Page 43 of A Legacy of Lies

“Undermaids, Your Grace. Under my eye. The hall was never unattended.”

“Good.” Eleanor lifted the pouch but did not open it. The silver drawstring glinted faintly in the morning light, the knot still imperfect. “We do not air suspicion. We do not feed it. This matter remains here until I say otherwise. Am I clear?”

Edith bowed her head. Percival inclined his. Hollis stared at the knot he had tied and nodded late.

The door opened without a knock. Nathaniel entered as though the storm had followed him in. Rain clung to his coat, refusing the fire’s warmth. The light seemed to bend around him, carrying the tempest inside.

He took in the room in one glance. Eleanor. Percival. Hollis. Edith. Clara last.

Eleanor did not rise. “We have found a pouch. It came from the pocket of Miss Whitmore’s cloak.”

Nathaniel’s jaw set. He came forward slowly, each step precise. He did not reach for the pouch. His gaze moved to Clara. It held questions, and something sharper he did not yet name.

Clara heard her own voice before she knew what she would say. “I did not put it there.”

“Where should it have been?” he asked.

“In a place no one could find.” The truth was a blade, and she offered the edge. “It was not in my cloak at any time.”

Eleanor’s glance flicked between them. “This discussion will not continue in front of staff.” She fixed Percival with her eye. “You will secure the pouch in the locked drawer in my desk. Hollis, record its arrival and nothing more. Mrs. Greaves, the maid in question, will say she found a forgotten glove and returned it. No other story will be told.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Edith said.

Percival took the pouch with careful hands. He made for the inner door.

“Leave it,” Nathaniel said.

Percival stopped. The air tightened.

Eleanor looked up at her nephew. “The house does not profit from spectacle.”

His gaze did not waver. “Nor from blindness.”

“Blindness is not my practice,” Eleanor said. “Nor is panic. Put it in the drawer, Percival. Now.”

Percival obeyed, sliding the drawer shut with a quiet click.

Eleanor waited until the last echo faded. “Leave us.”

The staff hesitated. “All of you,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room. “Miss Whitmore as well.”

Clara looked up, startled. “Your Grace—”

“Go, my dear,” Eleanor said softly. “I will send for you when I’m ready.”

Clara curtsied, heart thudding, and followed the others out. The door closed behind them, sealing the room in quiet.

Eleanor turned to Nathaniel. “You will take the pouch.”

His brow furrowed. “You told him to lock it away.”

“I did,” she replied, voice even. “Because you challenged me before the servants. You will learn that command, once spoken, must be honored in their hearing.” She tapped the cane lightly against the floor. “No one will dare remove it now, except you, and only because I told you to.”

He inclined his head, understanding dawning beneath the rebuke. “You mean to test more than my patience.”

“Always,” she said, and turned back to the fire.

Nathaniel hesitated, comprehension breaking through like dawn through storm clouds. Then he bowed, took up the pouch as she had commanded, and left.