“Maybe. But within that fine figure lies a kind and loving heart. And she admires you, Robb.”
He slanted her a wry look. “Trying to fob me off on Kitty?”
Rebecca huffed. “Fob you off? Kitty is a pretty young woman from a good family.”
He said wistfully, “She isn’t you.”
Rebecca shook her head. “But you will always have my friendship, Robb.” She smiled. “If you want it.”
“I do.”
Before leaving, Rebecca asked him to deliver her trunk to the lodge when he had time. He was heading out on another job but promised to see to it when he returned.
———
When Rebecca reached the lodge a short while later, she found Sir Frederick and Dr. Fox there before her. Upon her entrance, the two men stepped out to give her time to say good-bye to her brother in private.
She set down her things and took a deep breath, bracing herself for John’s anger and remonstrances. Then she entered the sitting room.
He stood before the hearth staring up at the mantelpiece. Was he thinking of their family portrait, which had hung there until he sold it? Anger again nipped at her. Remembering Rose say,“Your living, breathing family is more important than any portrait,”Rebecca bit her tongue. Now was not the time.
She noticed with relief that his hair had been recently washed and he had shaved as well. A half-filled valise lay open on the sofa.
He looked at her over his shoulder, his face taut. “Tell them, Becky. Tell them it’s not my fault. Ambrose Oliver ruined my life. It’s his fault. He did this to me.”
His voice pitched higher with desperation. “Don’t let them take me away, Becky. Talk to Sir Frederick. He likes you. Always has. Tell him to let me go.”
She resolutely blinked back tears, and spoke over a tight, burning throat. “No, John. What Mr. Oliver did was wrong, but that does not justify what you did. Life is precious. And only God has the right to end it.”
When he didn’t respond, she added, “Do you not realize that if Mr. Oliverhaddied from the arsenic, I would share the blame, as I delivered the poisoned pages myself?”
“But I had to do something!” he blurted, with little apparent remorse.
“You are wrong, John. And you need to accept responsibility for your actions. It could be worse—you should be grateful for Sir Frederick’s mercy, and for God’s.”
He frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but she went on, “This is a good thing. Or can be, if you let it. A chance to put the past behind you. To heal.”
“I can do that here. I don’t want to leave.”
Rebecca shook her head and walked closer. “You need more help than Rose or I or those little brown bottles can give you. I believe Dr. Fox can help you.”
“I don’t want—”
“John.” She pressed his hand, tightly. “Better this than prison.” For several weighty moments, she held his gaze, then with forced brightness said, “Now, have you got everything you need?” She looked at the valise, stuffed haphazardly with clothes. “You forgot paper and ink and your favorite books.” Rebecca began moving around, gathering things.
The fight seemed to go out of him, and he pushed the hair from his face, shoulders slumped. “I am sorry, you know. Never meant to put you in danger. I never should have involved you or Rose or Mary....”
Rebecca paused in her packing. Yes, poor besotted Mary. And what would happen to Rose once John was no longer here to pay rent on the lodge? They would worry about that later. If John was willing to admit he was wrong, there might be hope for him yet.
“I forgive you, John,” she said earnestly. “And God will too. Ask Him.”
He hung his head.
Rebecca sniffed and said, “Now, listen to Dr. Fox and do as he advises. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Rose came in from wherever she had been hovering, and no doubt listening, and embraced John, cheeks streaked and handkerchief in hand. “I shall be praying for you, my lad.”
