"My sharp grief,” Brodagan sighed from the pillow. “I'll not keep this tooth in my head another day, melady, not if they offer me honey on dishes."

"I have made you a posset, Brodagan,” I said. “I want you to drink it up, and get some sleep. Tomorrow you must have that infected tooth removed.” During the throes of an attack, she always agreed to this, but as soon as the pain eased, she reverted to her claim that if God had meant her to gum her victuals, he would not have put teeth in her head.

"I'll take the hard end of the matter and have it out this time, though it be the end of me,” she moaned. “Why is God doing me such a wrong? I never oppressed a flea in my life."

Mary blessed herself at this questioning of the Almighty. Our servants are all Papists. Brodagan sighed and sipped the posset. “Lie down and get a wink of sleep if you can, Mary,” she said weakly, “for you'll have all the toil of the kitchen on your back tomorrow.” Mary refused to budge. “The girl is an angel to her toes, melady. If her heart was on fire, she'd not leave me in my distress."

"Drink it all up,” I said, holding the cup to her lips until the glass was empty. “You can run along, Mary. I shall stay with Brodagan until she sleeps."

She soon grew drowsy. Mary replaced the cooling brick with a hot one and finally left. I poured myself the other cup of posset and took it to my room. The hot milk was as good as a sleeping draft, and soon I was sleeping as soundly as Brodagan.

And that is why I did not awaken until nearly nine o'clock in the morning. I was just entering the breakfast parlor when Weylin was shown in. His bright eye told me he had enjoyed a good night's sleep. I studied him for any other tacit messages, and thought I detected a trace of admiration as well.

"Borsini is busy with Mama's portrait,” he said. “He hinted to know where I was going when I left the house. I told him I had some business to attend to. He will think I have gone to Aldershot."

I stifled a yawn into my fist and said, “Oh."

Weylin examined me with a worried frown. “You look like the wrath of God, Zoie. Have you spent the entire night searching the attics?"

"No, tending to Brodagan's toothache."

"You have my condolences. I am familiar with the phenomenon. An Irish toothache is like an Irish wake. More sound and fury than a war. By the by, I notice Steptoe keeps bankers’ hours. He did not answer the door."

This was nothing new, but when Mary brought coffee, I asked her to please tell Steptoe I wished a word with him.

Mary blinked in surprise. “Why, Steptoe has left, melady. We thought you had given him his marching papers, for his room is empty and his clothes gone. Brodagan said if she wasn't at death's door, she'd rise up and dance a jig for joy."

"What! Steptoe gone!” I exclaimed.

Both Weylin and myself jumped to our feet in alarm.

"He's gone, miss, but I counted the silver, and he didn't take anything with him, as far as I can tell-except that all the kitchen candles are missing."

"By God, he's found it!” Weylin exclaimed.

"I asked Brodagan to lock the attic door,” I said.

Mary gaped at us as if we had suddenly begun speaking in tongues. I asked her to see how Brodagan was doing, and she left. Without another word, Weylin and I bolted upstairs. The attic door was not only unlocked, but hung ajar. We darted up the narrow stairway, into a scene of chaos.

Barry's trunks had been dragged from the wall into the middle of the room, for easier searching. The contents were flung about at random. The jackets had the lining ripped out. A dozen candles had been arranged in a circle around the trunks, giving the scene a mystical air. They had burned low, indicating a long burning, but at least he had extinguished them before leaving. I sighed wearily, and Weylin uttered a few words never spoken in church.

"Just when I thought Steptoe was beginning to shape up.” I scowled. “He was quite helpful last night when I was making Brodagan's posset. I should have been suspicious that he was awake at two o'clock in the morning. How did he get up here? Brodagan locked the door, and she had the only key."

I picked up a ripped jacket, and there on the floor beneath it sat Brodagan's key ring, with the brass shamrock she carries for good luck.

"How did he get hold of this? It was in Brodagan's room.” Even as I spoke, I realized his ruse. “He knew I was preparing her laudanum. He went into her room and stole the keys, bold as brass, while she slept soundly.” I wondered if he had sneaked a few drops into my own milk as well. That would account for my deep sleep, but I did not mention that. “Borsini is still at Parham, you say?"

"Yes, and Steptoe has not visited, for I have Borsini watched around the clock. He did not stir from the house last night."

"They might be meeting now! Go back to Parham. You'll catch them red-handed."

"If they are meeting, I'll know about it. As I said, Borsini is watched."

I just shook my head in confusion. “At least we are rid of Steptoe once and for all. He won't have the gall to show his nose here after this."

Weylin said, “Let us have a look around his room. He may have left something to tell us where he was going."

I led him to Steptoe's room. Steptoe had packed hastily, leaving half his clothes behind. We searched them for clues, but of course, he was too crafty to leave anything but lint in the pockets.

"This is the dressing gown he was wearing last night,” I said, lifting the green robe, which had been tossed on the end of the bed in his haste. “Quite the peacock! I wonder where he stole this."

"Peacock?” Weylin said, offended. He took the garment and examined it. “He told my valet this got grease spilled on it when it was sent down to be pressed. I shall have a word with my valet about this.” He frowned at the garment. “Perhaps it is just a tad gaudy,” he said sheepishly. “The yellow trim is the culprit."

"Let us go downstairs and have some coffee. I was just about to have breakfast when you arrived."

We went below and found Mama at the breakfast table. “Mary told me about Steptoe,” she said. “Did you find anything interesting abovestairs?"

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?"