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Hester Anderson did not reply, for her eyes were still fixed on Lizzie in mute appeal, though she seemed wholly incapable of speech.

Lizzie sighed. “I do not mean to appear rude,” she began. “But – ”

“Please, Lizzie!” Betsy burst forth, clasping her hands before her. “We – we must speak with you of this matter! I beg of you!”

Sebastian barked, not appreciating the suddenly tense atmosphere. Lizzie looked from Betsy, to her distraught aunt, to Frederick Mountford who had a concerned pucker between his brows. “Oh, very well,” she conceded, reaching down to grasp Sebastian’s collar. “I can give you half an hour of my time, I suppose.”

Lizzie turned about and led them in the direction of a tea tent, noticing for the first time the dried mud splatter at the hem of her cloak. That must have been from her jaunt to the shops yesterday. She would need to take a brush to that, she thought wryly, considering the contrast between her smart cousin and herself.

Reaching up, she straightened her bonnet and considered the fact she was likely not looking her best. The bruising around her eye was now a jaundiced shade of yellow, and her gray gown had been on the shabby side before it had left Sitwell Place.

By the time the four of them were seated about a table, Lizzie was feeling decidedly at a disadvantage. She listened to Betsy give an order for tea and muffins all round and stroked Sebastian’s neck when he sat alert and watchful. They sat mostly in silence until their order was brought to the table, and then Betsy broke the silence by pouring and handing around the tea with determined cheerfulness. “This one is for you, Mother, this for Mr. Mountford, and here is yours, Lizzie.”

Lizzie took hers with a murmur of thanks but refused the muffin. The plate stood untouched as Betsy let out a deep sigh. “The truth of the matter is, Lizzie, that we stand to lose everything. Father won’t come to ask for your aid, for he says he is too ashamed.” Betsy bit her lip. “He hasn’t really been the same since he came to visit with you earlier in the week,” she said in the manner of one making a confession.

“On that occasion, on his return, he shut himself up in his study and would not come out for three hours. I will admit, I quite feared you’d been dragged out of a river or something of that nature,” Betsy admitted. “For when he came home, he was pale as milk and trembling all over. ‘Father, said I, what ails you?’ ‘Not now, my child, not now’ was all the response he would make me.

“Then, when finally he did emerge, what do you think? Not a bite of supper would he take but insisted that Mother and I come into the parlor and pray for forgiveness for the wrong we’d done you.” Betsy bit her lip. “At the time, I don’t mind telling you, Lizzie, we thought you’d met with some terrible end. I won’t lie to you, Lizzie, Mother and I tried to resist and say we were not to blame and then – ” Betsy paused, licking her dry lips. “Then Father told us that if we would not pray for forgiveness for our role in casting you out among wolves, then we should pray for our own salvation, for our pride was surely putting it in grave peril. Then he said he was going out at once to speak to his fellow elders about how things stood with the church financially.

“He said, and I will never forget his face, Lizzie, ‘If Reverend Milson is a crook, then we are ruined, my dears, quite ruined. For I have made all our investments over to him as have a good many of our community.’ Then he turned and went out of the door, and Mother and I ran to watch him walk down the street. And I tell you, Lizzie, he looked a broken man.”

Aunt Hester gave a moan and covered her face with her hands. Lizzie glanced at her in alarm. “Surely things were not as dire as he supposed?” she faltered.

“No,” Betsy said gravely. “For they were a good deal worse. Reverend Milson has embezzled all of the church funds, Lizzie, and dipped into a good many charitable pots. Worse than that, Father found that almost all of the church elders had been persuaded to invest in the reverend’s private accumulation schemes as Father had. Mr. Hedgcomb, Mr. Scott, Mr. Fitzallen, all of them.

“They, too, had seen no return in a twelvemonth but had not raised the alarm due to the fact they had such implicit trust in him. Other prominent members of the congregation have also been taken in.” She hesitated. “The richer of the widows – ” She broke off at an involuntary gesture Mr. Mountford made.

The breath caught in Lizzie’s throat. That Reverend Milson could have been stealing on such a large scale was truly horrifying. “I can scarcely believe such a thing is possible,” she muttered.

Aunt Hester dropped her hands from her face. “Who could believe that such wickedness exists in the world,” she said hollowly. “When it wears the guise of honesty.”

“His mask did slip before though, Lizzie. To you,” Betsy pointed out. “You saw beneath the façade, and none of us would believe you.”

“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” intoned Aunt Hester.

“Yes,” Lizzie agreed sadly. “But if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I daresay that I, too, would have been hard to convince.”

“You are generous, Lizzie,” Betsy said. “More generous than we. Now I, too, know how Papa felt when he saw you previously.” She smiled sadly and reached across to clasp her mother’s hand. “May we earnestly beg your forgiveness, cousin?”

Lizzie swallowed and nodded. “You have it,” she said. “Is that the extent of your errand today?” she frowned. “To ask my forgiveness?” Their urgency had seemed a good deal more pointed than that.

For the first time, Betsy’s gaze faltered. “Alas,” she answered with a small laugh. “I wish that were true, but …” She glanced at Frederick Mountford, and he gave her an encouraging look. “In truth, that was only the first of the boons we wished to beg from you. You see, Mrs. Lessing’s legal man is currently compiling the church’s evidence against Reverend Milson. We have eyes watching him, and it is believed that at any moment he may try to flee the country on a passage steamer bound for the Americas. Time is of the absolute essence in our case.”

“Yes?” Lizzie still could not see where her cousin’s narrative was taking them.

“It occurred to us that the only case we could currently bring against him successfully is the charge of attempted theft regarding Mrs. Lessing’s diamond brooch. If he were clapped in jail awaiting trial for those charges, that would give our legal people time to prove the additional frauds and embezzlement.” Betsy twisted her clasped hands in her lap.

Enlightenment dawned. “Oh,” said Lizzie, her brow clearing. “I see, and I am your only material witness.”

“Several members of the dinner party that night will attest to its being discovered in Reverend Milson’s pocket, but you were the only one who actually saw him actually steal it.”

“That is true,” Lizzie agreed slowly. “But will the police not think it odd that we waited a whole month before bringing it to the attention of the authorities?”

“Doubtless they will,” Betsy agreed. “But we mean to be fully frank and open.” She hesitated. “Once it is explained that my parents threw you out – ” Aunt Hester moaned aloud again and shut her eyes. “Then I do not think they will wonder that you were not in a position to report the theft and give Queen’s evidence until now.”

Lizzie nodded, though her expression was troubled. “Can I not simply give you a statement?” she asked. “It is not entirely convenient for me to make my way to a police station at present.”

Betsy darted another quick look at Mr. Mountford. He shook his head.