Page 17 of The Bachelor Spy
Brandon released a long, weary sigh, so Grace rushed on. “But if you think it wise, Brandon, then I encourage you to alert them in the morning. There is not much left to be done tonight, and I’d rather not have half the county tramping through here disturbing our patients.”
Grace flicked her gaze back to Miss Gale before turning to address the other servants, bringing her hands together decisively. “So. We have a thief who stole a painting yesterday, broke into this study tonight, smashed a bookcase, rifled through papers and books, but took nothing of obvious value. At least nothing we can yet identify.” She looked at Brandon and John specifically. “Or it’s something of a different sort of value?”
“Or perhaps what they wantedwashere, and they simply did not find it,” Miss Gale said quietly, almost to herself.
Grace looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my lady, that if someone is searching for something specific—a particular document, perhaps, or a specific book or artifact—they might not find it on their first attempt. They might have to search multiple locations.”
The implication hung heavy in the air.
Multiple locations meant multiple break-ins. Which meant this wasn’t over.
“Well, if that’s the case, we should all be on alert,” Grace said firmly. “After all, we have a house full of patients and nurses to protect.”
“Or to keep alertto,” Brandon added, his meaning clear.
“Possibly, Mr. Brandon.” Grace stared at the broken case, thinking. “But they left the valuables behind, which is the true curiosity and proves they were looking for something very specific.” She turned to the gathered servants. “What wounded soldier would even know of anything so particular worth stealing from Havensbrooke?”
What could possibly be in a country house-turned-hospital that would be worth this kind of risk?
Military documents? Maps? Something Frederick had brought home from abroad?
“Mrs. Powell, please inform the staff to be alert for anything unusual. And”—Grace hesitated—”please ask them to be discreet. I don’t want to alarm the patients, but we must remain vigilant.”
“Of course, my lady,” several voices said in unison.
“And perhaps,” Grace continued, warming to the idea, “we all ought to increase our mystery reading.” She nodded enthusiastically. “If our minds are already attuned to sleuthing, I imagine it will only make us more aware of clues and suspicious behavior.”
Brandon sighed again, this time with a note of resignation. Mrs. Powell’s eyes closed briefly—they must be terribly tired, the poor dears. John gave an encouraging nod, bless him. Ellie almost smiled.
And Miss Gale tilted her head and studied Grace, her brows rising with what might have been surprise … or curiosity?
Grace leaned toward her. “We have a bit of a history with mysteries around here, Miss Gale. But since you already possess some investigative skills, I daresay you’ll fit right in.”
The woman’s brows rose even higher before one corner of her mouth tipped upward in the tiniest hint of a smile. “Thank you, my lady.”
From the way the woman said it, Grace couldn’t be sure whether she meant her thanks or not.
With a good night to the servants and a tender pat to Brandon’s arm—really, the dear man needed more appreciation for his patience—Grace walked back to her room, her steps considerably lighter than they’d been before.
A thief with a mysterious target in mind.
A new maid with an investigative history and remarkably sharp observations.
And a possible suspect operating from inside Havensbrooke itself.
Grace’s grin spread with each step she took.
Oh, happy day! It had been far too long since she’d been part of a proper mystery.
Chapter 3
Frederick’s office had been fully set back to rights within a few days, and Brandon had even commissioned Mr. Brody from the glassworks to repair the bookcase. As far as Grace could tell, no other mischief had taken place over those days, except for an argument between Privates Jones and Carter that nearly ended in blows. Well, since both men were hobbling about on crutches, Grace wasn’t too certain how sincere the blows might have been, considering the question of whether the men could have even reached each other.
And a few of the men had woken with nightmares.
But that was nothing new. It was a terrible by-product of what they’d witnessed on the Western Front.
