Miss Newport appeared at the top of the stairs and gripped the railing tightly. She called down, her usually eloquent voice as plaintive as a little girl’s, “I am sorry, Uncle Jack. So sorry!”
He looked up, neck craned, and called back, “It’s all right, Selina.”
She vehemently shook her head. “I still feel like it’s all my fault. I can’t forgive myself.”
Expression adamant, he said, “ThenIforgive you, and I love you. Never forget.”
She raised a hand in farewell, and the tears streaming down her face were no act.
When the men had left and the hall was quiet once more, Rebecca leaned closer to Lady Fitzhoward and explained the morning’s events as best she knew them.
“Ah. I heard a commotion upstairs and wondered what was going on.” The older woman gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “So it was the guard dog after all.”
“It seems so, yes.” Rebecca felt strangely sad for Miss Newport and even for Mr. George, whom Selina apparently looked on as an uncle. She was relieved John had been exonerated in the bludgeoning, but her relief was tempered by what her brotherhaddone, and by what she must tell her employer.
Lady Fitzhoward inhaled deeply, then thumped the floor with her stick. “Well, now that’s over, we can get on with our plans. What do you say to Easter in Canterbury, and then on to Calais?”
She saw the hope in the woman’s eyes and hated to disappoint her. “I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot go with you. I can’t leave John when he...” Her words trailed off as she struggled with how much to say. The truth was she did not want John to face whatever was coming alone. Nor did she feel it right to leave the whole burden on dear Rose. After all, Rebecca was John’s only remaining family. His sister.
For some reason, the wordsisterechoed through her mind.Sister, sister, sister...
She blinked and looked up to find Lady Fitzhoward watching her, waiting for her to finish her sentence, eyes narrowing when she did not.
Rebecca swallowed and finished lamely, “I can’t leave him. Not now.”
Lady Fitzhoward sighed. “I was afraid of that. Ah well. I admire you for putting family first, even if it is devilish inconvenient for me. Never mind. I will go and see those friends I put off visiting before. Joly will miss her French chef serving up savory reminders of home. But life, I find, often serves us disappointments instead.”
Rebecca managed a wan smile and pressed her hand. “Good-bye, my lady. You have been very kind to me, and I hope our paths cross again.”
“So do I, Rebecca.”
It was the first time the older woman had called her by her Christian name. Rebecca wondered if it would be the last.
———
When she crossed the cloisters, Sir Frederick was waiting for her at the bottom of the night stair, hat in hand.
“Miss Lane, I wanted to speak with you before I go to the lodge.” He gestured her into the library and closed the door most of the way behind him.
He explained, “Mr. Brixton is taking Jack George to the county gaol to await trial.”
“He confessed to striking Mr. Oliver?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then your plan succeeded. Well done.”
He flinched. “No need for congratulations. It is a sad business all around.”
“I agree.”
He looked at her, expression somber. “As your friend, I am relieved to prove John was not ultimately responsible for Mr. Oliver’s death. As magistrate, however, I cannot ignore what John did. I could authorize a warrant to search the lodge, seize John’s manuscript, and have Dr. Fox’s colleague test the pages for arsenic.”
She ducked her head, dread weighing down her soul anew.
“But as John has already confessed to attempting it and changed his mind before harm could be done, I don’t think that will be necessary—assuming he cooperates and accepts the consequence I intend to require.”
“Which is?” Rebecca asked, a tremor sweeping over her. What would it be? Imprisonment? Transportation?
