“Yes, he tried to keep it from her.”
“Are you sure? Those haven’t been used in battle for hundreds of years.”
“I can prove it. Wait one moment—I forgot it on the stairs.”
She started back toward the closet, but he forestalled her with a hand to her arm. “I’ll go. What am I looking for?”
“The habit and mace I found hidden in the baptismal font.”
Picking up the lamp, he again descended the stairs, returning less than a minute later with the bundle in his hand.
He slowly unwound the black fabric, stillness settling over him as he regarded the mace, its brass knob gleaming by lamplight.
“It’s rather short—ceremonial, perhaps.”
“Does it not seem a likely weapon?”
“A likely weapon indeed.” He tested its weight in his hands. “I will ask Dr. Fox his opinion, but I think even slight Miss Newport could have killed a man with this.”
His brows knit. “What is the connection between Jack George and Selina Newport? I can’t imagine the two of them being romantically involved. He is far too old for her.”
“Age is not important to everyone.”
His gaze shot to hers, then away again.
“Actually,” she said, “the way the man embraced her did not strike me as romantic, but more ... paternal. Might he be her father?”
He shook his head. “No. Remember at dinner? She mentioned her parents were gone. Her father died in the war.”
“That’s right.” An idea came to Rebecca. “Her father was a military man, and Mr. George is a former trooper....”
“As were many thousands of other men.”
“I realize the chance of a connection is slim. Just a thought.”
“It is a possibility, though this is all supposition, not solid evidence.”
“I would say that mace is quite solid.”
“Having a mace does not necessarily prove she used it on Ambrose Oliver. But if you are right, does that mean she struck Jack George with it too?”
“Perhaps. Though if she did, Mr. George must not know it.”
“You did not actually see one of them hide it in the font?”
“No, but they had it in her room.”
He cocked his head to one side. “How exactly did you see that, by the way?”
“Oh.” She glanced down, face heating. “I ... I am afraid I peeked in from her balcony. I climbed over from mine. That’s how I cut my ankle.”
He slowly shook his head, surprise and mild censure in his expression. “Rebecca, Rebecca.” He drew himself up. “Well, we shall leave that for later. Now, to decide what to do next.” He stared off into the distance, then swiftly back at her. “Do you have reason to fear Mr. George? Did he threaten you?”
“Well ... when he saw me leaving the chapel, he shouted for me to stop, and when I didn’t, he followed me.”
“He told me you seemed frightened and he was concerned about you.”
“Iwasfrightened—of him!” Another thought struck her. “Did you find my reticule near the night stair? I tossed it there, hoping to misdirect him.”
