"And the needle?" Nathaniel asked. Cecily looked toward the door, where Elspeth stood beside the housekeeper. The maid had been asked to repeat her account in the presence of witnesses. Cecily's answer came in pieces. She had been afraid Nora would make her accusations in public. She had wanted the blue gown ruined, the young teacher embarrassed enough to leave. When Elspeth asked whether she truly meant to sew the needle inward, Cecily had told her to do as she was instructed. "I did not expect her to be hurt," she whispered. Nora felt the torn fabric against her skin. "You wanted me frightened and silent," she said. "You were prepared to risk the rest."
Nathaniel told Cecily that he would no longer allow her to act as a trustee or represent the charitable school. Formal removal would require the other trustees' agreement, but she would have no access to its records or funds in the meantime. The understanding that he might marry her, he added, had never been his promise and would not become one now. Cecily flinched as if the words had finally reached a place the missing money had not. Nora took no pleasure in it. She knew how quickly society would turn a woman's disgrace into entertainment and how easily the children could be forgotten in the spectacle. "Do not let this become a story about who may dance with whom," she said. "The school must be paid what it is owed."
That was why, when the guests gathered for the charity announcement, Nathaniel did not accuse Cecily before the entire assembly or invite a crowd to jeer at her. Instead, he stood beside Lady Honoria and explained that discrepancies had been identified in the trust's accounts. The annual report would not be presented as accurate, and an independent examination would begin immediately. The trustees would publish corrected figures and arrange payment to any pupil whose wages had been withheld. There was a stir of astonishment among the guests. Several looked instinctively toward Cecily, who had remained in a side room. Nathaniel let the silence settle rather than offering them a villain to devour.
Then Lady Honoria asked Nora to stand beside her. Nora's blue gown bore its little tear near the collarbone. She had made no attempt to hide it. Her voice wavered on the first sentence, but she continued. She spoke not of an aristocratic quarrel but of a room where girls tried to copy letters with fingers stiff from the cold. She described work tickets carefully collected by children who had been told that the sums written upon them did not matter. She held up Bess Turner's embroidered square and read the crooked