Page 40 of Fairest of Heart

“This isn’t court, Grandpa. It’s just an interview.” Titus sighed as he sank into the padded chair across from the settee. He hung his head a bit as he pulled his hat off.

“Maybe so, but I’d hate for those preconceived notions of yours to skew these proceedings.”

Hurt flashed in Titus’s eyes before he shuttered it away behind a mask of impatience, a hurt Penelope recognized all too well. It cut deeply when the people who were supposed to be on your side lined up against you. Coworkers, employers, friends. How much worse to feel as if family were turning against you? As much as she adored Doc for standing up for her, she couldn’t be responsible for putting these two honorable men at odds.

“I trust him,” she said softly. She even willed a small smile and a nod when Titus glanced her way. Unable to hold his gaze, she swiveled toward Doc and squeezed his hand. “You do too,” she said. “Don’t deny it. Just last night you were talking about how the Rangers would be fools not to grant him a promotion. ‘No one can match his courage and integrity.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

Doc grunted. “I did.”

“Then there you have it. I’ll answer his questions, and all will be well. You’ll see.” She doubted her forced cheerfulness fooled anyone, but she had to believe things would work out. Faith was all she had.

Titus had no idea what to make of the woman sitting before him. He’d convinced himself over the last twenty-four hours that he’d be able to see through her charade now that he knew the truth about her past. But as she pushed her trembling bottom lip into a brave little smile, his confidence wavered. Nothing about her felt the least bit jaded or artificial.

The apron she wore sported pockets that bulged with clothespins, attesting to the fact that she’d been hanging laundry before taking a break to dance with butterflies. In his experience, women used to bending men to their will didn’t engage in menial labor. Nor did they stop someone from defending them just to save another person’s feelings. Which was exactly what she’d done. It could all be a master manipulation, but looking at the scared young woman before him, he found that theory harder and harder to credit. No one was that good. Even Madame LaBelle had slipped once or twice during his interview, letting him see flashes of the woman behind the actress.

His gut told him Narcissa LaBelle was a more likely suspect, but a search of her room had turned up none of the missing jewelry nor any concrete ties to the men on his list. He’d found nothing tying Penelope to the jewelry, either. Just a pitifully small pile of belongings consisting of a well-worn copy of Oliver Twist, a Bible, and a photograph and handful of letters from someone named Edith Johnson. Nevertheless, the Carlisle testimony established a pattern he couldn’t ignore, one that fit the elements of his theft case far too well. He’d had no choice but to move Penelope Snow to the top of his suspect list.

“Tell me, Miss Snow,” Titus said as pulled out his notebook and turned to the page where he’d written the names of the men who’d lost valuables. He handed the notebook to her. “Are you acquainted with any of these gentlemen?”

Her fingers shook as she took the tablet, but her eyes dutifully darted over each line. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I . . .”

Doc raised a hand, causing Penelope to blink and shrink back. “Just a moment, my dear.” He turned his face toward the front window and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jeb?”

“Yeah?” The response filtered through the window loud and clear.

“Take the others down to the barn for a spell, would ya? I’ll come fetch you when we’re done here.”

Shuffles and grunts echoed from the porch. “You heard the man,” Jeb groused. “Get a move on.”

Penelope’s fair complexion turned scarlet. Suddenly Titus was glad Penelope had an advocate who was more concerned with protecting her than getting answers.

He met his grandpa’s eye. “Good idea.”

Doc shrugged. “They care about her. Only natural for them to want to know what’s goin’ on.”

Penelope swallowed hard as she lifted her chin. “I care about them, too. About all of you.” She peered into Doc’s weathered face, her face earnest. “No matter what happens with this interview, I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’ve all been so kind and welcoming. I promise that I won’t let my past shame tarnish your good names.”

Titus’s ears pricked at her near admission. But before he could form a question, Doc responded, his voice thick with emotion.

“We all got things in our pasts we’re not proud of, Penny. No need to throw around wild promises before we even get out of the starting block. Let’s just take it one step at a time, all right?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. Then she turned her wide gray eyes on Titus. “You may continue.”

He cleared his throat, glancing down to his notepad to escape the haunted look in her eyes. “You said you didn’t recognize any of these names, but each of these men attended a performance by the Chicago Theatrical Company. A company you worked for, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, I worked as Madame LaBelle’s personal maid, but I had no interaction with any of the patrons.”

“Not even the ones who were granted backstage privileges?” Titus watched her carefully for any sign of scrambling, but her expression remained open and sincere.

“The men who get invited backstage are always wealthy patrons who Mr. Billings and Madame believe can be wooed into donating to the arts. My only interactions with them included taking their hats and gloves and fetching them a glass of wine. I was never introduced.”

Which made sense for a servant. Yet Titus couldn’t forget the way Hubert Hathaway had described her. It could be a way to catch her in a lie. . . .

“Did any of these patrons ever try to engage you in conversation?”