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Stealing Hearts

By Amber Stockton

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“Richard! Come quick!”

At her aunt’s shriek, Grace Baxton threw back the bedclothes and tumbled to the floor of her bedchamber with a thud, the pain of impact sending a searing burn from her left elbow to her shoulder. The faint sounds of commotion downstairs penetrated her groggy mind and sent Grace into action. She made a frantic attempt to detangle herself from the mass of sheets and coverlets, only imprisoning herself further before escaping. At nineteen years of age, regaining her equilibrium turned out to be harder than she’d thought.

Finally free, she jumped to her feet, grabbed her wrapper, and raced from the room, fastening the belt as she ran toward the main staircase. She held tight to the banister, lest she stumble again, and caught sight of her uncle rushing from the direction of the drawing room, the sides of his unfastened black wool smoking jacket flapping back against his arms. Grace followed close on his heels the moment her feet touched the lower floor of their home.

“Charlotte, what happened?” Uncle Richard spoke without preamble the moment he entered the formal dining room.

“See for yourself.” Aunt Charlotte extended her right arm toward the three-door vitrine cabinet with the mirrored backing. “Elise alerted me only moments ago.”

Grace stood and stared, her tightened throat making it almost impossible to breathe. The blood drained from her face, and she grabbed hold of the nearest Queen Anne chair to alleviate her sudden light-headedness. Raising her other hand to her face, she wiped the sleep from her eyes, blinked several times, and fought back a yawn. Grace couldn’t wrap her mind around the truth. The maidservant must be mistaken. One of their male servants always remained downstairs at night to prevent such an occurrence. Yet no manner of denial would erase the reality her eyes beheld at that moment.

How could something like this have happened? And while they all slept comfortably in their beds, completely ignorant of the intruder one floor below, making his way through several rooms and probing through their personal possessions. It made Grace’s skin crawl, and a shiver traveled up her back.

Robbed.

Even just thinking the word brought a sour taste to Grace’s mouth. She wet her lips and swallowed several times—as if that would make the circumstances less grave. Not exactly a desirable way to begin this cool May morning.

“Aunt Charlotte?” Grace croaked. “Your filigree China?”

“And my fine silver.” A pause. “The tea set as well.”

Her beloved aunt clutched an embroidered handkerchief to her lips. Her russet locks fell in soft waves down her back, evidence of a morning hair-pinning interrupted. She moved her hand away from her mouth and turned pain-filled eyes toward Grace.

“But that’s not all,” Charlotte added.

Grace followed her aunt’s gaze toward the curio cabinet in the corner. Her right hand flew to her mouth as a gasp escaped.

“No!” She stared at the empty case, the tightening in her chest returning. “Not the books, too.” Her aunt had spent a great deal of time tracking down several of those titles. And one in particular had been in the family for generations. Surely they weren’t as valuable to the thief as the silver and dishes. “Why would someone steal those?” Whoever robbed them couldn’t have known of their sentimental value. “They are precious to us, but to some unknown vagabond?”

“I can scarcely believe it myself.” Charlotte waved her fingers and beckoned Grace to come closer.

The woman who had been like a mother to her for the past eight years wrapped an arm around Grace’s shoulders. Her aunt wasn’t one for verbose speech, but her unspoken actions said more than any words could. Grace draped her left arm around her aunt’s waist and leaned her head onto the woman’s shoulder, offering what comfort she could. Charlotte tilted her own head to rest her cheek against Grace’s hair. The action made Grace self-conscious of her own state of undress and unkempt appearance. She reached up to touch her tousled caramel ringlets, grimacing at the telltale knots in desperate need of a brush. Harriet would see to that soon enough. They had more important matters at hand.

“What are we going to do?” Grace spoke to no one in particular.

Uncle Richard came to stand on Aunt Charlotte’s other side and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving his wife a gentle squeeze.

“First things first, we are going to send Matthew for the constable.” His voice took on a decided edge. “Then I will send out Bartholomew and Marcus to pay a visit to the area pawn broker shops. Whoever this thief is, I cannot imagine he would have taken all of this for himself.” Uncle Richard fastened his jacket. “If we act quickly, we may very well have a chance to retrieve some of these items.”

“Oh, Uncle Richard, do you truly believe that’s possible?”

For the first time that morning, a glimmer of hope entered Grace’s heart. Perhaps those precious books weren’t lost forever.

“Only time will tell, Grace, but we will not leave a single stone unturned in our quest to return our possessions to their rightful place.”

Aunt Charlotte pulled away from Grace and moved to stand facing her husband. Uncle Richard immediately pulled her to him and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“We will get through this. I promise.”

“I know. It is rather disconcerting to be facing this, that’s all.” Her aunt closed her eyes and leaned against Uncle Richard. “Thank you for being my strength.”

“Always,” he replied.

Grace felt like an intruder on the private exchange. She took a step backward, intending to slip out of the room and leave them alone. A moment later, though, her aunt and uncle turned toward her and opened their arms at the same time in her direction. Grace stepped into their embrace and cherished the immediate security it offered—despite the recent breach of the place she’d always considered a safe haven.

“All right.” Uncle Richard, the first to break his hold, cleared his throat. “Let me summon Matthew. Then we can finish seeing to our own preparations for the day.” He offered them both a wry grin. “I daresay we would not want the constable to pay us a visit and find us in our present state of undress.”

Aunt Charlotte’s cheeks colored a rosy shade of pink, and she bit her lower lip as if just remembering her morning routine had been so rudely interrupted. “You are absolutely right, my dear.” She turned toward her niece. “Come, Grace. We shall return upstairs, where Harriet and Marie will assist us. Then we can look in on Claire and Phillip.”

Oh right. Her cousins. She had forgotten about them in all the commotion and unrest. Good thing they slept better than she did. Grace envied that in a way. There would be questions enough once the seven- and five-year-old discovered what had happened. For now, let them benefit from the blissful peace of sleep.

❧

“Very good, Mr. Baxton.” The constable flipped his notepad closed and tucked it inside his dark chestnut trench coat. “I believe we have everything we need to further pursue this investigation.”

Grace peered around the corner from the doorway of the sitting room, her hands clenched around the smooth wood frame. Her uncle and the constable stood near the front door, wrapping up their conversation. Any moment now, her aunt would chastise her for eavesdropping and bid her to return to her seat. But she wanted to know what would be happening next.

“We appreciate your prompt arrival, Constable.” Uncle Richard reached out to shake the officer’s hand. “You can very well imagine our great distress first thing this morning when we discovered this had happened.”

“Yes.” His voice was grim. The man adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and slid his hand down to his trim handlebar mustache. He stroked the well-groomed hairs with his thumb and forefinger. “This is the fourth report we’ve had in the past fortnight. I do not wish to speculate, but it seems clear we have a serious situation at hand.”

Uncle Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Do you mean we are not the only ones to have suffered from such an unwelcome intrusion?”

“No.” The constable let out a frustrated sigh. “And each report is the same. The items stolen are quite valuable, but they are always from just one room in the home. Nothing else is disturbed, and there are no traces left following the burglary. Not even the slightest hint of forced entry or evidence of whether more than one individual might be involved.” He scratched his chin then dropped his arm to his side and hunched his shoulders. “It is aggravating, to say the least.”

Her uncle slipped his hands into the front pockets of his wool frock coat. “I have to admit I was greatly surprised, but it is even more disconcerting to know this thief has struck other residences as well.”

Grace shifted her weight from her left to her right foot and back again. She wanted to rush forward and ask about the other homes that had been robbed. But it wouldn’t be proper to interrupt. Chances were, they knew at least one, if not more, of the families who had become victims. Why hadn’t something like this made the rounds in drawing-room conversations during the past two weeks?

“Why are we hiding from Papa?” Claire’s hushed voice sounded from behind Grace’s skirts.

Grace glanced down to see her seven-year-old cousin peering into the main foyer, mimicking her own stance. “We aren’t hiding, Claire. We’re listening.”

“What is Papa saying to the policeman? And if you want to hear, why don’t you go into the hall and stand there with them?”

Uncle Richard paused in his response to the constable and glanced in their direction. Grace shrank back from the doorway, gently moving Claire back with her. “You need to be quieter, Claire. We don’t want to interrupt your papa’s conversation.”

“Grace.” Her aunt’s tone inserted more into that one word than an entire scolding could achieve.

“Yes, Aunt Charlotte?” She turned and assumed an air of innocence. “Do you need something?”

“Do not attempt to sugarcoat your present behavior, young lady.” Her aunt pursed her lips and dipped her chin while raising one eyebrow. “You know very well how inappropriate it is to listen in on a conversation of which you are not a part. You are acting more like a schoolgirl than a lady of nineteen. And you are being a rather poor example to Claire.”

Grace glanced again at her cousin, who crossed her arms and delivered an adorable smug expression. She pressed her lips into a thin line to avoid laughing at Claire’s antics and returned her attention to her aunt.

“You are right, Aunt Charlotte. Forgive me.” Grace placed both hands on her thighs. Her palms pressed into the smooth silk of her light coral morning gown as she bent to be eyelevel with her niece. “Claire, I was wrong to eavesdrop. We should be minding our manners. I apologize for leading you astray.”

Charlotte wagged her forefinger in a beckoning motion. “All right, both of you come back here right now and take your seats.” Aunt Charlotte aimed a glance at her daughter. “Claire, you have your morning studies to finish. And Grace, I would like you to assist Phillip with his letters.” She returned to the correspondence on the small table in front of her. “We shall know soon enough what is transpiring in the foyer. I assure you.”

Grace moved to stand behind Phillip at the longer table where the children did their schooling. In the autumn Claire would begin studies at the academy in Wilmington. And in just a few more weeks, the children would shift into their lighter schedule for the summer. That meant Grace could return to her uncle’s shipping office several days a week to assist with the office management. Usually she worked with Aunt Charlotte at Cobblestone Books, or helped Aunt Bethany with the antique collections at Treasured Keepsakes. But the shipping office at the port in Wilmington? So many people, so many ships, all coming and going. Grace could hardly wait.

As Phillip painstakingly copied the words and letters from his lead sheet, Grace alternated between watching the doorway to the sitting room and her aunt. It appeared the anxious anticipation had also bitten Aunt Charlotte. Although seemingly engrossed in the current message she wrote, her aunt also cast surreptitious glances from the corner of her eye toward the foyer. Grace quietly cleared her throat, and her aunt looked up. This time Grace raised a single eyebrow, and her aunt gave her a sheepish grin. It felt good to know she wasn’t the only one with an insatiable curiosity regarding her uncle’s conversation. Her aunt merely concealed it better.

Sudden commotion sounded in the entryway. The front door crashed open and banged against the stopper on the floor. Raised voices tumbled over each other in a muddled clamor of frantic tones. All four of them jerked their heads toward the din. What in the world had caused such a ruckus?

Grace looked to her aunt, who had scooted to the edge of her seat, her white-knuckled hands gripping the sides of the wingback chair. Every fiber in Grace’s body wanted to rush from the room to see the source of the disturbance. And just as she took a step in that direction, Uncle Richard appeared. His eyes immediately sought out his wife.

“They’ve found him.” Excitement fairly radiated from his face. “The thief.”

So soon? Grace straightened and looked from her uncle to her aunt. They’d just discovered the stolen items a few hours ago.

“But how?” Aunt Charlotte shook her head, closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again, as if wrapping her mind around the announcement. “When? Where?”

“Marcus and Bartholomew just got back with the news.” He jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. “Seems the thief didn’t cover his tracks very well. A few of the items were recovered at the third shop our young men visited. Since word spreads quickly among those brokers, when the guy attempted to sell a few more items at a different shop, the owner detained him and contacted the authorities.”

That was it? All the restlessness and turmoil of the morning ended just like that? Grace should be relieved, but somehow it all felt so anticlimactic.
Aunt Charlotte’s shoulders dropped, and all tension disappeared from her body. “So, we will soon have our items returned?”

“Not all of them.” Uncle Richard stepped farther into the room. “We have the tea set and the silver for certain. The rest, they haven’t determined yet.” He turned and gestured toward the foyer. “They are waiting for us to come to the shop and confirm our belongings. . .and to press charges.”

So the crook was still there? And her aunt and uncle would come face-to-face with him? Grace wished it could be her. She knew vengeance was best left up to God, but God hadn’t been wronged here. Her family had.

“Right now?” her aunt replied. “Do they need both of us present? Claire and Phillip are in the middle of their lessons.”

“So, leave them in Sarah’s capable care.” He paused. “Or Grace could accompany me.” Uncle Richard looked her way. “Since the items stolen will become hers one day, in a way, she has a vested interest in seeing them returned as well.”

“Oh Richard, Grace does not need to be present at something like this.”

“But, Aunt Charlotte, I want to go,” Grace rushed to interject.

“Can I go, too?” Claire chimed in.

“And me?” Phillip added.

Uncle Richard chuckled and walked to the table where his children sat. He reached out and tousled Phillip’s auburn hair then tapped Claire’s pert nose. “Not this time, children. You heard your mother. You need to complete your lessons.” He shrugged. “Besides, a dark and musty old pawnshop is no place for either one of you. And what we’ll be doing wouldn’t be of much interest. You would be much happier here at home.”

“So, may I go?” Grace brought the conversation back to the unanswered question. “As Uncle Richard said, some of those items partly belong to me. And he might not be able to accurately identify everything anyway.” She glanced at her uncle. “No offense intended, Uncle Richard.”

He splayed out his hands. “None taken.” Looking to his wife, he nodded. “Grace does have a point. It will be good to have one of you present to make certain everything is there.”

Aunt Charlotte looked back and forth between her husband and Grace, appearing to weigh the pros and cons in silence. “Very well.” She released a resigned sigh then pointed a warning finger at Grace. “But mind yourself and be careful. We are dealing with a thief, after all.”

“I will.” Grace maneuvered around the table to where her aunt sat and leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Excellent.” Uncle Richard clapped his hands together. “Let us not waste any more time. I am sure the constable wishes to close this case and move on to other matters.”

Grace wanted to get moving as well. The sooner they arrived, the sooner she could give this scoundrel a piece of her mind.

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