Clutching the handkerchief, Katherine marched up the stairs to the nursery.
Sally jumped when she entered.
“Where is that blanket? The embroidered one?”
“I ... I’m not ...”
“Did you dispose of it as I asked?”
“Well, I ... I meant to put it out with the children’s aid donation. But let me see ...”
Sally lifted the lid of the chest and flipped through the linens.
“There ’tis.”
“I knew it.” Katherine snatched the blanket from her and walked to the window, comparing the two items in the light.
“Do forgive me, m’lady.”
“Look. They are so similar, are they not?”
Sally approached cautiously and leaned close. “Seems so.”
“Do you know who made this?”
The nurse hesitated. “Well, I ...”
“My cousin Charlotte, that’s who.”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes, Charlotte Lamb, my young cousin. I’ve been wondering where’s she gone to.”
“Charlotte Lamb?”
“Yes, yes.”
Katherine strode from the nursery, both pieces in hand. She found Charles in the library.
“I knew it. Look.”
“What am I looking at? Not the confounded blanket again.”
“Yes ... and the handkerchief. See—they were made by the same person.”
“I do not see that they are so alike.”
“I asked and asked, and no one would tell me. I detest secrets! I have had my suspicions, but I did not want to believe—”
“Katherine,” he said sternly. “What are you talking about?”
“Charlotte Lamb, of course.”
“What of her?”
“She made this blanket, just as she made this for me years ago. That could only mean one thing.”
“What are you suggesting?”
