“I’ll fetch your charcoal and paper for you, Julia, while you get him posed as you should like. That will save some time,” Cecilia suggested, delighting in Julia’s ruse to get Mr. Hobart out of the way.
“Oh, would you indeed? That would be oh so helpful.”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Vance walked away with Liddy and Mr. Quetal. Mr. Hobart looked as if he should like to follow them, but ever the gentleman, he stayed by Julia’s side.
Cecilia smiled. She went upstairs to get Julia’s drawing things, then came directly back downstairs.
“Here, Julia. I’ll be with Mrs. Vance and Liddy if you need me,” she said. She hurried back into the house before Mr. Hobart could say anything. She hoped she was incorrect in her sudden concerns with Mr. Hobart. Better to apologize later than to take chances now.
In the library, at a far corner card table, she found Mr. Quetal with Mrs. Vance and Liddy examining a book on the table. Ostensibly, it was Liddy’s story book. The previous day she’d cut out the story book pages and placed the account book pages in their place. She’d hated to cut the beautiful story book, but it was the perfect size to disguise the account book. She would arrange for the book’s repair when she left Camden House.
She looked over Mr. Quetal’s shoulder as he studied the book.
Liddy pointed to the entries Cecilia and Julia had noted of additional funds coming in from the families of patients. “Mr. Montgomery said this was bad doings,” Liddy whispered.
Mr. Quetal frowned. He ran his finger down the list of entries, then turned the page, his finger hovering over Enoch Vance.
“Gracious,” Mrs. Vance whispered. “He even got Enoch to pay something.”
“I understand your concern, Lady Branstoke. I’d have to study the other books. However, this strongly smells of theft. I don’t know what you would call it if the money never made it into the master books. It appears our superintendent is also buying cheaper goods and marking them as higher priced items and charging others additionally. He is probably pulling in tidysums for himself. No wonder the sanatorium has not recovered in the way Mr. Ratcliffe had anticipated.”
“He chose the wrong confederate,” Cecilia said. “I?—”
From outside the library, they heard several loud male voices. “Quick, close the book—Liddy, you hold the story book close to you and make sure the account pages inside do not fall out.” Cecilia sat in the open chair at the other side of the table.
“What is this about a witness?” Mr. Ratcliffe shouted as the library door opened. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of. It was pitch black at night?—”
“There was a full moon—” countered Dr. Worcham.
“Too cloudy! Did you forget the thunder and rain that night? I tell you, I don’t.”
“The storm came up fast. There was moonlight after sunset,” Dr. Worcham ventured.
“Where is this obnoxious child who is telling tales and causing Squire Eccleston to come here?”
Liddy huddled in her chair, trying to look small and invisible.
“And why would he want to listen to anyone from here? They’re all a bunch of lunatics.”
Behind him, Mr. Turnbull-Minchin laughed.
“Now Mr. Ratcliffe, you know that is not so,” protested Dr. Worcham. He began worrying his hands together.
A handful of patients who’d been in the library slunk out the door around the men. Mr. Ratcliffe looked around the room and saw them in their corner. His eyes narrowed.
“You!” he said, pointing at Liddy. “Come here, you bloody lying street brat. The rest of you get out.”
“No!” Liddy shouted back at him.
“And you are?” Cecilia asked, standing up. “Dr. Worcham, I didn’t think visitors were allowed in here. Is this man a visitor or a new patient?”
Liddy lifted her head above the top of the chair back. “That’s Ratman,” she spat out, then ducked down again.
“Why you little?—”
“Mr. Ratcliffe, please!” implored Dr. Worcham.
