CHAPTER 52: CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

"WHAT!"

Beatrice reeled back as if she had been physically struck, her hand flying to her chest. "Lorena? Dead?" She stumbled, her balance failing her. Marissa, moving with a quick, supportive grace, caught her arm, steadying the old woman.

"That’s not all, Grandmother," Ashlyn continued, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper. "She also said... she said that the one who killed Miss Lorena was..." She paused, her gaze locking with Marissa’s. "...the Grand Duchess."

The accusation hung in the silent, sunlit room like an impossible thing. Marissa and Beatrice stared at each other, the Dowager’s eyes wide with a new, dawning horror, Marissa’s with a cold, clear understanding of the new war that had just been declared.

"Take me to her," Beatrice commanded, her voice a strained, harsh rasp.

In a few minutes, they were no longer in the warm, sunlit drawing room, but in a small, secure holding room in the servants’ quarters. It was where Nora had been taken after her "confession" in the garden.

The room was sparse, containing only a small cot and a single stool. Nora was kneeling on the cold stone floor, her face pale, her eyes red from what looked like hours of weeping.

Ashlyn stepped forward, her voice soft and full of a fake, sisterly concern. "Nora, tell them. Tell them exactly what you told me."

Nora looked up, her gaze landing on Beatrice. She immediately began to sob, her body shaking. "Your Grace," she cried, "I... I had to do it! I had to make a scene by ruining the gift! It was the only way to get someone to listen, to seek justice for Miss Lorena!"

Beatrice, who was now leaning heavily on a nearby table for support, spoke, her voice trembling. "What happened, child? Tell me everything."

"A few days ago," Nora explained, her words punctuated by sobs, "when Miss Lorena was first... taken... you ordered me to bring her food and clean clothes in the dark room. You were merciful, Dowager. You didn’t want her to starve."

Beatrice nodded slowly. This was true. She had given that order, a simple act of human decency.

"I... I went to the dark room," Nora continued, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "The guard let me in. It was so dark. I... I saw her. Miss Lorena. She was on the floor. And... and standing over her..." She raised a trembling, accusatory finger and pointed it directly at Marissa. "Was the Grand Duchess! She had a knife. Miss Lorena was... she wasn’t moving. The Grand Duchess killed her! I saw it with my own eyes!"

"Liar!" Lily, who had been standing silently beside Marissa, lunged forward, her face filled with a protective fury. "You absolute liar! Her Grace never went to that place! She has been in her chambers or with the young master! You are lying!"

"I trust my sister," Ashlyn said, her voice a sudden, calm interruption. Marissa glared at her, recognizing the tactic instantly.

"Lily, please, calm down. I know my sister could never harm someone. Though they had their conflicts, she is not a murderer."

Ashlyn turned to Beatrice, her face a picture of pure, reasonable concern. "That is why I plead with Grandmother to investigate this matter thoroughly. We must find the real truth, to clear my sister’s good name."

It was a brilliant move. Ashlyn, by "defending" Marissa, was actually the one pushing for the investigation, an investigation she had already perfectly staged. She had set the trap, and now she was politely asking the victim to walk into it.

"I have evidence," Nora cried, sensing she was losing the momentum. She fumbled in the pocket of her simple maid’s dress, her hand shaking. "I found it at the dark room, after... after she left. It had fallen on the floor, by the body."

She pulled out her hand and opened her fist. Lying in her small, grimy palm was a single, glittering, and unmistakably expensive earring. A teardrop sapphire surrounded by diamonds.

Lily gasped, recognizing it instantly. Before Marissa could stop her, she rushed forward and snatched the earring from Nora’s hand, her protective instincts overriding all else. "How did you get this?" she demanded, before turning and giving it to her mistress.

Marissa took the earring. Her blood ran cold. It was hers.

"It’s mine," she said, her voice quiet, but every person in the small room heard her. She remembered, with a sickening clarity, losing it. It had been the night of the confrontation with Lorena, the night she had been attacked with the porcelain shard. In the chaos, it must have been torn from her ear.

"A few days ago, I found an earring of mine was missing," she said, holding it up for Beatrice to see. She then locked her cold gaze on Nora. "But can one lost earring defame me as a murderer?"

Nora, who had been watching her with wide, terrified eyes, seemed to crumple under her stare. She was silent for a moment. But this, too, was part of the act. She turned away from Marissa, as if too afraid to face her, and addressed Beatrice directly, her head bowing until it touched the cold stone floor.

"Dowager," she wept, her voice a pathetic, broken sound. "I am not lying. I have already confessed to ruining the gift for the Crown Princess. I am going to be punished, perhaps even executed for that. I have no reason to add a lie to my crimes." Her small, shaking shoulders made her look pitiful, a victim herself. "I am powerless here. I have nothing to gain. I am only begging you, please, seek justice for Miss Lorena. Please."

The performance was perfect.

Beatrice sighed, a long, ragged sound of a woman pushed past her limits. She was so very tired. She looked at Marissa, her old eyes filled with a deep conflict. "I trust," she said slowly, her voice heavy with the weight of her wish, "that Marissa would never harm a soul. I have just given her the household. I believe in her."

She looked at Marissa, her gaze pleading. "Marissa," she said, her voice frail. "What do you decide?"

The Dowager was handing her the authority she had just bestowed, asking her to clean up a mess that had been designed to destroy her.

Marissa looked at the prostrate, sobbing Nora. She looked at Ashlyn, who was watching her with an expression of perfect, sisterly worry. She knew exactly what this was. A perfectly laid trap, sprung at the exact moment of her greatest triumph.

She could not have Nora executed; that would be an admission of guilt, a silencing of a "witness." She could not let her go; that would be an admission of weakness.

"We will lock her up first," Marissa said, her voice cold and steady, the voice of the new mistress of the house. "And this time, we will watch her closely." She turned to her own, loyal maid. "Lily."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Send two of the Duke’s personal guards to the dark room immediately. I want them to... check the situation. I want a full report on what they find. And I want them to answer only to me."

"Yes, Your Grace," Lily said, curtsying before rushing from the room.

Marissa turned her head, her gaze finally, fully, meeting her sister’s. She stared at Ashlyn, her eyes a promise of a war which had just begun.

And Ashlyn, her mask of sweet concern still perfectly in place, returned the glare with the same, silent intensity.