They were returning to the carriage when Mrs. Tully's nephew, a stable lad sent to find them, appeared breathless on the street. He carried a note in the housekeeper's hand. Fenwick had dismissed two clerks, ordered a cart brought to the archive room, and announced that Eleanor Finch would be removed from the household for stealing private documents. Worse, Thomas had been found crying at the locked schoolroom door after Fenwick demanded to know what he had told his uncle.
Adrian read the message once, then folded it with such care that Eleanor knew his anger had passed beyond shouting. He ordered the driver to turn for Greymere immediately. Eleanor gripped the side of the carriage as the horses moved, remembering the old accusations against her father and the enormous power of a man who knew how to make lies sound official. This time, however, she was not alone with the accusation.
By the time they reached Greymere, rain was falling again. The front hall was crowded with servants who had gathered around a stack of account boxes, while Fenwick stood beside the door giving orders to a pair of hired carriers. Mrs. Tully was blocking the passage with her broad shoulders, her face white with fury. She had kept house for three generations of Wycliffes, and the sight of her refusing to move told Adrian more than any accusation could have done.
“Those boxes belong to the estate,” Adrian said as he entered. “They will remain here.”
Fenwick recovered his composure almost instantly. “My lord, I was merely having the older records taken to a safer store. Miss Finch has been meddling with them, and I thought it prudent—”
“You thought it prudent to remove the records while I was asking the bank to examine them?”
“I have served this family faithfully for fifteen years.”
“Then you should welcome an examination of fifteen years of service.”
Adrian ordered the boxes returned to the archive and had Mrs. Tully keep the key while a second lock was fitted under his supervision. He told the carriers their wages would be paid and dismissed them without accusing them of wrongdoing. Fenwick stared at him with a coldness that made Eleanor understand how much of the steward's power had depended on everyone assuming he spoke for the Earl. That assumption was ending in the front hall, before the servants who had feared him for years.
Eleanor went directly upstairs. Thomas sat on the schoolroom carpet with his wooden horse in pieces, its wheels pulled from the little cart he had made for it. He had not been harmed, but he was shaking and would not look toward the door. When Eleanor knelt beside him, he caught her sleeve and held it so tightly she could feel his fingers trembling through the fabric.
“You did nothing wrong,” she told him. “Whatever Mr. Fenwick asked you, you were allowed not to answer.”
Thomas breathed hard for a moment. “He said Mother's words were lies.”
Eleanor kept her voice steady. “Your mother left us papers. We are checking them carefully, just as she wanted.”
“He said Uncle Adrian would send you away.”