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“I understand. But I was hoping you might know more.” Athena lowered her voice. “Between you and me, I heard the most horrendous things about Miss Vernon’s father, Mr. Arthur Vernon? It’s said that he was forcing Miss Vernon into a marriage against her will. Was that true?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Did you ever meet Harold Sinclair?”

“No.” The woman’s answer was simple but direct.

Athena had been hoping for a different reply—that there had been some heretofore unknown relationship between the two that might have given this woman a motive for murder. “Never? You had no interaction with Harold Sinclair whatsoever?”

Mrs. Hunt shook her head. “No. Mr. Sinclair wasn’t a churchgoer, and I worked at Thorndale Manor, not Woodcroft House, and only for a short time, as I said.

But Mr. Sinclair did call on Miss Vernon a few times.

The master, Mr. Arthur Vernon, ordered us to leave them alone in the drawing room—shocking business, that!

But I snuck a peek at him once when he arrived.

Didn’t like the look of him. He had hard eyes. ”

Athena believed her. Well, then. That’s that. But Mrs. Hunt could still be guilty of thievery and giving in to blackmail. “What was your impression of Arthur Vernon? Did he treat you well?”

Mrs. Hunt frowned. “No. He was always short with me. ‘Fetch this,’ ‘do that.’ Never a smile or a kind word.”

“I’m sorry,” Athena said with sympathy.

“He kept telling me to clean out the fireplaces and lay new fires, even though that wasn’t my job.

” Mrs. Hunt picked at the fabric of her skirts.

“He kept complaining that I hadn’t made the corners of his bedsheets tight enough.

He shorted me on my pay on account of that, said he’d make up for it when I had ‘learned to do my job properly.’ I tried harder.

No one could have made a bed with tighter corners than me, but it made no difference. He never paid me what I was owed.”

Athena was beginning to understand Ethel better by the minute. “I imagine that must have made you angry.”

“It did. But a servant is nothing. We have to be grateful for room and board and a salary, however pitiful.”

Athena gave Mrs. Hunt a direct and encouraging look. “Had I been you, I would have found a way to get the money that was owed to me.”

Something dark flickered in Mrs. Hunt’s eyes. “Maybe I did.”

Athena smiled confidentially. “Oh? I’m dying to know! What did you do?”

Mrs. Hunt squirmed and shook her head. “I shouldn’t say.”

“I won’t write it down. This will just be between you and me.”

Mrs. Hunt hesitated but then took the bait. “Well. I knew where the master kept his cash box, and where he hid the key. I took the money that was owed to me. And between you and me ,” she added, with a smile and a distant gleam in her eyes, “a great deal more.”

Athena gave a gasp of feigned amazement. “How clever.”

“I think so. I had met my Albert by then, you see, and we were engaged to be married. But we didn’t have a penny to start our new life together. The master was so rich, he’d never miss that money.” Mrs. Hunt looked highly pleased with herself.

“I hope no one found out what you had done?” Athena asked in a worried tone.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Darkmoor Bridge is a small village. Did anyone find out you had stolen that money?”

Mrs. Hunt’s smile fled. She picked at her skirts again. “Well, the housekeeper made a fuss about it at the time, but she could never prove anything.”

“Did anyone else suspect you and threaten you about it?”

Mrs. Hunt stirred restlessly. “No. Of course not.”

“I know you gave testimony at Caroline Vernon’s trial. You said you had found rat poison in her bedchamber.”

The woman’s brow furrowed over eyes that grew testy. “You asked me if I even recalled that, but you knew I testified?”

Athena’s chest tightened. Somehow, she had to smooth this over. “Yes. Forgive me. It was just a way to bring up the subject. I was hoping you would admit to it freely.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” Mrs. Hunt replied sharply.

“I understand.” Athena took a breath. “I don’t blame you for stealing that money, Mrs. Hunt. Nor would I blame you if someone had found out and put you in a difficult position—perhaps blackmailed you into saying something on the witness stand that wasn’t true?”

Mrs. Hunt’s gaze focused on the carpet. She seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly, her mouth dropped open and with a gasp, she stared at Athena. “You’re not really here to write a history of Thorndale Manor, are you?”

Athena’s pulse skittered. “I’ve come a long way to learn the truth,” she admitted. “It must be very hard to carry a secret like that for so many years. To have no one in whom to confide.”

Mrs. Hunt’s face went scarlet, but she remained mute.

Athena said quietly, “Did you really find rat poison in Miss Vernon’s chamber?”

Mrs. Hunt waved an impatient hand. “What does it matter now? The woman is long since dead!”

“It matters to me, ma’am. I’m trying to run a school. As it turns out, parents aren’t keen to send their daughters to live at a manor that once housed a convicted murderess. You have six children. Surely, you can understand my plight.”

Mrs. Hunt glanced down at her shoes. “I see what you’re getting at, Miss Taylor. But I don’t see what can be done about it now.”

“You can start by telling me the truth.”

“I can’t!” Mrs. Hunt cried in a shrill voice, the color draining from her face. “I can’t!”

“Please, Mrs. Hunt. What really happened?”

A moment passed. Mrs. Hunt slumped in her seat and gave a long, reluctant sigh. “All right. But you must promise this will not go any farther than these four walls.”

“Very well,” Athena replied. She listened eagerly as Mrs. Hunt began her tale.