Chapter Twenty-Eight
There was an uproar. The biggest uproar Primrose had ever heard in her life. Rhodes bounded up the stairs, Lord Cheevers on his heels, both intent on looking into the alcove. Lady Cheevers followed more slowly, her face stark white with horror.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Rhodes demanded, while at the same time Lady Cheevers clutched Primrose’s arm and said faintly, “Oh, my dear . . . I thought . . .” Her gaze turned to the string, lying on the floor at their feet.
“It’s all right, ma’am.” Primrose patted her hand.
Miss Middleton-Murray emerged from the alcove. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling brightly, but she didn’t look cowed or repentant or even embarrassed at having been caught; she looked wrathful. She lifted her chin and stared at Primrose, and if
