(How does Sebastian stand like this and look imposing? I feel like a dodo bird.)
Tightening my fingers, I begin by thanking everyone for their patience. “As Mr. Holcroft accurately observed, it has been a long day, and I do not wish to extend it unnecessarily. However, there is a grave injustice that must be corrected, and I will endeavor to do so as quickly as possible.”
Never mind the awkwardness of my posture.
Isoundauthoritative.
“Although we have arrived at the collective agreement that Evan Keast was murdered by Miss Burgess, new evidence has come?—”
The vicar does not let me finish the sentence, jumping out of his chair in a bounding leap and glaring at me as though I had personally consigned his sister to perdition. “Are you mad? Eliza did not kill anyone. She is not a murderer. How dare you accuse her of murder, Miss Hyde-Clare?” he asks, then looks around the room at the rest of its occupants. “How dare any of you accuse her?”
His anger is understandable.
The allegation is hideous.
Freeing my arms, I hold my hands in front of me, as if to ward off his fury, and gently urge him to calm down. “I appreciate why you are upset and promise you that the true murderer will come forward of their own volition presently. You may depend on it, Mr. Burgess,” I say with conviction.
He does not know what to make of my assurance and responds to it with a look combining so many emotions that it would be comical if the situation itself were not so dire: amazement, skepticism, apprehension, disbelief. Chester is likewise incredulous and calls me a rackety screw, in echo of hisfather, who seems amused by the scene. Clearly, Mr. Holcroft thinks I have finally been given enough rope to hang myself.
“How can you know that?” Sarah asks, regarding me with a mix of bewilderment and awe, as though perhaps Iama soothsayer. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Justice,” I say simply. “It is all about justice.”
And now I sound even more like a fortune teller.
That was not my intention.
“Collectively, we agreed on Miss Burgess’s guilt based on four key pieces of evidence,” I say before briefly reviewing our deductions. “She was the last person known to be in possession of the murder weapon, she had access to the book upon which the letters from the so-called impoverished widow were based, she had an opportunity to open the window in the parlor during the dinner party and lives close enough to Red Oaks to travel the distance safely even in the rain, and, most crucially, her handwriting is a close approximation to the one used in the aforementioned letters.”
It is a daunting list.
So much evidence!
The vicar thinks so as well, for he considers his sister with a grave expression, his cheeks gaunt, his lips pressed together tightly.
“These are the things we know, and they are persuasive. However, I have discovered a new piece of evidence that alters everything,” I say in preamble of my recent revelation, but Nutting interrupts before I can continue.
“You found a new piece of evidence in the past five minutes?” he says with bland curiosity, as though ascertaining how I prefer my tea. “While we were all gathered here in this room? I must say, Miss Hyde-Clare, you are a remarkable woman. I cannot fathom how you’ve managed to escape Mr. Twaddle-Thum’s notice with all your impressive feats.”
Like Mr. Holcroft, he expects me to embarrass myself. Allow the silly chit to maunder like her mother and enjoy a spiteful titter when she falls flat on her face.
“Yes, Mr. Nutting,” I say, assuring him that it is not at all astonishing for those of us who pay attention. “Haveyoubeen paying attention, sir?”
He scowls in reply.
Papa urges me to continue.
Having secured the stage for me, he would now like me to exit it as quickly as possible.
The Hyde-Clares—without a hint of drama in their souls!
And yet Mama is always causing scenes.
It is a conundrum.
Stating it plainly, I say, “The new evidence is this: divine retribution.”
Mr. Burgess does not respond.
