Chapter 16

16

G race and Mrs Yardley exited the castle grounds and stood in companionable silence, surveying the village streets. It was briskly cold, even for a December morning, though the sun was doing its best to ease the chill. Grace headed into the street, her mind full of all she needed to do rather than watching her step. Thus, she failed to notice the faint sheen spotting the cobblestones. One foot slid forward. The other went back. Grace gave an unladylike shriek, fearing the worst, but a firm grip pulled her to safety.

“Perhaps my lady would consent to taking my arm,” Mrs Yardley said once they were back on safe ground, taking great care not to show even a hint of emotion. “I am well familiar with which areas are most likely to ice over. Given your circumstances, I suggest we take no unnecessary risks.”

Grace took Mrs Yardley’s proffered arm, having no desire to repeat her near miss. “Thank you, Mrs Yardley. I will do so in exchange for you speaking nothing of this to Lord Percy. He is desperate to keep me off my feet. While some women would relish the idea of sitting still for weeks on end, I am most certainly not one of them.”

“You are not ill, my lady, though most men fail to understand the difference. I shall remain mum, though do not expect me to countenance anything that might truly put you in harm’s way.”

The housekeeper’s statement was fair enough, so Grace opted to move the conversation along to more interesting matters—namely, their plans for the day.

“I would like to visit the shops. All of them,” she added. “We will purchase Christmas gifts and spread some holiday cheer through acts of charity.” Grace kept the other purpose of their outing to herself. She and Roland were now aware of the shortfalls in spending and delays in approvals. The missing children only added to local pain and suffering. Correcting all of these matters would take time. Grace intended to find out which individuals were in the most dire need of assistance.

“Shall we start with the milliner’s shop?” Mrs Yardley asked, pointing at a doorway across the street. “Perhaps young Miss Willa would appreciate a new ribbon for her doll, and we could buy a second to donate to the school.”

Grace had a different starting point in mind. “Let us start with the shops farthest away and work our way back toward the castle. That way, if the weather turns, we will not have so far to go.”

The main street was quiet, the morning shoppers having already finished their errands and returned home to see to lunch. The sun was nearing its zenith, the bright rays providing at least the illusion of heat. Symbols of Christmas spirit were all around them. Grace glanced left and right, noting the wreaths adorning the doors and candles in the windows. The confectioner’s shop boasted a colourful display of sweets. From marzipan to sugar plums to fruit jellies, there was more than enough to satisfy both the children and the young at heart.

Mrs Yardley bid hello to a few people as they went past. The villagers nodded respectfully, gazing on Grace with great curiosity. Grace longed to tell them all that they were not so different, no matter their stations, but her expensive clothing and weighty title proclaimed otherwise. In time, the walls between her and the people of Alnwick would lower, but she was not so foolish as to imagine they would disappear entirely.

In the village green, someone had hung a kissing bough from the bare branches of the lone tree. The deep green of the waxy leaves intertwined with red ribbons drew both the eye and the heart. Grace made a note to tell Elsie so that she might take advantage of the excuse to coax a kiss from Briggs.

At long last, they reached the cobbler at the end of the row. There, Grace ordered sturdy boots for the twins and a new pair of slippers for herself. The cobbler, an older man with rosy cheeks, a rotund paunch, and a welcoming smile, promised to deliver them all well before Christmas.

Grace added extra coins to the stack before passing them over.

“This is too much,” he protested.

“Please, I insist. There must be some family in the area who is in need of patching or new shoes. Allow me to help bear the cost of the repairs.” Grace hurried to add, “Tell them you have extra materials or someone cancelled an order. The people here are proud, and rightly so. It shall be our secret.”

Each shop visit went on in much the same manner. Grace bought a porcelain dish for Elsie, scented soaps for the housemaids, and silver snuff boxes for Roland and Thorne, imagining their delight on Christmas morning. She spent ages in the toy shop, selecting treats for the twins with great care. This would be their first holiday without their parents, a fact that would doubtless weigh on their minds. Though she could not buy them happiness, the toys would at least be a welcome distraction. Love they had in abundance.

To every shop owner, Grace handed over more coins than were requested, each time asking that the funds be directed to those most in need.

Soon, Grace’s stomach grumblings grew too loud for her to ignore. On their way back to the castle, the women happened past the village school just as Miss Whitby, the schoolmistress, was locking the door. Though Grace had enjoyed her conversation with the woman during the charity fair, with all else that had occurred, she had forgotten about her in the days since. Miss Whitby struck Grace as someone who could become a friend, in time. That, at least, was something Grace now possessed in abundance. She nudged Mrs Yardley in the direction of the school and called a friendly hello to the other woman.

“Miss Whitby, what a delightful coincidence to cross paths with you. I have had the children of Alnwick on my mind, as you might imagine.” Grace took a package from Mrs Yardley’s basket and passed it over. “I picked out a few items I thought might be useful to the school.”

Miss Whitby took the package and clutched it against her middle. She stared down at it, but Grace had the sense the woman was not seeing it. When the schoolmistress sniffled, Grace realised the woman was crying.

“Oh dear, have I done something wrong?” Grace whispered to Mrs Yardley.

Miss Whitby lifted her gaze and sniffled back her tears. “Not at all, my lady. The children will appreciate whatever you have given, of that I am certain. Goodness knows they have far too little joy in their lives right now, and far more fear than is healthy.”

Though speaking with Miss Whitby had not formed part of Grace’s plan, she decided there and then to make time for her. Grace remembered all too well, from both her own experience and spending time with younger cousins, that children rarely watched their words. Miss Whitby likely heard a litany of secrets, large and small, pass through the mouths of her students. If anyone would know how the villagers were getting on, the schoolmistress would.

“I know this is terribly short notice, Miss Whitby, but would you care to accompany me to the Wild Hart for a cup of hot cider?” Grace motioned toward the village inn standing on the opposite side of the town green.

“Oh, I would not like to impose…”

“You would be doing nothing of the sort,” Grace reassured her. “Mrs Yardley has suffered through a morning of shopping with me. I am sure she would welcome the chance to drop our packages off at the castle. Is that not right, Mrs Yardley?”

“Of course, my lady. I will send a footman around to collect the remaining parcels and find somewhere to store them until they are wrapped.” Mrs Yardley refrained from adding a warning to Grace to take care, earning her an extra notch of appreciation from the future duchess.

Grace had seen her fair share of village inns during her autumn travels. Some had boasted cosy interiors and tasty food. Others proved to be so dire that Roland refused to allow either her or Elsie to move around unescorted. The exterior did not often tell the tale, but the windows offered more than a view inside. Polished glass rubbed clean of soot almost always revealed clean interiors. The Wild Hart was no exception.

The door stood in the middle of the building front, opening into a small vestibule. The door on the right led into the pub. Miss Whitby went left. Grace found herself in a small parlour that smelled of cinnamon and ginger. Candles flickered on the tables and in the lanterns on the wall. Fire roared in the fireplace, beckoning Grace closer.

There was no one else in the room, the weather chasing away travellers and the hour sending the locals home for luncheon. A grey-haired woman entered from the other side of the room. She wore a white apron over her red dress and a cap on her head. She hurried over to sweep invisible crumbs from a table and beckoned the women to take a seat.

“My lady, it’s an honour tae have you here,” she said. Her voice carried a hint of an accent, bringing the Sprouts’ nanny to mind.

“Are you related to our Miss Fenton, by any chance?” Grace asked.

The woman’s face flushed in joy. “Aye, she’s my niece, my lady. A fine girl she is, and a more caring soul you won’t find.”

“There is no shortage of generous hearts here in Alnwick, including our schoolmistress, Miss Whitby. I have promised her a mug of hot cider. Might you have some pastries to go with it?”

The publican promised to return in a trice with the drinks and a selection of her fresh baked goods. Grace and Miss Whitby divested themselves of their layers of outerwear before settling in the wooden chairs around the small table nearest the fireplace. Grace kept the conversation light until the food and drink arrived. Only when she was certain Miss Whitby had grown comfortable around her did she turn the talk toward her topic of interest.

“I must apologise for letting my emotions get the better of me, my lady,” Miss Whitby said. “It is a trying time for our children, both those I have seen and those who have remained at home.”

“What do you mean?” Grace asked.

“Parents are fearful that their child might be the next to disappear. Some refuse to let them out of their sight, others demand they walk in groups. I have set my lesson plans by the wayside, instead indulging the children in some whimsical play. The longer we go without word of the missing, the worse it is. I can only pray we will have news soon.”

Grace promised Roland and Thorne were doing their best to solve the matter, but she was not sure that her words got through to Miss Whitby. Too many children had gone missing, and hopes were dwindling. Though the duke and Roland were not to blame, their inability to put a stop to the kidnappings was souring everyone’s opinions.

When it was time to leave, Grace found herself reluctant to return to the castle. She needed a quiet space to put her thoughts to rights, somewhere more grounded than a gilded room fit for royalty. Her feet carried her across the way to the entrance of St Michael’s Church.

The heavy wooden door was unlocked, though it took some effort to push it open. It closed behind Grace with a thud, leaving her in a darkened, hushed interior. The sun’s path through the sky had carried its beams away from the stained glass windows. Grace walked up the central aisle, not stopping until she reached the bench where the family had sat during the Sunday service. She slid onto the wooden pew and crossed her hands over her lap, lifting her face upward as though seeking guidance from the divine. They needed all the help they could get.

Unfortunately, no answers came. After a while, she lowered her gaze and shivered against the cold of the unheated church. She shivered again, thinking of the poor children who had been ripped from their beds and made to march to who knew where. Were they cold even now? Had anyone seen to food and shelter for them? She whispered a prayer for their safety, her breathing growing ragged as despondency sank its claws into her.

The echoing bang of the door pulled Grace back to the present. She dashed the tears from her cheeks. Footsteps drew closer, until a voice called her name.

“Lady Percy, is that you?” Reverend Shepherd hurried forward to greet her. “What are you doing here on your own? Where is your escort?”

His tone brought Grace up short. She had not done anything wrong, per se, but she realised now how strange her singular presence must seem. She gave a sigh of relief that it was him and not a parishioner.

“I was on my way back to the castle when I felt myself drawn in. We must answer when called, is that not right?”

Reverend Shepherd rocked back in surprise, but recovered quickly. “You are right, my lady. I can see you are upset. Has there been news of the children?”

Grace shook her head. “No, and that is what weighs on me. Lord Percy and Sir Nathaniel have gone to Alnmouth today. Let us both pray they will find some further clue as to the children’s whereabouts.”

“Alnmouth?” The rector gave a worried shake of his head and wrung his hands. “If they have passed through the port, I fear for their lives. I have heard tales from my brethren in larger cities of children pressed into workhouses… and worse. Lord Percy must not let word of this get out.”

Grace cocked her head to the side, unable to follow his logic.

“In many respects, the loss of the children was easier when we believed them to have run away. A stern lecture and a close eye was all that was required to protect those still here. Now we must visualise children being ripped from their beds and dragged into neverending horrors. The people are terrorised, my lady. If Lord Percy cannot find those children, it would be better for all of us for him to say the man who witnessed the wagon was mistaken. Let the families mourn their children.”

“You cannot expect us to lie,” Grace countered, her ire rising at the mere suggestion.

“It is for everyone’s good— yours and theirs. His Grace is supposed to protect the people. Their requests for repairs go unheeded, their plans unapproved. Lord Percy is concentrating entirely on the two missing children, and ignoring everyone else here who is in equal need of attention. If you truly want to help the people—all of them—I suggest you remind his lordship of the many issues requiring his time.”