Page 26 of The Bachelor Spy
“Of course.” Grace stepped back as Nurse Wilson drew up a chair beside the man, notepad at the ready.
“You mentioned you have family in Yorkshire, didn’t you, Lieutenant?” the nurse asked gently.
“Aye, ma’am. Little village called Thornton.”
“How lovely. And your father—he was a schoolmaster there, I believe you said?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hartley blinked, seemingly confused about when he might have mentioned this. “Taught mathematics for thirty years.”
“Mathematics! How wonderful. You must have learned quite a lot from him.” Nurse Wilson settled more comfortably into her chair, pen poised above her notepad, the most engaged Grace had seen the woman. “I do hope you don’t mind, but it is quite common for many of the nurses to help our patients compose letters to send home to their loved ones. I thought I’d begin with you today, if you’re feeling up to it. I’m sure your family would love to hear from you.”
“That’s very kind, Nurse Wilson,” Hartley said, though he still looked somewhat puzzled by the attention.
Poor man. Confusion was a common part of head injury too.
“I’m sure my dear mother would be pleased with any news.”
Grace watched the exchange with a growing smile. She’d taken dictation for so many of the men herself. Some for the same reason as the lieutenant—injuries that made writing difficult—others because they simply needed a bit of encouragement and company to get the words onto the page.
“Now, Lieutenant, why don’t you tell me about your regiment? I’m sure your father would love to hear about your service …”
Grace turned away from the tender scene to find Blake standing in the doorway, Brandon at his side. Her smile flashed wide until she noted the expressions on both their faces.
Blake looked resigned. Brandon looked disgruntled.
She moved to meet them, Blake taking her arm and gently drawing her a distance from listening ears.
“I’m afraid your little mystery has resurfaced, my lady.” One of Blake’s golden brows rose. “And with rather concerning developments.”
“What do you mean?”
Blake turned to Brandon, who stepped forward with his usual composure barely concealing his displeasure.
“I’m sorry to report, my lady, but two of the silver candlesticks are missing from the drawing room mantel.”
“The candlesticks?” Grace drew in a sharp breath. “Brandon, those are …”
“Valuable, my lady. Yes.” Brandon’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “They could easily be pawned for a considerable sum.”
First a painting of modest value. Then something taken from Frederick’s study—though what, they still didn’t know. And now silver candlesticks that were unmistakably worth real money. How on earth did they all fit together?
“Then our thief is growing bolder,” she said quietly. “Or more desperate.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.” Blake’s voice was low, meant only for her ears. “The pattern is escalating. First items of modest value, and now something that could be quickly converted to funds.”
“But it doesn’t fit,” Grace protested, her detective instincts warring with the facts. “Why take a painting and something from Frederick’s study if the true aim was money? Why not simply steal the silver from the start or the ready cash in Frederick’s desk drawer? It’s clear the thief had access.”
“An excellent question.” Blake’s eyes gleamed with approval, a look Grace had missed seeing from her dear Frederick during such situations. “Which is precisely why I think we need to determine what was taken from Frederick’s study. It might help us understand if thereisa pattern or not.”
“Good thought.” She linked her arm through Blake’s, and they walked down the corridor to Frederick’s sanctuary. The room had been tidied, but the broken bookcase still bore evidence of the intrusion—a violation of Frederick’s private space.
Blake moved around the room with that interesting alertness she’d noticed before, his eyes taking in every detail. There was something about his stealth and focus. The way his body weaved around the space soundlessly, each step controlled. Of course, he was a gentleman, which meant he had been raised in a world of poise, but her darling Frederick never moved with such … well, she wasn’t sure what to call it. It was like watching the panthers she’d seen once when visiting a zoo with her grandfather.
What was Stephen Blake really about?
He paused in front of the damaged bookcase, standing there for a long moment, perfectly still, studying the empty space where something had once rested.
“Yes, I see exactly what you mean about something missing,” he said finally.
