The highland heist, p.11
The Highland Heist, page 11
Grace took the envelope and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. James, isn’t it?”
The housekeeper straightened, her cheeks coloring faintly. Frederick joined Grace at the door, buttoning his cuffs.
“Yes, my lady. Yesterday was my half day, so I wasn’t here or …” She hesitated, visibly paling. “The horrible events.”
“We’re sorry our arrival has added to your distress.”
The woman’s entire body relaxed at Frederick’s statement. “It’s a shock, sir … my lord. A murder, and in this very house!” Her large blue eyes widened, her pale face stark against the dark bun pinned neatly at the nape of her neck. The striking contrast reminded Frederick of Snow White, a thought so absurd he nearly groaned. That was definitely something Grace would have thought.
The woman was much younger than any of the housekeepers Frederick had ever known, but considering the Dixons’ finances, perhaps they had to choose a less experienced servant for smaller rates. And her accent hailed from across the pond.
“You find it as a shock?” Grace asked.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Well, of course! No one would expect Mr. Dixon to be stabbed in his own parlor. If anything, I’d have thought one of those dreadful men he owed money to might have done him in elsewhere.”
Frederick’s eyebrows rose, but Grace was already leaning forward, her interest sharpening. “Dreadful men?”
Mrs. James paled further, stammering. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that—”
“It’s quite all right,” Grace reassured her, lowering her voice. “We’re aware of Mr. Dixon’s gambling troubles. Any information you have could help us uncover what happened.”
“I–I’m sure I don’t know much.” But her expression didn’t match her statement. “Mr. Dixon had a few men come by looking for money he owed them. I tried not to mention it to Mrs. Dixon because it always led to a row between the two of them.”
“Were all the men from the gambling house nasty?”
The woman blinked over at Frederick, her hands wringing in front of her. “Well, not all. A few could be right dashing looking, but they wanted money all the same. Even asked for Mrs. Dixon.” The woman’s eyes widened. “But I tell them they won’t find her at home in the mornings and she wouldn’t have anything to do with them anyway.”
Grace sent Frederick a look. So the strangers knew when people may have been absent from the house.
The woman’s eyes widened as if she’d said something amiss, and she rushed ahead. “But I don’t go telling Mr. and Mrs. Dixon’s business to folks. You can’t think that. Please don’t tell Mrs. Dixon. Her temper is something frightful.”
“Is it?” Frederick searched the woman’s face.
“Has she ever hurt you?” This from Grace.
“Let’s just say that I’m not too keen to get on her wrong side.” Mrs. James stepped back, sending a furtive gaze along the hallway as if afraid Lillias would emerge at any moment.
“Not to worry, your secret is safe with us.” Frederick offered.
“I’m much obliged.” She nodded, taking another step back. “I’ll have breakfast set up for you in the dining room within the next half hour, if that will be fine for you.”
“Of course, thank you.” Grace offered.
As the housekeeper turned to leave, Frederick stopped her. “Mrs. James, where are you from originally? I couldn’t help noticing your accent.”
Her smile faltered, and she answered vaguely, “North of Yorkshire, sir. Until my family came to this side of the world.”
“Well, I hope your adventure in America improves from what you’ve experienced so far,” Grace said.
“So do I, my lady.” She dipped her head and disappeared down the hallway.
Grace turned to him once the door closed behind them. “So that’s an easy explanation for how the timing worked so well for no one to have witnessed Tony’s death.”
“And one of the likely culprits for any rumors spread throughout town.” Frederick added. “She was much too free in giving personal information to strangers.”
“There’s no telling what else she’s shared and with whom, especially with some of the men seeking Tony and his money.”
“And”—Frederick held her gaze—”I wonder if any of those ‘strangers’ had accents that tended toward a more Highland direction.”
Grace gasped. “Do you think? Like your assailant?”
“I wonder.” His gaze dropped to the envelope in her hand. “I see the Clarion’s emblem on the front of the envelope, so I imagine it’s a response to my message from yesterday to Mr. Barclay.”
Grace looked down at the note, as if remembering it was in her hand. “Yes, it must be.” She slipped open the envelope and read over the brief comments. “He was happy to get our message and asks if he may come by the house to meet with us this afternoon.” She nodded. “I’ll send him a reply once we speak to Lillias.” Grace looked back at him. “Frederick, if your assailant was Scottish and this inheritance is in Scotland, do you think Tony’s death is tied to this entire situation in some way? It seems too much of a coincidence.”
His thoughts exactly. “I don’t know, but we’d best be on our guard for the very possibility.”
Chapter 10
They’d kept the conversation light during breakfast for Zahra’s sake, though Grace suspected the child could have handled more of the truth than poor Miss Cox. In fairness, Miss Cox already seemed discombobulated from sharing a room with Zahra. The little girl’s nightmares were notorious—something Grace and Frederick only fully grasped after Zahra became a more permanent part of their lives.
And as Grace fully sympathized with such fits, especially after having occasional bouts of anxiety after almost dying in the sand trap of an undiscovered ancient Egyptian tomb, when she’d awakened to the little girl’s cries, a sweet word here and there quickly put the dear one back to sleep.
Miss Cox clearly didn’t have a gift for children, because, as Zahra explained after breakfast, Miss Cox began to cry too.
To be fair, some of Miss Cox’s distress might be attributed to the chaotic events of the day prior and the unexpected responsibility of caring for a newborn. At one point in the night, Grace had entered the room to find all three—Zahra, Miss Cox, and the baby—crying in chorus. Grace quieted Zahra and took baby Thomas from Miss Cox, only for Lillias to appear moments later, her expression taut with exhaustion, to whisk the infant back to her own room.
It was quite possible that Lillias’ anger stemmed from a mixture of not sleeping, the residual turmoil of her relationship with Tony, as well as the disappointments of life. And perhaps some jealousy brewed beneath too, only inciting an overall switch between unfriendly and despairing.
It hurt.
Not so much because of Lillias’ accusations. No, Grace had lain in bed, praying through some of those hurts and came to understand them, in part. But the pain came more so for the realization that her sister had always sought happiness outside herself. The dresses were never modern enough. The furnishings needed to be updated. Grace was never proper enough.
She sighed. When her sister’s affair with Anthony Dixon went against her own character as well as convention, Grace had thought it must be love, but had it been something else? Mere passion? Or rebellion? What else could explain the speed at which they fell out of each other’s good opinions so quickly—for Tony to turn to gambling and Lillias to resentment?
After encouraging Zahra to remain in Frederick and Grace’s room so that Miss Cox could attempt a nap after breakfast, Frederick and Grace asked to meet with Lillias in the study. She arrived resplendent in a dark blue gown adorned with their mother’s jewels, her elegance marred only by red-rimmed eyes and a thin, brittle smile.
But Grace was beginning to understand that the sister and father she’d thought she’d known, were not the same in retrospect. The glossy-eyed view of an imaginative and naive child gave way to a little more clarity in hindsight. And she had to sort out where she fit within this new definition of her family.
“Bringing the reinforcements, are we, Grace?” Lillias glanced over at Frederick before she took a seat across from Grace. “Did I not give sufficient answers to your little inquiry last evening?”
“We are here to help you.” She kept her tone controlled, but unlike anyone else in the world, her sister had some sort of power over Grace’s emotions that Grace didn’t fully understand. “Not fight.”
“Detective Johnson will be here this afternoon.” Frederick moved to take a seat beside Grace. “And he already knows that you lied about accompanying Miss Steen on her walk yesterday morning, so it would be wise to share where you were so you can provide an alibi for the time of your husband’s death.”
Lillias’ golden brows rose as she stared at Frederick, her bottom lip dropping ever so slightly from its frown. “She’s tricked you into following along with her little fictional fantasies, I see.”
Grace blinked as if struck, another blow of awareness rifling through her. She’d always known Lillias didn’t appreciate reading the same way Grace did, but her words were laced with anger.
“I fail to comprehend, Mrs. Dixon.”
Grace noted the formal address. Frederick hadn’t called Lillias by her first name once since their arrival in Virginia. Was it deliberate? A protective boundary, perhaps? Why?
“As I see it, there is no fiction here,” Frederick continued, his tone calm but unyielding. “Your husband has been murdered, and you are a suspect. If only it were a fantasy.”
Grace straightened, a flicker of pride sparking through her frustration. Defending his wife while dismissing her supposed flights of fancy—a true hero, by any novel’s measure.
“I’m sorry to repeat myself, Lillias, but before we can move on to other conversations, it’s important that you share where you were yesterday morning when Tony died.”
Lillias’ gaze lingered on Frederick before shifting back to Grace, her expression wavering between defiance and resignation. Though her chin did not falter from its raised position. Grace suddenly became very aware of the position of her own chin. Did she raise hers with such stubbornness?
“I don’t have to tell you.” But something in her gaze weakened. “And perhaps I’d rather face the detective than admit anything to the two of you.”
Though Lillias’ gaze held both of them, Grace noted that Lillias’ attention fell on Grace much more than Frederick.
“But we’re the ones who care about you, Lillias. The detective and police won’t.” Grace sighed. “And if you won’t tell us, I’ll have no choice but to contact Father. He needs to know anywa—”
“No!” The word burst forth, quick and sharp. “He can’t know—not yet.”
“He’ll find out eventually.” Her sister’s resistance didn’t make sense.
“Not yet.” The fight seemed to have left her. “I don’t want him to know yet.” She sighed and looked away. “It will break his heart.”
Grace frowned. Their father had never been particularly fond of Tony. Why would his death—
“The reason I don’t want him involved,” Lillias began, her voice faltering. She looked away, her bottom lip trembling before she squared her shoulders. “I’ve sold so many of Mother and Father’s heirlooms—to collectors in Harrington and Richmond. It couldn’t be helped, you understand? Tony’s debts, and my …” She swallowed, her voice steeling again. “I couldn’t be seen in outdated clothes when our family is still of a certain standing.”
Grace released her held breath. She’d entertained far worse scenarios: Lillias as the true gambler, an underground jewel thief, or—even more sensational—a murderess with a lover. But this? As tragic as it was, it seemed almost mundane.
“You were selling something yesterday morning? Is that where you were?” Frederick asked, his tone gentler now.
He’d heard it too—the fragility in Lillias’ admission, the grief beneath her bravado.
It explained so much. The highly ornate rooms for guests’ visibility, the barren ones hidden from sight. She’d been selling things for who knew how long, clinging to appearances.
Relief washed over Grace. At least Lillias wasn’t a murderer.
“And you couldn’t ask Father for help because of his financial troubles?” Grace asked.
Lillias’ gaze snapped to hers. “How did you know that?”
A tiny pang of hurt renewed in Grace’s chest—how many secrets had been kept from her?—but she pressed forward. “Frederick and I went to Rutledge House before coming here. Perkins told me. He also delivered some mail we should have received over a month ago.”
“We?” Lillias gave her head a shake. “What do you mean, we?”
So her sister didn’t know about the inheritance?
Grace looked over at Frederick, and with a smile of encouragement, she divulged what she knew so far about the inheritance, showing Lillias their mother’s letter as well as informing her about the upcoming visit from Mr. Barclay.
Her sister’s face shifted through myriad emotions from skepticism to shock. As Grace finished the tale, Lillias laughed. “This fixes everything, doesn’t it?” She stood, pacing away from the chair. “Of course, Mother would fix things. Even from the grave.”
Grace had read enough gothic novels to recognize the signs of a potential breakdown. Was her sister careening toward a wife-in-the-attic scenario? Surely not. Poor Thomas needed his mother intact.
“We don’t know enough about it yet to say anything for certain,” Grace cautioned.
“But don’t you see? It’s perfect.” Lillias whirled toward her. “I can’t keep living in Harrington after all that’s happened. And I don’t have the money to leave. But this—this could be a fresh start. A new place for me and Thomas. With an estate and funds and—”
“But we don’t know what it entails yet, Lillias.” Grace found herself playing the voice of reason, a role her sister had once claimed. It felt almost unsettling. “Mr. Barclay should make things clearer this afternoon, but there’s no way we can claim the inheritance if you’re under suspicion of murder.”
Lillias sobered, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of a chair. “But I didn’t kill him. And I can prove it.” Her breaths came in short bursts. “I’ll tell the police everything. Whatever they need. We—we can’t let this opportunity slip away. It’s the last piece of family land we can hold onto.”
Family land. The phrase carried weight. Rutledge House might be gone, but the idea of securing something—anything—still mattered deeply, especially for women like them. And for Lillias, it seemed to mean even more.
“Oh, I wish I’d known about this before.” Lillias pressed a fist to her chest. “If Tony had known, maybe …” Her voice faltered as she gazed out the window, visibly fighting for composure.
“I don’t want the inheritance to slip away either, but there are very real dangers right now that we must address. And we’ll know more about the inheritance this afternoon. Mr. Barclay is supposed to meet us at noon and go over more particulars.”
“I’ve kept the very best things from Rutledge House, and they could certainly decorate a new estate. And Scotland? Tony had never traveled.” Lillias’ smile wavered but then brightened. “Mother would have loved knowing we would end up there, wouldn’t she? Home of her grandfather and his family.”
“We hope it all will work out in your favor, Mrs. Dixon, but you and Grace must both arrive together to claim the inheritance, and that will all depend on clearing your name.” Frederick studied her before turning back to Grace. “The sooner we can have direct answers and clarity, the better.”
Lillias sobered and returned to the chair, her body almost shaking. “What do you need to know? If I have a chance for this freedom, I’ll tell you anything.”
Grace and Frederick pressed for details: the collectors she’d dealt with, Tony’s debts, his habits.
“Did he have any particular places he frequented for gambling?” Frederick asked, his chin tilted with a purpose that made him look like one of those detectives in Grace’s mystery novels. All he needed was a fedora tipped just so and a notepad for his observations.
“The Lucky Coin was where he spent most of his time lately,” Lillias admitted, her perfect brow creasing. “There was also mention of a place called the Captain.”
“Are those in Harrington?” Grace asked.
“Yes, but on the far side of town.” Lillias offered a weak smile. “At least, in that way he tried to remain more discreet.”
“Did he ever try to harm you, Lillias?” Grace’s question landed heavily.
Lillias turned sharply to meet her gaze, her pale blue eyes swimming with sudden tears. “No. Of course not. You knew him. He wasn’t the sort.”
Ah. There it was. Grace hadn’t considered it—though she should have, as both a sister and a self-proclaimed sleuth: Lillias hadn’t stopped loving Tony. For all her misplaced priorities and shallowness, her sister had genuinely cared for him. Not enough to alter her behavior or curb her desires, but love, in its flawed, messy way, had been there. And maybe that hurt more than not caring at all.
“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to harm him?” Frederick’s voice pulled Grace back to the moment. “Or someone who might claim his money?”
“I don’t know,” Lillias said, her sigh laced with exhaustion. “He owed several people but made an effort to pay them back, except …” She paused. “He mentioned an altercation at the Lucky Coin a few nights ago.” Her brows knitted. “Actually, now that I think of it, he hadn’t been to a gambling house two nights in a row after that. Odd, since he’d been going almost every night for months.”
“What did he say about the altercation?”
Lillias shook her head. “Not much. Just that he’d met a stranger he thought was dangerous and ended up in a fight. He was thrown out.”
“But not the other man?” Frederick pressed.
“Apparently, the man had too much money for them to expel him.”
“Did Tony mention anything else? What the man looked like or sounded like?” Grace asked.
