The empty velvet pouch lay before him.
He looked down at it.
For the first time, he understood that he had not merely questioned a maid.
He had repeated the very mistake Clara had come to Alderwick hoping he might learn to avoid.
He had accepted the appearance of guilt because it was convenient.
And this time, she had been there to see it.
Clara found Bess in the servants' hall.
The girl sat alone at the end of a long wooden table, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.
When Clara entered, Bess rose immediately.
“Miss Langley!”
“Sit down.”
“But miss—”
“Please.”
Clara sat opposite her.
Bess looked astonished.
Gentlewomen did not ordinarily sit in the servants' hall.
Clara ignored the convention.
“Tell me what happened last night.”
The maid stared at her hands.
“I was carrying candles.”
“And?”
Bess hesitated.
“Mr. Vane caught me outside his office.”
Clara felt her pulse quicken.
“Why were you there?”
“I heard him speaking to Sir Edmund.”
“About what?”
“The accounts. They said something had been moved. Something called a duplicate.”
Clara leaned closer.
“Did they say where?”
“No, miss.”
“Anything else?”
Bess began trembling.
“They said His Grace would be occupied today.”
Clara went still.
“Occupied?”
Bess nodded.
“Then Sir Edmund said you must be made to understand that the duke couldn't protect your reputation.”
Clara felt a cold weight settle in her stomach.
The stolen necklace.
The public accusation.
The confrontation before the household.
It had been arranged.
Not merely to punish Bess.
But to create discord between Clara and Julian.
“Why did you not tell His Grace?”
Bess's eyes filled again.
“Mr. Vane said he'd turn my family out of our cottage.”
Clara reached across the table.
“Bess, look at me.”
The girl raised her eyes.
“You have done nothing wrong.”
“But if I lose my place—”
“You will not be abandoned.”
Bess swallowed.
“Miss, you're very kind, but His Grace—”
“His Grace is not the only person in England capable of employing a housemaid.”
For a moment, Bess stared.
Then a tiny smile appeared.
Clara squeezed her hand.
“I shall speak with Mrs. Hartley.”
Bess hesitated.
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
“There's something else.”
Clara waited.
“When Mr. Vane caught me, he had black ink upon his fingers.”
“Is that unusual?”
“He always wears gloves when he works with the accounts. Says it keeps the papers clean.”
“And last night?”
“His fingers were stained.”
Clara frowned.
“Perhaps he was writing.”
“Perhaps.”
Bess looked around nervously.
“But there's a little printing press in the old estate office. The one used for making copies.”