“Indeed.” Mr. Armitage’s golden hair glinted in the candlelight as he shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid she threw away her own chances there. A pity, I’m sure, but that is how life works, is it not? What do you say, Mrs. De Lacey?”
“Quite,” Elinor said colourlessly. “She must have been very foolish indeed.”
Behind her, Benedict Hawkins said nothing at all.
Chapter 20
When Elinor made her excuses to the company and left before dinner could be served, she half-expected Benedict to follow her. All the way back to her room, she braced herself to be caught up with at any moment.
He knew—or at least suspected—what she and Sir Jessamyn had done to Lady Hathergill. How could he not pursue her for answers?
But she arrived at her room without being stopped, and when a knock sounded on the door twenty minutes later, it was only Sally, holding Elinor’s dinner on a platter. The maid looked at Elinor’s discarded gown, lying over the dressing-table chair, and nodded briskly.
“Mrs. Braithewaite said that would need cleaning. He’s still up to his old tricks, is he?”
Sir Jessamyn, on Elinor’s lap, looked unoffended by the comment, as well as unruffled by his earlier accident. All of his attention was on the platter that Sally set down on the bed, with its tureen of soup and full plate of pheasant, jelly, and macaroons. A glass of wine, warmly golden against its crystal glass, stood beside them, perfectly unspilled.
“Thank you,” Elinor said. “I’m afraid Penelope frightened him, and—”
“Oh,Iknow,” said Sally. “I wouldn’t let a pet of mine anywhere near her, I wouldn’t, nor a baby, for that matter.” She poked at the soiled gown with one finger. “Still, I should have it ready for you by tomorrow morning.”
Elinor frowned. “I thought that none of the maids would touch—”
“Not for Miss Penelope, no, not anymore,” said Sally, “and Mrs. Braithewaite is behind us all the way, believe you me. She said it was too much for anyone to bear, the number of times every day we were expected to clean those messes up, especially when we all knew Miss Penelope was causing them herself. But you’re an honored guest,Mrs. De Lacey—or at least, we’re all supposed to think so. So…”
She sat down on the foot of the bed and looked expectantly at Elinor. “Tell me what happened with our Lucinda this afternoon.”
“Ah.” Elinor took a deep breath. Sir Jessamyn nosed the tray, and she cut off a slice of pheasant. Feeding it to him gave her a good excuse to lower her head and not meet Sally’s gaze. “I emptied her reticule onto the couch—”
“That must have been a nasty shock to her,” Sally said cheerfully. “How did you manage it?”
Elinor winced. “I spilled my tea all over her.”
“Good.” Sally reached over and scooped Elinor’s wine glass off the tray with casual authority. She raised it to her lips as she asked, “And which of our little knick-knacks took her fancy today?”
“None,” Elinor said. “There was nothing in her reticule that shouldn’t have been there.”
“What?” Sally lowered the glass so quickly, wine sloshed against the crystal rim. “Something must have distracted her. She almost always—”
“Not today,” said Elinor, “and I expect she won’t take anything on her next visit, either. Not now that she knows I’m watching her.”
“Bloody hell.” Sally shook her head. “You’ve torn it!”
“I did tell you I probably wouldn’t be able—”
“Well, you’re going to have to think of something!” Sally took a long sip of wine and slammed the glass back down onto the tray with an ominous chink. “If you imagine you can give up just because you made one little mistake—”
“I’m only here for six days!” said Elinor. “How many chances do you expect me to have? Now that she knows I suspect her, she’ll be on her guard. Why would she take the risk of stealing anything this week? She isn’t stupid. She’ll wait until I leave before she tries anything else.”
Sally raised her eyebrows. “Then you’ll just have to help her along, won’t you?”
Dread twisted in Elinor’s stomach. “What do you mean?”
“You think she won’t take anything herself? Fine. You’ll just have to do it for her.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elinor stared at Sally. She’d been carefully feeding slices of pheasant to Sir Jessamyn, but now her hand dropped limply to her lap, and Sir Jessamyn took over the task with enthusiasm. “You can’t mean—”
“All you have to do is take something yourself and slip it into that little bag of hers,” said Sally. “Who’s going to take her word against the great Mrs. De Lacey—especially when everyone sees you discover the stolen goods?”
