“Thank you. Is John...?”
Rose shrugged. “In his room as far as I know. Haven’t heard a peep out of him all morning.”
John would wait. Tea first. For courage.
The older woman bustled around the warm kitchen, wiping one end of the table, bringing out cups and saucers, and filling a plate with honey biscuits.
The two sat down, and while the tea steeped, Rebecca said carefully, “Rose, what would you do if you suspected your sibling had done something wrong? Would you try to protect them, or let them face the consequences?”
Rose slowly nodded, gazing off into her own thoughts. “As a younger woman, I was devilish angry over something mine did. I determined to banish her from my life and my heart. Easier said than done. Had I to do it over again, I would have forgiven Daisy. Not lost my only sibling over one wrongdoing. Family ... once gone, there’s no replacing them.”
Rebecca considered this. She helped herself to a buttery sweet biscuit, then said, “Two nights ago, when John came to the hotel, did he—”
“He did come to see you, then?” Rose asked. “He said he was, but I admit I wondered if he had some other purpose in mind. He so rarely leaves the lodge.”
“What other purpose?”
Rose added milk to their cups and poured the tea. “Oh, going to meet that Stoker fellow in the wood or to see a girl.”
“Is John seeing someone? Or do you mean Mary?”
Rose shook her head. “Mary isn’t the girl for him. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, I can’t deny. But John, well, don’t be offended, but he’s in no fit state to be courting anyone.”
“I agree. Though I sometimes wonder if becoming interested in a woman might be good for him.”
“That’s crossed my mind too—that having someone depend on him might spur him to break some of his ... habits ... and settle down. But he’s already got you and me depending on him—or at least me, if you’re continuing on as a companion. And if that has not roused him to any sense of duty, I doubt another female would. Though I grant you, a pretty sweetheart might be more inspiring than either of us.”
Rebecca nodded thoughtfully, then said, “I know John asked you to write a clean copy for him. Did he ask you for anything else? Or do anything ... unusual?”
Rose dipped her chin and raised a brow. “ThisisJohn we’re talking about.”
“I know, but—”
“There was one thing that surprised me. A few days before you arrived, he asked me for a paintbrush. Like an artist would use. Said I hadn’t one and if he tried to borrow my pastry brush I’d feed him gizzards and leeks for a week! I remembered your things in the attic and thought you might have a box of painting supplies up there. You used to draw and paint a little.”
“A very little and very ill. Why did he want a paintbrush?”
“He didn’t say. I heard him rattling around up there, so I assumed he found one. I was too busy trying to finish my housework to pay much attention. Don’t know if he put it back or not. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Rebecca murmured, but her mind was spinning. “Did he ask for anything else?”
The older woman nodded. “Steak and kidney pie. But I toldhim we had neither in the larder and an unpaid bill at the butcher’s.”
“Anything else?”
Rose screwed up her face. “Come to think of it, he also went down to the cellar for something. When he came up, he had cobwebs in his hair and said he’d seen signs of rodents down there.” She shuddered. “Nasty place.”
“Shall I summon the rat catcher?” Rebecca offered.
“No. We don’t need another expense. John said we had some white arsenic down there that should do the trick.”
Rebecca stared, stomach cramping. White arsenic?Please, God, no...
Rose’s eyes shot open like a whipped-wide curtain. “You don’t think John...?” The housekeeper shook her head, expelling a long breath and answering her own question. “No. Of course not. Good thing Robb already told me the author was struck dead. If he’d been poisoned, one might be tempted to think ... But no, John would never do that.”
Rebecca prayed she was right.
Less than an hour later, Noah Brixton returned to the small office Frederick was using, with two cups of coffee in hand.
