A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson
Chapter Thirteen
Claveston had not slept a wink all that night. He rose early and made his way to the stables. Perhaps a long ride might help him clear his head, and spot whatever it was that he was missing. He had spoken with every single member of the household. He had questioned every one of them at length about their actions that day. He had checked each one of their statements against those of the other staff and found that every single account matched where it should.
He had until the end of the day, and every second of that time seemed to be ticking loudly inside his head. How could he uncover the truth? It must be staring him in the face, and yet he could not see it for looking.
“My Lord,” a voice called after him as Claveston strode through the stable yard. “My Lord!” it called again, though louder this time.
“What?” Claveston stormed as he turned to see Watkins, one of the stable lads, running after him, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, lad, did not mean to take out my temper on you.”
“My Lord, Jeanie Green is back today,” Watkins said panting hard, bending over as he tried to get his breath back. Claveston looked at him blankly. “She’s one of the parlor maids, you’ve not talked to her yet as she was at home, her mother just had another babe, and Jeanie went to help her out a bit. She was here the day the tiara went missing but has been away from the Hall for the past week. Perhaps she knows something?”
Claveston grabbed the lad’s skinny arms and gave them a squeeze. “By King George, lad, I hope you’re right, or poor Miss Lefebvre is in dire trouble.”
He hurried back up to the house, entering the servants’ domain by the back door. Bonnet was in his office, and jumped to his feet as Claveston barged in. “Jeanie Green,” he demanded. “Where will I find her now?”
“She’ll be up cleaning the West Wing, your sister’s rooms I believe,” the butler said, without needing to check a rota. There was little that happened in this house without him knowing. He had been extremely helpful in arranging for each member of staff to see him in the past couple of days, though Claveston knew how much the thought that Bonnet had somehow failed the family must be burning the elderly butler up inside - and Claveston knew that Bonnet was furious that something had been stolen out from under his patrician nose, without his knowing anything about it.
“Thank you,” Claveston said as he raced along the corridor and made his way up the back stairs. He took them two at a time, in his haste, all the way to the second floor. He burst into the corridor. It was empty. He walked along it briskly, for once not noticing the eyes of the paintings of his ancestors as they stared down at him. He turned the corner into the West Wing and was surprised to see his sister and one of the maids talking in whispers.
Miss Lefebvre’s words came back to him. “Per’aps fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” she had said was the time it had taken his sister to go and fetch ribbons from her rooms. It took no more than ten, even if she had been forced to search for them a little. He realized that he hadn’t asked Miss Lefebvre if his sister had returned with the ribbons in question.
He waited until the young maid and his sister had finished their clandestine conversation, and for Gertrude to go into her rooms before he made his way back to Miss Lefebvre’s chambers. He barged in without knocking. She jumped up from her desk, her eyes wide. “Lord Wycliffe!”
“This will not take a moment. Did Gertrude actually bring the ribbons downstairs with her?” Miss Lefebvre looked at him blankly. “You said that she went upstairs to fetch ribbons she wished to sew onto her gown. Did she bring them with her to the music room?”
“No, I assumed she ‘ad put them in the drawing-room, so she could do her sewing once her lesson was over,” Miss Lefebvre said, looking very confused.
Claveston stormed out of her rooms and flung every door open wide as he searched for Jeanie Green. He found her in Gertrude’s old nursery, polishing the brasses in the fireplace. The girl jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsey respectfully as he entered the room. She was no more than fifteen, the same age as his sister. She kept her eyes lowered, she was shy and timid, and looked petrified to see him.
Just seeing her so afraid made his anger dissipate immediately. He felt sorry for this poor girl. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I just want the truth.”
Her face was pale, and her hands shook as she answered his questions. “Did my sister ask you to do something for her?” he asked gently. She nodded. Poor mite, it was clear she’d somehow gotten caught up in something she wanted no part of – especially now. “Did she ask you to fetch something for her?”
“Yes, my Lord,” the girl said so quietly that Claveston could barely hear her. “She said her mother asked her to fetch the tiara from her rooms, as it needed cleanin’. She said she couldn’t do it ‘erself as she had to go to her music lesson, and that if I left it in her chamber, she would be sure ‘n see it was sent out as her mother wanted when she was done.”
“You’ve not been with us long, have you?” Claveston asked the poor girl.
She shook her head. “No, my Lord. Just four months.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of fear. “Please don’t turn me out, my Lord. Me Ma’s just had another littl’un, and they need me wages,” she pleaded.
“I can’t guarantee how my father will feel about all this, but I am inclined to believe that you did not know you were doing anything untoward. I will do what I can for you, but you need to prepare yourself for the worst. If he lets you go, I’ll give you a character, even if he won’t and I’ll see if I can get you placed somewhere. I promise.”
Leaving the poor maid standing, tears pouring down her pale cheeks, Claveston strode towards his sister’s rooms.
There was nobody there. He peered around the dressing room door, and into her bed-chamber, but there was no sign of his sister. He hurried downstairs and looked in the drawing-room, then the music room, the library, and then went outside onto the terrace. He glanced over the gardens, finally seeing his sister, walking nonchalantly through the knot garden. He raced towards her, fury raging inside him.
“Gertrude,” he shouted as he drew closer. “Where is the dress that you sewed ribbons onto that day?”
“What dress?” Gertrude asked, looking genuinely bewildered. She picked a sprig of lavender and lifted it to her nose. She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. Claveston could hardly believe how little she seemed to care about what she had done.
“You were late for your music lesson that day, weren’t you?”
Gertrude paused, blinking rapidly, her mouth agape. “I don’t know. I might have been.”
“You were. You said you had to fetch some ribbons to sew onto a dress.”
“Then that is probably what happened,” Gertrude said, her eyes wide. She was doing a good job of feigning innocence, but Claveston knew her too well – and God forgive him, but he believed both Miss Lefebvre and Jeanie Green more than he did his own sister right now. He had heard the quaver in Gertrude’s voice and could see the fear in her eyes.
“If I go to the drawing-room, will I find any ribbons in your sewing box?” he asked her. “And if I ask Mrs. Grint to go through your gowns, will we find one with newly added ribbons?”
“Claveston, you are being ridiculous,” Gertrude said, laughing nervously.
“Am I? Or are you the only person I didn’t think I needed to question? I presumed that your affections for Miss Lefebvre were genuine, that you would never wish to do anything to hurt her.”
“Are you accusing me of having taken Mama’s tiara?”
“No,” Claveston said firmly. “I think – no, I know that you got someone else to take the tiara, and you just placed it in Miss Lefebvre’s rooms. I think you thought that if anyone other than your companion was found guilty, then you could absolve yourself of all blame as you didn’t actually take it yourself. I think that if I call Jeanie Green here now and ask her what happened, that she will tell me everything – just as she did a few moments ago.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Gertrude said brazenly. “Call her in. Question her. She won’t tell you that’s what happened, as it is ridiculous. And I cannot believe that you would believe the tattle of a servant over your own sister.” She was more defensive now, like a cornered animal. “Why would I do such a thing?” she asked, her tone desperate, frantic almost. “I love Sophie. I would never wish her to leave. Without her, I will have no Season at all – as there will be nobody to accompany me.”
Claveston had to agree that she had half a point. But something wasn’t right. He knew that Gertrude had arranged for Jeanie to take the tiara. Gertrude knew that he knew the truth, so why was she still denying it?
He wanted to help. He wanted to understand why. Gertrude was clearly angry at someone. Perhaps she had finally started to turn her frustrations upon those who deserved them, their parents. By stealing Mama’s tiara, Mama had been forced to stay longer. Maybe that had been Gertrude’s plan all along, maybe she had never intended for Sophie to be blamed. Perhaps everything had just gone wrong. But none of it made any sense.
“Go to your rooms. I will be back to speak with you again, later, young lady,” he warned her.
Gertrude simply laughed. “You are not my Papa,” she said hurtfully. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do.”
Her words still stinging his ears, Claveston watched his sister as she did as she was told – for once – and went back inside. Within just a few moments, he saw her sad face at her window. He hung his head and prayed for guidance. How had things come to this?
The sound of a carriage on the driveway alerted Claveston to the passing of time. The three days were nearly over. Tonight, he would have to be able to explain to his father precisely what had happened, or Miss Lefebvre would be put out of the house – or worse. Yet how could he possibly tell his parents that the theft had been undertaken on Gertrude’s behalf? How would he ever explain that to his parents when he did not fully understand it himself?
Peering out of the window, Claveston was surprised to see that Cormick had returned. Normally he would be delighted to receive an unexpected visit from his dear friend, but today it seemed to be a distraction he did not need right now. He watched as his friend bounced out of the carriage with his usual vigor, smiling at everyone nearby. Despite his lack of time, Claveston’s heart lifted just at the sight of the man. He gave a wry chuckle. Perhaps providence had sent Cormick to him. He needed help with all of this, and here was one of the finest men he knew.
Making his way downstairs, he heard his father announce to Bonnet that he would be in his study until dinner, that he wasn’t to be disturbed. Claveston couldn’t help but be grateful for such a reprieve. It would give him time to plan what to say when the inevitable discussion about Miss Lefebvre’s future actually occurred.
Cormick greeted him with a firm handshake and a good-natured slap on the back. “You look like death, my friend,” he said. “Have things been so bad?”
“No, I think they may be worse.”
“Tell me everything, but first call for some lemonade and cake. I’m famished after the trip,” Cormick said with a wink. Claveston chuckled. His friend’s appetite was almost legendary. He called for Mrs. Grint, who beamed when she saw Cormick and knew without even being asked what he required.
