The guests murmured their agreement, faces that had laughed at the spilled tea two days before now hardened with contempt. Genevieve stood alone in the center of it, the false evidence glittering in the housekeeper's hands, every eye upon her, certain of her guilt.
Beatrice looked at her husband and saw, she believed, a man cornered: a man who could not, before all these witnesses, defend a maid caught with the jewels beneath her bed. She had won. She was certain she had won. She waited, glowing, for the Duke to cast the wretched girl out of his house forever.
The great hall of Ashworth had filled. Word of the theft had spread through the house faster than any servant could carry it, and by the time the matter was brought down from the upper floor, near every guest of the summit had gathered beneath the high oak beams to see how it would end.
They stood in their fine morning dress, whispering behind their hands, and at the center of the room stood Genevieve: pale, straight-backed, the false brooch now resting on a silver salver that Mrs. Pruitt held before the company like evidence at a trial.
Beatrice took her place near the great hearth, her two friends close to her side. She had composed her face into the perfect mask of a wronged lady: sorrowful, dignified, magnanimous in her victory.
"I take no pleasure in this," she told the gathered guests in a voice meant to carry, "but a house must be governed. A thief cannot be suffered to remain, whatever favor she once enjoyed." Her gaze settled on Arthur. "Your Grace, I will leave the judgment to you, as is your right. But I trust you will do what any honorable man must."
Arthur stepped forward into the center of the hall. For a long moment, he said nothing. He looked at his wife, at the gloating set of her mouth, at the brooch upon the salver. Then he turned to the company, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and terribly calm.
"You are right, Beatrice," he said. "A house must be governed, and a thief cannot be suffered to remain." He paused. "Let us be certain, then, that we have found the right one."
A ripple went through the hall.
Arthur raised his hand, and the doors at the far end opened. Two of his private guards came forward, and between them, gripped firmly by the arms, walked a third figure: small, trembling, her cap askew.