Nathaniel's face hardened, but his next question was directed at himself as much as at the treasurer. "Why was none of this brought to me?" Nora looked down at the two letters she had kept copies of. Both were addressed to him, dated and signed. She placed them before him without speaking. He read the first and then the second, and something seemed to leave his posture. He recognized a note in his secretary's hand on the back of one envelope: To be dealt with by Mr. Prowse. Nathaniel realized that he had created the very distance through which the deception had flourished. He had approved reports, praised the committee, and never visited the school when the weather turned cold. Nathaniel ordered the ledgers secured for independent examination and suspended Prowse from handling the school funds.
Lady Cecily appeared at the library door before the meeting ended. Her silk dress rustled as she stepped inside, but she no longer seemed able to command the room with it. She had been told that Prowse was being questioned and had come to stop what she called "an unnecessary scandal." Her eyes found the bank order on the table. "Those payments were approved for the benefit of the school," she insisted. "I trusted Mr. Prowse to arrange the details." Prowse looked at her sharply, suddenly less interested in defending her. Nathaniel asked whether she knew that the girls had not received their wages. Cecily drew herself up. "I knew they were difficult. I was told there were disputes about their work."
"You were told there were children without coal in their classrooms," Nora said, "because I told you myself." Cecily turned to her with naked anger. "You have no notion what it costs to maintain a family in my position. Every season demands new appearances, new obligations. One unpaid bill and people begin to whisper. You speak as though a few missing shillings can destroy a life." Nora thought of Bess's cracked hands and her sister sent away from school to earn money. "For some families," she answered, "a few shillings are the difference between supper and going to bed hungry. You have always had the luxury of calling that a small sum."
For a moment Cecily seemed about to lash out. Instead, she sank into a chair and pressed a hand against her forehead. Her father had borrowed heavily to preserve the Banford estate, she admitted, and she had been terrified that the family's financial weakness would become public. Prowse had assured her that temporary loans could be made from the school's money and repaid after the season. The debts had grown, and the payments had been disguised. "I never thought the girls would suffer," she said. Nora wanted to believe that ignorance could be separated from intention, but the winter had offered Cecily every opportunity to discover what happened when the coal did not arrive.