He set his diary on the table and took out a pencil. His brows lifted. “I hate that this has happened, lass. Especially when I told you I thought the danger had passed. I want to apologize for my mistake.”
“You aren’t to blame, sir. It’s a strange case.”
“That it is.” He studied me more closely, and I swallowed. “Jack tells me that when you woke, you couldn’t remember what happened to you. Have you remembered anything since then?”
My fingers knotted in my lap. This was the moment. I could choose to tell him the truth, or from this point on, I’d be heaping lie on top of lie. I shuddered to think someone else might die because I didn’t speak when I had the chance. Yet unless I told the constableallof Mr. Tregarrick’s story, he wouldn’t understand. Even understanding, he wasn’t likely to believe.
Flattening my palms on my skirt, I said, “No, sir. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Are you able to tell me where you were when it happened? If not, the last place you do remember.”
“Last I remember, I was walking to the village.” As something I did often, this seemed the least likely to raise an eyebrow.
“On the road between Roche and Carbis, like Mr. Roscoe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see anyone else on the road?”
I shook my head. “Not that I recall.”
He wrote in his diary, and I reached, absently, to touch the bandage at my neck.
His gaze darted up. “Does it pain you?”
“Hardly at all.”
“The wound is very clean compared to Mr. Roscoe’s. It’s the damnedest thing.” He frowned. “Begging your pardon.”
I nodded and held my tongue. More talking could only get me into trouble at this point.
“We now think it most likely amanattacked both you and Mr. Roscoe.”
“Yes, sir, Jack told me.”
“What doyouthink, Miss Penrose?”
Steady, now.“I guess that makes sense, though I can’t imagine why a man would do such a thing.”
“Nor can I. I don’t think any sane manwould. I think we’re looking for a man who’s not well. Maybe even a medical man, by the efficiency with which he went about his business.”
I shifted in my chair. “And Mr. Roscoe?”
The constable grunted. “That’s the question. Maybe our killer was in more of a hurry the first time.”
“I wish there was more I could tell you, Mr. Hilliard.” That at least was not a lie, unlike almost everything else I’d said to him.
“Thereisanother question you might be able to shed some light on.” I nodded faintly, heart thumping. “I arrived here after you were brought home, while Mrs. Moyle and the surgeon were in with you. I tried to speak to Jack, but ...” He hesitated. “Well, the truth of it is he smelled of gin and had his temper up. I had trouble following hisreasoning, but he seemed to believe it was Mr. Tregarrick that attacked you. Do you know what would make him think that?”
Heat blooming in my cheeks, I replied, “I’m not sure reasoning has much to do with it, sir. Jack has been listening to gossip at the tavern. Since Mr. Roscoe, people have been telling the old stories about a Wolf of Roche Rock.”
The constable’s brow clouded. “I’ve heard some of that gossip myself. It’s the opposite of helpful.”
“Yes, sir.”
I took a slow breath as he made a few more notes, thinking we must surely be coming to the end of the interview. I was unprepared when he looked up and said, “You don’t seem very rattled, Miss Penrose.”
“Rattled, sir?” I knew what he meant, but I gained a moment to think by pretending that I didn’t.
