess. 

Rafferty had signed some documents and chatted quietly with a man Grace assumed to be a jailer.  They kept glancing over at her, and money had changed hands, with Rafferty apparently offering a bribe for her incarceration.

Throughout the trip to London, he’d been courteous and civil, when he could have been awful.  She thought he was smart and shrewd and she could reason with him.

When they’d left the Abbey, no servants had been watching.  Michael was missing, Eleanor and Jackson away from the property.  There were no witnesses to what had happened. 

If questions were raised as to her fate, there wasn’t a single person who would have any answers.  Except Beatrice and Susan Scott, and they would never tell a soul.

Only Rafferty knew the truth.

From the moment he’d driven them off in his carriage, she’d been in dire straits.  But once he rode away, she’d be in total peril.  Whatever conclusion Beatrice Scott had orchestrated, Grace would never be able to counter it.

"Let me go, Mr. Rafferty," she beseeched.

"I can’t."

"You can’t have any loyalty to Lady Beatrice."

"I don’t, but when I work for her, she pays me a fair amount.  I’m happy to fill my pockets with all her pretty pennies, and I wouldn’t want the spigot to close.  Not over the likes of you.  No offense, but you’re not worth it."

"You’ve been compensated to make me vanish, but Jackson Scott will pay you more.  Ask him; you’ll see."

"We’ve been through this a dozen times, Miss Bennett.  Mr. Scott is marrying Lady Susan.  He’s on a different path now, and he’ll never aid you.  You need to forget about him and move on."

"He would aid me!"

"You don’t know these rich people as I do."  He actually sounded regretful.  "They’re not like you and me.  Although you claim the two of you were friends—"

"We were friends!  We
are
friends!"

"I’m sure it was a bit more than that.  I’m certain you were caught up in the entire affair, and you believed you mattered to him.  You have to understand that men like him constantly dabble with girls like you."

"It wasn’t like that," Grace fumed, swamped by the knowledge that Rafferty was probably correct about Jackson.  If Jackson was about to wed Susan, Grace’s behavior with him could only be described as reckless and insane.

"With you away from the property and out of his hair, Mr. Scott won’t ever think of you again."

"You’re wrong," she insisted.

He shook his head.  "I’m not wrong, and you have to stop remembering him in a fond way.  Considering where you’re going, it’s futile to moon over him.  You’ll drive yourself mad."

They stared and stared, and he had no expression on his face.  But still, she begged, "Please?"

"Let’s get you inside."

He led her toward the gate, and when she began to struggle, he simply looped an arm around her waist and dragged her over.

"Will you at least be kind to Michael for me?" she inquired.

"He’s your ward?"

"Yes."

"It’s out of my hands."

"Take
him
to Jackson.  I don’t care about me, but let him be safe."

"I can’t help you with him, Miss Bennett, and you should stop bothering over him, too.  There’s no point, is there?  You’ll never see him again, and you have to accept that fact."

He set her on her feet, and though she made a paltry attempt to run, he grabbed her and gave her to the man who’d received money to keep her.  The man yanked the gate open and pushed her through.

"Goodbye, Miss Bennett," Rafferty said.  "I’m sorry for your troubles."

"No, you’re not," she petulantly retorted.

He shrugged.  "You’re right; I’m not."

"Jackson Scott will kill you for this."

He chuckled.  "You shouldn’t count on it."

He spun and strolled away, and there was a spring in his step, as if he was celebrating a job well done. 

Panic flooded her, and she called, "Rafferty!"

"Farewell, Miss Bennett.  Adieu." 

He tipped his hat to her, and she watched in shock as he climbed into his carriage, clicked the reins, and rattled off.

She gripped the bars, her eyes glued on him as he rolled out of sight, but the gatekeeper slapped at her fingers.

"You can’t stand here," he commanded. 

"Where am I to go?"

"Down the hall.  You’ll see where to wait."