Mr Stone, intrigued, added, ‘On the same day Gibbs vanished, Melissa also went missing, correct?’
‘Yes, that’s right... Mr Gibbs got a note that afternoon. I delivered it to him and saw him read it. He looked agitated afterwards and said he needed to ride out immediately to meet someone, promising to return before the evening’s events. He took several coin bags from the safe before leaving, which struck me as odd.’ Taylor paused, brow furrowing. ‘I assumed this Averton fellow would meet him at the Manor, but I never saw anyone new that night. Mr Gibbs’s friends did not show up either, which was unusual. They never returned after Mr Gibbs vanished. His horse wandered back to the stables, and amidall the arrivals, it took a while before anyone realised he was missing. We did not call the constable until the next morning.’
Grace suspected the delay had more to do with the servants’ indifference to the steward’s fate, but she kept that thought to herself.
‘Do you know where that letter is? I don’t recall seeing it,’ Grace asked.
‘Oh, he burned it,’ Taylor flushed. ‘But I am ashamed to say I read it before he burned it.’
‘What did it say?’ they both asked.
‘It simply said, “Meet me at the usual place at five. Don’t be late,” signed with the letter “A.”’
‘Did you mention this Averton to the constable?’ Grace enquired.
‘No, Miss Skye. I did not think it relevant at the time because I thought this Averton fellow would be one of the party guests. But I did tell them that Mr Gibbs took coin bags with him, so the constable and magistrate believe he either absconded with his three associates or was possibly robbed and killed. And since no body was found, they assumed he ran away.’ He scratched his head, ‘But now I am thinking, it is quite possible the letter Gibbs received could have been from Averton.’
Mr Stone then asked for descriptions of the three men. By the time Taylor finished, Grace felt a bead of perspiration trickle down her brow. The fire was stifling. Worried her make-up might melt, she feigned a coughing fit, using her handkerchief to excuse herself. When she returned, Mr Stone studied her face closely.
‘Are you all right, Miss Skye?’
Flustered by his knowing smile, she answered quickly, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
He persisted, stepping closer and examining her face with a slight smile on his lips. ‘Are you sure? Because...’ he tiltedhis head, ‘your face has changed colour. Perhaps you are overheated?’
She needed to divert his attention. ‘Yes, I am a tad warm,’ she replied dismissively.
He lifted the corner of one of her shawls, Grace took a sharp intake of breath at his familiarity. ‘You could remove a couple,’ he suggested.
In that moment, she considered confessing, but the amusement in his eyes made her hesitate. He was mocking her! The realisation sent indignation surging through her. Was he deliberately provoking her, waiting for her to buckle and reveal her secret?
Rebelliously, she reminded herself that she had every right to present herself as she pleased. Her appearance was her own concern, not his. She was there solely to help with the Estate’s affairs—nothing more. While she might not have been entirely honest, she was harming no one... except, perhaps, herself. But she would not yield under his bold gaze.
Lifting her chin, she returned his stare. ‘I am fine, thank you.’ Her voice was steady, her pride welling up inside her. She would reveal her secret in her own time, not at his prompting. Deep down, she knew her real reason: fear. Fear of being rejected or viewed differently. It was safer to hide behind her carefully crafted disguise than to risk being vulnerable.
Something flickered in Mr Stone’s expression—admiration perhaps—but he said nothing more, merely inclining his head before leading her back to their seats.
They resumed their interviews, gleaning few additional details. Before Grace departed, she turned to Mr Stone, remembering the tension in his posture when Averton’s name was mentioned.
‘I could not help noticing you seemed to recognise “Averton.” Do you know him?’
His lips thinned and his features flashed an emotion—pain or betrayal—she could not be sure. ‘Nothing escapes your notice, does it, Miss Skye?’
She raised her chin. ‘Not when it is important.’
He exhaled, briefly breaking eye contact. ‘Yes, I recognised the name.’
‘And?’ she pressed, refusing to let him deflect.
He paused for a moment, as though weighing his next words. ‘I will tell you on one condition, Miss Skye.’
Grace frowned, her pulse thrumming with caution. ‘A condition?’
His gaze remained unreadable, though a hint of intensity shone in his eyes. ‘How would you feel about living here? With me?’
Chapter 13
The question stunned Grace into silence. She opened her mouth, but no words came. When she finally found her voice, all she managed was a flustered, ‘Er ... how ... I mean ... what do you mean by “live with you”?’
