Page 28 of The Spinster's Resolve

F inally, he spoke, his voice dripping with amusement.

‘My, my, Miss Skye. What an imagination you have,’ he mused, pressing the tip of the swordstick against Heather’s bodice. She yelped as the fabric tore. He was toying with them.

Grace clenched her fists.

‘But since you seem so eager to know, allow me to satisfy your curiosity.’

He leaned forward slightly, the blade gleaming between them.

‘I have killed many people, Miss Skye. My first kill was my father.’

His eyes darkened into soulless pools.

Both ladies gasped, clutching each other’s hands in terror.

‘You monster,’ Grace breathed.

A one-sided smile appeared on his hollow face.

He scoffed. ‘If you had met my father, you would not be calling me the monster. He was a hateful bastard who deserved what was coming to him. After Mother died, he became especially violent when he drank. The final straw was when he pushed me down the stairs in a fit of drunken rage and broke my leg. No one confronted him. No one intervened. They just let it happen. Edward stood at the top of the stairs and just watched.’

His face twisted with rage as he spoke, his voice no longer directed at them but at some unseen spectre of the past. ‘They can all go to hell for all I care.’

The carriage lurched violently as it tore down the narrow country road, its wheels skidding dangerously on the damp earth. Grace dug her nails into the worn leather seat, her breath shallow. If she didn’t act fast, they would never make it out alive.

She had to keep him talking as she furiously sought a way to escape.

‘Perhaps your father did deserve to die, but what of the others? Edward must have been a child at the time,’ Grace reasoned, trying to sound neutral.

His rage simmered down.

He let out a humourless chuckle. ‘Quite right. But he was also a coward.’

He inhaled deeply, his fingers drumming idly against his cane.

‘He knew the truth, of course. I think he secretly admired that I dared to do the deed, so to speak.’

His lips curled in amusement. ‘Edward covered for me. That was when he made those ridiculous watches with the inscription.’

Grace latched onto a crucial detail.

‘Why did you continue to pretend you had a limp?’

He smirked. ‘Pity is a powerful weapon, my dear. It makes people underestimate you. It makes them pliable. It certainly helped me keep Edward’s support. He assumed, of course, that I would be “alright” after our father was dead. But you, Miss Skye, understand better than most that the world is a cruel place. To carve out a place in it, you must be even crueller.’

Grace swallowed down her disgust and pressed further.

‘How did you become involved with the smuggling ring?’

His expression turned grim. ‘As it turns out, my father left the family inheritance in shambles. The coffers were empty. You can imagine our dismay.’

His voice turned mocking. ‘But I did not let it defeat me. No, I made it my mission not only to replenish our fortune but to exceed it—by any means necessary. Edward was happy to turn a blind eye if I showered him with riches.

‘The ton are hypocrites, Miss Skye. Quick to condemn, yet just as quick to abandon their morals when discretion can be ensured. And that’—he leaned forward slightly—‘was my perfect business model. Houses of depravity are remarkably lucrative. Smuggling, intoxicants, flesh—there is no shortage of demand, only of supply. I was highly successful for years.’

He gave a dramatic sigh.

‘But as my business expanded, I required more isolated Estates. The late Lord Armitage was a doddering fool, easily manipulated into acquiring properties all over England. He blindly accepted my recommendations, and with a few well-placed bribes, his man of business conveniently ignored how those Estates were truly being used.’

Grace swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

She was beginning to grasp the true extent of his villainy.

She guessed aloud, ‘His son, Lord Gareth, found you out, didn’t he?’

Lord Harry clicked his tongue. ‘He started asking too many questions.’

A slow, sinister smile spread across his face.

‘It is such a shame that the carriage wheel was so fragile—or rather, that it became fragile. I was not sure he would die in that accident, but when he did, well—what a relief. It would have been so inconvenient to climb inside and finish him off myself. I actually rather liked him.’

He shrugged, as if discussing a broken teacup rather than a man’s life.

Grace’s blood ran cold.

‘Not six months after this, for some reason, his father started asking too many questions as well.’

Immediately, Grace calculated that this must have been after she had sent that letter.

‘The old Duke summoned me, demanding explanations for the Estates, especially Skye Manor. Somehow, he found out what Gibbs had been up to. I never figured out how. Barnes was supposed to be intercepting all communications.’

His brow furrowed.

‘It must have been Barnes who ratted me out.’

Grace remained silent.

She would not be the one to tell him that her letter initiated the late Duke’s investigation.

‘I had to eliminate the man of business before he could betray me any further. But the damage had been done. The Duke threatened to have me arrested.’

Grace swallowed hard. ‘So, you had to poison him too. With laudanum.’

Lord Harry grinned proudly.

‘Correct, Miss Skye. An easy task. The man was fond of his brandy, and I always keep a vial handy.’

He reached into his inner coat, retrieving a small glass bottle.

‘I take a drop now and again myself.’

Grace pressed a shaking hand to her chest as she fought to stay composed.

‘You murdered him.’

Lord Harry tilted his head.

Heather let out a strangled sob, covering her mouth.

His smile widened.

Casually slipping the bottle back into his pocket, he continued, ‘By then, I realised my business had been compromised, especially after the family discovered the Duke had been poisoned. And so, it became a race against time to erase all traces of my business.’

‘Why did you kill Gibbs? He was working for you, was he not?’

His expression soured, twisting in disgust.

‘Unfortunately, Mr Gibbs turned out to be both incompetent and greedy. That was my mistake—taking him on because your cousin recommended him. He was careless, kidnapping too many girls from the same area. He was indiscreet. He had to be silenced, so I took care of him myself.’

The carriage gave a violent jolt, sending them all slightly forward.

The road was becoming rougher.

Grace’s blood turned to ice. He had killed his father. Lord Gareth. The old Duke. Gibbs. The man of business. How many more? How many others had simply disappeared into the night, silenced forever by this monster?

‘Is my cousin... Charles part of all this?’

She dreaded the answer.

Lord Harry tilted his head back and laughed.

‘That dolt? Heavens, no! He was trying his utmost to join the prestigious Odd Fellows Society, and I took advantage of his greed. I told him I would put in a good word for him if he secured an Estate near the southeast coast. He complied and recommended his friend Gibbs.’

A glint of menace flashed in his eyes.

Grace was relieved.

There was no love lost between her and Charles, but at least he was not a complete blackguard.

‘I did try to dispose of Gabriel, you know, but he is remarkably difficult to kill.’

Lord Harry spoke with chilling indifference, casually picking a speck of lint from his sleeve.

‘Perhaps I can still succeed—through you, Miss Skye. When he comes to rescue his beloved spinster, my men will ambush and kill him.’

His gaze locked onto her, a wave of cold terror crashed over her, her limbs stiff with fright.

Grace forced herself to hold his stare. She refused to let him see her fear.

‘You are mistaken if you think the Duke will lift a talon to save us. He does not care for me in the way you suggest.’

Lord Harry chuckled, the sound dripping with amusement.

‘No, but he did offer you a position as his mistress. Oh, come now, Miss Skye—no need to be coy—I was there that night. You and the Duke really should have chosen a more private location for your little argument by the fountain.’

Grace stiffened.

Beside her, Heather turned to look at her, her expression demanding answers.

But now was not the time for explanations.

‘Ah, yes, the rejection,’ Lord Harry continued, smirking. ‘I must admit, that gave me pause. So I tested the waters, spreading a little rumour about you in the ballroom just to see how the Duke would react. To my surprise, he went to great pains to keep your name out of the scandal sheets. No one does that, my dear, unless there is a grande passion.’

His smirk widened. ‘I must admit, it was a toss-up between kidnapping you or Elizabeth. But once you started prying into my affairs, you sealed your own fate. And your sister—’ he reached out and ran a finger down Heather’s bodice . She recoiled , horrified, while Grace seethed . ‘—well, she is a delightful bonus.’

Grace curled her fingers so tightly, her nails bit into her palms .

‘I am counting on Gabriel coming for you. And when he does, my men and I will be waiting for him at my Estate.’

Heather’s voice wavered. ‘And if he does not come?’

Lord Harry tilted his head, grinning. ‘There are very wealthy men in France who would pay dearly for someone like you.’

Heather’s breath hitched.

He chuckled.

Heather gasped, her grip tightening around Grace’s arm.

Lord Harry turned his gaze back to Grace, smug . ‘And as for you, Miss Skye—I shall keep you close. You are a fool if you think Gabriel is indifferent to you. Perhaps he does not want you as his wife, but he wants you.’

Grace’s heartbeat roared in her ears.

They had to get off this carriage before they reached his Manor.

She needed to distract him .

She needed to stall .

‘Your brother? You let him take the blame for everything.’

Lord Harry shrugged. ‘The fool. I never asked him to do that. It’s his fault. He wanted the money, the prestige, but lacked the stomach for the means.

‘When he started talking about “cleaning himself up,” about marriage and respectability—well, he deserved what he got.’

Grace pressed further. ‘So, he was not an accomplice? What about that pocket watch? He was the one who wanted a replacement.’

Lord Harry laughed again . ‘Oh yes, your feeble attempt to find out who made the watch? Yes, Miss Skye, I was on to you! I led you to the watchmaker on purpose.

‘When I returned to London, I realised my watch had broken off, so I stole Edward’s one.’

He laughed again, as though it were all a great joke .

Heather stared at him, appalled . ‘So, you framed your brother?’

Grace’s voice sharpened. ‘He sacrificed himself for you. Do you have no remorse?’

His expression twisted into rage .

‘Shut up, you whore! Do not tell me what I should feel!’

A deathly silence fell in the carriage.

No one spoke.

The air was thick with tension .

The sisters sat frozen with terror, while their captor seethed in fury .

Grace’s mind was racing .

She needed an opening .

And then—

Fate intervened.

The carriage veered onto a narrow lane, forcing the driver to slow down.

This was it.

Without hesitating, Grace seized the blade end of the sword that was pointed towards her sister. A struggle ensued. Lord Harry, caught off guard, cursed as he tried to wrest back control. But Grace pressed her advantage—and kicked him hard between the legs.

Her sturdy walking boots did more damage than intended.

Lord Harry howled in pain, doubling over with a strangled groan, clutching himself as he swore viciously at her.

Grace seized the moment.

‘Heather, open the door!’ she shouted.

Heather obeyed instantly, fumbling with the handle. As the door swung wide open, Grace gave an almighty shove—and both sisters tumbled out of the carriage, landing hard on a grassy embankment before rolling down the slope.

The world spun as they hit the earth, tumbling through tangled brambles and damp undergrowth. Dazed but uninjured, Grace blindly grasped for her sister, yanking her to her feet.

‘Run! ’ she gasped.

Without looking back, they sprinted into the thick woodland, knowing full well that the carriage could not follow them on such treacherous terrain.

But they were not safe yet.

Behind them, Lord Harry’s enraged screams pierced the evening air.

‘James! Turner! Get those bitches!’

The carriage came to a screeching halt, and two men scrambled off, crashing into the undergrowth in pursuit.

Grace and Heather darted deeper into the forest, weaving through the gnarled trees, their breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

Too slow. We’re too slow.

Heather’s skirts were snagging on roots, slowing them down. The sound of heavy boots trampling through the underbrush was drawing closer. Grace grabbed Heather and crouched behind a bush.

And then—luck .

James and Turner sprinted past them in the opposite direction, missing their hiding spot entirely.

Mercifully, the darkness had begun to creep in, concealing them in the thick shadows of the trees.

Grace exhaled shakily. ‘Stay low. Don’t move,’ she whispered.

They crouched behind a thick hedge, pressing themselves against the damp earth as the men’s footsteps faded into the distance.

We have to get help.

Frantically, Grace scanned their surroundings. Through the branches, she spotted a faint outline of a structure in the distance.

Heather nudged her. ‘Look! A barn!’

It was their only hope.

Ensuring that no one else was following them, they crept towards it, silent as ghosts, their hearts pounding in their chests.

As they neared, their stomachs dropped.

The barn was derelict.

The wooden planks were weathered and splintered, the doors slightly ajar. No lanterns, no signs of life.

It was abandoned.

But they had no choice.

Steeling themselves, they shoved against the door. It creaked open with an eerie groan, revealing the dark interior.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood and decay. There were a few soggy haystacks, broken farm tools, and a pile of discarded sacks in the corner.

It was not much.

But for now, it was shelter.

And it might just keep them alive.

Heather was distraught. ‘What do we do now? He will find us easily here.’ Her eyes widened further when she spotted her sister’s hand. ‘You are bleeding so much!’

‘’Tis nothing,’ Grace said, wrapping her handkerchief around the wound. The fabric immediately became blood-soaked. ‘Look, they ran in the opposite direction to where we are now. There is a chance he will not find us here. I say we stay put and, at first light, start making our way back.’

She looked around, quickly assessing their surroundings. ‘In the meantime, take this sickle—and this,’ she added, handing Heather the broken farm tools. ‘I am going to move these haystacks to the hatch loft, and we can hide behind them. If they find us, we will use these tools to strike first. We have the element of surprise, and hopefully, that will be enough to help us survive.’

Restored by her sister’s courage, Heather helped Grace with the hay, and together they climbed the rotting ladder, pulling it up with them to prevent pursuit. The sisters huddled behind the hay and held each other tight for many long hours, too afraid to relax or fall asleep as the barn fell into complete darkness with the setting sun. The silence was both a blessing and a torture.

As dawn broke, the sisters were able to discern more of their surroundings. The holes in the roof allowed them a glimpse of the countryside. The lane from which they had fled the night before was visible, and it appeared to be a well-travelled road. A few carriages and horse riders had already passed.

But the heavy black carriage of Lord Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps, the sisters thought, they could hail down some help from the travellers.

‘Come, we cannot stay here forever. We must try and get some help.’

As they helped each other down, clutching their makeshift weapons, they crept towards the barn door. Heather spotted two riders in the distance. Eager to reach them before they disappeared from sight, she bolted forward.

Alarmed, Grace hissed, ‘Heather, slow down!’

But it was too late.

An ambush.

Turner had been lying in wait near the grass bank. He easily wrestled the weapon from Heather whilst James lifted her over his shoulder with ease.

‘No!’ Grace caught up just as they turned, swinging her hoe with all her strength. The metal head cracked against Turner’s skull with a sickening thud.

He groaned and staggered, but she had already pivoted, striking James across the legs, sending him crashing to his knees and forcing him to release Heather.

A second blow to James's shoulder sent him sprawling.

But before Grace could land a third, Lord Harry caught hold of her from behind.

With brute strength, he wrenched the hoe from her grasp and threw her to the ground.

‘Heather, run!’ she gasped—just before a violent blow to the head plunged her into darkness.

SHE AWOKE IN THE DREADED black carriage.

Her skull throbbed viciously, her vision blurred. She tried to move—but couldn’t. Her wrists and ankles were hog-tied, the coarse rope digging into her skin. A tight gag stifled any attempt to scream.

But she was alone.

The carriage rocked violently as it sped at breakneck pace along the road.

Where is Heather? Did she escape?

The thought consumed her, terror rising like bile in her throat. Please, God, let Heather be safe. She could not bear to consider the alternative.

Then—thunderous hoofbeats.

Riders.

Galloping fast. Getting closer.

She tried to shout for help, but the gag turned her cries into muffled whimpers. Hot tears of frustration and fear spilled down her cheeks.

Then—a voice.

A strong, commanding voice.

‘Stop this carriage!’

A voice she would recognise anywhere.

The Duke.

Relief surged through her like a tidal wave, her entire body sagging in exhaustion.

He was here.

The carriage shook as if someone had leapt onto it. The horses neighed and reared as the wheels screeched against the road.

A scuffle. A thud. A scream.

‘No, I can explain!’ Lord Harry’s voice rang out, shrill with panic.

A heavy crack. A whimper.

Then, desperation.

‘Please, no! Please stop! She’s in the back—she’s alive!’

The carriage door burst open.

And there he was.

The Duke climbed inside in a flash, his hands immediately working at the knots binding her wrists. ‘Grace, my love, are you all right?’

His voice was raw with worry.

His hands, usually so controlled, were shaking.

‘Are you hurt?’ He ran his hands over her arms and legs, checking for broken bones.

Then, his gaze landed on her hand.

The cut. The dried blood.

He gasped.

Without hesitation, he reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a handkerchief.

A handkerchief she knew.

Her handkerchief.

The very same one she had once used at Skye Manor, pretending to have a cough—a lifetime ago.

The world tilted.

His face became unfocused.

Pain roared through her skull, a sickening throb behind her eyes.

Then—darkness.