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Man.”
    Grace eyed the soft-spoken woman. “Tin Man?”
    “The monster living up at the big house,” Becky piped up.“Lord Roxwood. They say he’s a hunchback with pointed ears and sharp teeth.”
    “Such nonsense, Simmons.” Fresh from a bath, Mrs. Vance stood in the doorway in a blue cotton nightdress. “How can you think he has sharp teeth?” To Grace she said, “He’s called the Tin Man because it’s rumored Lord Roxwood wears a metal mask to hide his face.”
    “But . . . why must he hide?”
    “The villagers say he got burned in a fire,” Becky interjected. “He’s deformed now and has a hunchback. The blaze melted his ears to points, too.” She grabbed at the tops of her ears to illustrate.
    “Have you seen him?” Grace was enthralled with the idea of the monster from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or Gaston Leroux’s Phantom living only a stone’s throw away. What a fascinating character for her new story.
    Becky shook her head. “They say his lordship never leaves the house. Edwards, his land agent, runs all the errands in town and gives orders to Mr. Tillman about the estate.”
    Clare fingered the flower pendant at her throat and snorted. “I doubt the Tin Man is even at Roxwood. Likely our lord of the manor sits at his club in London, sipping whiskey and wasting money at playing cards, just like his wealthy friends.”
    How could such a young, attractive woman be so bitter and angry? “Well, I’d like to see this Lord Roxwood for myself,” Grace said.
    “And what would you do, Duchess? Invite him to sip Darjeeling with you at your father’s fancy tea room?” Clare flashed an evil grin. “Or perhaps you plan to unmask him?”
    The women broke into fits of laughter. Hands on hips, Grace opened her mouth to give Clare a good setting down, but then she saw Agnes shake her head. Instead she clamped her mouth shut and fumed. Duchess, indeed!
    For some unfathomable reason, Clare Danner chose to be her enemy. Why did she feel it a crime that Grace’s father was wealthy? Da had earned every shilling with honest, hard work, and Grace couldn’t help the fact she’d never gotten her hands dirty except to cut flowers from the garden.
    Becky moved to dim the lights. As all grew quiet in the room, Grace changed into the ecru silk nightgown she’d brought with her, hoping to avoid Clare’s ridicule over the expensive garment while the others wore simple cotton.
    Once she’d climbed under the covers, she lay there a long while, listening to Agnes’s gentle breathing in the bed beside hers, while occasional snores sounded from Becky’s direction.
    Finally Grace sat up, too restless for sleep. Writing about her first impressions of Roxwood and the mystery of the Tin Man would settle her thoughts.
    She retrieved her journal, along with a candle and matches from her haversack beneath the bed. Her gaze darted toward Clare, and for an instant she feared the termagant might awaken and intrude on her most intimate time. Then she tiptoed to the window.
    Due to the warm evening, the sash remained open. The night’s silence was broken by the chirping of crickets, while a near-full moon illuminated the grounds. Grace lit her candle, then opened her journal.
    She’d just begun to write when a shrill cry in the night brought her up short. Grace shivered. Was it a fox? She’d read about them, how the vixen’s scream sounded more human than beast. Blowing out the candle, she scanned the grounds below for any sign of the creature. Her attention soon drifted toward Roxwood Manor, and she forgot all about the fox. Even from this distance, the white stone apex and columns of the front porch held an iridescent glow in the moonlight. Her eyes traveled to the rear of the house, where a second-story balcony in the same white stone jutted out . . .
    A movement caught her attention. Grace leaned out the window, straining to see.
    A man stood on the balcony. Lord Roxwood?
    She squinted, trying to make out the