Chapter Eighteen #2
Did Rose even know she was only nine? “While I admire your desire to offer some comfort to Mrs. Penhollow, and I am grateful you didn’t go alone, we are investigating a possible murder. I don’t like you going off on your own without an adult.”
“Bert is an adult,” she said.
I was growing confused. “Who is Bert?”
“The groom.”
“That’s something of a relief, but I’d prefer you go with an adult I know. If you were to be faced with this situation again, I’d rather you wait until Aunt Fiona could go with you.” I thought about that for a moment. “And a groom. A large one.”
Grudgingly, she agreed to my terms. With any luck, we wouldn’t come across a similar situation.
“How was your visit with Mrs. Penhollow?” I prompted.
“She wasn’t home, so Mrs. Appleton took the cookies, and we talked for a while.”
“What did you talk about?” As much as I disliked Rose paying the call on her own, I might as well find out if she learned anything valuable.
Rose pulled the plait back over her shoulder and twisted it around her finger.
“That the people in the village were being nice and dropping off food for her mother. Then she said she hoped someone would take Cloud off her hands. She said it was Dr. Penhollow’s dog and her mother didn’t really have much to do with him.
When Mrs. Penhollow moves in with her and the vicar, there wouldn’t be as much space for Cloud to play. ”
“Tell me you didn’t offer to take the dog permanently, Rose.” Though he was a sweet boy, he was both large and energetic. We really didn’t have room for him at our house in London.
“I didn’t. She asked me if I could watch him until after the funeral. Then her mother wouldn’t be so busy.”
Moving from Penhollow Manor to the vicarage, where it seemed the dog wasn’t welcome, sounded rather busy to me.
Something told me Beatrice had just wanted to unload the dog, poor thing.
But I didn’t want to ignore the fact that Rose had managed to confirm the vicar’s story.
“Did Mrs. Appleton say why her mother would move to the vicarage? It seems like Penhollow Manor is a lovely place. Doesn’t she like it there? ”
Rose dropped the plait and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe she doesn’t want to live there when Mr. Penhollow moves in.”
“Mr. Isaac Penhollow? Did Mrs. Appleton tell you he will inherit the house?”
This time Rose lifted her shoulders right up to her ears. I patted one of them to encourage her to lower it.
“If you don’t recall, you can simply say so, dear.”
Her shoulders returned to their normal location, and she sat up straighter. “Mrs. Appleton didn’t say anything about inheriting, only that he would move into the house.”
Which confirmed what the vicar had told us. And with her husband dead, there was a good chance Ada would also be without an income, putting her motive for murder in serious peril. Interesting.
“Perhaps Mr. Penhollow would be willing to keep poor Cloud once he’s settled in,” I said.
“Maybe,” Rose said, glancing at me from under her lashes—just a tiny appeal to my emotions, which told me she wanted to keep the dog. That would have to be a discussion with George and was not something I needed to decide right now.
Rose’s eyes popped open wide. “I just remembered, Mrs. Appleton gave me some of Dr. Penhollow’s Norfolk nog for all of us, too.”
It seemed like Beatrice was ridding herself of everything she didn’t want. “How did you manage to bring home both the nog and the dog when you were riding?”
“Bert carried the jug of nog, and we walked the horses so that Cloud could keep up.” Her lips turned downward.
I tweaked one of her plaits. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think Mrs. Appleton liked her father. She doesn’t seem sad at all that he’s dead. Nobody we met in the village yesterday seemed sad that he’s dead. I feel sorry for him. He’s like Mr. Scrooge. Nobody cared that he died.”
I drew her into a hug. “I don’t think it mattered to Dr. Penhollow whether people liked him, so like Scrooge, he didn’t treat them very well. Even so, as you observed, Mrs. Penhollow cared about him, and I think she’s sad that he’s gone.”
I knew one other woman also had feelings for him, but she, too, had passed away. “I think it’s best if we live our lives caring about each other, but if even one person loved him, like Mrs. Penhollow, then he probably had a happy life.”
“I feel bad that we killed Scrooge,” Rose muttered against my shoulder.
“Does he have to die?” Another question I’d never dreamed I’d be asking a nine-year-old. “You are the authors, after all. You could choose another fate for him.”
“But our story can’t be the same way Mr. Dickens wrote it.”
“No, it has to be different. I’m confident the three of you will think of something marvelous, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” With a quick squeeze, she pulled away from my arms and stood up. “I guess we must try.”
“You should definitely try,” I said as she headed for the door. “But don’t forget about Cloud. Find him and take him up to the schoolroom with you. I’ll talk to Fiona about him.”
“And Georgie?”
“And Georgie.” I smiled at the endearment. Only Rose used it for George, and only he called her Rosie. “But don’t forget the Penhollows might want Cloud back.”
The smile she beamed at me before dashing out of the room curled around my heart like a hug. I had a feeling we’d be adding a dog to the family.