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Chapter20
Mrs. Prescott looked toward her sitting room door with pinched lips. It was dim below stairs, and the lack of light added to the dark mood around us. “I would have dismissed her on the spot, but I thought you would want to manage it yourself, ma’am.”
“You were correct,” Lady Edith said. She gestured for Mrs. Prescott to open the door for us, and we slipped into the room.
The maid in question was seated at a table, and I followed Lady Edith inside, not for the first time since arriving at Chelton. The dim room was small but well-outfitted, and the window high on the wall was open to allow in some light. The maid’s wide eyes flicked between Lady Edith and myself, and I felt for her panic—I too would be terrified to be in her position.
But she’d brought it upon herself.
Lady Edith opened her mouth as though to speak, then turned to me, lifting her eyebrows as if giving me permission to proceed. Drat James and his interference. I would be happy to allow his mother to manage these types of situations. I’d yet to learn from her everything I needed to know. I was being forced to perform with only a cursory glance at the script.
Silence proceeded to hang uncomfortably over us like an awkward tapestry, and I turned to the blonde maid. “Can I hear the situation in your own words, please?”
She looked confused, but quickly stood and delivered a curtsy. “I wasn’t rifling through no drawers, I promise.”
That was not the report we’d received. “You were seen searching Benedict’s drawers twice—”
“Not by Mrs.—”
“Hold your tongue,” Mrs. Prescott snapped. “You will not interrupt your betters.”
I drew in a breath, certain I was meddling in things high above my abilities. I gave the housekeeper a pert smile and directed my attention back to the maid. “Not by who?”
She swallowed. “I didn’t search Mr. Benedict’s drawers, I vow it. Mrs. Prescott didn’t see me with her own eyes.”
That was an interesting development. “Who was it that saw you?”
“Janet.”
I had no earthly idea who that was. I looked to the housekeeper for her input.
“Janet has been a maid here for nearly five years,” Lady Edith said, her attention on the maid. “And you have been in our employ for less than one.”
“Where is Janet?” I asked.
“I will find her,” Mrs. Prescott said, though by the disapproval on her face I could see that she did not like that I’d asked it of her.
Once she left, I returned my attention to the maid. “What is your name?”
“Molly Thompson, ma’am.”
“Why would Janet have cause to lie about what she saw?”
“Because she hates me. She thinks I’m trying to catch Mr. Marland’s eye, but I’m not. I swear it.” She shook her head violently. “I need this job, ma’am. My mother needs the money, and I can’t lose it. I would never do anything to risk my place here.”
“Mr. Marland?” I looked to Lady Edith.
“The butcher,” she supplied.
“Not him. The butcher’s son is the one Janet fancies.” Molly scoffed. “But he doesn’t even look at her. It doesn’t take smarts to figure that out.”
So this could be a case of jealousy. If Janet wanted Molly gone, that would be the easiest way to accomplish it. “Someone did rifle through Benedict’s drawers, though?”
“Indeed. His things were strewn about in his drawers,” Lady Edith confirmed.
Then someone was lying. Mrs. Prescott entered the room again, another maid just behind her. This one I recognized as the girl who had been starting the fires in my room each morning.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janet said, glaring at Molly. “She hasn’t liked me since she arrived last year.”
