Chapter 19 #2
“I know a way to prove as much,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “Bailey, you’re with me. The rest of you carry on. We’ll search each of the staff quarters, including the butler’s pantry and the housekeeper’s parlor. We’ll find nothing, and I can assure His Grace that the rumor is a lie.”
Heads nodded; breaths rushed out. With a look to Morrigan, Bailey moved to join the housekeeper, and the two left up the servants stairs.
“That will fix things,” Mrs. Bettleton predicted. She flapped her hands at the others. “Now, let’s finish this dinner.”
Morrigan did her best to put the matter from her mind as they set the table in the dining room with all the fine china and silver, then arranged the various foods in bowls and on platters for best display.
The footmen would be serving, and Mrs. Bettleton kept glancing at the stairs as if afraid Bailey wouldn’t return in time.
But he came galumphing in just as she turned the asparagus soup into the silver tureen.
“Meet me tonight,” Bailey murmured as he passed Morrigan. “The sculpture gallery, ten of the clock.”
She barely had time to nod before he took up the tureen.
Mrs. Carmichael came into the kitchen, satisfied smile on her face. “Not a thing to indicate it’s one of us. I’ll tell His Grace after dinner.”
Everyone else was smiling too as they began the dinner service.
So, why did Bailey so urgently need to talk to Morrigan? Did he want to share Sally’s confession? Surely he wasn’t going to propose! She’d never seen a man more ill at ease.
Somehow, she made it through the rest of the evening. Anastasia was safely tucked up in her bed in Her Grace the Second’s bedchamber, and the last of the dishes had been put away before Morrigan slipped down the back corridor and into the dark of the sculpture gallery.
Enough moonlight trickled in through the windows on either side for her to see her way.
She’d never been entirely comfortable in the space.
The white stone sculptures of people and animals looked like they’d all been frozen in the middle of a snowstorm.
She tiptoed past a fellow sitting on a stool, staring out into space.
Mrs. Carmichael had told her he was supposed to be Moses, but he looked more like a grumpy shopkeeper to Morrigan.
She could feel his blank gaze following her as she moved deeper into the room.
She nearly started when one of the statues moved, then realized it was Bailey, pushing away from the wall to stride toward her. His face was in shadow, but his voice sounded odd.
“What’s this I found under your bed?” He opened his arms to show a white marble figurine, the one she’d last seen on a table in this very room.
Morrigan stared at it. “Under my bed?”
Bailey’s voice softened. “I know you didn’t steal it, Morrigan. I managed to hide it before anyone else noticed so I could talk to you. What I’m trying to understand is why it was where it shouldn’t have been.”
His words would have buoyed her, but the whole situation was too much like London. “I have no idea, but it won’t matter, will it? His Grace will believe the worst of me. Everyone will.”
“Not if you explain,” Bailey insisted. “Do you know who might want to see you blamed?”
She tilted her head to meet his gaze. “You don’t know who the real thief is?”
He shook his head.
So, Sally hadn’t told him the truth. Perhaps she’d even come up to the manor to place that figurine where someone might find it.
She could have easily asked one of the staff which room and bed was Morrigan’s.
Had Sally been the one to suggest to His Grace it was one of the staff?
She wouldn’t have dared to approach him directly, but nothing said she couldn’t leave a note for him to find.
Did she think that by sending Morrigan packing, Sally could continue to steal? Or at least, keep her secret quiet? What was to stop Morrigan from pointing a finger right back?
Only her love for the man standing before her.
“I have an idea who might have put that under my bed,” Morrigan said. “I wish I was wrong. I guessed who the thief was and confronted the person. I’d like to give the thief time to come forward.”
He stepped closer, and moonlight brushed his face as his gaze searched hers. “You owe no loyalty to a thief, Morrigan. When you accepted this job, it was as good as taking an oath to protect this house and those in it.”
Guilt and worry clogged her throat. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m doing what I think best, Bailey. Please believe me.”
He set the figurine on the platform that held a statue of a white horse nearly as big as the live ones in the estate stables. “I do, sweetheart. You know I do. But I can’t let this lie. You’ve seen what it’s doing to the others.”
She nodded. “We’re all on edge, and everyone was so happy when Mrs. Carmichael announced it couldn’t be one of us. I don’t want to take that from them.” Especially from him. If only she knew a way to get Sally to confess!
“What do you think will happen if this thief isn’t caught?” Bailey persisted. “How soon will he try to point a finger at someone else?”
Sally had unfettered access to the manor. Even if they managed to keep her out, she could still enter the vicarage, church, or shops again. Would she attempt to blame Pip? Someone else in the village?
Yet how could she put the blame on Sally? Bailey loved his sister so much. Morrigan couldn’t see his shining belief dimmed. She couldn’t come between him and his family. She would hurt him and them and likely lose his regard in the process. She was trapped, and she had a feeling Sally knew it.
She drew in a breath. “Then I suppose the best thing for me to do is to tell His Grace I quit.”