“Actually, yes. There’s one who seems both personable and affordable. When the first of the month comes, I’ll have enough saved to engage his services. The preliminary investigations and court fee, I believe it was.”
Rather than congratulate Violet on her impending freedom, Mrs. Tumsen’s face fell. “So that’s it, then? First of the month and ye’re out of here?”
“Just to meet him, and likely sign some sort of contract,” Violet answered, then caught herself. Would she be going anywhere at all if she were physically barred from stepping foot outside the abbey? “You saw what Mr. Roper did the other day, didn’t you?”
“I saw ye tumbling from atop his shoulder, if that’s what ye mean, but I didn’t ask him, and I didn’t ask you. Yer business is yer own.”
“He wouldn’t allow me to leave,” Violet admitted quietly.
Mrs. Tumsen’s expression of surprise was genuine. “He what?”
“He thought I was leaving, and took it upon himself to—well, you saw him. Tell me the truth, Mrs. Tumsen. Am I prisoner here?”
“If ye are, nobody told me,” the older woman said stoutly. But her brow creased in worry. “What did the old goat have to say for himself?”
“There wasn’t much opportunity for conversation,” Violet said dryly. Besides, what was there to say? He must have been ordered to keep her inside the abbey walls at all times. Why else would he have kept her from leaving? Her eyes widened as an alternate explanation sprang to mind. “Did you tell him about... about the sketch?”
“Yer wanted bill, ye mean?”
Violet smiled politely. “That’s the one.”
Mrs. Tumsen shook her head. “Haven’t breathed a word. Of course, I’m not the only one what goes to town from time to time, you know.”
“Of course,” Violet echoed weakly. Keeping a secret that large was truly hopeless. She bade the housekeeper good day, then slumped against her closed door with a sigh.
How was she meant to stay safe? If the only souls who never went into town were herself and the Waldegraves, likely every single servant both above and below stairs had seen her face in pen-and-ink infamy. Which meant leaving Waldegrave Abbey by hook or by crook would end up being the easy part. Getting from Shrewsbury to London without being trussed and gaoled along the way would be the delicate bit.
Violet’s pulse raced. While the Waldegraves might be perfectly happy for her to remain sequestered within the abbey walls—to be honest, she wasn’t sure any brows would rise if she simply never left—she did not want the life of a fugitive from justice. She wanted to stay of her own free will, not out of necessity.
Besides, it was only a matter of time until the news made its way from the servants to the master, andthenwhat would happen? She’d be out on her ear, that’s what. No governess was worth overlooking a murder charge. Once he knew the truth, his eyes would fill with contempt instead of longing.
Until she was cleared, she could not come clean.
Chapter 25
Not long after nightfall, the mystery of the waylaid robin began to prick at the edges of Violet’s conscience. She slid the novel she’d been patently not reading into the secretary drawer and decided to revisit to the room with the missing boards. Right now, before she lost her nerve. This time, she would pay special attention to any sounds she could detect. Try as she might, she heard not a whisper from behind any of the locked doors, however.
Save one.
With her pulse sounding in her ears, she hesitated outside the same doorway that had entrapped the unfortunate robin. Not all the stained glass windows had been exposed, but she had made sure the ones that were had been tightly secured. There was no way another bird had found its way into the chamber.
There was also little chance that a robin would make what sounded suspiciously like a muffled human sneeze.
There was definitely someone on the other side of the locked door. But who, and why? Dare she burst inside to catch whatever might be happening within, or was the wiser action returning to the safety of her bedchamber without further incident? Violet gnawed uncertainly at her lower lip. She slid the skeleton key from about her neck.
Ever so carefully, she slid the key into the slender opening and turned the brass head bit by bit until the lock disengaged. Before she could change her mind, she twisted the handle and shoved the door inward.
She clapped a hand to her throat in surprise.
Although the sun had set, and the new moon kept the room cloaked in shadow, faint stars filtered enough light through the thick colored glass segments to reveal the identity of the person responsible for removing the long-forgotten boards.
Mr. Waldegrave.
If she were startled to see him, he was twice as surprised to have her come upon him without warning. He spun to face her, the claw of a hammer dangling from his ungloved hand.
“What are you doing here?” they blurted in unison.
She almost collapsed in relief. “You first.”
