Page 42 of A Treacherous Treasure

“My darling.” Her mother made a solemn face as she took Rebecca’s face in her hands, then embraced her. “How are you holding up?”

“I am well. Mrs. Heywood is away in Kent, so that helps.”

Her mother shook her head, then whispered, “Don’t let the servants hear you say things like that.”

“I won’t.” But why did she have to be so careful in her own house? It seemed unfair, but her mother was right. She shouldn’t speak ill of her mother-in-law, and especially in the hearing of the servants.

Next, she embraced her sister Margaret. “Where are Charlotte and Abigail?”

Margaret answered, “Charlotte didn’t want to miss Kitty Alexander’s coming out ball, and Abigail didn’t want to see you sad. She’s such a ninny.”

“Margaret, that’s unkind.” Mother frowned at Margaret.

“Well, I think it unkind that Rebecca’s sisters didn’t want to come and keep her company and cheer her up. They’re selfish, and you said so yourself.”

“I don’t think I said that, but . . .” Mother sighed. “Forgive us, Rebecca. We are glad to see you looking so well.” She gave a wan smile as she patted Rebecca’s cheek.

“And I am very glad you are both here.”

Rebecca led them inside as the footmen carried in their trunks.

After they had changed their clothes and had come down to the sitting room, Rebecca said, “I have news that I did not write in my letters, but you must both promise to keep it secret and tell no one, except perhaps Father.”

Mother sent an anxious look Margaret’s way.

“I may only be twelve, but I can keep a secret,” Rebecca’s youngest sister declared.

Rebecca proceeded to tell them all that had been happening, even how she and Thomas Westbrook believed their local officials were not to be trusted and that the constable had been the one responsible for Arthur’s murder.

Mother looked alarmed, but only for a moment. “Surely you cannot suspect your constable and your Justice of the Peace. I don’t think they could be capable of such things.”

“Mother, I know you always want to believe the best in everyone, but it seems quite likely. Even Mr. Westbrook thinks so.”

“It’s not that I want to believe the best in everyone, but it just seems too far-fetched.” Mother shook her head, a bland look on her face. Mother was good-hearted and without guile, and she could never bring herself to believe bad things existed, not unless it was absolutely right in front of her and impossible to deny. She’d made Rebecca feel as though she was overly dramatic, suspicious, and hard-hearted. But she knew that it was her mother who refused to see evil.

“It is farfetched.” She simply would not discuss it with her mother, but only with the Westbrooks, who had been there the entire time and therefore understood.

“Tell me all the news at home,” Rebecca said. “How is Father and everyone who was sick?”

Mother seemed pleased to discuss in detail the recoveries of everyone who had been sick. She had yet to mention Arthur or his death or funeral, but Rebecca was grateful for that, for now. She knew the questions would come eventually.

Rebecca’s thoughts wandered to Thomas and how his meeting was going with Mr. Strader and Mr. Fogg. She’d prayed quite a few times already for his safety and that God would protect him from evil men. Would he have any firearms with him? The more she had thought about it, the more she wished she had asked him to consider the dangers and not to go alone to this meeting.

“Rebecca, are you listening?” Mother shook her head at her.

“Of course. You were saying that John was better and Colin never got sick.”

“You have had a very difficult few weeks, I am sure.” Mother squeezed Rebecca’s arm. “Why don’t you tell us anything you didn’t tell me in your letters. I’m sure you must have much to tell.”

Rebecca had been looking forward to telling her mother how difficult life had been with Mrs. Heywood so loudly and openly mourning Arthur’s death, and how she had verbally attacked Rebecca with one accusation after another. So she poured out her pain to her mother, with Margaret sitting nearby, listening and looking sad and angry by turns.

She told her mother how she’d been shot at, which she had not written in any of her letters, and Margaret suddenly said, “If I were a man, I would go right now and shoot that Mr. Fogg.”

“Margaret!” Mother’s eyes and mother were equally wide as she stared at her youngest daughter.

“I understand how you feel, Margaret,” Rebecca said, “but we first have to make absolutely certain he is guilty, and he must be treated like anyone else who is caught doing something terrible. He will not get away with it, as Mr. Westbrook and I will make sure of.”

“Yes, let Mr. Westbrook take care of it.” Mother looked as if that was, of course, the end of the matter.