Page 15 of The Spinster's Resolve

A cold dread wrapped around Grace’s chest as her pulse thundered. Something about Penny’s demeanour unsettled her— the way her wide eyes flickered anxiously towards the corridor, the tremble in her fingers as she clutched her apron.

‘Go on, Penny,’ she encouraged gently, keeping her voice even despite the unease prickling at her skin.

Penny hesitated, then stepped forward, wringing her hands. ‘Miss, I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mr Stone, but I overheard something I wasn’t meant to...’

A chill curled down Grace’s spine. She didn’t hesitate—gesturing Penny into her chamber, she quickly shut the door behind them, muffling the distant creaks and murmurs of the sleeping household.

Penny’s breath came out in short, uneven bursts. She pressed a hand to her chest as if steadying herself before whispering, ‘It happened a couple of months before Mr Gibbs disappeared. I was cleaning a guest bedchamber when a few ladies entered, gossiping. I should have made my presence known, but... I didn’t. I was afraid I’d be reprimanded for not finishing my duties on time.’

Grace nodded, encouraging her to go on.

Penny swallowed, her voice dropping lower. ‘At first, it was nothing. Just talk of the gentlemen—who they liked, who they might entertain that evening. But then...’ She hesitated, casting a nervous glance toward the door before continuing, ‘They mentioned a man—I don’t know his real name, but they called him Falcon .’

A prickle of dread ran down Grace’s back. ‘Falcon? One of Gibbs’s cronies .’

Penny nodded. ‘One of them laughed, saying he wouldn’t look at any of them because he only prefers virgins .’

Grace’s stomach clenched at the words.

But Penny was not finished.

‘Then another woman—older, I think—said not to worry. Madame Jacqueline would be receiving a fresh supply from here tonight, and Falcon would get what he wanted when he returned to London.’

The room fell silent.

For a long moment, Grace could do nothing but stare—the weight of the revelation pressing against her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The confirmation. The truth they had all feared.

The girls were not just runaways. They were being kidnapped and sold. A fresh supply. Her fingers dug into her skirts, the fabric twisting under the pressure.

Penny’s voice wavered. ‘When they left the room, I slipped out unnoticed. But, Miss...’ She stepped forward, her face desperate, pleading. ‘Please don’t tell Mr Stone it was me. I don’t want to lose my job... or worse.’

Worse?

Grace’s pulse kicked harder. ‘Penny, why did you not tell anyone before?’ she demanded, sharper than she intended. ‘We have been searching for these girls for weeks—if you knew—’

Penny’s grip on her arm tightened painfully, her eyes suddenly wild with fear. ‘You don’t understand, Miss. You can’t tell the constable. You must not tell the magistrate.’

Grace froze. ‘Why?’

A sudden noise in the hallway made them both jump. It was Heather’s footsteps reaching her bedchamber. They both released a breath.

Penny’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened.

Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘They are all involved.’

The words struck like a blow. Grace’s mind reeled. ‘What?’

Penny nodded frantically. ‘The constable. The magistrate. I’ve seen them both being paid off by Gibbs and his men. I saw it with my own eyes!’

Grace stepped back, shaken. ‘But—how could this be?’

Penny clenched her jaw. ‘I swear it, Miss. On my day off, I was walking home through the woods behind Farmer Trent’s field. Thick as thieves, they were, passing a purse between them.’ She let out a shuddering breath. ‘If they had seen me...’

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

Grace felt sick.

The very men meant to uphold the law—the men they were going to turn to for help—were already bought. She pressed a hand to her temple, her thoughts spiralling. Who else? Who else was part of this nightmare?

She turned to Penny, eyes burning with newfound determination. ‘You did the right thing telling me.’

Penny swallowed hard. ‘You promise you won’t say it was me?’

Grace caught her hands, holding them tightly. ‘I swear it.’

Penny nodded, then cast one last glance towards the door before slipping out into the hallway.

As soon as she was gone, Grace sank onto the edge of her bed.

Her heart thundered against her ribs. This is bigger than I ever imagined. She had to tell Mr Stone. No one could be trusted—not the constable, not the magistrate. The entire system was compromised.

Her hands curled into fists. We are alone in this. Her gaze flickered toward the candlelight, the flame flickering violently as if reflecting the storm inside her. No one else would fight for these girls. No one else would bring them home.

Except her.

And Mr Stone.

Grace’s hands clenched into fists. Should she wake the others and tell them now, or wait until morning? There was little point in disturbing everyone’s sleep when nothing could be done until daylight. Still, one thing was certain—she would not sleep a wink that night.

GRACE HAD SPENT A SLEEPLESS night tossing and turning, and by morning, she looked worse for wear. Impatient and exhausted, she waited eagerly for Mr Stone to join her in the study. As soon as he walked through the door, she pounced on him, quickly explaining her conversation with the maid. His expression shifted from concern to grimness.

‘This is terrifying news, Mr Stone. I have lived here all my life, and my sister and I have often taken walks or ridden out unchaperoned. The thought that Heather might have been in danger all this time is unbearable! We must find these poor girls and return them to their families. There must be a way to determine where they were taken in London.’ Grace struggled to keep her composure.

Mr Stone’s expression grew even more solemn. His jaw tightened—the only visible sign of emotion—before he spoke, his voice low but resolute. ‘This confirms what we suspected. I will make enquiries about Madame Jacqueline’s establishment in London. It is time we arranged for Bow Street Runners to conduct formal investigations. I will contact them. Clearly, the local constable and magistrate cannot be trusted.’ He paused in contemplation.

His calm, logical approach jolted Grace from her distress. ‘I think it is prudent for us to continue with our original plan and visit the tenants.’ She paced up and down the study, then stood in front of Mr Stone, ‘We will complete our cottage inspections, gather as much information as possible about the missing girls, and see if we can get a lead on the whereabouts of Gibbs and his associates.’

WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT the Trent farm, Mr Stone inquired about Melissa, prompting Mary to recount the events of that fateful day.

However, Grace learned nothing new. She already knew Melissa had visited a friend at a neighbouring cottage about a mile away. On the day she disappeared, she had been late returning home, so Mary had sent their eldest daughter, Chastity, to fetch her. Yet, when Chastity set off to find her, Melissa was nowhere to be found.

After speaking with Melissa’s friend, they discovered that she had left around five o’clock. Concerned, Melissa’s father immediately searched the main pathway leading back to their home, but there was no trace of her anywhere.

As Mary spoke, Grace noticed that Chastity was listening closely, her expression pinched with unease. A flicker of guilt crossed her features. Grace made a mental note to question her privately. Using the excuse of inspecting the cottage, she asked Chastity to show her around. Once they were safely out of earshot of her parents, Grace began questioning her gently.

‘I noticed you seem very anxious about your sister. I want to reassure you that Mr Stone and I are doing everything we can to find her. Anything you remember from that day—no matter how small—could help us.’

Chastity remained silent, looking increasingly distressed. Grace hesitated, then pressed again. ‘Anything at all? Even the tiniest detail might lead us to Melissa.’

Suddenly, Chastity broke down in tears. Grace, unsure how to comfort her, simply held her, whispering soothing words. After several moments, Chastity began to speak.

‘It’s my fault she’s missing!’

Grace stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It was my fault,’ Chastity sobbed. ‘I was supposed to walk her home, and I told Ma I was going, but instead, I went to meet my beau. I thought she would come home on her own, like she always did.’

Grace’s mind whirred. These confessions from the female species will be the end of me, she thought. ‘So, when you told your mother that you could not find her when you went to collect her, that was a lie?’

Chastity choked on her words before admitting, ‘Yes, I never went to fetch her! She probably took the shortcut through the woods—it’s the fastest way back to the farm. We used that path often, even though Pa said it was dangerous. When she didn’t come home, I checked the woodland path all the way back to her friend’s house, but I found nothing. I never told Pa about us using the woods pathway, so he still believes she went missing along the main road. He keeps searching there, even now.’

Chastity’s sobs resumed, and Grace knew better than to push her further. She wrapped an arm around the girl, offering quiet reassurance.

AS THEY MOUNTED THEIR horses, Grace recounted the conversation to Mr Stone. He looked suitably astonished.

‘Miss Skye, you continue to astound me with your feats. Your considerable talents are wasted in this place.’

Grace blushed, feeling both pleased and embarrassed. ‘Shall we check the woodland pathway before we return home?’ she asked, her voice betraying urgency.

Mr Stone nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Together, they made their way towards the clump of trees behind the Trent farm. It was a small patch of woodland, so they agreed to dismount and search on foot. They brought along Jimmy, who trudged behind them, clearly bored with his role as chaperone and bodyguard. Grace and Mr Stone split up to search different areas.

Grace had no idea what she was looking for, but she figured anything out of place—signs of a struggle, discarded clothing, jewellery—might be significant. Not wanting to dirty her hands, she picked up a fallen branch and fashioned it into a makeshift stick to sift through the leaves. Mr Stone, on the other hand, used his boots to shift the underbrush aside.

They worked in silence for half an hour, each hoping for some clue, when Grace’s stick nudged a large mound of earth. Instead of feeling firm, the soil was soft, and a horrible stench rose from it. Wrinkling her nose, she covered it with her gloved hand and prodded the leaves away.

Her breath caught.

A hand. A body.

Terror surged through her. The stench overwhelmed her, making her stomach churn violently. In a blind panic, she turned and fled, her feet tangling in the uneven ground. She stumbled, nearly toppling over a root—only to collide with a solid chest. Steady arms caught her before she fell.

‘Miss Skye, what happened?’ Mr Stone’s voice was low, taut with concern.

Gasping, Grace pointed shakily towards the mound, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Mr Stone’s grip tightened protectively around her shoulders. ‘It is all right,’ he murmured, guiding her towards the edge of the woods. He sat her down on a fallen tree, crouching beside her until her breathing steadied. Only when she nodded did he return to the site with Jimmy.

Still shaken, Grace gathered her courage and followed them after a few moments. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she forced herself to continue. As she approached, she saw Mr Stone and Jimmy carefully removing mud and leaves from the body.

Mr Stone turned to face her, peeling off his gloves. ‘Are you all right, sweet?’

The unexpected endearment made her pause, her heart stuttering in her chest.

She nodded, moved by his concern. But as his hand settled gently on her shoulder, a nervous energy flickered through her.

‘Who is it?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mr Stone’s expression was grim. ‘A middle-aged man. He could be Gibbs, but as neither Jimmy nor I have met him, we need someone to confirm it.’

Relief flooded through her—it wasn’t one of the missing girls. But the discovery was still unsettling. Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders. ‘I can identify him. I have met him once, as you know.’

Mr Stone hesitated. ‘Miss Skye, I do not advise it. You should not have to see this.’

Grace straightened. ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Stone, but I am fine now. I was merely startled before. It will save time if I identify him.’

Instead of arguing, he inclined his head and offered his hand. ‘Very well. Take my hand. I would rather not risk you feeling faint.’

Grace, grateful for his steadying presence, took his hand and allowed him to lead her. As they neared the corpse, Jimmy approached them, he had uncovered something else—a book lying several feet away from Gibbs.

‘Look, Miss Grace.’ He handed her First Impressions —the book Grace had given to Melissa.

Grace froze, her fingers trembling as she opened the first page and saw her inscription. A shudder ran through her, sharp and sudden.

Mr Stone’s voice was steady but grave. ‘We have not found any other bodies, Miss Skye. But we still need to search the rest of the woods to make sure.’

Swallowing her fear, she nodded.

Grace looked down at the bloated, mottled face of the corpse. There was no mistaking it.

‘That’s him,’ she whispered. ‘That’s Mr Gibbs.’

THE RIDE BACK TO THE Manor was unusually quiet. Mr Stone sat deep in thought, his brow furrowed, while Grace’s mind raced with the implications of what they had uncovered. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her chest—Mr Gibbs was dead, Melissa’s book had been found near his body, and young girls were being taken right under their noses.

She gulped hard, holding back her sob. If Melissa had been taken to London, was there still a chance to save her? What if they discover her body in the woods too? A paralysing dread jolted through her, stealing her breath. No, I must stay hopeful, she is alive, I know it, she thought fiercely.

As soon as they arrived at the Manor, Mr Stone dismounted first, turning to help Grace down. His hands lingered at her waist just a second too long. She told herself it was nothing—just a gentleman assisting a lady—but the warmth of his hands burned through the fabric of her riding habit.

He stepped back swiftly. ‘I will return to the site with Jimmy. The body must be reported, and we need to ensure no further evidence is disturbed.’

Grace nodded, though the idea of him returning to that grim place unsettled her. ‘Be careful.’

Something flickered in his gaze. ‘I will, Miss Skye.’

Without another word, he strode back towards his horse, leaving her standing at the Manor steps, her heart still unsteady.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension after Grace told them what happened. The horror of it all clung to them like a shroud.

That evening, the household dined in near silence. Heather, usually so lively, barely touched her food. Even Mrs Merriweather, who had a habit of filling silence with pleasant conversation, seemed unusually subdued.

Grace barely tasted her meal. Her mind kept returning to the body in the woods, to Melissa’s book, and to the way Mr Stone had looked at her when she said she could identify Gibbs.

She had expected him to argue. To insist she be spared the sight of the body.

But he had let her choose.

And something about that—about the way he had trusted her strength—unsettled her more than anything.

The night dragged on. Grace paced restlessly in her chamber, unable to find comfort in her bed. The image of that decaying hand, the sickening stench, the way her stomach had lurched in horror—it haunted her.

She pressed her hands to her face, inhaling deeply. It was over. They had found Gibbs. Now they needed to find Melissa.

A gentle knock at the door made her jump.

‘Who is it?’ she called softly, half-expecting Heather to complain about her insomnia.

To her surprise, it was a man’s voice that answered.

‘Are you up?’

Mr Stone.

A restless energy hummed through her veins. She hesitated, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, strands having slipped from her braid. She hastily tucked them away, put her mob cap on, and pulled her shawl around her shoulders before opening the door.

He stood there, taller than he seemed in the daylight, his expression unreadable. A trace of fatigue darkened his hazel eyes, yet he remained composed, steady.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

His gaze drifted slowly down the length of her body. His eyes sparked embers. His gaze was entirely too bold, and yet, she found herself powerless to look away. The weight of his regard sent an inexplicable thrilling tremor through her. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘May I come in?’ his voice lower than usual.