Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [70]
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Chapter Twenty-Six
Again, Grace bit her lip, this time so hard that she tasted blood in her mouth and almost gagged at it. A hundred questions and a hundred sensations came into her head so that she felt she could hardly control herself. She wanted to leap out of the cupboard, shower blows on Sylvester Unwin, scream obscenities at him. She wanted to pick up the paperknife and plunge it into his heart! How she’d suffered because of this man. He’d taken her innocence, stolen her past and ruined her future – and now he was involved in a plan to take the inheritance which rightfully belonged to her family. How could such a man be allowed to live? She wanted to kill him where he sat.
And yet, as she stood hidden in the darkness, only just managing to restrain the fury inside her, she knew the impossibility of her situation. She did not dare to act upon her wishes. She had neither the strength nor the audacity, and was too terrified of the repercussions. A man of his size and strength would be able to overpower her in an instant. And besides, even if she had a knife or a gun to hand, to take someone’s life in cold blood was an awesome and terrible thing. She was not capable of it!
Her heart hammered in her ears as she fought to control herself and stay absolutely still and quiet. She must keep calm, stay alert and wait for the opportunity to escape. Only if she managed to get out of the room unseen did she have a hope of beating the Unwins.
Sylvester Unwin, completely unaware of the presence of anyone in the room, tapped the cigar on to the desk with his mechanical hand. In his head he was calculating the likely amount that they would receive as a result of the fraud. The whole inheritance amounted to a hundred thousand pounds, someone had told him. A hundred and fifty thousand, another had said. Even shared half and half with his cousin, it would be a very acceptable amount. Enough for a new mourning store in one of the big industrial cities, perhaps, Manchester or Birmingham . . .
Thinking about the likely amount and the means by which it was being obtained, he turned suddenly to look at the envelope on the desk. He stared at it for a few seconds, then – his chair being on wheels – he moved a foot or so nearer the desk and stretched out his hand to pick it up.
Grace went icy cold.
He looked inside, then looked again, swearing incredulously. He threw it down and shouted a string of curses. He peered at the floor, opened drawers in the desk and then, blaspheming and shouting, ran from the room.
Grace didn’t hesitate. She slipped out of the cupboard, left the red room and returned to the small sewing room, which was now empty. She picked up the piece of embroidery she’d been working on earlier, and then sat still for a moment to allow her mind to take in what she’d just seen and try to cope with the immensity of it.
It had been he. Of course! Hadn’t she sensed that all along? He’d been the figure in church at the dignitary’s funeral, the one whose attendance had brought her out in shivers. And in his store – she hadn’t recognised him exactly, but something deep inside her had registered the horror of his presence. His had been the remembered acrid cigar smell and the scented hair pomade. His the aura of evil . . .
From elsewhere in the building she heard shouting and she quickly bent over her sewing, hearing the crackle of paper as she did so. The certificate! She must get rid of it as soon as she could.
But where to put it?
The fire was the obvious place, but, it being so late in the day, there were barely three poor coals smouldering in the grate and no flame to catch the thick paper quickly and burn it to ashes. Besides, it would surely be better to keep it – in order