Not by Sight by Kate Breslin Read Free Book Online Page B

glimpse of the tall stranger at the manor.
    He had appeared, pacing along the balcony. Then just as before, the man retreated into the darkness of the house.
    Was it Lord Roxwood—the Tin Man? Grace mused as she finished dressing and headed downstairs. And if so, might she request an interview with him for her upcoming story?
    She arrived in the kitchen to find the others already seated around the table, tucking into breakfast. Agnes offered her an approving smile.
    “Well, look who’s arrived . . . and without a wrinkle.”
    Grace ignored Clare’s remark. Taking her place at the table, she spooned a bowl of porridge from the pot and selected a slice of toast and a hard-boiled egg.
    “Good morning,” she called to Lucy, still buoyed by their inspiring talk yesterday.
    Instead of greeting her, Lucy flashed a look of chagrin. Gracepaused in slathering apple butter onto her toast to scan the other faces at the table. Each seemed preoccupied with breakfast—except for Mrs. Vance, who frowned at her.
    “Is something wrong?”
    “We’ll discuss it later, Mabry.”
    Alarmed by the gravity of her supervisor’s tone, Grace carefully set down her knife. Had there been another air raid on London? “Please, Mrs. Vance, I wish to know now.” She tried to sound composed as all eyes focused on her.
    Mrs. Vance said finally, “It’s about the sacks.”
    Grace blinked. “The burlap sacks? But . . . I sewed four dozen of them yesterday.”
    “A dozen of which you stitched completely closed.” Mrs. Vance expelled an irritated breath. “You obviously weren’t paying attention, Grace. Now the stitches must be removed, and we simply don’t have the time or the resources to fix such mistakes.”
    Grace heard a snigger of laughter from across the table. Heat bathed her sunburned cheeks. She’d been so consumed with talk about suffrage and turning the burlap under the needle, she hadn’t realized she’d sewn a few too many seams. “Let me repair them, Mrs. Vance. I’ll work late—”
    “No, I’ll assign the task to someone else.” Mrs. Vance tossed her napkin on the table. “I’m putting you on report, Mabry. I don’t like doing it, but every woman must pull her weight.” Her tone gentled as she added, “You know, Grace, it might be you’re better suited for another purpose. There’s no shame in reconsidering your position with the Women’s Forage Corps.”
    “No! Please, I can do this.” Grace darted a glance at Agnes, silently willing her help. They had only just arrived, and already she was being asked to leave.
    Agnes took her cue. “Mrs. Vance, it’s my fault Miss . . . Grace is having a difficult time of it. I promised I’d help her when wegot here, but I’ve done a poor job.” She straightened to face Mrs. Vance. “Ma’am, if she leaves, then I feel I should go with her.”
    Seeing her maid’s determined look, Grace felt a surge of affection.
    The rest of the women at the table seemed to hold their breath. Mrs. Vance said, “Seems you’ve got a champion, Mabry. And Agnes does the work of two. One more chance is all you’ll get. Make certain you do the job right the first time.” Then her supervisor turned to the others. “We work together in this gang, so if Grace fails, we all fail. Understood?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” they chorused, quickly ducking their heads and resuming breakfast.
    “Mr. Tillman tells me the pigs are ready for the butcher,” Mrs. Vance said, looking back at Grace. “Since he’s indisposed—” she paused, leaving Grace to recall how the farmer had sprained his ankle—“he wants us to take them in the cart to the town butcher.”
    “Oh, yes!” Grace was eager to redeem herself. “I’ll gladly drive them.”
    Mrs. Vance nodded. “We’ll also need to load the animals onto the cart,” she said, casting another glance at the others. “I realize it’s not what you signed up for, but the WFC will help with the task. Once those new Land Army girls arrive,