Chapter 12

12

T hough Grace longed to rush down the stairs, the presence of the children prevented her from doing so. She could hardly leave them on their own, yet if the rector was there to deliver bad news, she did not want the children to hear it. Fear prevented her normally nimble mind from working through the situation logically.

Mrs Yardley spoke up, offering a solution. “Children, would you like to come to the kitchen with me? I believe Cook made a fresh batch of biscuits. We might find Miss Fenton while we are there. If that is amenable to you, my lady.”

Grace gave a sharp nod of agreement, promising herself to better show her thanks later. She left the housekeeper and the children to the tidying and told the footman that she would see the reverend in the drawing room. The need to know the purpose of his visit warred with her desire to keep bad news at arm’s length. She took a moment to compose herself and to clean any dust off her face before taking her time descending the staircases.

Though the castle was large by any measure, Grace saw the light from the drawing room doorway spilling into the hallway far too quickly. She forced one foot in front of the other, demanded her body turn and enter the room. She lifted her gaze and found Reverend Shepherd’s friendly face smiling back at her, with his wife at his side.

“Good afternoon, my lady. Mrs Shepherd and I feared you were all alone and thought to come by and keep you company.” He motioned to the woman at his side. “I believe you met my wife at the charity fair.”

Grace had a vague memory of the woman’s face among the crowd, but little beyond that. She was a wisp of a woman, with hair that was a shade too light to be brown, yet lacking the golden shade of blonde so popular in London. Her nose had a slight hook on the end, though it took Grace a moment to notice. The woman had a habit of keeping her head tilted somewhat down to disguise the feature. Her eyes were a watery blue grey of a faded old gown.

Within ten minutes of the trio sitting down to chat, Grace understood why she had failed to remember the woman. Mrs Shepherd was colourless in both appearance and opinion. She played the role of dutiful wife so perfectly that it could only be a true representation of her personality.

For his part, Reverend Shepherd filled in the gaps. “I was so pleased to see His Grace join us in church. The people of Alnwick take great comfort from knowing he is in our midst. You must agree, my lady.”

Grace pinched her leg to keep from pulling a face. The Breaker had been accused of many things in his lifetime, but being caring was not one of them. She chose her words carefully. “Yes, the duke is certainly a force in the world.”

Mrs Shepherd bobbed her head in agreement, her vacant, placid smile unmoved.

Reverend Shepherd carried on. “I am only sorry that your first visit to our hallowed sanctuary had to come on such a sorrowful day for the community.”

On this at least, Grace could agree. “We are all very worried about the missing children. Did you form part of the search party yesterday?”

Reverend Shepherd’s smile drooped. “Alas, I felt called to serve those families in a different way. Mrs Shepherd and I spent many hours with them yesterday and today, reading passages from the scriptures to keep their spirits up.”

Again, Grace pinched her leg. Those parents would have likely preferred that every able-bodied man in the area joined the search instead of offering well-meant words. Though, perhaps not everyone thought as Grace did. She reminded herself not to be so quick to judge.

Reverend Shepherd was still talking. “I heard tell that Lord Percy and Sir Nathaniel are continuing the efforts today. Though they mean well, unless our Lord has kept watch over his lost sheep last night, I fear we will only find bad tidings. Had they a reason to head out again this morning?”

“A farmer caught sight of a pair of boys riding in a wagon in the early morning hours,” Grace explained. “They fit the description of the missing children. Lord Percy and Sir Nathaniel planned to follow the trail. They have not yet returned. Let us all hope they will bring good news.”

“Amen,” Mrs Shepherd said, speaking for the first time.

“My wife is right, we must pray on this. In fact, I will host daily prayer sessions in the church until we have word of the boys. I must speak with Lord Percy on this,” the reverend said.

“If you like, you may speak with me now,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

Grace turned and found her dearest love standing there, unharmed other than a red nose and wind-burned cheeks. She sprang to her feet and hurried over to greet him, only managing to stop herself from pulling him into an embrace when she remembered they had guests.

“Any news?” she asked, to cover up for her hurry. “Please, come by the fire and warm yourself as you tell us what you found.”

“Very little,” Roland replied, unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. “We followed the trail until we reached the Aln. From there, we believe they went downriver… perhaps to Alnmouth.”

Grace and Reverend Shepherd peppered Roland for more details, but he kept his answers brief—so much so that Grace began to suspect he wanted the rector gone. After several minutes, their guests finally got the message.

Reverend Shepherd rose from his chair and offered his wife his arm. He faced Roland. “I was telling your wife of my intention to host daily prayer sessions in the church. If you do not mind, my lord, I would greatly appreciate it if you kept me apprised of your progress. Though our Lord knows and sees all, I have found that our prayers stand a better chance of being answered when we are specific with our requests.”

Roland promised to share anything he discovered and then sent their guests on their way.

Grace could bear the burden of her secret no longer. She closed the door to the drawing room and rushed over to Roland. He allowed her to kiss his cheek, but he set his hands upon her waist, keeping her from embracing him fully.

“I am sorry to have to leave your side again so soon, but I found another matter that requires my attention.”

“Oh?” Grace kept a tight hold on his lapels, unwilling to let him go so soon. His dissatisfaction only deepened.

Roland stepped closer to her, touching her face so she would understand the magnitude of the trouble. “I must speak with Mr Harding, and I must do so alone.”

He had thought he had let the previous night’s events pass, but it seemed he was still holding something of a grudge. Grace looked so shocked by his asking her to leave that Roland knew he had to soften the edges of his request. “There are so many tenants in a state of disrepair that it makes me suspicious that something is deeply wrong.”

“Is there?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes. “Or are you still wroth with me?”

“Unfortunately, it is quite true. I find it difficult to believe, but some of the residents of Lesbury say the duke and Mr Harding have stopped responding to their requests for assistance.”

She finally dropped her hands from his lapels. “That does sound quite serious. After all this summer, are you sure that I cannot help you?”

“No. I am about to give him a dressing down, and no man would be comfortable about having an audience for that. An audience that consists of my wife would be doubly humiliating.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she stood down. “All right. Will you tell me later?” Grace asked, resting her hand atop his. “I also wish to speak with you… about things.”

Roland barked a short laugh. “Yes. I think we really must have a talk.”

He knew that sounded ominous, but he left her standing there as he headed back to the hallway. Just outside of the drawing room, a footman waited.

“You,” Roland said, and the footman straightened up. “Withers mentioned at one point he had taken the liberty of setting up a place to become my study. Do you know where it is?”

“Er, yes of course, my lord. It’s actually just the room over here.” The footman was indicating the next door down from the drawing room.

“Fine. Be so good as to fetch Mr Harding at once. I imagine he has had time to return from Hipsburn by now. Inform him that his presence is required in my study immediately.”

“At once, my lord.”

The footman departed, and Roland let himself into the study, lighting the candles against the failing evening light. He hadn’t yet set foot in the place once, but he discovered Withers had anticipated all of Roland’s needs—paper, ink, and even Roland’s preferred brandy.

Roland paused and let his hand linger on the glass decanter as he contemplated. There seemed more than a temporary courtesy implied to the eventual heir in this. He poured himself a generous glass and sat at the desk, rubbing his temples.

Mr Harding’s arrival was swift—so swift, actually, that either he had already been coming to find Roland, or the footman had abandoned all pretence of decorum and had pelted through the castle to the bailiff like a boy of nine. Roland could not be sure what was more likely.

All he was certain of was that there were far too many secrets being kept in Castle Alnwick, and he was through playing the fool. So he did not invite Mr Harding to sit.

“I had noticed that there were signs of disrepair when Thorne and I made our way to Lesbury, but it did not cross my thoughts that there was something so truly wrong here at Alnwick until the innkeep asked me if I was there to finally— finally —inspect and approve work to be done on the mill’s roof.”

Roland paused, leaning back in his chair as he was trying to keep from gripping the glass in his hand too hard. Mr Harding waited in front of his desk, pale, and Roland’s temper came to a head.

“I say, Mr Harding. Do you have nothing to say about this? At all? ”

“Lord Percy,” Mr Harding stammered. “I am sorry. I should have brought things up to you sooner but there have been so many other matters?—”

“Stop,” commanded Roland. “I do not want to hear vapid words and pale excuses. I require you to tell me what in the hell is happening here in Northumberland. I want to hear nothing more out of you, unless it is your confession of wrongdoing.”

“My lord!” Mr Harding gasped, turning first white and then red. “May I speak frankly with you, Lord Percy?”

“By all means. In fact, I insist.”

“I would not dare steal from the hand of the duke.” The bailiff met Roland’s eyes squarely, in earnest, and Roland waited for him to go on. “Can I claim no wrongdoing? Well… you may have me on this. As I have said, I should have approached you much sooner. The duke…” Harding trailed off, hesitating to say anything that might seem a slight to the Breaker. “The funds allocated to me early in the spring for repairs have long since run dry, and I have not been able to secure a meeting for more.”

Roland’s forehead furrowed. “There is more neglect showing here than a few months, Mr Harding.”

And then the man’s shoulders fell as he hung his head, spreading his hands in surrender. “You are not mistaken, Lord Percy. In truth, it was your father who had handled the disbursement of these previous funds and…”

“And my father is now dead,” he interrupted succinctly, taking a breath as he wondered how much—how long—Thaddius had likely been skimming from these disbursements. “I believe I see what you are reluctant to say, I think. However, if the funds were depleted, why have you been unable to secure more? The mill’s roof might collapse by spring.”

“I have tried, Lord Percy. I have been requesting meetings with His Grace to request more even before he went to Brighton. I paid for the innkeeper’s chimney myself, lest all of Lesbury burn to the ground because of the risk of fire. And now I must make a terrible confession—the situation has gotten to the point that I did keep a very small portion of the funds from the last quarter to address what would not wait until Christmas. But you must believe me, my lord, I have kept the most exacting records for all of it, to the very penny. You must believe I had only the most honourable intentions.”

Roland did believe him, however this made the situation no easier. Standing up, Roland ran a hand over the back of his neck as he paced, thinking. “I would like to see your records for the last year—no, make it the last two. I assume that you requested meetings with the duke through Mr Withers.” Harding nodded. “And?”

“In the early spring, Withers told me that His Grace was in mourning and was unavailable. After Easter, I was informed that His Grace was dealing with more pressing issues and would send me word as soon as he was able to attend.” Harding hesitated, adding, “After he returned from Brighton, my requests went ignored.”

His headache worsened. Not only did he have to find missing children, it seemed as though all of Alnwick was collapsing around his ears, and he could not tell which disaster was most pressing. How had things gotten to such a state? “You may go for now, Mr Harding, but rest assured I am not finished discussing this matter with you.”

Harding wobbled, swallowing with difficulty, and fled as if Roland might decide to set hounds upon him. Roland did not even wait to get up before he bellowed, “Withers!” as Harding opened the door. “I require Mr Wither’s presence, forthwith !”

He followed Mr Harding to the hallway to ensure that there was someone who heard, and as he did so, the drawing room door opened. Grace emerged, her eyes wide and her face pale. Roland suspected she had had her ear pressed to the wall and had heard every word.

This clearly was no time for beating about bush, and he was suddenly keenly aware that his wife had chosen to observe his grandfather. How much did she know? “You may as well come in, too,” he told Grace, his heart aching in his chest at the idea that Grace may have been withholding such important information.

Both were still standing in the hall, facing one another, as Withers trotted in as quickly as his old feet would bring him.

“What,” Roland began, struggling to form words around the distraught lump growing in his throat, “have the two of you been concealing from me?”

Grace was shaking her head lightly, looking stunned, but the butler’s old head bowed over his hands. “Your lady bears no fault, my lord. She knows little more than you. His Grace’s infirmity is increasing,” he began slowly. “At first it was mostly palsy. He lost his balance. Feeding himself gracefully became an issue. I am sure you noticed his tendency to take meals privately.”

Roland’s jaw might have been carved of marble, it felt so hard.

The old butler covered his eyes in shame. “My lord, I have been serving His Grace since before his own father passed. When the first signs of this malady began to take the duke’s mind… I pretended I did not see. They were so fleeting, in the beginning. But I cannot pretend any longer. He is no longer merely occasionally forgetful or mistaking faces. He may be slowly slipping into madness, and I did not wish—I did not know how—” he trailed off. “Please, forgive me.”