“There is nothing rude about Juliet’s question.” Henry stepped away from the hearth, planting his feet wide. “So, answer it.”
“I have given you a perfectly plausible answer.” She closed in on Henry, lightly rubbing her fingers along his arm. “I understand you are upset over your sister’s disappearance, but pray do not take your frustration out on me. I only—ever—mean the best for you. Do not be angry.”
Juliet folded her arms. “Who do you know in Tunbridge Wells?”
Clara glanced back at her. “No one. Why do you ask?”
“What about any connections with Bellamy House?” Henry’s gaze sharpened on her.
She frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. “I do not know what you are talking about. Truly. Of course I am worried about Charity, and I will do all I can to help you.” She stepped towards the bellpull, her fingertips reaching for the scarlet cord as she faced them both. “But for now I am afraid I shall have to ask you to leave. My mother is upstairs with a raging megrim, and I must return to her side. I hope you understand.”
Aha. The megrims! Clara had the perfect opportunity to pocket extra laudanum every time she visited Mr. Scather’s shop for her mother’s medicine.
“So, tell me, Clara.” Juliet crossed the rug, studying the woman’s perfectly painted face. “Just how much laudanum did you—”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Whitmore.” The butler strode in before she could finish—and before Clara had even rung the bell—a cream-coloured envelope with a gold seal in his outstretched hand. “A message arrived for you, miss. Marked urgent.”
Clara retrieved the note and, without so much as a glance, held it behind her back. “Thank you, Graves. My guests were just leaving.” She turned to them as he took up a post near the door. “Now, as I said, I have pressing matters to attend, so I bid you good night.”
Henry shook his head, red creeping past his collar. “I will not leave here until—”
Juliet grabbed his arm, digging in her fingers to make a point. She only had one shot at this—and that was now. “Come, Henry. Clara is clearly preoccupied.”
He glowered. “But—”
She shot him a sharp look, silently pleading for him to trust her. Would he?
His frown deepened, but at length, he gave a barely perceptible nod.
Juliet flashed Clara a smile as she led him forwards. “Thank you for your time.”
“Of course. Good night.”
Hardly a step past the woman, Juliet lunged sideways. Her hand shot out. Fingers grasping. Snatching at the note. Yanking it away.
Clara’s blue eyes blazed. “How dare you!” She dove.
Henry blocked her.
Juliet ripped open the note.
And when the meaning set in, she gasped.
Henry whirled at the sudden intake of air from Juliet. The stunned look on her face lifted gooseflesh on his arms. He plucked the paper from her fingers just as Clara shoved past him.
“Give me that!” Clara swiped for it, her usually composed features twisted into desperation.
Stretching his arm high, he held the missive far from her reach and narrowed his eyes at the black ink.
Dear Miss Whitmore,
As per your request, everything is in place for the new arrival, and I shall do all in my power to carry out your wishes.
Thank you for your generous donation.
Dr. Robert Floodstone, Director of Bellamy House
Clutching the paper, he whirled on the woman he’d trusted all his life. His friend. His confidant.
