“Was he still coming when you decided to close?”
“No, but he remembered me when this situation came up and asked me to accompany him. With the gallery closed, I was in need of a job, so I agreed.”
“When Mr. Edgecombe was questioned, he said he was glad you were here to keep Mr. Oliver writing. But something you said seemed to call that into question.”
George shook his head. “Edgecombe didn’t want me here. As I said, he thought the whole situation a waste of time and money. He agreed to pay the author’s hotel bill, but Mr. Oliver was supposed to pay me. Which, true to form, he did not.”
“I will cover the cost of your stay, but I am afraid I cannot reimburse your lost wages as well.”
Mr. George held up a palm. “Would not ask it of you. Not your responsibility.”
Frederick said, “You also mentioned seeing another maid enter Mr. Oliver’s room in Mary’s stead.”
“Yes, though I don’t know which one it was or her name.”
“What did she look like?”
“Barely saw her, truth be told, with that floppy cap over her face.”
“So you may have been mistaken about it being someone else?”
“It’s possible. Look, I don’t want to get Mary into any trouble. She seems a good girl, quiet and respectful.”
“Could you at least tell if she was young or old? Fair or dark? Pretty?”
He looked down in concentration. “Young, I think. Dark. Beyond that I couldn’t say. Only got a glimpse. She ducked her head, I recall, shy-like or scared. I worried Oliver might have tried something with her, but she scurried off before I could find out.”
Frederick watched him with interest. “And what would you have done if he had tried something?”
Mr. George looked up. “And her unwilling?”
Frederick nodded.
The trooper’s eyes glinted, and Frederick was put in mind of a fierce dog they’d once had. He didn’t bark, but he did bite.
Then Mr. George leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Advised her to take care in the man’s presence.”
“That all?”
He gave a casual shrug. “What else?”
Frederick wondered but changed tack. “And what will you do now?”
“Now?”
“After this is over, I mean.”
George shrugged again. “Don’t know. I had not thought that far. Wasn’t sure how long this job would last.”
Frederick nodded. “Not long at all, as it turns out.”
Rebecca considered attending divine services at All Saints that Sunday but instead sat alone in the dim abbey chapel, the wrought iron chandelier with its white tapers unlit above her, the ornately carved wooden pew hard beneath her, and the air sharp with the acrid smells of snuffed candles and turpentine polish.
She gazed up to the colored panes of stained glass depicting the Messiah’s suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection. Sunlight brightened the scene and burned her heart.
What have I done?she inwardly lamented, but she knew very well. She had lied to Sir Frederick and sinned against God and her own conscience.
She thought back to her conversation with Frederick in the garden the previous evening, when he’d confronted her about withholding the truth. She had anticipated anger, but the eyes that met hers were gentle and disappointed, which was almost worse. She had felt ashamed but also grateful to the kind, patient man, who somehow still believed her to be good and honest.
