Matilda's breath caught. Beneath it was a short note from Mrs. Canning:
You once asked that no servant be blamed for your pain. Perhaps it is time no one blamed you for surviving it.
Matilda closed her eyes. The slipper was not proof of authorship: it would not establish a date, a melody, or a printed fraud. But it proved something else: it proved the cost of her silence.
Mrs. Albright said quietly, "Will you take it?"
Matilda looked at the shoe. Once, she would have hidden it; she would have feared that others might call it theatrical—Hester certainly would, Beckham might. But Matilda no longer wished to protect cruel people from the sight of consequences.
"Yes," she said. "It belongs in the room."
Robert arrived late in the afternoon. He did not enter until Mrs. Albright was present. He carried no plan in his hands, only his hat and a grave expression. Matilda showed him the altered page, the earlier rehearsal copy, and Mr. Ellison's dated notes. He listened; he did not interrupt.
When she finished, he asked, "What would you like me to arrange?"
"Seats for the witnesses. Nothing more."
"And Mr. Harby?"
"He must bring the sealed score only when I ask for it."
"Understood."
"If Beckham tries to remove papers, stop him."
Robert nodded. "That I can do."
Matilda studied him. "And if the room turns against me?"
His face changed. "What do you want me to do?"
The question mattered more than any promise. "Stay where I can see you."
"Only that?"
"Until I ask for more."
He bowed his head. "Then that is what I will do."
Silence settled between them; the concert waited only hours away. Matilda knew there was something else she wanted to say, but fear and restraint tangled around it. Robert seemed to sense the same thing. He took one step nearer, then stopped.