Chapter 23

23

W ith the departure of Roland and Thorne, Grace was left behind with only the echoing silence and a sheaf of papers to keep her company. Francis, the burly footman who had led the search of the passageway had taken up guard in front of the door.

Thinking to go check on how Wes was bearing up under the strain of his sister’s absence, Grace moved to set the papers aside. But before she relinquished her hold, a thought struck her.

What if Bertram Robson was not after ducal recognition, but something else?

Harding had recollected the surname. Grace shuffled through the papers, glancing at the names at the top of each. The first Robson complained of a broken fence. Harding had made a note that it had already been repaired.

The other request was near the bottom, one of the oldest in the pile. Bertram Robson’s name was marked at the top of the page. Grace skimmed over the text. It took her a couple of passes to grasp all the details. The first part was a request for an amendment to his lease to allow him to convert it from strictly agricultural to mixed use. The second part outlined plans to divert a stream and convert an old barn into a mill.

A wool mill, Grace guessed, recalling Roland’s mention of the constable being a sheep farmer and the carded and spun wool leaving Alnmouth.

Was this why he snuck into the castle? Had he lost his patience with the long wait and decided to seek the duke’s approval directly? No, that did not make sense. If seeing the duke was his aim, he could have accomplished that in a night. Still, Grace could not let go of the thought that the request and his visits had to be connected. She got up and rang for Withers.

When he walked into the study, she asked him a question. “If someone wanted to petition His Grace, for permission or perhaps funding for some repair or project, what would be required? Previously, that is. Back when the duke handled such matters.”

“They would submit a request to Mr Harding. Mr Harding does the assessment, and if he believes it is worth His Grace’s review, he passes it along. If His Grace grants permission, or releases funding, he signs the petition and stamps it with the ducal seal on his signet ring.” Withers pointed to an object lying atop Roland’s desk. “It is there, my lady. Lord Percy claimed it after he learned of the duke’s ill health.”

Grace dismissed the butler and then went to pick up the ring. The object was worth a fortune, and not because of its solid gold make. With a drop of the duke’s signature red wax and a single stamp, they could sign off on a sizable investment.

Or, on building permission.

What if this was what Bertram Robson had been after? It would certainly explain why he had spent so much time searching the duke’s study the night Willa had caught him. He could not have known that Roland was handling business elsewhere, and had moved it. But again she returned to the question. Why now? Winter’s cold breath froze the ground beneath their feet. No one would be doing any work now, not unless absolutely necessary. She checked the date on the petition more closely, noting he had submitted it in the early spring.

What if Robson got sick of waiting for permission? Might he have built the factory on his own? It seemed rather farfetched, but then again, Grace had no real clue what would go into such matters. She supposed a handyman might be capable of the woodwork, but once it was up and running, would he not need machines of some sort and workers to operate them?

The boom of Thorne’s voice sounded in the hallway. Grace opened a drawer and dropped the ring inside, shutting it just as Thorne entered Roland’s study.

Thorne’s normally placid features had been replaced with a fiery anger that made even Grace flinch. It was entirely unlike the usually good-natured man.

He was not on his own. Thorne’s good left hand had a firm hold on Reverend Shepherd’s shoulder. He shoved the man into the room and kicked the door shut behind them.

With a fierce glare, Thorne ordered the man to sit and pushed him into a wooden chair.

Grace swallowed and struggled to keep her composure. Thorne was not angry with her, of course, though that hardly lessened the heated waves he was throwing about the room.

“I presume there is a reason you, err, escorted Alnwick’s rector here, Sir Nathaniel. Would you care to enlighten me?”

Grace’s cool tone went a ways toward banking Thorne’s anger. “Certainly, my lady. Not long after Lord Percy set off for Alnmouth, the reverend dashed back to the parsonage and began packing a bag. I happened to overhear him telling his wife not to expect him back and that he would send word when he could. Before he made a break for the wilds, I thought we might want to have one last conversation with him.”

“I was leaving for a short trip, sir. Am I not allowed to visit parishioners?”

“The bag of sterling hidden away in your things suggests a very different destination.” Thorne reached into his coat pocket and pulled free a velvet bag. He poured the contents onto a side table. Shiny coins in gold, silver and copper gleamed under the candlelight. “This is more than a man of the church would earn in several years. Either you have been helping yourself to the village tithes or are involved in something lucrative, and likely illegal since you have hidden it from the world. Which is it?”

Reverend Shepherd turned to Grace, his hangdog expression pleading for her to intervene. Grace stood firm, crossing her hand over her chest and giving him a snooty glare of her own.

“Either way you are going to prison. Let me make the situation clear to you. Someone has broken into the castle and kidnapped a child. We have every reason to believe that our kidnapper is connected to Hannah Percy. Given the life of my ward is at risk, I might find it in my heart to suggest clemency should you aid our search. What do you, Mr Robson, and a wool mill have to do with our missing girl, Willa?”

Shepherd hunched in on himself, any thoughts of blustering gone out of him. “I had no idea Robson was planning to take anyone from the castle, Lady Percy. You must believe me on that!”

“But you admit it is him?”

Shepherd shrugged his shoulders but then gave a nod of agreement. “If your search has brought you to Hannah then his is the next logical doorstep. I can offer some hope, however. If he has put her with the other children, then she should be unharmed.”

“ Other children ?” Thorne swung around to tower over Shepherd. “Do you mean to tell me that you have known the location of Northumberland's stolen children all this time?”

Shepherd blanched and sucked in his lips as though trying to retract his words.

Grace dropped her haughty pose and reached out to lay a hand on Thorne’s arm. “Though I share your outrage, you shall give the man an apoplexy before we learn all we can. Let us all sit so Reverend Shepherd can tell us this story from the beginning.”

Grace chose a chair a safe distance away from the rector. Though he seemed harmless enough now—terrified, if she was being honest—she had learned the hard way there were risks of being within arm’s reach of a villain. Thorne stayed closer to the man’s side, not wanting to risk he might make a second attempt at running. Grace was less concerned about that risk than she was that Reverend Shepherd might expire on the spot. She needed to bring the tension down, and soon.

“I am simply parched from all the worrying I have done today. Would either of you mind if I rang for tea?”

Thorne gave her an incredulous look, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. Reverend Shepherd, however, latched onto any hint of geniality just as she thought he would.

“Yes, please, though I may require something stronger before we reach the end.”

Thorne poured a finger of his favourite whiskey for both himself and Shepherd while they waited for the tea tray to arrive. Shepherd accepted it with a fervent thanks and then stared into the glass bottom as though in search of a way out. Thorne left his sitting on the table, paused beside Grace’s chair and whispered, “Roland has left for Alnmouth, not knowing that the children are hidden at his destination. Is now the best time to cling to manners?”

“Patience,” Grace told him. “It is better to set out armed with knowledge. Besides, I do not think this will take too long. The man is a coward.”

Shepherd tossed the whiskey back, hardly pulling a face at the raw alcohol. Despite expectations, he was an old hat at imbibing strong drink. “I have feared this day for so long, I can hardly believe it has come. For a while there, I almost believed I would get away with it all. More the fool me,” he muttered.

“How did you come to be involved in this matter?” Grace asked. “I must say it is not obvious that someone of your vocation would find himself caught up in an illegal kidnapping ring.”

“My confession to you must start much earlier than the current sins. Truly, the Percy family owns almost as much blame as I do.” Shepherd held up a hand to ward Thorne off. “Lord Percy, that is the former lord, Thaddius Percy, suffered much in the isolation of the northern wilds. Far from his normal cohort, if he wanted to carry on with his craven lifestyle, he was in need of someone here to join him. He recruited me, first. Then others, Ellesmere for example, to play cards, dice, and other games of chance. Thaddius was a careless player, more interested in passing the time than winning each hand. I took advantage, landing pot after pot until I collected the tidy sum you see there.”

“Robson was a part of this group?” Thorne asked.

Shepherd threw back his head and barked a laugh. “Sadly no, though he tried to find himself upon the fringes of it. When his mother died fifteen years ago, Bertram found the last piece of the jewellery Hannah had taken with her, tucked in a handkerchief embroidered with the Percy lion. John Robson was forced to explain the whole sordid past, and Bertram was, predictably, rather unhappy once he learned the truth. Better fortune could have so easily spilled upon his family.”

Grace’s heart sank as the rector confirmed her worst fears about Bertram’s interest in the family. How deep did it go? Would he take out his anger and jealousy on poor Willa? Worse yet, Grace could somewhat understand his motivations. The Breaker’s decision to cast his sister out into the cold had a ripple effect right into the present.

Reverend Shepherd was still talking. “After that, Bertram aspired to a better life than that of his father’s. He believed it was his right. And he conceived of a way to stand upon his own through the profit of industry. He finally found a way to bend Thaddius’ ear with a plan to prepare for the next spring’s shearing. The earl, while in his cups, at any rate, seemed agreeable. So Robson applied for permission to build the mill… I assume you know that part.”

“We do,” Grace confirmed. “That permission did not come, however.”

“And then the earl passed, and the duke’s cruel silence was answer enough. Bertram’s request was denied. So he came to me with an ultimatum. Either I helped him get the approvals, one way or another, or he would out me to the village as a wastrel and a gambler.”

“Would anyone have believed him?” Thorne asked.

“Could I take that risk?” Shepherd replied. “My only saving grace was that Bertram was unaware of how much coin I had stashed away.”

“But why did he begin stealing children?” Grace asked, unable to figure that part out.

“Greed? Why else? The profit would be better with borrowed children?—”

“ Borrowed children!” Thorne nearly roared, and then his face tightened as another thought crossed his mind. “You are the one responsible for appointing the parish constables. A striking convenience that this year Bertram Robson would be chosen to serve.”

The reverend’s eyes closed. “Yes, well, lest you think too poorly of me, I thought it was only to conceal his mill. I didn’t piece together the rest until after the third child went missing. My head was well and truly in the noose by that point, but at least I did what I could to ensure the children were kept fed, clothed, and relatively comfortable, and I did not make it my business to inquire in such matters that might change things regarding the children’s safety. Or mine.”

“You could have done far more, reverend. If anything happens to a single one of those children, I will personally ensure you suffer the same injury,” Thorne said, his tone icy.

Grace, too, found she had no appetite to continue the conversation. With the reverend’s confession, they had solved not one, but two mysteries.

But… Only if they got word to Roland, however. If Roland only went as far as Bertram’s home, he might never even know the children were there.

Grace leapt to her feet, startling both men, and hurried over to Harding’s desk. She picked up the page she had been studying before and passed it over to Thorne. “Nathaniel, you must take Mr Harding and ride after Roland. If Roland does not know about the mill, he might not find Willa.”

Thorne took the page, but did not move, looking deeply conflicted. Grace knew he was unwilling to leave her without some form of protection, particularly if they kept Shepherd in their midst.

Grace’s patience shattered. She all but ran to the study door and threw it open wide. Francis, the footman, leapt out in front of her, his arm raised to enter the fray. She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him inside.

“Take Reverend Shepherd into the wine cellar and lock him inside. Station someone on watch to ensure he remains. And then come back here, and resume your duties as guard.”

“Are you sure, Grace?” Thorne asked, dropping all pretence with her in a rare unguarded moment.

“Please. Roland needs you. Willa needs you, Nathaniel. Take Harding, the stableboys, whomever you need to bring the children home safe. I will take Wes and we will hide away in the castle. Francis can protect us should Robson be foolish enough to attempt a repeat visit through the hidden passage.”