“It worked. He came, notice in hand, and asked for a trial. He blustered about how he had some fencing experience, written about it anyway, which must count for something. All the while I agreed and clucked, pretending to be impressed. I trained him, and got to know him, and garnered his trust.
“Then I began playing on his fears. I’d learned he was a habitual gambler. Always sure he would win, and always losing. Under the hatches in debt. I told him a man had come to thegallery, sniffing around, asking about him. I dropped the name of the moneylender, Isaac King, and could see it frightened him.
“I bided my time. Not eager to get myself arrested while one of my beloved wards might still need me. But Selina has grown up and grown hard since Edie’s death—almost too hard, I sometimes think. She has the determination and strength to survive in this world, strength Edie did not have.
“At all events, I sent Oliver a letter. I write a better hand than you would suppose. In it, I wrote: ‘Pay up or pay the consequences.’
“He came to the gallery and said he was done with fencing. He wanted to learn to fight hand to hand. To defend himself.
“Eventually, he grew desperate. No new book, no more money. He convinced his publisher he needed to get away, to some quiet place out of town where he could work without distractions.
“He came to my lodgings and asked me to accompany him. I said it was propitious timing, as I had recently closed the gallery. Oliver told the publisher I would be here to keep him accountable, to keep him writing. But I saw the panic in his eyes and knew it was bravado. He mostly wanted me here for protection, should an angry moneylender learn where he’d gone and come to collect—or dole out punishment.”
“So he trusted you,” Frederick said.
The man’s eyes glinted. “More fool him. I even wrote to Mr. King in Naples. Paid a pretty penny for his direction too. A gamble, I knew. One that didn’t pay in the end.”
Frederick asked, “Why did Miss Newport come here to the abbey ... really?”
George grimaced. “When she wrote of her plans to come to Swanford, I was wary. I guessed she had set her sights on a man. Knowing Mr. Oliver was staying here, I worried she might be meeting him.”
“To take revenge herself?”
“Didn’t say that. I would ask you not to put words in my mouth, sir.”
“Very well.”
“No. Turns out she was here to see your brother. I was relieved, though I could see she’d have little chance there. She’d reached too high.”
“Tell me what happened the day Mr. Oliver died.”
Mr. George nodded. “I went to his room rather early that morning, just after sunrise. I knocked and identified myself. He let me in, cross as a badger—didn’t like being woken early. He must not have been asleep long, for his fire had not yet gone out.
“I said, ‘Sorry, sir. But with Mr. King staying in the hotel, I thought it would be wise to make certain all the windows are locked and there’s no other way in.”
“He bid me get on with it, lit a lamp, and sat down. Said he might as well get some work done since he was up.
“I made a pretense of making sure the windows were secure, working my way around the room until I was positioned behind him. Then I pulled out the mace, which I’d hidden beneath my coat.”
Here Mr. George gave a humorless chuckle. “Do you know where I got that old relic? Oliver himself gave it to me instead of paying his bill for the training. Some admirer of his books had given it to him, and he passed it on to me and considered his debt settled. And now it truly is settled.”
George sent him a piercing look. “You no doubt think me a heartless villain for what I did. I don’t ask for mercy, only for understanding. Ambrose Oliver ended forever the happiness of the only two creatures I loved in all the world.” His voice grew hoarse. “He ruined our sweet Edie, left her with child, and denied all responsibility. Left her to die. And he left Selina feelingresponsible and miserable. That man was more my enemy than any foreign soldier I faced in battle. So yes, I struck hard—one decisive blow.”
“And after?”
His shoulders drooped. “Selina came along sometime later, wearing her idiotic disguise. I was just sitting there outside the room, mace in hand. I’d expected to feel victorious. Relieved. Satisfied that justice had been done. But I felt none of those things. Only numb.”
“Why did she wear the habit?” Frederick asked.
Again George shrugged. “I had written back to warn her Oliver would be here, hoping she wouldn’t come. She came anyway, and brought along that costume, having just played a nun inMeasure for Measure. She thought she might frighten him, deliver a message from beyond the grave that his vile deeds would not go unpunished, likeRichard IIIvisited by the ghosts of those he killed. And if scaring Oliver failed, she could at least come to my room without being seen or thought to be doing anything improper.”
“Did she go into Mr. Oliver’s room? We know he sent a message through ... one of the maids, asking her to come.”
George hesitated. “She came to the door, but I turned her away.” He shifted. “At all events, that morning I told her I’d done it—Ambrose Oliver was dead.”
“How did she react?”
“She said, ‘Well, don’t just sit there. Go. Run. Hide.’”
