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“If you’d just wait for the duke? Or Mr Cadwalader?”
Lady Elen shuffled her feet. “Well, I suppose we coul–”
“You can’t hoard a thief in this house,” Lady Bronwen cried. “Who knows what might happen?”
“The magistrate has already been summoned.” Lady Nesta and her chaperone sauntered into the room.
Lady Elen blinked. “That’s very forward thinking.”
The taciturn young lady cocked her head. “I’m sure you want this little matter cleared up without delay, Lady Elen.”
Clasping her hands, Isabelle knew her fate was sealed until the duke returned on the morrow, all fight, all anger seeping from her to leave a dull ache in her heart.
The huddle of onlookers was shooed out, Miss Vaughn biting her lip, Miss Brecken sobbing into a handkerchief while her brother patted her shoulder.
“I must ask you to stay in the schoolroom until the magistrate arrives,” declared Lady Elen. “But I shall put that flask in the duke’s study.”
“I will stay with my governess,” Mari stated.
“You certainly will not,” Lady Elen countered. “Come sit in the drawing room. Miss Beaujeu will be better alone. Will you not?”
Isabelle forced a smile and bent to Mari. “All shall be well. Your uncle or Mr Cadwalader will return shortly and this…upset will be fixed.”
A hug caught her unawares – fierce and frantic. “I’ll send a message to Uncle,” Mari whispered. “He’ll have that spiteful cat’s guts for garters.”
With a hand to Mari’s shoulder, Isabelle smiled her gratitude and then, with spine rigid, stepped through to the schoolroom, declining to turn as the door was softly closed and the key turned.
A half-hour had comeand gone.
Then another.
Refusing to dwell on the situation, Isabelle had rearranged the schoolbooks, critiqued Mari’s sketch and studied her governess tome, but Miss Appleton had no words of wisdom for what to do if one was accused of stealing.
Murmurs and voices arose from the forecourt below as a carriage drew up and she thought to hear Lady Gwen’s voice raised in ire, but then it faded to silence and solely her heart thumped loud.
Having re-organised the entire schoolroom, she slumped on the chair, exhaustion surging as the fears she’d held at bay rushed in at her.
If found guilty, hanging was the punishment for such an offence, and although she felt certain the duke would not allow such an outcome, doubts…insidious doubts now pressed at her heart with chill fingers.
What if he believed Lady Bronwen?
All the guests had witnessed the necklace in her drawer.
Even if he spoke in her defence against the magistrate and her accusers, it would surely damage his reputation as a nobleman, their malicious gossip denting his good name, and as for herself… Her life as a governess would be destroyed.
Oh, heaven help her, and Isabelle buried her face in her hands.
“Miss Beaujeu?” a hiss sounded at the keyhole.
She rose and ran to the door, kneeled to the floor. “Lady Gwen?”
“Ooh, I could… I could spit for what has happened.”
Despite the desperate circumstances, Isabelle’s lips pressed to a smile at that image. “I am well, my lady. What is happening?”
“I’ve come to warn you. Lady Bronwen has convinced the magistrate you are a danger and could flee at any time, so he’s taking you to–”
“What do you think you are doing?” boomed a male voice in the corridor. “Lady Elen, pass me the key.”
