Page 84 of The Maid's Secret

“Can I help?” I asked, startling her so much that she jumped.

“I…I can’t go back in there,” she said.

“Of course you can,” I said. “All you need to do is put the ice in a bowl along with silver tongs, and then leave the rest to me.”

She was wide-eyed, trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “You don’t understand.”

I felt it then, a jolt in the pit of my stomach.

“Mrs.Mead tried to warn you,” Penelope whispered. “And she tried to warn me, too. About him.”

Him.At first, I thought she meant my father. But as I looked in her eyes, realization dawned.

“By him, you mean…my fiancé,” I said.

She nodded.

“I know why Mrs.Mead was running,” she said quietly.

“What are you saying?” I asked as I laid a hand on her quivering arm.

“I told her my secret,” she said.

“What secret?” I asked.

“If I tell you, you’ll blame me. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Please, tell me,” I said. “I won’t blame you.”

Penelope then revealed everything that had happened in the leadup to Mrs.Mead being shot. On Mrs.Mead’s orders, Penelope had gone to the basement laundry room, where she was sortingclothes when someone came into the room. She had her back turned when he entered, but she knew his voice. He told her to keep her back turned and to stay quiet and still.

“I should have screamed, but I was too scared,” Penelope said. “I swear to you, I didn’t provoke him,” she said through tears. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You won’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” I replied. I remembered how Algernon had recognized her at tea that day, how she’d dropped a cup on the floor.

“Do you know him? Algernon?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I didn’t realize until the day of the hunt, but yes. Before I took this job, I used to work for a baron and baroness. I did their laundry, cleaned their floors. But things went missing from the estate, and they accused the staff.”

“Did they dismiss you?” I asked.

“They dismissed everyone,” she replied, “The entire workforce.”

Everything fell into place then, all the puzzle pieces aligning to form a terrible picture, and the focal point was the Fabergé. “Penelope, did the baron own an egg,” I asked, “a bejeweled egg on a gold pedestal? Was it one of the items that went missing?”

“I don’t know,” said Penelope. “They had so many fine things, so much art, it was like their home was a museum. But I remember him being there.”

“Algernon?” I asked.

“Yes. I found him alone in the art wing, all by himself in a grand room. He yelled and ordered me away.”

My mind and my belly churned. I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts. “When you took the job here, did Mrs.Mead know you’d been dismissed?”

“I’m ashamed to say I kept that from her. I was afraid she’d never hire me if she knew.” She looked down at her feet. “The other day, in the basement, when he grabbed me, he kept repeating, ‘You don’t know me.’ He said it over and over again—‘Squeal and you’ll pay.’ ”

Her round, terrified eyes searched mine for solace. I held her hands and asked her what happened next.

“I don’t remember. I’m afraid it’s a bit of a blur. Eventually, he left, and I got myself together. I went upstairs looking for the only person I thought might help me—Mrs.Mead. She was in the kitchen. I told her everything. All of it.”

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