An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Twenty: What Grace Wanted

Grace made no effort to sleep that night. She paced her room like a caged animal, sometimes stopping by the window to stare out over the darkness of the street, sometimes throwing herself facedown upon her bed, before restlessness overtook her once more and she found herself compelled to move.

In the early hours of the morning, she began to feel hungry. She left her room and crept downstairs, hoping to find some of the funeral supper to finish off. To her surprise, a light still glowed from Mr Follet's — no, Uncle Bernard's study now. She crept closer and heard her mother's low, anxious voice. Of course, she and Emma would have stayed up late talking about the funeral. For once, Grace wanted to be a part of those mother-daughter confidences. She opened the door then stopped short. Emma was not there. It was Uncle Bernard who sat with her mother by the fireplace. Mrs Follet broke off mid-sentence and they both turned to her.

"Why, Grace dear," Bernard said. "Are you feeling better now?"

"What are you still doing here?"

"Your mother and I had matters of business to discuss." Bernard took out his pocket watch. "My! Past two already! How we have nattered on."

Mrs Follet rose to her feet. "I didn't realize it was so late! You can't possibly drive home at this hour — besides, I think it is raining."

Grace went to the curtains and pulled them back. Raindrops glistened on the other side of the window-glass but she could hear no patter of rain. "It has been raining," she said, "but it has stopped now."

"But with the clouds there will be no light, and the roads will be dangerous." Mrs Follet furrowed her brow in Bernard's direction. "I did not think to have the spare bedroom made up this morning. Give me but a minute and I will do it now."

"No need," Bernard said. "Archie's room will do me. We shared a bed often enough as children."

Mrs Follet's mouth dropped open. "Oh. Oh, if that is what you wish."

"I'll be off to bed then." Bernard yawned. "We can continue this discussion in the morning. There's no hurry. Goodnight, Nelly. Goodnight, Grace."

He prised himself out of the armchair and lumbered to the door. He had none of Mr Follet's height or thinness. Too many rich dinners had left a permanent flushed cast to his cheeks. And despite that, Grace thought bitterly, it was not Uncle Bernard who died first.

When he had left the room, Mrs Follet gave Grace a pitying look. "He doesn't mean to hurt."

"He didn't have to stay the night. Couldn't he have left us alone for a few days at least, gone back to London? Does he have to take everything from us?"

"Grace dear." Mrs Follet came closer and tentatively touched Grace's shoulder. "He is only trying to help. And he has assured me that we are welcome to stay on here as long as we need, until we can find a new place to live."

"Did he? Has he put it in writing?"

Mrs Follet rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Sometimes you are very like your father, dear."

"I wish people would stop comparing me to you and father!" she exploded. "Just tell me, has he put it in writing?"

"No, he has not. But, really, what need? He is your uncle, Grace. You need not mistrust him."

Grace moved away from her mother and went to the dying fire. "What will we do after we leave this house?"

"We will rent somewhere. Uncle Bernard has promised to help us find a place."

"Somewhere small and pokey no doubt, on what Father has left us!"

"He has left us comfortable," Mrs Follet said mildly. "Besides, Grace, you will marry James soon enough and be in London with him."