Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

HIS GRACE REMEMBERS

G winnie stumbled into Malmsby House, her head hurting almost as badly as it had the previous day. Stephen caught her before she could fall, all her strength drained from her body.

"Your Grace!" yelled Stephen, as he eased her into sitting on the chair in the porter's alcove.

Gwinnie closed her eyes until she heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. It was her father and Lord Soothcoor.

"You fool girl!" cried out her father.

"I know, I know," she said. "Please help me to the Lady Margaret Parlor."

"You should be in your bed."

"I know and I will when I recover a bit. Please, if you just give me your arm, I can walk," she said, as she struggled to her feet.

"Stephen, have tea and brandy brought to the parlor," the duke said. as he supported Gwinnie to stand up.

"Let me get on your other side," Lord Soothcoor said.

With her father and Lord Soothcoor on either side of her, she made it to the ground-floor parlor, despite the pounding in her head, and lay back against the sofa pillows.

"Where is Mr. Martin?" her father asked gruffly. "I expected him to see you home, or at least Mr. Cott."

Gwinnie licked her lips. "Taking care of Daniel and his prisoners, I imagine," she said, trying not to let her feelings rush out.

"Prisoners?" asked Lord Soothcoor.

"I will tell you, but can I get a cold compress for my head?"

The duke rang for the maid, giving her further instructions. By the time Stephen came back with the refreshments, Mrs. Hunnicutt followed behind him with the cold compress.

Her father poured her a small glass of brandy and insisted she drink it first, while Mrs. Hunnicutt poured her tea and prepared it as she liked it.

"Thank you," Gwinnie said softly. The cold on her head did a wonderful job easing the pain. She sighed her relief. "Where is Grandmother?"

"She'll be here in a moment," Mrs. Hunnicutt said, as she pulled off Gwinnie's boots and swung her feet onto the sofa. "She said she wanted to bring down the laudanum from your room."

Gwinnie made a sour face at the word laudanum, refusing to admit it had helped her yesterday.

"Tell us what happened," her father said, he and Soothcoor sitting in the chairs they'd pulled up close to the sofa the other day.

"Not without me here, Arthur," said the Dowager Duchess of Malmsby, coming into the room, clutching the laudanum bottle in one hand. She placed it on the table near Gwinnie's head and then sat at the other end of the sofa, pulling Gwinnie's feet into her lap and covering them with the shawl.

"Daniel had learned through his contacts that Mr. Suthers was seen going in and out of Soothcoor Mansion through the tradesmen entrance. He sent the street cleaner to us to tell Mr. Martin where Mr. Suthers was. Daniel stayed behind to keep watch."

"Why didn't he come here as Mr. Martin had instructed him to?" asked her father.

"Because he knew we would try to detain him, and he did not want to be detained. Unfortunately, Suthers saw him watching and captured him. He brought him into Soothcoor Mansion and tied him up in the servant's hall."

"And him with his broken ribs," said her grandmother, shaking her head.

"Daniel was confident his gang could find Mr. Suthers, he just had to get them looking, and he was correct."

"Why did you go to Soothcoor Mansion?" her grandmother asked.

"I wanted to keep Daniel company and be another set of eyes in case Mr. Suthers left the house. But I didn't see Daniel anywhere. I saw the street cleaner down the block and was about to hail him when I felt the end of a pistol in my back held by Miss Southerland.

"I was surprised. I did think her a liar and wondered why; however, I never considered her a killer. She killed Mrs. Southerland, and she had her son, Fredrick Southerland, murder her brother."

"Freddie Suthers is Freddie Southerland?"

"Yes. He is at his mother's beck and call, doing anything she wishes."

"Why did she want to take over the charity? Was it just someplace to live until she could find another position from where she could run her theft ring?" Soothcoor asked.

Gwinnie started to laugh but stopped when another pain shot through her head. "No. She thought she could have a school for thieves!"

"A school for thieves!" repeated her grandmother, incredulous.

Gwinnie nodded. "She thought it would be easy to turn these women to theft in exchange for them getting better living and paying positions."

"I take it she found out that would not be easy," drawled Soothcoor.

"No, especially since she treated them like a military regiment ordering no talking, laughing, or any camaraderie. I don't know if you have received it yet; however, Miss Southerland said Mrs. Albert and Miss Wooler have turned in their notice."

Soothcoor sat up straighter. "No!"

"That is what she told me, I don't know if that is true or not," Gwinnie admitted.

"I wouldn't doubt that it is. Excuse me, I need to go to Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women now. Hopefully, I can stop Mrs. Albert and Miss Wooler from leaving."

"I'll go with you," the duchess said. "I might be able to bring some peace to the women."

After her grandmother and Soothcoor left, her father stayed behind with her, staring at her with troubled eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I owe you an apology, my dear. I have failed to give you the proper attention."

"I don't know what you mean, Father, you have always been a caring father."

"But I didn't take an interest in what you did, nor did I see that you had the proper suitors. You should have been married by now."

Gwinnie snorted. "I have never ‘taken' in society, that you know. I have been happier playing my violin."

"Your grandmother told me you are thinking you get more enjoyment now out of teaching these unfortunate women, such as are at Mrs. Southerland's, how to make better lives for themselves."

"Well, that is true, but I considered that a confidence I told her; I am not happy she shared it. But what does it matter? Neither are considered the appropriate activities for a duke's daughter," she said, laughing.

The compress shifted down the side of her head. Gwinnie raised an arm to resettle it on her head. Her father grabbed her hand. "What's this?" he asked, looking at the red, angry rope scrapes on her wrist.

"That's from when my wrists were bound." She looked at both her wrists. "I hadn't realized I'd rubbed against the rope so hard. They do burn a little."

"You need Mrs. Hunnicutt's arnica salve for your wrists," he said. He rang the servants' bell.

Stephen came to the door.

"Ask Mrs. Hunnicutt for some of the salve she uses for burns and scrapes," the duke said.

"And a new cold compress, please," Gwinnie called out.

"I should give you some of this laudanum," her father said.

"Not yet," Gwinnie said. "I'll take more when I get upstairs. I'd rather have another small glass of brandy, if I might?"

Her father frowned but poured her a finger-full. "Do you think you will be able to walk upstairs?"

"I think so. I can lean on the balustrade on one side and on you on the other. Together, we can get me upstairs," she said with a slight grin. "Despite my large size."

Her father shook his head. "You have forever talked of your large size. I don't see you as large and don't see where you get that from."

"Father," Gwinnie began patiently, for she knew her father would not see her flaws, "I am taller than any other woman in society. And most of the men. That makes people uncomfortable."

Her father shook his head. "Balderdash. You are like your mother in size and shape."

"No, I'm not. I am taller than she was and so were you."

"Where do you come up with that notion?" he asked, frowning at her now.

"I just know it."

Her father leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He looked at her consideringly. "When was the last time you looked at the painting of your mother and me that hangs over the fireplace in my library?"

"I see it every time I go in." She frowned, not understanding his question.

"You may look in its direction; however, you do not see it. Your mother and I are standing together in the gardens of Versely Park. She is wearing a flat-brimmed straw hat, and I am wearing my beaver, and she is taller than me."

"She is not standing on a hillock?"

"Is that what you thought all these years?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I never really thought about it," she said slowly, thinking back on her life.

"Your mother was four full inches taller than me— and I am not a short man."

Gwinnie remembered her mother, and remembered her as being tall, but didn't remember her taller than her father. In her memories, they stood the same height. "She was really that tall?"

"Yes."

"And that didn't bother you or her?" she asked.

"She didn't like being that tall; however, I never let her use that as a reason to push me aside. I fell in love with her when I saw her galloping across the hills of her grandfather's Scotland property, no hat on, her hair flying out behind her, and moving as one with her horse." He smiled. "I didn't know who she was then, though I had my suspicions, and I convinced your Uncle Hamish to introduce me. That was the best decision of my life."

Gwinnie stared at his glistening eyes. "You miss her."

"Every day. But after a couple of couple of years, I began to feel her presence, pushing me to get on with life."

"Is that why you turned your attention to inventions?"

"Yes. And would you think worse of me if I confess, I feel the desire to wed again?"

"Wed again?" Gwinnie repeated. A multitude of thoughts and memories raced one after the other through Gwinnie's mind, more happy than sad. She tilted her head to the side. "No-o," she said slowly. She smiled at her father. "I think Mother would want you to."

"Such is my thought as well. It's been over ten years since we lost her."

Gwinnie laughed lightly. "If she were one of Lakehurst's ghosts from his novels, she'd be likely to kick your arse."

Her father laughed with Gwinnie. "Yes, she would," he said softly, his lips quirking sideways as he thought of his late wife.

"Would you like me to help you upstairs now?" her father asked.

Gwinnie bit her lower lip, then shook her head. "No. I think I would like to stay here. I expect Mr. Martin, or at least Mr. Cott will come here, and I would speak with them if I might. Also Rose, when she returns— I'm surprised she has not returned yet."

"I'll let Stephen know. Another letter came in the post today from my stalker. I haven't read it yet. I'll be in my library studying this new note if you should need me— And Gwinnie, please send for me if you need me."

"I will, Father."

Gwinnie dozed on the sofa. It felt like at least an hour had passed before she heard the front door open and voices come from the entry hall. She blinked a few times, then pushed herself up straighter on the sofa. The compress on her head now felt warm. She pulled it off and laid it on the tea tray that still sat on the table beside her. The room had chilled. She felt a slight draft from the terrace doors, and she noted the coals in the iron stove heater were more embers.

She laughed to herself. " Forgotten ," she mused. The household assumed she'd gone to her room. She reached over the cold tea service to pull the bell. She needed the room warmed, a new compress, and hot tea. But more importantly, she wanted to know who had arrived!

Mercy soon opened the door.

"Gracious, my lady, we all thought you'd gone to bed!"

"No, I decided to stay downstairs for a while longer. Would you close the curtains over the terrace doors? There seems to be a draft coming from them."

"Immediately, my lady! And I'll add coals to the heating stove."

"Lady Gwinnie?" It was Rose's voice.

"Yes! Come in please. I was worried about you."

Rose hurried to her side. "Stephen said you'd gone to bed; I was about to go upstairs to check on you."

Gwinnie laughed. "No, I wanted to wait for you and hoped Mr. Martin would come as well."

"He's here," she said, looking over her shoulder at the door where Mr. Martin stood just outside.

"Mr. Martin. Come here, please," Gwinnie said, her mind working furiously to devise a way to ease the hurt she'd caused him. She didn't mean it seriously. But he frowned as he entered the parlor, his posture stiff.

"Mr. Martin," Gwinnie said. "Sit here, please," she said, indicating the chair her father had sat in earlier.

"My lady, I should go straight away to speak to the duke."

"No, you should come straight away to sit here. I have a few things to say— Rose, please fetch me a new compress for my head. Mercy, my tea is cold, could you please get a fresh pot before you finish with the coals?" she told the two servants, shooing them away with her hands.

"Now, Mr. Martin," she said severely when the women left the room. She smiled at the sight of the parlor door left open after they left. "I remember, quite clearly, a conversation we had yesterday— Hard to believe it was only yesterday, but so it was. In this discussion you informed me that I should feel free to use you as the butt of my wit."

"Yes, I did, my lady."

"Then why today have you taken offense to my wit? You told me you had thick skin, and should I see an opportunity for wit I should take it, and you would not take it amiss. But you did take it amiss. To my great sorrow, you did!"

"I do not understand, my lady," Lewis said, frowning.

"Go away with you then to my father's library for your meeting with him, and while you are there, take a careful look at the painting over the fireplace of my father and mother. Maybe that will open your mind," Gwinnie declared. She waved him away.

"Go! Go!" she said, "and don't come back until you figure it out," she ordered when he didn't immediately get up, trying to frown at him, though a smile fought the frown for prominence.

Lewis's brows drew together, but he rose from the chair and left the room as Rose returned with the cold compress.