It was Emma who found them there. She came across the yard at a dead run, and Clara's heart clenched before the girl even opened her mouth because Emma Hayes did not run unless something was wrong. Mrs. Hollis, Emma said breathless. She's at the house. She's brought someone with her.
Who? Daniel said. Emma looked at Clara. She says she's brought the county sheriff, Emma said. And she says she has a complaint against Miss Clara.
The cold hit differently then. Clara felt it move through her. Not fear exactly, but the particular sensation of a trap closing of someone who has been watching and waiting, finally choosing their moment. She looked at Daniel. He was already looking at her and what she saw in his face was not doubt.
Whatever she's saying, he said, "It's not true. You don't know what she's saying yet," Clara said. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Come on." He walked toward the house.
Clara followed and behind them, Emma fell into step, chin up, jaw, set her father's daughter in every line of her. The three of them walked through the front door together. Sheriff Roy Callahan was a man Clara had not yet met, but she read him in the first 10 seconds. I was not a bad man. That was the first thing.
He stood in Daniel's front room with his hat in his hands and the careful, uncomfortable expression of someone who has been asked to do something he does not entirely want to do and has not yet decided how much that discomfort matters. He was in his 50s, solid with the weathered patience of a man who had spent decades navigating other people's disputes, and knew the difference between a real complaint and a manufactured one. Patricia Hollis stood beside him with her hands folded and her chin elevated and the particular stillness of someone who has rehearsed this moment. Lily and Rose were at the top of the stairs. Clara could feel them there without looking the specific quality of held breath from above.
Daniel walked in first. Clara and Emma behind him. Roy. Daniel said. Daniel.
The sheriff's voice was level neutral. I'm sorry to come out here like this. I want you to know this wasn't my idea. Whose idea was it? Daniel asked.
Patricia answered before the sheriff could. I filed a formal complaint, she said. Against Miss Whitmore. She looked at Clara directly, and there was something in her face beyond social authority, something sharper, something personal. It has come to my attention that Miss Whitmore has been misrepresenting herself to this household and to this community.
Misrepresenting herself. How? Daniel said. His voice was flat and controlled in the way that Clara had come to understand meant he was very angry and was not yet showing it. Miss Whitmore told you she was a governness of good character.