“You said you heard Mr. Turnbull-Minchin. Did you see him?”
Liddy shook her head. “No. The moon disappeared.”
“Did you hear or see anything else?”
She shook her head again. “Thunder and wind?” she offered hopefully.
“I meant of the men or the fight.”
“No. I got really scared. I ran up the servant stairs.”
The magistrate frowned. “Is that all you can tell me of that night?”
“You should tell him what you took with you,” Cecilia told her, gently squeezing her shoulder.
“You mean about the numbers book?” Liddy asked, looking up at Cecilia.
“Yes, dear.”
“Numbers book!” blurted out Mr. Turnbull-Minchin. “You little thief! Where’s my account book?” he demanded, lunging toward her.
The room burst into an uproar of people screaming, shouting and knocking over chairs to stop the superintendent. Cecilia whisked Liddy out of the chair and behind her as James, Mr. Ramsay, and Mr. Stackpoole burst into the room from the doctor’s interview room.
James, anticipating the superintendent’s actions, was the first one to reach him and delivered an uppercut that floored the man. He landed amid the chairs, nursing his chin. James stood over him, waiting to see if he would get up and charge him, but the man just glared at him. Mr. Ratcliffe and the magistrate helped him to his feet.
Once the room had settled down again, Cecilia sat Liddy in a chair farther away from the magistrate.
“This book, how did you get it?” the magistrate asked Liddy.
“I took it from Mr. Montgomery’s room.”
“Why did you take it?”
“Mr. Montgomery said it had bad maths in it.”
“Bad maths?”
She nodded.
“Ridiculous!” protested the superintendent from where he sat nursing his jaw.
The magistrate glared at Mr. Turnbull-Minchin then turned back to Liddy. “What did you do with the book?”
“I hid it.”
“Where did you hide it?”
“In a cupboard in the ladies hall,” she said simply.
The superintendent jumped out of his chair.
“Sit down!” ordered the magistrate.
“But—” protested Mr. Turnbull-Minchin.
“I said, sit down. I doubt the book is there any longer.” The magistrate looked up at Cecilia, “Am I correct, Lady Branstoke?”
“You are, Magistrate.”
