She asked, “How did you know which room I was in? Did you ask at the desk?”
“No, I found Mary. She told me.”
“Oh. Well. I had planned to stay one more night, but since you are here, perhaps we could walk back to the lodge together. Or hire Robb Tarvin’s fly.”
John paced across the room, looked out the window, and paced back again. “No. Let’s stay the night.”
“Why stay?” she challenged. “I have done what you asked.”
He raked fingers through his hair, causing the fringe to stand up like a cockscomb. “Who knows, perhaps ol’ Oliver will surpriseme and ask his publisher to read the manuscript. If we see Edgecombe with it, I could reveal the author’s true identity.”
He looked around the small room. “In the meantime, I can sleep in the chair here, so we won’t have to pay for another room.”
He did not ask if she would mind, she noticed. But he was right, they were spending too much money as it was. He snored terribly, so she doubted she would get much sleep. Even at the lodge, she had heard him through the wall. At least it would be for only one night.
She told herself she ought to be glad John was out of the lodge. Out of his bed. Perhaps it was the beginning of better times. However, his fiery, almost feverish gaze vaporized her hope like a drop of water on a hot stove.
She took a steadying breath. “I have been taking my meals with Lady Fitzhoward in the dining room. Will you accompany me?” She quailed at the thought of Lady Fitzhoward’s reaction to John’s disheveled appearance.
“No, go on as usual and report back any developments. I had better stay out of Oliver’s sight.”
“Then I shall have something sent up for you.”
“No, thank you. I am not hungry.”
“Very well.”
Someone knocked, and they both jumped.
Rebecca opened the door to Mary.
“Just making sure your brother found you all right.”
“He did, thank you.”
“Shall I help you change for dinner while I’m here?” Mary sent John a telling glance.
“I’ll step out,” he said, pausing in the doorway to look right and left before exiting. Was he so afraid to be seen by Mr. Oliver?
Mary lingered in the passage, and she and John stood for a few moments, heads near in whispered conversation.
Rose had suspected their attachment years ago, and that had been one reason, along with financial constraints, to dismiss the girl.
Mary came in and helped her dress. Rebecca had neglected to ask Joly, so she was grateful for the assistance.
She said nothing to Mary about John for the time being, and Mary avoided the topic as well. The secrets between them were piling up, and that, Rebecca realized, made them both vulnerable.
Thanks to the returned trunk, she decided to wear something she had not worn since arriving at the abbey—a dinner gown of ivory net over green satin. Mary curled and pinned her hair high atop her head and added a headband of green ribbon. The girl might not have been as skilled as Joly, but she was a deal more pleasant.
When Rebecca was ready, she thanked Mary and made her way downstairs.
In the hall, she saw Kitty Fenchurch fashionably turned out in an evening dress of white gauze trimmed with ruffles. Her parents stood a short way off, talking with Mr. Mayhew.
“Kitty! I did not expect to see you again so soon, but I am glad of it.”
The young woman replied, “We are having dinner here. My parents in hopes of seeing Mr. Oliver, and I”—she lowered her voice—“in hopes of seeing Robb Tarvin.”
“Oh?”
