Page 69 of The Highland Heist
He was almost at her side when he caught sight of someone standing just beyond the threshold. But before he could do anything, Grace slammed the door shut, narrowly missing the poor soul outside.
“What are you doing?”
She spun toward him, her eyes impossibly wide. “That was Tony Dixon,” she said, pointing a shaky finger toward the door. “At the door. The ghost of Tony Dixon knocked and I opened it. And there he was.”
A knock came, almost as if to underscore her words. “Grace, let me in.”
Grace’s eyes grew wider. If that were possible. “See?”
“Tony Dixon?” Frederick repeated, as if the name might suddenly make sense if he said it out loud.
She nodded solemnly. “His ghost.”
He narrowed his eyes at his wife. There had to be a rational explanation for this. “Grace, ghosts don’t knock.” Had he truly said that out loud?
“How do you know?” she shot back, her voice high pitched and panicked. “I think Jacob Marley knocked before visiting Ebenezer Scrooge.”
Another knock interrupted her, this one more impatient. “For heaven’s sake, I’m not dead!”
“A villainous ghost would say that, Frederick,” she squeaked and then met his gaze. Whatever she saw there seemed to calm her. “You’re right. If he were truly a villainous ghost, he’d just walk through the door.”
Frederick stared at her a moment longer and then opened the door, revealing a shivering Tony Dixon who, in Grace’s defense, looked as if he had crawled out of a graveyard somewhere and was barely clinging to life.
With a nod of gratitude, Tony stepped across the threshold and would have collapsed to the floor if Frederick hadn’t caught him. He felt very much flesh and blood. Drenched, shivering, and cold, but alive.
“Grace, call for Zahra. We’ll need her help. Have her bring a blanket from the bed and meet me in the library. The smaller room will be much warmer than this open space.”
Grace sent another look to Tony, then Frederick, and ran up the stairs, calling for Zahra as she went.
Frederick adjusted his grip, shifting Tony’s weight onto his shoulder, and half-dragged, half-led the man into the library. Tony let out a groan as he settled into the high-back chair by the fire, his movements sluggish but intentional.
Was this really happening? Tony Dixon wasn’t dead?
Frederick crouched beside him, studying the man who, by all logic, should still be in the morgue. “I imagine you have quite the story to tell.”
Tony’s breath shuddered as he forced himself upright against the cushions, his face pale and hollowed out like old parchment. He ushered up a weak smile, his brown hair plastered over his pale forehead. “Certainly not a fun one and a little impossible to believe.”
“I’m fairly good at believing the impossible.” Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Allow me to fetch tea and sandwiches for you, and then I’ll be back to hear it. I know Grace would want to as well.”
Tony caught Frederick’s arm as he stood. “Where’s Lillias?”
Frederick’s shoulders slumped a little, and he nodded. “I’ll explain everything when I return. For now, rest and get warm.” He shrugged a shoulder, tagging on a grin. “And try not to do anything ghostly, especially when my wife enters the room.”
Tony coughed out a laugh, and Frederick made a clipped pace to the kitchen. He hadn’t seen Tony since learning the man had tried to maim him during a horseback ride due to jealousy over Lillias. Had that only been seven or eight months ago? It felt like a lifetime, and certainly their situations had changed dramatically since then.
To his surprise, Mrs. Lindsay sat in the kitchen, sipping some tea, and tried to stand as he entered the room. He waved her back to her seat. “Thank you, Mrs. Lindsay, but I’ll see to things myself while you recover.”
The last thing he needed was to try and catch someone else from hitting the ground.
“I’ll not have an earl poking around in my kitchen like a scullery maid.”
He dipped his head in reference to her words and offered a smile he hoped she’d accept. “You’ve had quite the time of it the past day, and I’m capable, perhaps not as much as a scullery maid, of finding something to eat.”
Mrs. Lindsay’s chin lifted in quiet approval, though her eyes were still narrowed. “I’ve already made some sandwiches, knowing you all would be needing them after my layin’ up,” she said with a huff. “Doesn’t do well for a cook to leave her kitchen unattended.”
“I’m certain no one can use this kitchen quite as well as you.” Frederick scanned the space. “And I’m in awe that you’ve already been up enough to make sandwiches.”
“And tea.” She gestured toward the side table. “Tea’s steeping on the stove there, under the cozy, and the sandwiches are in the icebox.” She pointed. “There.”
