“In case Finn is correct, dearest Claire, and someone does wish him harm, please don’t tell a soul. I would hate to have you in any danger because of me.”
“It wouldn’t bebecauseof you,” she remarked pointedly, “but I will not say a word. If thereisa threat, then you mustn’t go anywhere near Mr. Bennet. If someone is indeed watching him and sees you in close quarters ...” Claire trailed off with a shake of her head.
Rose nodded. “I know and I’ll be—”
The door opened and Mrs. Taylor came in with her fur stole over her arm.
“Allow me,” Rose said, taking it from the older dame and hanging it carefully.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Taylor eyed her up and down. “I didn’t realize you ladies had taken on the role of coat room attendants.”
Claire and Rose laughed as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, until Mrs. Taylor, assured of her own wit, left them.
“All right, then,” Claire said, “back to work.”
“So you promise to—”
“Yes, yes! To remain silent. However, you must promise to keep your distance from Mr. Bennet until we are sure there is no risk.”
“That is prudent,” Rose agreed though she’d never been cautious before. She certainly could not give the requested promise. Nor could she have kept it.
***
As she hurried to India Wharf the following morning to the home of Reed and Charlotte, Rose acknowledged that she would throw herself in head first to do whatever it took to help Finn, whether he wanted it or not. Anything except let her brother know what she was doing.
Most assuredly, she did not want to encounter him, for he would astutely get too many details out of her and then forbid her to do anything that even remotely seemed threatening.
Luckily, Rose knew Reed would be at his office by that time of the morning.
Charlotte welcomed her in. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said to Rose, and as always, Rose felt her gracious sister-in-law meant it wholeheartedly.
It had to have been difficult for Charlotte when her life changed from being a busy journalist to a full-time mother. From being out in the world, sniffing out stories to staying at home sniffing soiled diaper cloths.
Rose winced. It would be her turn next with William — to bear children and clean out the diaper pail. Yet in the space of a heartbeat, it was Finn’s face she saw as the father of her children.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she set down her satchel.
“Whatever is all this?” Charlotte asked, as Rose opened her leather bag filled to overflowing with her collection of newspapers. These, she deposited onto Charlotte’s highly polished living room table, creating an unsightly heap in the clear gray light reflected from the ocean that spread out beyond the windows.
“This is the little matter I mentioned on the telephone,” Rose said, wondering how she could really approach this subject without giving away her entire duplicitous story.
“It doesn’t look like a ‘little’ anything. But first, the niceties. Would you care for some tea?” Charlotte asked, walking toward her kitchen door.
“Of course,” Rose assured her. “I’m in no hurry.” After all, she’d let years of lying build up. She could use a few more minutes to discern her best course of action. “Though I’d prefer coffee,” she called after her, remembering Charlotte’s French housekeeper’s special way with the rich brew.
Charlotte must have asked Jeanine to bring in the refreshments, for she returned to the living room even before Rose had finished removing her gloves and short embroidered cape.
They took seats on the settee in front of the low table.
“May I?” Charlotte asked, indicating the worn leather satchel.
“Certainly,” Rose said. “That was my father’s, by the way.”
“Mm,” Charlotte said, clearly uninterested in anything but the contents. She fanned out the neatly folded pile of newspapers that had managed to get tattered and creased at the edges, though they’d remained a long time in the bottom drawer of Rose’s dresser.
Rose watched her sister-in-law. At one time, she’d read and reread each one until she thought she knew every image, every line of content.
Jeanine came in carrying a fully laden tray. “Lovely to see you, Mademoiselle Rose,” she said with her thick French accent. Then she placed the tray at the far edge of the table where she could find room, and the strong aroma of the coffee chased away even the pungent scent of the salt air.
