Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [69]
Grace sat still and silent for a few moments, holding her work. What should she do? Could she let James know? How? If she did inform him, what would he want her to do?
And then the most frightening answer came into her mind: he would want her to steal the certificate!
Immediately she found herself shaking her head. No, she wouldn’t dare do such a thing!
But if she didn’t, came the voice from inside her, then was she prepared to stand by and let someone else take the fortune that her own father had made? Was she prepared to let Charlotte Unwin steal Lily’s identity – and perhaps never see her sister again? To allow the Unwins to prosper unchecked?
No! She was not prepared for any of those things. And they would all happen if she didn’t do something to stop them. Even if she were to fail in the attempt, at least she must try . . .
Coming to this decision and knowing it must be acted upon before she lost courage, she put down her embroidery and, taking a quick look at Jane to see if she had even registered her presence, went out of the room, down the corridor and (after listening at the door for a moment to make sure no one was in there) slipped back into the red room.
Oh, easy, she breathed, for the manila envelope was still on the desk. She took eight quick steps across to it, removed the thick white paper out of the envelope and read the top lines: Notice of Adoption in the County of Middlesex. Further down, Lily’s name was inked in, and the names Letitia and Reginald Parkes cited as Lily’s birth mother and father.
Oh wicked Unwins!
She didn’t stop to read more, but (having the foresight to leave the empty envelope in its correct position on the desk) folded the certificate and pushed it inside her bodice. She turned towards the door – and then with a feeling of terror heard the voice of Sylvester Unwin calling for Rose to bring a decanter of port to the red room. Unluckily for Grace, Sylvester Unwin had decided to return to the red room and the larger fire.
Hearing his hated voice just outside the door, Grace froze, and then, seeing there was only one place to hide, she quickly pulled opened the door of the tall cupboard and got inside. She held it closed with trembling fingers.
Through the tiny crack between the doors Grace saw Rose follow Sylvester Unwin into the room. The maid spent a moment sweeping and tidying the hearth, then went out, and came back a moment later carrying a decanter of a rich red liquid on a tray. Sylvester Unwin spoke not a word of thanks to Rose, but took off his outer jacket and hung it on the coat stand, poured himself a glass of port and pulled a comfortable chair close to the fire.
Grace, breathing in as shallow a way as possible, felt faint with fear. She bit down hard on her lip to bring herself to her full senses, telling herself she could overcome this, that she could win – she just had to keep silent and still until he left the room . . .
But Sylvester Unwin did not seem inclined to leave the room; in fact, he seemed to be making himself at home, as if he intended to stay put for some time. Compelled to observe, Grace watched him settle into the chair; chest out, legs astride, self-important even in the simple act of sitting. After a moment he eased off his boots and leaned over to stand them at the side of the hearth, then removed his gloves, pulling first at the right one, and then the left, dropping each in turn on to the floor. He turned slightly and reached into his jacket pocket for a cigar, which brought his left hand into full view, and it was then that Grace, to her complete and utter amazement and horror, saw that this whole left hand was a contraption made of metal plates and rivets fastened to the stub of his wrist by canvas straps.
And then, of course, she knew the truth; the reason why cigar smoke and macassar hair