Chapter 3 - The Brooch in Her Coat
He arrived in Connecticut at 6:40 Thursday evening.
No driver.
No announcement.
No call to Camille.
Elias opened the side door and stared at him.
“You came through the staff entrance.”
“I wanted to remember what the house looks like from this side.”
Elias took his coat.
Nathaniel glanced toward the kitchen.
“Where is she?”
“Clara?”
“Yes.”
“In there.”
“And Camille?”
“Upstairs.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Don’t tell either of them what I know.”
Elias studied him carefully.
“What are you planning?”
“Today?”
Nathaniel looked toward the kitchen.
“I’m planning to watch without a screen between us.”
Clara was arranging vegetables when he entered.
She turned, startled.
“Mr. Vaughn.”
Nathaniel smiled.
“Hello, Clara.”
“You’re home early.”
“So I keep hearing.”
She wiped her hands.
“Would you like tea?”
“You just saw me walk through the door.”
“There’s always time for tea.”
He almost laughed.
“Then yes.”
She filled the kettle.
Nathaniel sat at the small staff table instead of going to the dining room.
Clara glanced at him.
“You can sit in the breakfast room, sir.”
“I know.”
She waited.
“I like it here.”
“The chairs are terrible.”
“Maybe I enjoy suffering.”
That earned the smallest smile.
She set a mug in front of him.
Nathaniel asked, “How has the house been?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Everything’s in order.”
“And Camille?”
Clara’s hands paused.
“Miss Royce is very busy with wedding preparations.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“That is an extremely generous answer.”
“It’s the only useful one.”
He leaned back.
“Elias says you’re studying to become a teacher.”
Clara looked annoyed.
“Elias talks too much.”
“Which grade?”
“Third.”
“Why third?”
She smiled.
“Because eight-year-olds still think adults know what they’re doing.”
Nathaniel laughed.
Clara added, “And they still believe things can get better.”
“Maybe they know something we don’t.”
Before she could answer, Camille entered.
She stopped dead.
“Nathaniel?”
He stood.
Camille rushed across the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him.
“You’re home!”
“So it appears.”
“You should have called.”
“I wanted to surprise everyone.”
Her eyes flicked toward Clara.
Nathaniel saw something disappear behind Camille’s smile.
“Well,” she said brightly, “you certainly did.”
She kissed him.
Nathaniel felt nothing.
“Clara,” Camille said without looking at her, “the silver needs polishing before Saturday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All of it.”
Clara nodded.
Camille took Nathaniel’s arm.
“The wedding planner is upstairs.”
As Nathaniel allowed himself to be led away, he looked back.
Clara was already wiping the counter.
She had no idea he knew.
That night, Nathaniel asked Elias one question.
“Did she ever complain?”
“Clara?”
“Once. Ever.”
Elias shook his head.
“No, sir.”
“She defended Camille to me today.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Nathaniel walked to the study.
His mother’s magnolia brooch was still inside its glass case.
He opened the cabinet.
Touched it.
Then left it exactly where it was.
“The engagement party is Saturday,” Nathaniel said.
Elias stood behind him.
“Yes.”
“I want the camera footage copied.”
Elias raised an eyebrow.
“All of it?”
“The coffee. The lunch. The rain.”
Nathaniel looked at the brooch.
“And whatever happens next.”
Friday morning, Nathaniel was carrying a box of crystal glasses when Clara nearly collided with him.
“Sir!”
“What?”
“That’s my job.”
Nathaniel looked down at the box.
“It appears to be my job right now.”
“You own the house.”
“Does ownership prevent me from carrying glass?”
“No.”
“Excellent.”
Clara reluctantly surrendered half the box.
“Five minutes,” she warned.
“Five minutes?”
“You can help for five minutes. Then you have to go back to being rich.”
Nathaniel smiled.
“That sounds exhausting.”
They walked toward the dining room.
Clara glanced at him.
“You’re different than I expected.”
“How?”
“You ask questions.”
“Most people do.”
“You wait for the answer.”
He was about to respond when Camille screamed upstairs.
“Nathaniel!”
They both stopped.
Camille appeared at the top of the stairs holding an empty velvet box.
Her face was pale.
“Your mother’s brooch is gone.”
Nathaniel put down the glasses.
“Gone?”
“I went into your study to check something for the display table. The case was open.”
Clara looked worried.
Elias emerged from the hallway.
Camille descended slowly.
“Who has been cleaning the study?”
Clara’s face changed.
“I have.”
Camille turned to Nathaniel.
“There.”
Nathaniel felt sick, though he already knew what was coming.
Camille said, “Check her locker.”
Clara stared at her.
“What?”
“If you didn’t take anything, you won’t mind.”
“I do mind.”
Camille laughed.
“Of course you do.”
Nathaniel looked at Clara.
Her cheeks had gone red.
Not guilty red.
Humiliated red.
“Camille,” he said.
“What?”
“Stop.”
But Camille was already walking toward the mudroom.
Clara followed.
So did Nathaniel and Elias.
Camille opened the staff locker.
She reached into Clara’s coat pocket.
And pulled out the magnolia brooch.
Elias closed his eyes.
Clara stopped breathing.
Camille held it up.
“Well.”
Clara’s voice broke.
“I have never seen that in my life.”
“Apparently it has seen you.”
“I didn’t take it.”
Camille turned to Nathaniel.
“We need to call someone.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“No police.”
“She stole from your mother.”
“I said no.”
Camille stared at him.
“Then fire her.”
Clara looked at Nathaniel.
He saw pride struggling with hurt in her eyes.
Nathaniel knew the camera in the mudroom had captured everything.
He had watched Camille enter twenty minutes earlier.
He had watched her slip the brooch into Clara’s coat.
He had proof.
He could end it now.
Yet he had already made a decision.
Saturday night, one hundred and twelve people were coming to celebrate his engagement.
Many of them knew Camille socially.
Some had recommended her for charity boards.
Some had heard her complain about incompetent staff.
Nathaniel wanted the truth to become impossible to bury.
“One day,” he said.
Camille frowned.
“What?”
“Give me one day.”
“For a thief?”
Clara stepped backward.
“No.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“Clara—”
“No, sir.”
Her eyes were wet now.
“I will not spend another day in a house where people are allowed to look at me and wonder if I stole from a dead woman.”
“I don’t think that.”
“But you aren’t saying I didn’t.”
Nathaniel felt the words land where they should.
Clara removed her apron.
Folded it.
Placed it on the bench.
“Thank you for the job.”
“Please wait.”
She looked at Elias.
“Thank you for the umbrella.”
Elias swallowed hard.
“Clara—”
She hugged him.
Then she walked out.
Camille watched the door close.
“Some people just aren’t meant for houses like ours.”
Nathaniel turned toward her.
He had never felt less like marrying someone in his life.
“You’re right,” he said.
Camille smiled.
May you like
Nathaniel finished quietly.
“Some people aren’t.”
