She pointed to the door marked3. “The proprietor mentioned the abbess once slept in that room. Surely you do not believe the tales of her ghost haunting the place?”
Sunlight glinted in the man’s knowing eyes. “It is not the ghosts I worry about, miss, but creatures who are very much alive.”
He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Do yourself a favor, young lady. Steer clear of this man and spare yourself a great deal of heartache. I would say you’re not his sort, but he’s not exactly particular.”
“I was only hoping to have a word with him.”
He shook his head. “No one goes in and no one goes out, except at dinner. I’m here to make sure of it.”
“No one?”
“Except his publisher.”
She thought of Mary. “Surely a chambermaid must go in and tidy up?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Only to deliver his breakfast and such.”
“His publisher’s orders, I presume?”
“No, miss. Mr. Oliver’s orders.”
“Oh. I see. How ... novel.” Her feeble chuckle fell flat. “Well. Thank you for the warning, Mr....”
“George. Jack George.”
“Mr. George.” She started to go and then turned back. “I do hope you are allowed to sleep?”
Another shrug. “I sleep when he does. But my room’s just beyond the stairs and I’m a light sleeper. Comes from years in the army.”
“How ... dedicated. Well. Good-bye.”
She continued down the stairs, sour failure sweeping over her. Now what was she to do?
Needing to think, Rebecca crossed the hall and walked outside, with no particular destination in mind. Seeing a familiar man exiting the stable courtyard, she drew up short.
“Robb Tarvin! I am surprised to see you here.”
The tall, broad-shouldered man might have intimidated her, had she not known him since childhood.
He stared back and his eyes widened. “Becky Lane, as I live and breathe. A sight for sore eyes.”
“Are you working here now?”
“In a manner of speaking. I have my own fly.” He gestured through the stable-yard entrance to a horse and two-wheeled gig. “I transport hotel guests hither and yon and make deliveries on the side.”
“So...” she rephrased in a positive light, “you have your own business. Well done.”
“Suppose I do.” He seemed to stand up straighter. “Though a lot of my runs are for the hotel.”
Rebecca said, “I was sorry to hear about your father.”
The young man nodded in acknowledgment. “We have that loss in common.”
“Yes.” She added, “I thought you would have taken over the family business.” His father had owned Swanford’s livery and wheelwright’s shop.
“So did I. But Mamma and I had to sell it to cover Papa’s debts.”
“I am sorry. Surely if the new owners knew of your skills and experience, they would have wanted to keep you on?”
