She waited for him to deny it, to burst out in shocked anger. Yet he simply sat there, eerily calm.
Gaze still on the window, he asked softly, “Like that story inThe Arabian Nights?”
She nodded, and he nodded back, which confused and frightened her.
He said, “If Oliver would have simply passed the manuscript on to his publisher, he would not have been harmed, or so I thought. Only if he lingered over it, licking his fingers page after page, as is his habit, would he ingest enough to hurt him, to suffer as I have suffered. It would be his fault, not mine. He would poison himself by his own perfidy.”
“Oh, John.” Rebecca moaned, feeling as though her chest had collapsed, stealing her breath, her hope.
“Then I changed my mind,” he said. “I decided I could not do it. I didn’t believe he’d give it to Edgecombe, but even so, I realized it was a risk. And Edgecombe had seen you there and might suspect our involvement.
“That night I came to the hotel, I waited until morning. When I worked for Oliver those few months, I learned his habits. I knew he stayed up half the night, burning the midnight oil. I learned from Mary when that guard fellow came on duty and went in earlier. I knew he would not see me enter, but I did not want him to hear me either.”
“You went up the abbess’s staircase?”
He glanced over. “Ah, so you remember Rose’s stories too.”
She nodded.
John went on, “At the top of those stairs, I listened and heard nothing, so I carefully inched open the door. Still I heardnothing, so I opened the panel all the way—slow going because of something in front of it—and stepped into the closet. I tripped over those low shelves and froze, sure Oliver would wake up and come to investigate. I held my breath, ready to retreat, but still ... nothing.
“So I opened the closet door and entered the room. I was surprised to find his bed empty. Then I saw him sprawled on the chaise near the hearth. The fire had burned low, but a lamp gave off some light.
“At first I assumed he must have fallen asleep and hadn’t heard me because he’d been drinking. Liked to drink, I recalled. Yet as I tiptoed closer, I saw his eyes were open though he lay unnaturally still. I watched his chest but saw no sign of its rising and falling. I put a hand in front of his mouth, but felt no breath. He was dead.
“I was stunned. Truly. His lap desk had fallen to the floor, and looking at the pages spread about”—John gestured again to the stack of paper—“I deduced that he had begun copying mine.
“I gathered up the manuscript. The title page and first few chapters were missing. I searched and searched but could not find them. I concluded he must have burned them.
“On the pages in his handwriting, I saw many words I recognized and others I did not. I was too nervous to stand there reading, so I picked up all I could find.”
She asked, “Did you notice if the outer door was locked or unlocked?”
He nodded. “Unlocked. I locked it and set the key on the table, not wanting that guard dog of his nor anyone else to come into the room and discover me there. When I had what I came for, I slipped out the way I had come.”
“I saw you leaving that morning, crossing Dodge’s field. I wondered what you were doing.”
“You haven’t told anyone, have you? The coroner hasn’t asked to question you?”
She shook her head. “I have told only Sir Frederick.”
“Sir Frederick?” John repeated in alarm. “Why would you tell him?”
“Someone saw you enter my room that night and reported it. I had to tell him it was you. If you had seen how he looked at me. The shocked disappointment...”
“What is that to my life?”
“I was not certain about the poison then, though I did wonder.”
He grimaced. “But the poison didn’t kill him. Robb came by and told us he was bludgeoned.”
“They are awaiting results of the postmortem. Sir Frederick thought he might have been poisoned or drugged as well. Otherwise, why would he just sit there and let someone strike him?”
“Oh...” John sat back hard, expression troubled.
Rebecca asked tentatively, “Are you sure he was already dead when you got there? You did not ... strike him out of anger? In revenge?”
His eyes grew large. “I did not lay a hand on him! You must believe me, Becky.”
