Henrietta hadn’t said necklace. Interesting. But it meant nothing. The maid would have known before entering the room what they looked for. Gossip traveled quickly. “I’m sure you don’t, but if you did,” he said, “we would be grateful for the information.”
Annie snorted. “Grateful to get it and quick to punish for it, too, I’m sure.”
A bold chit! But scared, too. Under her skirts, her heel bounced up and down.
Henrietta laid a hand on Annie’s forearm. “No punishment. Not at all!”
Annie yanked her arm out from under Henrietta’s touch. “I’ve heard that before from folks like you.” She jerked her head toward Grayson. “And you.”
A scowl slowly blossomed across Henrietta’s face. “I’m, ahem, not like him,” she said. “My father is a working man.”
The maid snorted again, a favorite expression, it seemed. “A rich working man from a titled family, I hear.”
Henrietta’s scowl took on a flavor of righteous indignation. If she let her anger further alienate the maid, they’d lose whatever information she had. Grayson jumped into the conversation. “You’re correct, Annie. Miss Blake is quite wealthy, and her family tree includes an earl or two. She’s not had to work each day as you have.”
Henrietta’s scowl jerked his way. He forged ahead. “But she does know what it means to work. The first night we met, I dined with her family, a guest of her brother’s. I noticed that she sat all night with her hands in her lap, and when she ventured forth to lift a spoon or glass to her lips, she grasped the object awkwardly with the middles of her fingers and not the tips.”
The maid’s lips un-pinched a bit. With curiosity, he hoped.
“I asked her brother later that evening,” Grayson continued, “if his sister suffered permanent damage to her arms or hands.”
Henrietta groaned.
But Grayson kept his attention trained on Annie. “Her brother laughed and assured me otherwise. You see, she’d spent the entire month trying to learn to sew as quickly, and with as much precision, as a seamstress. She had earned nothing for her efforts but pricked and swollen fingers.”
Annie cocked her head to one side and speared Henrietta with a questioning look. “Why?”
Henrietta shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “I very much admire the work seamstresses do, and I wanted to understand it, to be able to emulate it. In one way, I did not succeed. I do not have a talent for the needle. My fingers were a swollen, bloody mess. But I did learn how hard it is to work all night and day with a needle.” She huffed. “More like a tiny rapier. Weaving tiny stitches into works of art. It’s such difficult work. And so important! Just like what you—”
The maid laughed, a hearty sound. “You’re a good ’un, Miss Blake.”
“Oh, but he is, too!” Henrietta exclaimed, nodding at Grayson. “Before he became Viscount Rigsby, he trained to be an estate manager.”
Annie eyed Grayson skeptically.
“It’s true,” he assured her, leaving out the bit about the estates he trained to manage belonging to his father. “I’ve risen with the sun, mucked stables, and sheered sheep.” He’d enjoyed it, too, much more than he seemed to enjoy the less hands-on role of viscount and heir.
Annie nodded. “Maybe you wouldn’t punish me. Or maybe you’re lying to get me to—”
“Annie,” Henrietta said, interrupting her. “I promise you, neither of us has a desire to have you fired because you hold information about a lost necklace, no matter how condemning that information is.”
Annie’s gaze shifted slowly from Henrietta to Grayson then back again before dropping to her lap. “It’s not me I’m scared for,” she whispered.
“Who then?” Grayson persisted.
“The person who took the necklace. And sold it.”
Grayson bit back a curse. “Sold it?” he gritted out.
Annie’s eyes grew wide. “He needed the money,” she said in a rush. “Had good reasons for doing it. He needed it more than you. It took you a year to realize it was missing, didn’t it!”
Grayson grit his teeth and sent Henrietta a look he hoped said, Please, take care of this mess because if I open my mouth, I will certainly regret what comes out of it.
“Annie,” Henrietta said, keeping her eyes locked on Grayson and apparently understanding at least part of his silent message, “we won’t do anything to hurt that person, either. Can we speak with him, though? Please? Lord Rigsby wishes only to know where and how the necklace was sold so he can, perhaps, track it down.” She didn’t even look his way to confirm that the words she’d spoken for him were true. She didn’t need to. They were.
Grayson wouldn’t have the thief punished, but he might plan a little lecture for him about taking what is not his, no matter how good his motives.
Annie glanced his way. Looking for reassurance? She’d have it.
