Mrs. Kettle took the key from her pocket. "We can, if you do not ask foolishly."
The strong pantry was behind the kitchens, guarded by Cook, a sleepy footman, and a lock that looked offended by ordinary keys. Mrs. Kettle opened it after supper. Inside were shelves of preserves, sealed bottles, old ledgers, silver service wrapped in cloth, and enough dust to bury a secret.
We found the glasshouse ledger in a tin-lined chest beneath jars of blackcurrant jam.
Mrs. Kettle looked stern. "Jam protects more families than law."
The ledger showed payments made before the explosion: new gas valves, extra lamp oil, a delivery of French ignition powder that had no place in a glasshouse. Most damning of all, a receipt signed by Lord Edmund for work done by a dismissed engineer named Abelard.
I read the name twice. "Abelard died at sea."
Mrs. Kettle tapped the receipt. "No. Abelard wrote to me last Christmas asking whether Ravensmere needed work. I thought it odd. I kept the letter."
I stared at her. I stared at Mrs. Kettle. "Mrs. Kettle, you collect evidence like other women collect lace."
Mrs. Kettle closed the ledger. "Lace is useless in court."
We took the ledger and letter to Sebastian. He was in his study reading Dr. Mowbray's draft certificate; the document lay flat on his desk. I saw phrases that made my stomach twist: incapable of independent judgment, vulnerable to improper influence, unable to comprehend complex speech.
Sebastian looked up when we entered. Mrs. Kettle placed the ledger before him. "Your Grace, your father was correct about bankers and jam."
He read. His face did not change, but his hand closed around the edge of the desk.
I faced him clearly: "Abelard may be alive. Mrs. Kettle has a letter."
Sebastian stood so quickly his chair struck the wall.
Mrs. Kettle did not flinch. "Careful with the furniture, Your Grace. It has done nothing."
He looked at her, startled, then laughed silently.
Mrs. Kettle's mouth softened for half a second. "There you are," she murmured.
The plan for the public reversal belonged mostly to Mrs. Kettle, which should have worried us: she believed in clean linen, accurate ledgers, and humiliating villains where witnesses could take notes.
The magistrate's hearing would take place at Ravensmere Hall in three days because Dr. Mowbray claimed Sebastian could not travel comfortably. Lady Portia expected a quiet certification; Lord Edmund expected control of the estate; Dr. Mowbray expected payment; Mrs. Kettle expected theater.
Mrs. Kettle told us in the linen room: "His Grace will appear exactly as they expect: silent, withdrawn, tragically handsome."
I looked at Sebastian. "She called you handsome."
He signed: I noticed.
Mrs. Kettle ignored us. "They will speak. They always do when they think servants and deaf men are furniture. Then His Grace will answer clearly before witnesses."
Sebastian wrote: Risky.
Mrs. Kettle lifted her chin. "Life is risky. So is storing raspberry jam near vinegar, yet we endure."
I added, "We need Abelard."