Joan Smith: Gather Ye Rosebuds

Weylin said only that Steptoe and Borsini appeared to be in league in some mischief, without mentioning Barry, and told her of Steptoe's depredations in the attic.

"I am shocked at Borsini,” she said. “He always seemed such a nice lad, except for that foreign streak, of course. I never could get used to being a signora. And you say Steptoe planned to sell what he found to Borsini?"

"For a hundred pounds,” I said.

"If it was something small enough to be hidden in the lining of a jacket, it sounds like a piece of paper,” Mama said. “Whatever could it be? Something to poor Borsini's discredit, I don't doubt. Steptoe could mail it to him."

Weylin set down his cup with a clatter and jumped up. “You're right. And the mail will be arriving any moment. I must go."

I did not think Steptoe would part with the item without getting his hundred pounds in his hand, but Weylin tore out of the house. Mama and I remained behind to talk over the matter. This was done in a vague way, as I did not want to tell her my suspicions of Barry. We discussed whether we should send for the constable. Since Steptoe had not stolen anything, and had, in fact, run off with a month's wages owing to him, we could not see what charges we could lay against him.

"Whatever he is up to, we are well rid of him,” she said.

The next item of business was to get Brodagan shipped off to the tooth drawer. The pain had eased, and she was in no mind to part with her tooth, but in the end we bullocked her into it.

"I shall go with you, Brodagan,” Mama said. “You will not be alone in your agony."

I made sure I would have the chore of escorting Brodagan, and wondered at Mama pitching herself into such an unpleasant situation. I soon found the reason.

"You will know what to tell the constable when Weylin has Borsini arrested, Zoie,” Mama said. “They are bound to come here asking questions, as you and Borsini were such bosom bows. It will be better if you handle it. You will know what to say."

I felt I got the better of the bargain. I would rather face a den of lions than Brodagan at the tooth drawer's. In honor of the occasion, Brodagan wore a freshly starched steeple, with a voluminous black cape over her shoulders, though the weather was warm. She was supported by Mama's arm on one side, Mary's on the other, as she went moaning through the hall.

She stopped at the door and took one last look around. “In case I never see you again, melady, I'll take my leave of you now,” she said to me, in sonorous accents. “It has been an honor to serve you.” I gave her a parting hug.

Mary said bracingly, “Why you'll be back before you can say one, two, three, with that malign tooth out of your head once for all, and your heart light as a thrush."

"Light as a thrush, is it?” Brodagan said. “I only hope it's light enough to fly to heaven."

"Here, have a sip of your medicine,” Mary said, and handed her a little bottle of brandy she had brought along to brace Brodagan for her ordeal.

With Steptoe, Brodagan, Mama, Mary, and John Groom gone, the house was left with only Jamie, the backhouse boy, and myself. I should have asked Mama to bring one of the Coughlin girls home to help out. They are local girls who work mornings at a dairy farm, but are always glad to find extra work for the afternoon.

I went to the kitchen, where Jamie was piling dishes into the wash pan. He seemed to know what he was about, so I left him to it and went back upstairs. I would sit in the saloon to act as butler. Rather than twiddling my thumbs, I went upstairs to fetch my sketchpad and pencils. I noticed the door to the octagonal tower was ajar. Steptoe! If he had done any damage to my studio, I would call the constable.

I ran upstairs, but the room had not been disturbed. Sunlight spilling in at the windows glowed on the light walls. I could not complain of any lack of brightness. Quite the contrary. My two easels and chest of paints and brushes had been brought up. The easels lay on the floor, the parcel of supplies on the chest of drawers. The painters had removed their tarpaulin, revealing the aged Persian rug. I could not remove it by myself, but I could measure the room for its new linoleum covering. I stood a moment, wondering what color would suit. Perhaps a darker shade, to conceal the inevitable spatters of paint, and to give some relief from those brilliant walls and windows.

Yet in winter, the windows would show a gray sky, so perhaps… What I really wanted was to ask Borsini's opinion. I would miss my old friend and mentor. I could not believe he was in league with that hound of a Steptoe. I could believe he really was Barry's son. That would have pleased me greatly-but then, how did Steptoe fit into such an innocent scenario as that?

While I stood in the stillness of the tower room, I heard from below soft, stealthy footsteps along the hallway. It was not Jamie's quick feet, but a man's tread, moving quietly, as if he had no right to be there. My heart clenched in fear. I was alone in the house, but for Jamie, in the kitchen below. He could not know the man had entered, or he would have notified me. This intruder had got in uninvited. Steptoe… or worse-a stranger. A ne'er-do-well who thought the house deserted, and had come to see what he could pick up. When he saw me, he might lose his mind and attack.

The soft steps proceeded down the hall. I heard a few doors open, then the steps came closer, and stopped. My ears suggested he was at my bedroom. After a moment, the footsteps began again, faster now, heading for the stairs to this tower room. I crouched behind the chest of drawers while the footsteps mounted swiftly, no longer using caution, almost as if he knew he had me cornered alone up here. My throat ached from the strain, and my heart banged erratically. There was not a single thing I could use for a weapon.

The footsteps ran into the room. “Zoie! Zoie!" a voice called, rising in alarm. It was Weylin!

I stood up then, my fear giving way to anger. “Weylin! What the devil do you mean, sneaking about the house like a burglar! You frightened the life out of me."

"Zoie?” His face was white with strain. There was an answering anger in his tone. “Why are you hiding? Why did no one answer the door? I knew Steptoe was gone and Brodagan hors de combat, so I let myself in. I called and called, without an answer. I could not imagine what had happened. I was afraid you had all been poisoned, or had your throats slit. Are you all right?"

"Of course I am all right."

"But where is everyone? You were not alone when I left half an hour ago."

I explained about Mama and Mary taking Brodagan to the dentist's, and of course, he already knew of Steptoe's departure.

"I shall send a few girls over from Parham,” he said. “And a footman. Your mama should not have left you here alone. You are as white as a sheet. I don't feel any too stout myself. Let us go below and have a glass of wine."

"A good idea. I just came up to get my sketchpad and pencils. My studio door was ajar. I feared Steptoe had been up, but if he was, he did not find anything. All my uncle's things have been removed."

"I wonder…” He looked all around the room. “We do not know for certain that Steptoe found what he was looking for. Is it possible McShane hid it in this room? Under a loose floorboard, or slid down the wainscoting?” He looked at the shabby old carpet. “Or under that? Of course, you would have looked there."

My interest quickened. “No, actually, the painters had the tarpaulin over this precious floor covering, to prevent splattering it."

Weylin glanced to see if I was joking. “No doubt Steptoe has had a peek,” he said, looking a question at me.

"I want to remove it in any case. Will you help me?"