Not by Sight (8 page)

A wave of emotion seized her, causing unexpected tears. “I won’t let you return alone,” she said, sniffing, as she stuffed her cotton nightdress into her bag. “I owe you so much.”

“Agnes, please don’t do this!”

Seeing her mistress’s look of distress, Agnes pasted on a smile. “I’ll be fine, really,” she said, cinching the straps on her luggage. Perhaps Patrick Mabry would decide to send them to stay with Grace’s aunt in Oxford. Then they could escape London altogether. The notion lifted her spirits.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Grace said. “I want you to be happy, Agnes. And Mrs. Vance could use your help here with the others.” She sat on the bed and looked down at her lap. “Even if I could stay, Lord Roxwood wishes me gone.”

Agnes paused, still curious over exactly what had happened with the pigs getting loose yesterday. Her mistress had told them the ridiculous story of how she’d all but let the animals out herself and then chased them down, but Agnes felt certain something odd was going on.

Like the flower pendant Grace had placed on Clare Danner’s pillow last night. And then Agnes and her mistress had taken their meal upstairs instead of sitting with the others. When the rest of the women finally came upstairs and readied for bed, Clare had turned white as chalk dust seeing the necklace. Neither of the two women had explained. Agnes could only wonder at it.

———

“Well, Mrs. Vance is waiting for us downstairs.” Grace rose from the bed and picked up her bags. When her maid did the same, tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Thank you for your faith in me, Agnes. I couldn’t possibly imagine a more loyal friend.”

She saw emotion return to her maid’s expression and tried not to feel guilty about her relief that Agnes would accompany her home. Grace imagined her father’s reaction. She felt certain he would send for her aunt and then wire his protégé in New York, forcing her hand in marriage. It seemed she was a complete failure at anything else.

Downstairs, the others sat around the kitchen table, looking
as uncomfortable as they had the previous night. Grace was glad at least her last meal at Roxwood had been a peaceful one, with just Agnes for company. Since yesterday’s fiasco with Lord Roxwood, tension seemed to be running high in the WFC.

Mrs. Vance rose from the table and came to her. “This is a sorry business, Mabry, but the WFC has strict rules. I hope you understand?”

She offered a hand, and Grace took it. “It’s all right, Mrs. Vance. You’re just doing your job.”

The supervisor looked relieved, then looked to Agnes. “We’re sorry to see you go, Pierpont, though your allegiance to Miss Mabry is commendable.”

“Miss . . . Grace, has done much for me. I would not leave her.” Agnes tilted her chin bravely, and Grace felt a surge of warmth for her friend. Her words also seemed a catalyst, as soon the others rose and came to murmur their best wishes.

Clare was notably absent. Grace recalled the woman’s subdued mood last night when she’d found the pendant necklace returned atop her pillow. Well, perhaps she would think twice before picking on any more recruits.

“I’ll remember what you told me, Grace.” Lucy reached to offer her a hug. “One day I can d-do anything.”

Grace smiled, despite the heat against her cheeks. Her own ineptness made a mockery of the words. Even so, she offered, “That’s right, Lucy. Never forget it.”

“Neither should you, Grace.” Lucy shot her a knowing smile. “You just needed a little more t-time, that’s all.”

Grace nodded. She would miss her new friend. Waving a last farewell, she followed Agnes and Mrs. Vance outside to the cart that would take them to Margate’s station.

She gazed at Roxwood Manor for what would be her last time. Jack Benningham’s image rose in her mind, and she bit her lip, recalling his hatred. She refused to regret her actions
toward him in London, and his behavior yesterday had been reprehensible. Still . . .

Despite what he once was—a playboy, a gambler, and a reckless ne’er-do-well—the scars had undoubtedly penetrated his heart. He was a man no longer himself, but the brunt of local gossip, the wildly concocted Tin Man. Hiding away in his self-imposed prison, shunning the world and all it had to offer.

Even without her good Christian upbringing, Grace might pity him. She sighed. So much for her story about the mysterious “milord.” The only one she’d be writing now was about a ninny of a young woman who thought she could work on a farm—

“Mrs. Vance! Miss Mabry!”

Mr. Tillman hurried up the track on his crutch. “Wait!” he cried, wheezing for the effort it took to reach them. “Miss Mabry, the land agent, Mr. Edwards, wants a word.” He leaned against the crutch, trying to catch his breath.

Grace’s insides knotted. Was she to pay for Lord Roxwood’s damaged rosebushes, then? “Did he say why?”

The farmer shook his head. “You’re to get up to the house straightaway.” His look of vindication breathed life into Grace’s fear. She glanced at Agnes, then Mrs. Vance.

“Grace, you’d better go and see what he wants,” Mrs. Vance said. “We’ll leave when you return.”

Taking a bicycle, she pedaled up the long gravel drive to Roxwood Manor. Lifting the door’s crested brass knocker, she banged it several times before an aged, sour-faced man in butler’s attire finally answered.

His rheumy gaze traveled first to the bicycle, then settled on her. A slight frown formed beneath his beak of a nose. “Milord isn’t receiving guests.”

Unaccustomed to such haughtiness from a servant, Grace tipped her chin and said, “I am not here to see
milord.
I’ve been requested to visit with Mr. Edwards.”

“It’s all right, Knowles,” a man’s voice called from the interior of the house. “Please allow Miss Mabry inside. Lord Roxwood is waiting.”

Lord Roxwood? Grace barely acknowledged the butler as he sketched a bow and stepped back to let her enter. A small middle-aged man in a charcoal suit stood at the foot of the stairs. “Miss Mabry, welcome. I am Edwards, Lord Roxwood’s secretary.”

Secretary? “You have many titles, Mr. Edwards. I was told you were the land agent, as well?”

“And Lord Roxwood’s steward.” He smiled. “We accommodate a small staff here at the manor, so his lordship can enjoy the level of privacy he requires.” He indicated a part of the house beyond the stairs. “This way, please.”

“Wait.” Grace hesitated. “Lord Roxwood wishes to speak with me?”

“All in good time, Miss Mabry.”

Edwards turned and took the lead. Anxious, Grace followed him down a lushly carpeted hall. Above the dark mahogany wainscoting, red-and-gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper rose along either side. She noticed a trio of paintings—sailboats—each slightly different but obviously intended as a series and cast in ornate gold frames.

“This way.” The steward halted beside an open door.

Cautiously Grace entered the room. Clearly it was a man’s study. More mahogany paneling lined the walls, and on either side of a stone fireplace stood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with volumes. At the far end sat an expansive cherrywood desk and a pair of leather chairs facing it. Gold drapes covered the single large window along one wall, and the room was dim but for two sconces mounted near the door.

Mr. Edwards moved around the desk and waved Grace toward one of the leather chairs.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

The study door creaked behind her.

“Miss Mabry?”

Grace turned and stiffened at the sight of Jack Benningham’s towering frame.

“Lord Roxwood,” she said, rising. “You wish to speak with me?”

He stepped closer and reached for the back of the chair adjacent to hers. “I understand you’re leaving us.”

Anger flared in her. He was the one who had all but tossed her out. “Thanks to you, sir. Why have you sent for me?”

“I wish to hire you. I understand you have experience in operating an automobile?”

She blinked. He wanted to hire
her
, the woman who had publicly shamed him at Lady Bassett’s ball? “Yes, I can drive,” she said slowly.

“Good, it’s settled then. Edwards will fill you in on the details. Call for me at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” Releasing his hold on the chair, he turned to exit the chamber.

“Excuse me,” she called to him. “You ordered me off the premises yesterday, and now you expect me to work for you as your chauffeur. Shouldn’t you at least
ask
me if I want the position?”

Jack Benningham turned around to face her. Grace averted her gaze from the horrid mask. “Well?” His tone held an edge of hostility. “Do you?”

She made herself look at him. He was up to something. His reaction to her name yesterday made it clear he recognized her from the dowager’s costume ball. Perhaps it was some kind of trick to exact revenge for shaming him publicly, or he simply wished to humiliate her, making her become for all intents and purposes his slave. “What are your terms?” she asked.

His posture eased. “Mornings you’ll spend driving for me. Afternoons, you’ll return to your duties with the other workers.”

“I no longer work for the WFC.”

“Yes, I was told you got the sack.” His voice held no mockery. “The problem has been taken care of.”

She glanced toward Mr. Edwards, who nodded. Hope rose in her. If she stayed on, she could continue helping in the war effort. She could also remain on her own. Yet if she accepted the terms, she would have to look at the hideous mask every day and tolerate Lord Roxwood’s bullying manner.

“Well, Miss Mabry? A simple yes or no will suffice.”

She took a deep breath. “I accept.” Freedom and helping her brother outweighed this man’s arrogance and bad manners.

“Until tomorrow morning, then.”

She watched as he swiftly departed the study.

5

She found Mrs. Vance seated at the kitchen table when she returned to the gatehouse.

“Well?”

“I’ve been hired by Lord Roxwood.” Still dazed from her interview, Grace couldn’t keep from smiling. Edwards had taken her outside afterward to see the beautiful, shiny blue Daimler parked in the attached garage. “As his chauffeur,” she added. “I’m to drive him wherever he wishes during the morning hours each day.”

“He’s given you a post?” Mrs. Vance looked stunned. “But . . . where will you stay?” Her brow furrowed. “Surely your family won’t approve. You should ask your father.”

Grace’s smile slipped. “I’m to remain in the Women’s Forage Corps, where I’ll work in the afternoons. At least that’s what Mr. Edwards said.”

“Hah!” Mrs. Vance puffed up like a tea cozy. “And I suppose he thinks he’s in charge of the WFC now?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to know why his lordship would hire you as his driver. Surely he must have a capable servant to perform the task.”
Worry clouded her features. “Grace, did something else happen yesterday at the manor you haven’t told me about?”

Disturbed at having to tell a lie, or worse, to explain the full truth of her encounter, Grace said merely, “I assure you nothing inappropriate happened.”

“Oh, of course not.” Mrs. Vance turned the color of rose hips. “I just find this all so odd . . . and very high-handed of his lordship. Please don’t take this unkindly, Grace, but you were dismissed from the WFC, and he has no right—”

“Perhaps you’d better see this.” Grace withdrew an envelope from her jacket, which contained her employment agreement with Lord Roxwood, along with a letter for Mrs. Vance, and handed it to her.

“It seems I’ve been outmaneuvered,” Mrs. Vance said after reading the contents. “Lord Roxwood has contacted my supervisor in London. Mrs. Stewart agreed to his terms and sanctions his decision.” She waved the letter at Grace. “I suppose this means you’re staying.”

At that moment, Agnes appeared on the steps leading down from their room. “I overheard. We’re to remain in the WFC?” Excitement lit her brown eyes.

“If you’re willing,” Grace said.

“Oh, yes, Miss . . . Grace,” she said with a smile.

“I know you didn’t expect this turn of events, Mrs. Vance, but surely you’re happy Agnes will remain,” Grace said. “And I promise to do my best working in the afternoons.” She offered her most beseeching smile. “Please, ma’am, I’d like your blessing.”

“I won’t argue about keeping Pierpont. She’s an excellent worker.” Mrs. Vance eyed them both. “All right, Mabry, you’ve got my blessing, so long as you make the effort.”

“Thank you!” Impulsively, Grace hugged the older woman. She would try, and with hard work and sufficient time to learn she vowed to succeed—for Colin, and for her own self-respect.

“That’s enough now.” Mrs. Vance pulled away, again all business. “With your new schedule we’ll be a bit shorthanded when haymaking starts. You’ll take over Clare’s position as timekeeper, recording the harvest. You can work on reports during the morning hours before you leave for the manor.” She paused to glance at both of them. “Now both of you, into your uniforms and meet me at the barn. Grace, you and Clare are going to take those pigs to the butcher—and this time no mishaps.”

———

“So, how was your interview?” Agnes asked as they changed clothes upstairs. She was thrilled at the turn of events. They would stay in the country!

Her mistress buttoned up her uniform and said, “Well, of course, you should be the first to know. Lord Roxwood is rude, overbearing, wears the horrible steel mask everyone talks about . . . and we know him, Agnes.” She looked up. “Or at least I do. We met at Lady Bassett’s ball.”

Agnes paused in tying the laces on her boots. “Who is he?”

“Jack Benningham. I gave him a white feather that night.”

“He recognized you?” Her hopes fell. Perhaps they wouldn’t be staying, after all.

Grace shook her head. “His townhouse caught fire shortly after the ball. The
Times
made light of it, but he received burns to the face. And he’s blind now.” Her brow creased. “Still, he seems to know who I am.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” Agnes said. “If he ordered you to leave yesterday, why does he now want you to stay and work for him?”

“I have no idea, except that he decided to retaliate.”

Nightmares popped into Agnes’s mind as she recalled the night of the ball. “Surely he wouldn’t turn us over to the police?” she whispered.

“Of course not,” her mistress said. “I’m certain he wishes
only to humiliate me by hiring me to be on his staff. His arrogance in the past proves it.”

“You’ll tell me, though . . . if it’s not, won’t you?” Agnes asked. She imagined the only place worse than being in London would be rotting in jail.

“I will, but it’s nothing to worry about, really,” Grace said, smiling. “And if it means we get to stay, I’ll let Lord Roxwood have his fun.”

Grace felt relieved when she and Agnes arrived to find the pigs already caged and on the back of the cart. She tried to ignore the little stab of hurt she felt after her conversation with Agnes. Her maid kept the photograph of her family a secret, yet she wanted Grace to share her every thought. Still, it was no reason to be petty. She would just have to earn her maid’s trust.

Mrs. Vance hailed Agnes to follow her into the barn, while Grace was left to approach Clare. Expecting the usual caustic remarks, she was surprised when the woman remained quiet as she checked the latch on the cage.

Nor did Clare make eye contact as they both climbed up onto the seat and Grace took the reins, urging the team forward in the direction of the village. Silence continued to pass between them, and Grace grew more uncomfortable. Ignoring the noisy pigs in back, she occasionally glanced over at her passenger.

Clare sat rigid, looking straight ahead. Grace couldn’t tell if she was angry or bored. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she opened her mouth to speak.

Clare had the same idea. “Why did you take the blame for me yesterday, Mabry?”

Surprised at the direct question, Grace realized she’d been called by name and not the hated term
Duchess
. “It seemed the right thing to do,” she answered, then shrugged. “I may
not have let the pigs loose, but I’ll be the first to admit I’m less than fit for this kind of work. And in the barn, when I looked at you, I . . .”

She turned back to the task of driving the horses.

“You what?” Clare demanded.

“I realized we all probably have secrets we don’t want others to know.” She turned to meet Clare’s gaze full on. “And by the looks of it, Danner, your secret seemed dire. Am I right?”

Clare didn’t answer. Grace gripped at the reins and concentrated on the road as the cart went over a shallow rut. Then she felt a hand press against her sleeve. “Thanks, Mabry. I owe you.”

At Clare’s sincere tone, Grace almost smiled. She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “You know, Danner, I didn’t make much progress digging a trench the other day. I’m sure there’s a smarter way to go about it, but I haven’t a clue.”

She darted a glance in time to see Clare’s smile. The woman was quite pretty when she wasn’t making faces. “I can probably help with that, Mabry.”

Once the pigs were successfully delivered to the village butcher, Clare and Grace spent the next few hours finishing the drainage line alongside the north field.

“A good day’s work,” Clare said when they finished. Using the back of her sleeve, she wiped at the grime and sweat covering her face.

“An extra pair of hands helps,” Grace said as she leaned against the handle of her shovel. She felt exhausted, her fingers ached, and her soggy uniform chafed at her dampened skin, yet she was proud of her accomplishment. Not only had she pulled her weight for a change, but it seemed she’d formed a truce with Clare Danner.

———

“You met the Tin Man up at the manor this morning?” Becky said later, reaching across the table for another of the yeast rolls
she’d baked. Mrs. Vance had announced Lord Roxwood’s latest edict at supper, and the women were pleased she and Agnes would be staying. “Did you scream?”

Grace burst out laughing. “I hate to disappoint you, Becky, but he has no hunched back or pointed ears. Not even a limp. And his howl is more like a bark and quite sharp.”

“T-tell us what he said to you, Grace,” Lucy said, her eyes rounded like teacups.

“Very little, and he’s brusque to be sure. Though he was much more irritated with me yesterday when I chased a pig into his hedge maze and stumbled upon him there.”

“You met him yesterday, too?” Agnes frowned. “You didn’t tell me.”

“But at least I
did
tell you about him,” Grace countered. To the others she said, “Considering what happened, afterward . . . it seemed unimportant.” She darted a glance at Clare, who dropped her gaze.

Everyone but Becky seemed satisfied. “Well, we’re all here now and we want to know everything.”

Choosing her words carefully, Grace relayed the events inside the hedge maze.

“I didn’t know he was blind,” Becky said after she’d finished. “His scars must be horrible.”

“Yes, well, the man is formidable with or without them,” Grace said, feeling uncomfortable in discussing the intimate details of his wounds.

They volleyed her with more questions. What did the inside of the manor look like? What kind of automobile would Grace be driving? They even insisted on a full description of Lord Roxwood’s mask.

“I think you m-must have impressed him,” Lucy said at last. “He wouldn’t have asked you to be his driver, otherwise.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Grace didn’t share with them as she
had with Agnes her connection to Jack Benningham. Aside from his wish to take a turn at shaming her, she had no idea why he’d changed his mind and hired her.

Hopefully the coming day would reveal his motives.

The next morning, Grace arrived at the manor promptly at nine, anticipating her first day driving the Daimler.

Knowles answered her summons, looking down his beaked nose at her just as he had the day before.

“Is he ready?” she asked.

“You will please await
milord
in the foyer.”

Once inside, Grace took the time to observe more of the house. Like the manor itself, the interior décor was tasteful and not too pretentious. Floral carpeted steps ascended to the upper landing, and white-and-burgundy-striped paper covered the walls, accentuating the polished oak banister.